Happy Holidays, Meganbobness!
Title: Nine-Tenths of Reality
Recipient: meganbobness
Author: aten_ra
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley; past Aziraphale/other angel
Rating: R/NC-17
Word Count: 4594
Prompt: Crowley showing Aziraphale that his pudginess is absolutely adored. (BONUS POINTS: I'd also love any kind of backstory on either of their sexual history with other angels/demons/humans that have formed the way they approach love/sex.)
"Aziraphale, the faces you make. Really, I wish you could see them."
Aziraphale looked away and primly smoothed down his feathers. "Thank you, no."
"Oh, now, don't be so missish, dear prince."
"I wish you wouldn't call me that."
Raziel ignored the complaint. "And that extra padding makes for some interesting effects." He pinched Aziraphale's side, chuckling as the Principality squirmed and bit his lip in an attempt to not react. "Do you think humans know how ridiculous they look doing this sort of thing? Though I suppose it's a fair trade for how it feels."
Aziraphale was giving serious thought to gagging the Archangel when Raziel rolled onto his back and gave that brilliant, disarming grin that had attracted him in the first place. Raziel was lovely to look at, no two ways about it: dark skin, black hair falling past his shoulders in unruly waves, luminous amber eyes, and wings of some shade that no one in the Spheres could seem to agree on. And Aziraphale was just as enamored of the bastard’s beauty as the rest. The only difference was the he got to do something other than look.
"But you, dear prince, can make me look as ridiculous as you like."
And while some part of Aziraphale felt that anyone would suffice for Raziel, he just couldn't bring himself to tell him to bugger off.
***
Aziraphale stared at the ridiculously large mirror that had taken up residence over most of a wall in the bedroom and watched an expression of horror bloom across his face, reminding him one of Crowley’s more terrified perennials. “Er, my dear?” he called. “When did you acquire this-” Monstrosity. “-mirror?”
Crowley’s voice floated in from the kitchen. “Delivered this morning, while you were out shopping.”
Of course. That was usually the way it went: if Crowley wanted something he thought was too modern or trendy for the angel’s taste, he arranged to have it brought in when Aziraphale was out so that he’d feel obligated to at least give it a fair shake. Though, to be fair, he tended to do the same sort of thing, as was the case with the Pingshui gunpowder green tea that Crowley was fussing with.
“And, ah, why did you get one so large?” Really, there was no hiding from one’s reflection, he was discovering as he walked about the room. Even on the bed. Aziraphale cringed as he sat on the edge of the mattress. Across the way, a plump, bespectacled, man-shaped being cringed back in sympathy.
“Best way to get more light without going to the trouble of knocking out another window, for one,” Crowley answered as he padded into the room with a pair of steaming cups. “You’re trying this first, by the way.”
Aziraphale gave an amused huff and took the offered cup. “Really, Crowley. It’s only green tea.”
“I prefer black. Or jasmine.”
He chose not to point out that Crowley’s favourite jasmine variety was green, and sipped his tea instead. The slight smokiness was something of a surprise - the clerk hadn’t mentioned that part of the profile - and he sipped again, trying to decide whether he cared for it.
Crowley watched for a moment, and took a taste from his own cup. “Not bad,” he conceded. “I don’t think I’d want it every day, but now and then might be nice.” He took another sip and said, “You don’t like it.”
“Mm. I’m not sure yet. It’s a bit different than what I’m used to.”
He snorted. “I think that’s most things, angel.”
“You’re as much of a creature of habit as I am, dear boy, so don’t start. Now, about this turning one of our walls into a floor-to-ceiling mirror….”
“I thought we were talking about the mirror.”
“I was talking about the tea.”
“Oh.” Crowley tapped his nails lightly against the side of the cup. “Well, what about it? Makes for better light, makes the room look bigger….”
“We could get some lamps if you feel the lighting’s that poor, my dear. And I like the bedroom cozy. That-” Aziraphale gestured at the mirror. “-makes me feel like I’m in a department store.” Not to mention, uncomfortably exposed.
Crowley’s taste in