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Aziraphale was late.
Not that he had ever been a bastion of punctuality before, but this absence felt different. Crowley glared at the cups of tea on the counter—a warning that they’d better not so much as think about going cold—and took a long swig from the whisky in one hand. Something in the aether was off, scratchy, and it’d been dragging against Crowley’s scales all morning. Surely Aziraphale could feel it too. And if it, whatever it was, was keeping them apart, Crowley had no reservations about icing Hell, razing Heaven, and salting both in his wake.
Just as soon as he saw his angel again.
The urge to pace was too strong to resist, so he didn’t. He let the frenetic energy lead him through the kitchen to the living room, crystal tumbler held in a grip so inhumanly tight it was a miracle that the glass hadn’t shattered. Crowley tried to concentrate on the fresh burn of whisky down his throat as he swallowed another mouthful, but he’d already looped around from the front door twice and still no Aziraphale. He drained the last of his drink like a shot, hoping it might fuzz nerves strung tight.
It didn’t.
Crowley circled the open area of his flat three more times, each pass ratcheting his agitation higher. Just as he passed the door for the sixth time, knee-deep in a plan to storm the Pearly Gates, a sharp knock echoed. He jumped to answer it, straining something in his lower back as his upper half jerked around before the lower. He didn’t care, either, yanking the door open to reveal Aziraphale: bitchy and glowering, but otherwise untouched.
Aziraphale had barely stepped over the threshold before Crowley crowded him against the wall, taking his first full breath in hours. Tension seeped out of him, replaced with a heady kind of release that burned through every limb and sparked in all the places they were pressed together. He exhaled heavily just to draw in more of Aziraphale’s comforting scent: jasmine and black holes, thunder and old books.
When he turned his head to kiss his relief into Aziraphale’s mouth, Aziraphale pressed a hand to his chest and shoved him away. “Really, Crowley. Is that all you think about?”
Crowley let himself be pushed, though there was no hiding his confusion—or the flash of hurt. “What are you on about?”
“I’m not always here for sex. I do have other matters to attend to.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Crowley muttered as Aziraphale made his way to the kitchen. He followed after and propped one hip against the counter, folding his arms while Aziraphale sipped his tea. “Fact is, I remember the last six, seven times you were here, and it always ended with your mouth around my cock.” He leaned closer with a serrated-edged grin. “I think someone is just feeling bratty tonight.”
Aziraphale huffed derisively. “Hardly. I am here on business. I shouldn’t expect a demon to understand the distinction.”
Some other time the bite of Aziraphale’s ridicule might have gotten lodged beneath his sternum. But he knew Aziraphale, and all this… peacocking was covering something much deeper.
“Mm. Might be right,” Crowley purred as he straightened. “Us demons do get to mix business and pleasure.” He stepped behind Aziraphale, arms coming up to cage him in against the counter, the barest sliver of space left between them. Crowley ran his nose along Aziraphale’s hairline, towards his ear, breath turning into a growl when Aziraphale subtly shivered. He dropped his voice low and gravelly—the voice that always made Aziraphale come undone—and let the words drip from his lips as pure Temptation. “Bet I can get you on your knees and gagging for it, O Supreme Archangel.”
Crowley couldn’t see Aziraphale’s face, but he could hear the condescending smirk in Aziraphale’s voice when he answered. “You are welcome to try.”
Fear and excitement were nigh-indistinguishable, down to their very components; the same deluge of adrenaline, the same tremble in the limbs, the same shakiness in breaths that came fast. Crowley, already flush with a cocktail of panic, felt almost dizzy as his body redirected, leaving him primed to fight or fuck. He shifted, trying to catch Aziraphale’s eye; Aziraphale was waiting, gaze wide and blue and full of a steel that Crowley wanted to bend. Their stalemate held for one long heartbeat. Then Aziraphale pointedly raised his eyebrows and turned his attention back to his cup of Earl Grey.
Oh. So it was going to be like that.
Crowley forced himself to step away. Everything in him was screaming to maul the Enemy, to rip and shred and tear.
But there was more than one way to bring an Adversary low.
One hand found Aziraphale’s shoulder and caressed the length of his arm, fingers clinging to the contact until the very. Last. Moment. Aziraphale’s eyes followed it down, lingered when Crowley splayed it wide in the crease of his own hip, thumb and forefinger framing the bulge in his trousers. Crowley pulled his thumbs up to hang from his belt loops as he backed into the sitting room, dragging both hands up his chest when he stopped near the sofa. He shucked his blazer with slow movements, the tip of his tongue pressed to the bow of his upper lip. The jacket went over the back of the sofa, and Crowley rolled his sleeves neatly to the elbow, holding Aziraphale’s eye. Aziraphale was still holding his tea, but staring with parted lips.
He was a demon, and he didn’t intend to play fair.
Aziraphale wetted his pretty pink lips as Crowley strode towards him with a walk all shoulders and hips. Those stormcloud eyes were darkening, pupils swelling with lust and darting over Crowley’s long, lithe form like Aziraphale couldn’t decide what he wanted to look at most. Crowley leaned back against the counter, this time much closer. Close enough to share Aziraphale’s heat. He smiled the smile that was always devastating, the one that could make Aziraphale so pliant and meek. Aziraphale exhaled softly, swaying nearer. Crowley blinked from under his lashes and curled a hand around Aziraphale’s nape, his grin as he pulled them together heated and sharp-edged.
“So what’ll it be, angel?” Crowley asked, low and sultry. With his free hand, he took Aziraphale’s mug and placed it beside the sink. “Business? Or pleasure?”
Aziraphale’s head snapped up, eyes straight ahead and cheeks burning. “You won’t bend me to your ways that easily, fiend.”
“Why not?” Crowley ran a single finger down Aziraphale’s spine, catching in all the hidden places that made him tremble. “You know how good I can make it for you. Let’s empty that pretty head of yours for a little while.” His chin was almost on Aziraphale’s shoulder when he murmured, “All you have to do is… give in.”
The look Aziraphale shot him was almost comically outraged. “Absolutely not! If you aren’t going to take this seriously–”
“Oh, I take you plenty seriously,” Crowley countered. “Nothing’s more serious to me than watching you fall apart on my cock.”
Aziraphale snatched him by the wrist, face red. “You will remove your hands from my person. Right now.”
“Or what,” Crowley taunted, stepping close enough that his chest brushed Aziraphale’s arm as they breathed.
“Or I shall leave.”
Crowley’s stomach plummeted. He already had to watch Aziraphale walk away at the end of every meeting. He couldn’t do it now.
He twisted his hand, quick and snake-like, until his long fingers clamped tight around Aziraphale’s arm. “You’re welcome to try,” he hissed, though he knew vulnerability leaked through every pore.
Aziraphale, blessedly, only took a moment to understand. A neutral mask slipped over his face as he took one large step back, putting distance between them, and sneered. “You’ll have to do a great deal more than that to keep me here.”
“Oh, yeah?” A wild kind of anticipation transformed terror to passion. He wasn’t hard, not yet, but he was definitely plumper in his jeans than he’d been before he’d pinned Aziraphale’s thumping pulse beneath his thumb.
Aziraphale yanked his elbow back, as if to wrest his hand free. Crowley held fast; not to restrain, but to be pulled along until he could sweep Aziraphale into his arms, trapping him against the island at their back. They were locked together from chest to shins, one of Crowley’s knees pressed to the inside of Aziraphale’s, wriggling between to open his legs. Aziraphale’s eyes were wide when Crowley slipped his hands beneath that atrocious grey jacket, tugging at the starched white shirt to get at skin.
For all of his gentleness, Crowley knew that Aziraphale could feel the violence in every touch. And yet Aziraphale let Crowley tip his chin up so that he could nip at the erogenous place beneath Aziraphale’s jaw.
“How ‘bout this?” Crowley said quietly, moving his mouth down the tendon in Aziraphale’s neck.
His lips had barely made contact before his world began to spin. In a flurry of motion that Crowley couldn’t follow, he found himself pinned flat to the counter, face ground into the marble while Aziraphale hiked one arm up into the middle of his back. His joints groaned, forcing Crowley to shift up onto his toes to take some of the pressure off his shoulder.
“Something rather more like this, I would think.”
The huskiness laced through Aziraphale’s flat voice betrayed him, his pointed response to Crowley’s softness a plea dressed in the trappings of a challenge. If Aziraphale was too tangled in his own head to give himself over to his desires, then Crowley would simply have to take him.
And he was more than happy to oblige. But first–
A press of will upon reality banished the bulk of his furniture to that place between places; the pieces left behind were perfect for circling, for bending Aziraphale over or for slamming him against. Another flicker in the sixth dimension and the room itself, already expanded well beyond its original confines, grew, the walls shimmering as they drew back another metre in each direction. A shiver, a release, and Crowley’s wings burst into being, knocking a shocked Aziraphale against the sink in a clatter of china. Something deep in the place that wanted him to cut and rend and tear snarled deep in his chest as his wings spread, lifting him just enough that he could vault the island.
Aziraphale’s stare when he turned back was icily unimpressed. “I should have known you would cheat,” he said haughtily.
Crowley shrugged. “Demon,” he replied, fangs peeking out from beneath an insolent grin.
“Mm,” Aziraphale said noncommittally. His chin raised a fraction, eyebrows following in an imperious glare. “And you’re sure you won’t yield?”
He could, Crowley mused. He’d done it before. He’d gone down on his knees, mindless and begging, where the only thing that would soothe the ache inside of him was Aziraphale’s cock. A few just-right tugs on his hair, filth and praise murmured in equal measure, that posh accent coming just as undone as Aziraphale…
Yeah. Crowley could be persuaded.
But, not tonight. Whatever was plaguing Aziraphale wouldn’t be purged if Crowley met defiance with submission.
So, Crowley slowly licked his lips, watching Aziraphale’s eyes dart down, as he rolled the single, arrogant syllable around in his mouth. “Nope.”
It took a moment before Aziraphale tore his gaze away from Crowley’s tongue, already beginning to split. Then he blinked, and when his eyes reopened it wasn’t Crowley’s angel standing there, but the one that belonged to Heaven.
“Very well.”
They stared at one another for a long beat of silence, poised behind the false safety of marble and oak. The paltry barrier was mere ornamentation, there to add authenticity to the way they began to circle, angel and demon each taking their steps as one. Something animalistic roared in Crowley’s blood, the thrill of the hunt thundering through his veins. At the right angle, it was reflected in Aziraphale’s cool blue eyes, all banked heat buried beneath dispassion.
And oh, how Crowley wanted to fan those embers into an inferno.
Aziraphale’s firm, measured stride was full of a confidence that Crowley should be proud of; he’d been tempting a spine into Aziraphale for almost five thousand years, watching it grow, one vertebra at a time. He, however, was less fond of the way it made Aziraphale study him. Like the other members of the Host did. Like he was nothing.
Crowley swallowed the acid that scorched the back of his throat. It isn’t real, he thought, almost begging the words into truth. Aziraphale had been a general, once; a great tactician, and none too shabby with an array of martial weapons. While Crowley couldn’t remember the War—those memories had been torn from him by the same uncaring hands that had stolen everything else—Aziraphale could. Just because he preferred to use mind over might didn’t mean that Crowley could discount the solid muscle beneath his soft padding, or how long he’d spent training motion into instinct.
It meant that, despite the way Crowley watched Aziraphale’s careful footwork, eyed his shoulders for a twitch, his hands and eyes for a tell, he was still caught off-guard when Aziraphale lunged.
He was fast, a blur that used all of his angelic speed, crashing through the counter with hands outstretched.
Crowley was faster, all finesse and dexterity to Aziraphale’s strongarmed brawn. He danced around Aziraphale’s groping fingers, so close that their heat flashed across his cheek, and used the momentum of one solid flap to ram his shoulder into Aziraphale’s flank. Aziraphale staggered, shoved off-course and flailing with both arms spread out wide. The dark, slithering thing inside that saw opportunity and whispered prey urged Crowley forwards, coiling in his chest in pre-emptive victory. He filled his lungs with the scent of angel, practically salivating as he stepped boldly into Aziraphale’s space.
Then he was flying, thrown over Aziraphale’s hip, crashing to the ground with a grunt that was half surprise, half pain. Crowley skidded across the stripped-bare floor, barely getting his wings out of the way while the wood tore at his chest through his button-down. He hadn’t even come to a stop yet when Aziraphale pressed a foot between the delicate bones protruding from his back, hard enough that his ribs creaked. Crowley coughed out a breath, enraged that actually, this kind of did it for him. Shame rushed away from his face and into his cock, only making him more aware of how much he wanted to grind down. Just once, just a second of relief.
Crowley growled.
“And now?” Aziraphale asked mildly. Crowley threw a dirty look over his shoulder, viciously pleased with himself that Aziraphale was a little pink in the cheeks and a lot tented in the trousers.
His own cock throbbed in malicious sympathy.
“You’ll have to do a great deal more than that,” Crowley shot back snidely. He’d never tested the extent of his true strength against Aziraphale’s. Never had the desire. Until now, when a need deeper than his very Self raged for it. Talons sprouted from his fingertips, venom-filled incisors tingled in his mouth, and his unwitting conquest was still so dangerously close, unaware that the moment Crowley was going to sheathe himself inside that struggling body ticked closer.
Aziraphale’s answer was cut off as Crowley writhed beneath his foot. One brutal thrust of his legs against the floor, one awkward-but-powerful whoosh of black feathers, and Crowley sent Aziraphale flat onto his back.
Crowley pounced while Aziraphale gasped for breath, climbing atop him with knees astride his thighs and elbows pinning the crook of Aziraphale’s arms. He curved his spine in a long, sensuous wave, rutting his denim-clad cock against Aziraphale’s, still trapped behind layers of cotton. Aziraphale jerked beneath him, raising his hips and then slamming them back down as he remembered himself. Crowley slid against him again, bringing his lips so close to Aziraphale’s that they nearly brushed with every breath in an underhanded trick that always made Aziraphale go limp and liquid.
His eyes were, indeed, half-lidded, but in a way that gave Crowley the unsettling sensation that he was being analysed.
“Yes, so I see,” Aziraphale said at last, apparently having come to a conclusion.
Now, as always, Crowley wondered what Aziraphale had read in his face. The feeling scraped against his core, Crowley suddenly more vulnerable, more seen, than was warranted. Crowley tightened his fingers while his upper lip curled. “So, show me what you’ve got, then, Supreme Archangel.”
While Aziraphale was normally quite good at schooling his expression, Crowley still saw the flinch in it, the tiny tic in one cheek that meant the barb had landed.
He had half a moment to enjoy the satisfaction before Aziraphale surged up, only Crowley’s lightning-quick reflexes saving him from a broken nose. He reared back, giving Aziraphale just enough room to slant an arm across his chest. Crowley grunted as he was knocked bodily to one side. One hand covered the nauseating cramp in his diaphragm as he scrambled to get his feet under him. Across from him, Aziraphale stood with preternatural grace, wings elegantly flared. Sheets of brilliant white shone beneath the harsh sitting room lights, reflecting a prism of beautiful colours from primaries to coverts.
Crowley couldn’t wait to dishevel each and every feather.
Steely eyes bored a hole through Crowley’s middle as Aziraphale methodically stripped off his suit jacket and left it crumpled in the remains of the island counter. That ugly tie followed, yanked overhead and tossed aside without another thought. Aziraphale dropped his waistcoat behind him, fabric bunched in a puddle of Heavenly grey. Two buttons of the pressed white shirt beneath had come undone in their struggle, and Crowley couldn’t decide whether to focus on the hints of white-blond chest hair, or the forearms that were bared one inch at a time as Aziraphale rolled up his sleeves. He looked obscene, half-dressed in Crowley’s sitting room, and the tingle of ethereal Intent that had allowed Aziraphale to pass his jacket through his wings sat in Crowley’s mouth like sunshine. Not the warmth of stone by the sea, perfect for laying against with feet dangling in the water, but the scorch of flame in a violently blue sky, tirelessly following over days of empty sand. It weighed heavily on his tongue, it burned, and Crowley felt the resulting thrill of it at the base of his spine.
“Well?” Crowley taunted, backing deeper into the flat.
Aziraphale prowled after him, a hunter who could acknowledge the danger of its prey. “I won’t take it easy on you,” he warned.
“Wouldn’t expect you to. Have an unworthy demon to put in its place.” Crowley spread his hands in invitation, grin manic and feral. “Go on, then. Try.”
There was the smallest raise of one brow, a minute acknowledgement of Crowley’s recklessness. Then Aziraphale’s eyes shone, resplendent and dazzling, their deep blue irises an abyss within the blinding radiance. Sanctity bit at Crowley, full-bodied, a million-million bursts of erupting stars that itched and burned. The staccato pinpricks were annoying, sure, but they were only skin-deep. Crowley didn’t know what Aziraphale was playing at, but he wasn’t about to be intimidated in his own God-blessed flat.
Crowley closed the distance between them in three long strides, ready to slam Aziraphale against the wall and kiss him into submission.
His hands got as far as the V of Aziraphale’s collar, and Crowley’s world went white.
The shock hit him before the pain did. Aziraphale had smitten him. The bloody bastard’s divinity was tearing at Crowley’s demonic Essence and strangling the cord that bound him to Hell. He crumpled to his knees, biting his tongue until blood dripped from between his lips in the fight to keep his mouth closed, to keep a single word contained; the one word that would stop this, stop it all. Talons clawed at the floor, gouging furrows into the wood and pulling splinters up beneath his nails. Crowley barely felt it, huffing out choking breaths through his nose that took the place of screams as Light—real Light—poured over his arched back, shoving him down to squirm on his belly like a snake. Like a worm.
Crowley locked his shaking elbows in an effort to stay upright. He managed to tip his head back, to glare at Aziraphale through the brilliance of the halo lighting every dark corner. If he squinted, he could make out Aziraphale’s face, mouth curved in an eerie smile. Static buzzed between Crowley’s ears when their eyes met, a white noise that distorted the signal between mind and body. He raked his eyes over Aziraphale, searching for weakness as the horrible splendour intensified.
The white panels of Aziraphale’s shirt hung at his sides, its buttons flung into the far reaches of Crowley’s flat. He must have ripped it open when he collapsed, leaving Aziraphale’s broad chest on full display, nipples pink and tight above the slight padding of his abdomen. Crowley worked his jaw as Aziraphale’s eyes smouldered, the smug, subjugating heat in them rankling him enough to do the unthinkable.
He spat a mouthful of blood onto Aziraphale’s bare stomach.
For a long moment they were both frozen, watching the red spatter as a drop separated from its fellows, as it wound its way through the small blond hairs leading to Aziraphale’s navel and then rolled inside. Crowley had never seen this particular blend of ire and disgust go to war over Aziraphale’s fine features, and he laughed despite himself. Aziraphale’s feathers puffed and Crowley only laughed all the harder, leaning forwards until he could grab Aziraphale by one ankle and his opposite knee and yank.
Aziraphale slammed into the floorboards with such force that the little old woman who lived in the flat below knocked on the ceiling. Crowley gasped almost as loudly as Aziraphale as the sizzling, popping, hallowed pressure vanished, Aziraphale’s concentration presumably knocked out of him along with his breath.
Panting, Crowley pulled Aziraphale into his lap, squeezing an elbow around his neck, free hand stretching one wing back almost painfully. “Going to pay for that,” he spat. “You ought to know by now that Evil always prevails over Good.”
“I– disagree–” Aziraphale said hoarsely, hands prying at Crowley’s iron hold.
“Disagree all you want,” Crowley snarled. He pushed up onto his knees, forcing Aziraphale with him. “See that?” he demanded, angling Aziraphale’s eyes down the hall. At the end of the corridor was Crowley’s favourite statue: one of the Fallen subduing one of the Host. “That’s us, Archangel. Art imitating life.”
“No,” Aziraphale grunted, finally getting his fingers beneath Crowley’s forearm. His manicured nails bit into the slender muscle, seemingly without care that they were leaving miniature gashes in their wake.
“Yesss,” Crowley hissed with mounting triumph. Every tiny motion in Aziraphale’s struggle was a glorious, wanton undulation; the twin flames of hunger and destruction licked at his insides, stoked higher and hotter with every angry swivel of Aziraphale’s hips.
Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice that he was squirming against Crowley’s cock, the white-hot brand of it seeking that tight, desperate place within, hidden by all of their many layers. He was driving Crowley out of his mind, and with it, his patience. Aziraphale had had his fun, but now it was time to remind him who he belonged to.
Dark tendrils, black laced through with red, coiled beneath angel and demon, their quiet susurrations like the turning of so many ancient pages. Crowley bared his teeth in something that was the same shape as a smile, but chiselled so differently that no one could ever mistake one expression for the other. Thick ropes climbed Aziraphale’s torso and wound around his biceps, carefully smothering every infinitesimal beam of Light that set his outline to glowing. They crawled over his wings, crisscrossing between his stunningly white feathers, anchoring them to a point beyond sight. Aziraphale was held by something so much greater than himself, and he wasn’t even aware of it. Oh, he may have been built more robustly, but Crowley had been Created as a mighty Seraphim, Formed to vanquish; he wielded that power now, deft and precise, setting his trap on the Ethereal plane while Aziraphale wrenched one arm free on the Material.
Crowley let him have his victory. It wasn’t about to make a difference.
Aziraphale thrust his elbow back, aiming for Crowley’s soft, unprotected belly. He dropped Aziraphale’s wing and, with that hand, snapped the Profane loops into being. Crowley grinned savagely as Aziraphale shouted his outrage; his arms were jerked down to his sides so suddenly that it threw him off-balance, only saved by the thinner strands that pulled his thighs apart. Aziraphale swore, resisting his bonds with the full force of the Divine. Crowley stumbled to his feet, shielding his eyes from the glare of Aziraphale’s Glory. His halo blazed, casting shadows that seemed all the darker for passing through Crowley’s bindings, and his wings flickered as they were shot through with stars. Like a constrictor, crimson-bellied onyx tightened with every movement, squeezing Aziraphale into submission.
“On your knees, just as I said,” Crowley rasped when Aziraphale was forced to stop for breath.
“But not, as you said, ‘gagging for it,’” Aziraphale spat, blue eyes turned almost slate as they slashed back towards Crowley.
“Yet.” Dark promise filled his voice as he cupped a hand around Aziraphale’s throat and pulled him flush against one hip.
The steady, sacrosanct brightness pressed to his abdomen was altogether too much. It shot through his middle like a knife, seeking everything that was hollow and empty and demon. Crowley hadn’t much cared for being an angel, never wanted to return to the cold, sterile halls of Heaven, but even he couldn’t deny that he ached for something to fill the void where the Almighty’s Love used to be. The consecration radiating from Aziraphale’s blessed halo reached into that bleak place, catching against its raw edges and sinking in with a euphoric agony. He groaned, the weight of Aziraphale’s body warm against his cock, the thrilling pulse of almost-pain and almost-bliss pumping into a pool that he’d spent six thousand years trying not to acknowledge. Now it had gone and runneth over, all this backed-up arousal a lit match dangled over a well of kerosene.
Crowley tore at his trousers, unable to stand the throbbing for one more second. His cock ached in his hand, and with a thought, satiny lube spilled from between his fingers as he gave himself a few perfunctory strokes. The red tip, blushing furiously, disappeared into his fist, reappeared wet and shiny. He’d seen this colour before, but not usually until Aziraphale had stolen at least four of his orgasms right from under him and blood seemed to rush in from every extremity. His cock arced up to his belly, resisting the pull towards the floor as Crowley gave another desperate tug. Aziraphale, fighting for breath past the hand clenching around his windpipe, managed to snap at Crowley’s fingers where they moved next to his cheek.
Well. In that case...
“What do you think you’re doing?” Aziraphale demanded as Crowley drew back one wing and slotted his cock into the small space beneath. He tried to twist away, but Crowley’s hold on him was iron, his bondage absolute, and the thrill of it pulsed in Crowley’s veins like living flame.
“Rubbing myself off on these pretty white feathers,” Crowley said around a showy moan. Some vanes were slightly bent, others a little askew, but all were silky smooth against his eager flesh. He was leaving a mess, lube and pre-come leaking in the fold of Aziraphale’s wing, smeared against the skin. “Fuck. Feels so good.” Aziraphale growled and used all the power those muscled legs to drive his shoulders into Crowley’s hips. Crowley shuffled back half a step, leaving Aziraphale at an impossible angle, hand still pinning him by the throat. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Right here. You stay right fucking here.”
Aziraphale’s eyes glittered. “You insolent–”
“Can pretend you don’t want this all you like,” Crowley growled. Satan, but this was good, the hot, sleek channel pulled snug around his cock. It was like pressing into the crack of an arse with silken panties pulled aside, or fucking a pair of thighs whose muscles trembled with the effort of staying nice and tight for him. “I know you do. And after I’m done marking you as mine, I’m going to fuck the truth out of you.”
The slight tremble beneath his palm made Crowley grin and press his fingers deeper into Aziraphale’s throat, enough for Aziraphale’s breath to hitch before he could give voice to his next bitchy retort.
“That’s it,” Crowley said, his soothing tone completely at odds with the way he moved. “Be so much easier if you give in.”
“You know that I won’t,” Aziraphale shot back, though much of his venom was lost in the way his eyes started to go distant and glassy.
“Well, you know me: never liked doing things the easy way anyhow.”
Crowley raised one eyebrow; a warning, a suggestion. One last chance to Aziraphale to relent.
Aziraphale shook his head.
“Oh. Good.”
One hand slapped across Aziraphale’s parted lips; a knee jammed into his back until it took on a beautiful arch. And then Crowley used his new grip on Aziraphale’s face to thrust in hard.
Jolted back to life, Aziraphale immediately bucked against him, the fire in his stare coming out in broken curses, muffled by Crowley’s palm. His wings flexed in an instinctive attempt at flight only to be ruthlessly weighed down with the same chains that bound him at Crowley’s feet.
Crowley gave Aziraphale one more furious inhale before his thumb and forefinger closed around that cherubic little nose.
“Love when you get like this, Archangel,” Crowley jeered as Aziraphale’s eyes rolled in his head and he flung himself this way and that in a futile bid to shake Crowley free. “Look at you, rubbing my cock all over you like you can’t help yourself.”
Feathers puffed around his length and Crowley finally relaxed his hold on the curve of Aziraphale’s wing to grab himself through the soft, fluffy down. Aziraphale was nearly apoplectic, cheeks flushed the colour of a good wine. Crowley stared down, unblinking, biting off little noises until finally he had to close his eyes against the roar of his peak. He spurted, thick and hot, into the mass of Aziraphale’s coverts, spreading come up Aziraphale’s shoulder as he shuddered through it.
Before the aftershocks passed, Crowley forced Aziraphale’s spine into a further, painful bend, bringing their faces close. “Never been so hot before, have you?” Crowley mocked. He nodded down at Aziraphale’s erection, an obscene, wet mountain in his trousers. “Well. Going to do you a favour then. Soon as I let go, you’re going to come for me. Yes, you are,” he hissed at Aziraphale’s weak denial. “Hope you’re ready.”
He released Aziraphale without further ceremony.
Aziraphale lurched upright with one gasping breath. Another. Then tossed his head back and shouted as he obeyed.
Crowley hissed through his teeth, jerking into Aziraphale’s sticky feathers as he watched the dark stain on Aziraphale’s stupid grey trousers bloom and spread. He’d taken Aziraphale apart with his words before, but nothing like this, not from using him. Crowley ground his hips in rolling little hitches with the realisation that he was still bloody hard. He gritted his teeth against a whine as pure pleasure became laced with oversensitivity, but he couldn’t stop, not while Aziraphale was still shaking with the force of his own humiliation-induced orgasm.
“You–” Aziraphale coughed when the tremors subsided. “Did you really think that would change anything?”
“Was I hoping a little mutual climax between hereditary enemies would calm you down? Nah. I like you a little feisty.” Crowley tucked his rigid cock away as best he could, buttoning his trousers but leaving the zip undone. Aziraphale wasn’t struggling in earnest yet, but Crowley didn’t want his dick out when it began.
“Fact is, though,” he continued, hands leaving Aziraphale for the first time since he’d fallen to his knees, “I don’t appreciate you lying to me.”
“Lying?” Aziraphale sputtered. “What do I possibly have to lie about?”
With a little hum, Crowley circled Aziraphale to crouch before him. One finger outlined the ridge of Aziraphale’s brow, the shell of his ear, the line of his jaw. Aziraphale’s face twitched but he didn’t pull away. Under the white-gold luminescence of his halo, with shadows cast beneath his nose, finding a home in the hollows of his cheeks, underscoring the startling blue of his eyes, he looked the part of a fearsome angel of the Lord. But his glare was becoming more performative, slower to remember his anger.
Crowley smiled. “That you came here just for this,” he crooned, that finger trailing down Aziraphale’s chest. “Couldn’t admit it to yourself, but you wanted a good fuck. Why else meet me here?”
“Because it’s already warded,” Aziraphale said with an exasperation that sounded real. “It’s been our meeting place for months and–”
“And never once have you left without letting me come inside you,” Crowley interrupted, his finger bypassing Aziraphale’s stomach altogether and closing around the blood-hot length of him, still jutting up into his ruined trousers. “This tells me that your mouth’s a liar, Archangel.” He squeezed and Aziraphale thrust into his hand with a broken sound. “Fight me again and I’m going to gag you.”
“Unhand me,” Aziraphale demanded from between gritted teeth. “I don’t wish to be soiled by your filthy fingers, and I certainly don’t want any more of your– your ejaculate near me.”
Ejaculate, Crowley almost mouthed, charmed. But something in Aziraphale was still pushing back, and Crowley had promised to fuck the resistance out of him.
So he tutted and rose, letting his face split into a cutting smile. The taste of copper still lined his teeth, and old blood had to be caught in the spaces between. Wariness replaced the fervour in Aziraphale’s gaze as he trailed his fingers idly through both sets of Aziraphale’s feathers, the flesh beneath trembling as his wings tried to lift off the floor.
“Told you: fight me again and I’m going to gag you.” Crowley’s smirk turned cruel. “Love that mouth of yours too much to block it up, though.”
A little furrow of confusion formed between Aziraphale’s brows. It disappeared as his eyes went wide with realisation, half a second before Crowley’s fist clenched around his halo.
Energy crackled under his Damnation, sizzling like he’d taken hold of an electric fence. Aziraphale gasped and spasmed so hard it was nearly a convulsion, the sounds he made searing Crowley’s insides with an intensity he’d only ever felt while pouring himself into the depths of Aziraphale’s willing body. Crowley throbbed below the navel, seeking softness and slickness and heat even while his hand scorched and burned. Seconds stretched into aeons while they stayed locked together, Aziraphale’s bottomless eyes boring into his own as he put all of his infernal strength into his pull.
With one last wrench, Aziraphale’s halo came free.
Aziraphale cried out, something so full of pleasurable pain that Crowley nearly dropped to his knees himself. It was a noise that he’d only heard when holding Aziraphale on the edge of climax, when his arms were strung overhead and his cock was too tender to touch. He wanted more of that, wanted to wrap his long fingers around Aziraphale’s shaft, let his tongue explore the salt-bitter head. He wanted to feel that velvet length, taste Aziraphale’s desperation as he chased any bit of satisfaction that he could through the rigidity of his restraints.
Crowley shivered as he ran one hand along the halo’s inside curve, the sparks beneath his fingers almost as erotic as Aziraphale’s resulting moan. The overpowering lambency had dimmed enough that, if Crowley looked carefully, he could make out the ancient Enochian script around the rim. It was the one language in the universe that he couldn’t read, the knowledge of it torn from him along with his Grace, but the sight of it still stirred something deep inside, in the place where a single vestige of sanctity still lived. It was that small flicker that had allowed him to do so many blessings in Aziraphale’s name—and that now allowed him to hold the most sacred part of an angel without being immolated.
Deeper than that, Aziraphale was allowing this. He was allowing Crowley to twirl his bloody halo around one finger while he paced back and forth with a face full of disdain. Light strobed as he did, and Crowley liked the think that it matched the rabbiting pulse of Aziraphale’s heart.
“Ever use a ring gag, Archangel?” Crowley said conversationally. “Quite a bit of fun. Well. Will be for me, anyway.”
The implications took a moment to filter through Aziraphale’s pleasure-soaked mind. Crowley saw the moment realisation dawned; those sultry eyes turned grey and flat, and a muscle ticked in Aziraphale’s jaw as he ground his teeth.
Crowley grinned.
Standing before Aziraphale, he took the halo between both hands and pressed. Aziraphale let out a delicate cry, but didn’t look away while his symbol of pure Holiness shrunk under Crowley’s vicious pressure. When it could fit neatly in one palm, Crowley took it between two fingers and held it to the light, like it wasn’t hurting his eyes just to look at.
“Think this’ll do, yeah?”
Aziraphale glowered, but didn’t speak.
One hand curled beneath Aziraphale’s chin, taking the hinge of his jaw between ungentle fingers. “Open,” he ordered, digging into the sensitive joint.
Aziraphale snarled and tried to jerk his face away, but the obsidian coils were stronger. They slithered up Aziraphale’s neck, pushing into the hollow space behind Crowley’s thumb and forefinger until his head was forced up, forced back. Aziraphale’s face twisted in impotent fury while tendrils crept in at the corners of his mouth, trapping his tongue so that Crowley could wriggle the halo into place behind Aziraphale’s bottom teeth. Aziraphale, unable to shake Crowley’s constricting fingers, snarled. Crowley ignored him and manoeuvred the glowing golden ring until it fit snugly against the roof of Aziraphale’s mouth. Garbled protests escaped, shading closer to profanity as Crowley crammed three fingers through the halo and spread them, expanding it until he was sure that Aziraphale’s jaw would ache from the strain.
“There we are,” he said, gently moving in long, slow strokes, down to the knuckle and then out to the tips. “Just needed a firm hand, didn’t you?” Furious blue eyes glared at him from above the angry purple of Aziraphale’s face, and Crowley had the distinct sensation that, had his mouth not been wedged open, Aziraphale would have fucking bitten him.
For the best, then, that he was gagged. Crowley didn’t need teeth marks on his cock.
The hand not holding Aziraphale by the chin flicked open the button on his trousers. He thought he’d been hard before; now, guiding his cock into Aziraphale’s throat, the sharp thrum of Purity along his length, Aziraphale’s involuntary little moans as Crowley rolled his hips, Crowley was surprised he could angle himself down far enough to shove inside. Whatever Aziraphale felt as Crowley dragged one long point of Unhallowed touch over his halo was making him shudder hard enough that he was dependent entirely on Crowley’s power to hold him up.
“Ought to do this more often,” Crowley grunted, taking Aziraphale’s mouth in short, sharp thrusts. “Strip you down. Keep you in my bed. Use you I want whenever I want. Love that, wouldn’t you? The Supreme Archangel of all Heaven, just a hole for a lowly demon.”
There was no mistaking the way Aziraphale’s lashes fluttered, blue eyes disappearing behind a shield of overwhelm. Crowley tangled one hand in Aziraphale’s hair, opposite hand cupped beneath his chin so that Crowley could thumb at the bulge of his cock through one soft, satiny cheek.
“Nothing better than this mouth,” Crowley growled. “Should leave you just like this. Keep me warm ‘til I’m ready to go again.” Aziraphale’s eyes, already gently closed, screwed shut on a moan. “That’s right, Archangel,” he said, all bite taken out of the word. “Can be more than just a hole for me. Could be such a good pet. Know I’d take care of you. Give you exactly what you deserve. Just have to give in.”
Aziraphale groaned in the back of his throat, a vibration that Crowley felt all the way to the root. He moved out, impossibly slow, and back in with a control that trembled. Aziraphale seemed frozen, hard breaths through his nose feeding his billowing chest, until, finally, some sort of tension eased and he met the next shove of Crowley’s hips with a bob of his head.
“Yes,” Crowley hissed, fingers going tight in Aziraphale’s curls as need streaked through him with the force of a lightning strike. “Yeah, angel, just like that.” His words were tender, but he slapped against Aziraphale’s lips with a new fervour; hard and fast, exactly how Aziraphale liked it. “Want me to paint this pretty face?” Aziraphale made a noise of dissent and drove himself more enthusiastically down Crowley’s cock. Crowley laughed, breathy, and cradled Aziraphale’s face in both hands to run his thumbs around the halo’s auriferous edge. “Show me, then. Show me how much you want it.”
And fuck, Aziraphale shuffled closer on his knees, expertly taking Crowley past the point that a human would gag. The noise that followed was petulant and disgruntled, his arms still immobile where Crowley hadn’t yet released him. The thought was heady—Aziraphale, finally subdued, his hands tugging Crowley’s trousers down to grab at his balls, his arse. But what he really wanted was this: his angel swept away in submission, whimpering around his cock.
“Just like this,” Crowley encouraged softly, smooth motions stuttering as Aziraphale did the thing with his tongue that never failed to take his legs out from under him. “Getting close, so fucking close–”
That talented tongue pressed the side of Crowley’s cock, the one with the sensitive vein, firmly against the gleaming band that added so much heat to Aziraphale’s mouth; Crowley came so loud and long and hard that the downstairs neighbour beat on the ceiling again. Aziraphale choked around him as Crowley spent himself in an orgasm that felt as if it had been ripped from another plane, wrapped around his True Self and tugged out through his cock.
Crowley staggered as he pulled free. Aziraphale was lapping at his tip, unable to suckle as he usually did, but desperately trying anyway. He eased back, panting, one hand still holding Aziraphale by the hair at his crown. Aziraphale gazed up at him with half-lidded eyes, cheeks glowing red while strings of come and drool dripped from his wide, ravaged mouth. His wings had twisted in Crowley’s ropes, fanning low in subservience, knees spread wide to bring attention to the hot, throbbing point at their apex. Crowley squeezed his cock just so that it didn’t get any ideas.
“Ready for me to give you what you need?” he asked quietly, reaching between Aziraphale’s teeth to caress the bottom edge of his halo. Now that he knew this could reduce Aziraphale to a wordless puddle, Crowley was going to take advantage of it much more often.
The glittering circle of Grace dissolved beneath his touch. Aziraphale closed his pink, puffy lips around Crowley’s forefinger, laving the attention on it that he wasn’t able to give Crowley’s cock. Crowley groaned despite himself, staring at those red-rimmed eyes; wet at the corners and threatening to overflow.
“Being so good for me. Now let me take care of you.” Crowley gently slid his finger free, tucking it beneath Aziraphale’s chin when he chased it. “Whatever you want.”
“Crowley,” he said hoarsely, shattered and pleading while tears tracked down those perfect, cherubic cheeks. “Oh, Crowley, I need– I need–”
Crowley fell to his knees and swept Aziraphale into a deep, dirty kiss. “Anything,” he promised. “Everything. I’ll do it all for you.”
“Your hands. God, your hands.” Hot droplets of surrender welled and ran, soaking into Crowley’s thumbs as he wiped them from below Aziraphale’s lashes. “Touch me. God, please.”
“I’ve got you, angel. You know I do.” Aziraphale nodded blearily as Crowley wriggled his hands under his arse and lifted. The plushest mattress that Crowley could imagine, dressed in silky black sheets, stretched out to receive Aziraphale as he laid him down. Huge, plush pillows rushed to meet them, leaving Aziraphale propped up against the cloudlike wall of them while dark coils pulled his legs apart so that Crowley could crawl between them. “Want me inside you?” he asked against Aziraphale’s lips. “Said I would fuck the truth out of you.”
“Your fingers,” Aziraphale gasped as Crowley slid his palm up the blood-hot length of him, giving a gentle squeeze to the tip. The mess in his trousers didn’t stop Aziraphale from bucking into Crowley’s hand, his eyes huge and beseeching.
“Can do that,” Crowley said, taking Aziraphale’s mouth in a desperate, biting kiss. He’d just come twice for Satan’s sake, but the arousal nipping at the base of his spine hadn’t abated, wouldn’t, not until he was satisfied with Aziraphale’s pleasure.
He could have removed Aziraphale’s trousers with a thought, but it was so much more gratifying to tear them in two, leaving Aziraphale in the tatters of his Heavenly attire and baring his red, tumescent cock. The shaft was hot and heavy in Crowley’s hand, sticky with the remains of his previous zenith and slippery with fresh passion. Aziraphale moaned with such volume when Crowley clenched his fist around him that he was sure the old woman downstairs was going to complain later. He couldn’t bring himself to care, not when Aziraphale was whimpering into his mouth while Crowley stripped his cock in long, sure strokes.
“Tell me you needed me. Needed this,” Crowley said, moving his lips to Aziraphale’s throat and impatiently sinking his teeth in. If he did it right, this spot was able to make Aziraphale explode completely untouched.
Aziraphale cried out, a sound that sounded like his very soul was being ripped apart. “More than I can say,” he admitted, choked. “I tried– For days, Crowley. And I couldn’t–” More tears spilled, running the length of his jaw to drip from his chin.
Crowley’s fingers went tight against the base of Aziraphale’s cock, his exhale darkly pleased. “Tried this Upstairs, did you? Naughty, angel.” Every time he blinked he saw an afterimage of Aziraphale behind his lids, hidden in a corner of Heaven, hands furiously at work between his legs. “No wonder you were in such a mood. Were all pent up, weren’t you?”
“I couldn’t, Crowley. Not without you.” Aziraphale’s head tipped back, finally allowing himself to sink into the pillows, into his bondage. The wetness on his cheeks seeped into the curls at his temple, the shell of his ear.
“Good,” Crowley growled, something deep and possessive and jealous expanding in his chest. “All this belongs to me, doesn’t it? I didn’t give you permission to come Up There.”
“I tried so hard,” Aziraphale whispered, opening his knees even further. His feet almost hung off either side of the large mattress, the panels of his open shirt coming down to frame his cock, and Crowley wanted to devour him. “I wanted to feel you everywhere.”
He shouldn’t be getting hard again, not so soon, but bless it all, how could he not? Aziraphale was telling him that he bloody fingered himself in those cold, white halls, making himself sweet and needy and thinking of Crowley. Crowley shuddered, sure that he exhaled pure desire.
“Touched yourself here?” he asked, pressing two miraculously-oiled fingers to Aziraphale’s entrance.
“Earlier,” Aziraphale confessed with burning cheeks. His damp eyes closed almost to slits, and his ragged breaths resembled sobs. “I wanted– Oh, Crowley, I need you so much.”
“You have me,” he murmured, voice soft. Crowley pressed another long kiss to Aziraphale’s lips, free hand in Aziraphale’s hair as he drove his circling fingers in to the hilt. Aziraphale’s mouth opened in a soundless scream, lashes fanning against his cheeks and pushing out relief-laced tears. “Good, so good, angel,” Crowley said into the damp curve of Aziraphale’s jaw. “See what happens when you give in?”
Aziraphale’s breath came in huge, hiccoughing inhales, face splotched carmine from the praise. Crowley pecked him twice more in reward, mercilessly dragging his fingers over that spot inside. Aziraphale clamped his teeth on Crowley’s shoulder, his broad hips jerking erratically in a quest to find friction for his swollen, drooling cock.
“P- please,” Aziraphale whispered against Crowley’s skin.
“Yeah, angel. ‘Course. Told you anything, didn’t I?”
Crowley inched back until he could curl around himself in the wide V of Aziraphale’s legs. He hooked the elbow of his free hand over Aziraphale’s thigh, at exactly the right angle to grip his cock. Aziraphale screamed as Crowley’s fingers fisted around his neglected length, clearly oversensitive and yet fucking himself forward and back in fast, messy thrusts.
“Give it to me, angel. I want it, all of it.” He pumped Aziraphale more deliberately, twisting his wrist and passing his thumb over the head on every upstroke. Aziraphale’s whines went high and tight, head thrashing, and Crowley pushed a third finger in beside the other two. “That’s it. Come for me.”
Aziraphale obeyed like there was no universe in which he couldn’t.
Crowley, faced with the incandescent radiance of Aziraphale’s climax, couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut: “Yeah, so fucking good for me, you’re gorgeous, fuck, can never get enough of you, look at you like this.” He gently slowed the frenzied motions of his hands until they were shifting in the barest of motions, dragging Aziraphale’s satisfaction out like taffy. Aziraphale’s breath kept hitching, inner walls squeezing the life from Crowley’s fingers while his cock jumped in Crowley’s fist. “Still going, hmm?” he asked with a soft laugh, finding that place under the flare of Aziraphale’s tip and applying his thumb.
“It’s…” Aziraphale groaned, deep in his chest, the kind of sound that was usually accompanied by another hot spurt of release. “Oh, God.”
“Take as much as you want, angel. Going to be right here with you.” Crowley tried to subtly rub himself against the sheets, mesmerised by the rolling of Aziraphale’s hips. Hot, wet flesh found a matching rhythm, sliding over black satin slow and deep, drawing out every bit of sensation. Crowley was going to die. The cool, slippery fabric was too good, and his overresponsive nerves were tugging him towards yet another peak.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale slurred. “Crowley, darling, oh God–”
“Fuck,” Crowley bit out, squeezing his eyes closed. “Fuck, angel, I’m gonna–”
“Yes,” Aziraphale breathed.
He jerked his hand away from Aziraphale’s cock to fly over his own, looking down into glazed blue eyes full of such adoration he didn’t know how one body could possibly contain it all. A few taut strokes and then Crowley was coming, spilling between his fingers and dripping onto Aziraphale’s leg.
“You’re so lovely like this,” Aziraphale said as Crowley pressed his forehead to Aziraphale’s sternum, riding pleasure so crystallized that it almost hurt.
“I am, am I?” Crowley rasped, the teasing lilt to his voice matching his half-sated, half-mischievous smile as he lifted his head.
“Impossibly so.”
“Pretty beautiful yourself.” The hand covered in his third orgasm slid over Aziraphale’s barely-softened cock, coating the thick length with a loose fist. Aziraphale sighed, rocking into the touch, head lolling back against the pillows. Crowley nibbled up the inside of Aziraphale’s thigh and growled “Especially when I do this” into the crease.
Then he swallowed Aziraphale down.
Crowley groaned as their combined taste flooded his mouth. He dutifully cleaned every inch, lapping at Aziraphale’s still turgid-shaft and sucking at the head until his name ran together in Aziraphale’s mouth and Aziraphale’s knees came between them in an effort to ward him away. Quite pleased with himself—with Aziraphale’s crimson-flushed cheeks and how the red raced down his heaving chest—Crowley chuckled and flopped onto one side, motioning Aziraphale down with him.
“Come here, angel.”
A flick of Crowley’s long fingers sent the Unholy bonds writhing away to another plane. Aziraphale immediately threw his newly-freed arms around Crowley’s neck and pulled them together, skin on skin from lips to knees while he pulled contented moans from deep within Crowley’s chest. Happier than he had been in weeks, Crowley broke their kiss with a parting nip, rolling onto his back and bringing Aziraphale with him. His angel was exactly where he belonged: completely unclothed, wrapped in all of Crowley’s limbs, head tucked safely beneath his chin.
Long minutes came and went in companiable silence. Crowley pulled his fingers through Aziraphale’s curls, dropped idle pecks to his crown, the only sign that time was passing the thudding of their hearts. There was a tension in Aziraphale that no amount of domination could touch, and Crowley had learned over the past three years that all he could do was wait it out.
Sure enough, Aziraphale buried his face in Crowley’s neck with an exhale that somehow carried untoward amounts of self-flagellation. “I owe you an apology,” he said stiffly.
Crowley scratched soothing circles at the base of Aziraphale’s neck. “Yeah, you do,” he agreed easily. Bless the humans for being right, he thought with a wry smile. Even a year ago, this might have been a row. But he and Aziraphale talked now—about their feelings, even. “You know I’ll forgive you.”
“Yes, I know.” Aziraphale blew out another breath and raised his head. His blue eyes were bright and clear, if a little bloodshot, the rest of his face exactly as ruined as Crowley had hoped. “I apologize, darling. My behaviour was ghastly.” A muscle beneath his eye twitched, one corner of his mouth ticking down in disapproval. “Although was spitting on me really necessary?”
“You smote me!” The noise Aziraphale made in return—an incoherent backpedal that more resembled something that would come from Crowley himself—made Crowley grin. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, tipping Aziraphale’s face up. “I'll forgive you, if you forgive me.”
Aziraphale didn’t answer with words, but with a sweet press of his mouth that made Crowley want to melt. He didn’t do anything as undemonic as nuzzle, but when their noses brushed, he didn’t pull away. Incredible, that it could be that simple; he would forgive Aziraphale anything—as long as he asked for it.
Crowley was quiet a moment longer, gliding his hands the length of Aziraphale’s spine and back, then ventured, “Do you need to talk about it?”
Aziraphale made a face that meant he’d picked up on the operative word in the question: not what he wanted, but what he needed. But he didn’t immediately stutter or deflect, and something like pride swelled behind Crowley’s ribs. “The pressure Upstairs might be getting to me,” he divulged at last. “Everyone is very keen to be getting on with things.”
Crowley squeezed him just a little bit tighter. “What would you say to talking it out in the bath?”
“Oh, a bath sounds divine.” Crowley grinned against the top of Aziraphale’s head at the obvious longing in his voice. Well. It had been a few months—too long for one hedonistic angel. Aziraphale seemed to sense it, and retaliated by jabbing him in the side. “And you will clean that unpleasantness you left in my feathers, yes?”
“’Course,” Crowley promised solemnly, though he could feel the twinkle in his eye.
“Excellent,” Aziraphale replied primly. “I should hate to have to take you to task over it.”
Crowley snorted. “No you wouldn’t.” This close, he could see his own gleaming irises reflected in Aziraphale’s pupils as he purred, “Dishonesty? From the Supreme Archangel? Might have to punish you for that.”
“Can it wait until we’re clean?” Aziraphale said plaintively.
“Nope.”
He solved the problem with a snap and flipped them in the pile of pillows, to the sound of Aziraphale’s ringing, delighted laughter.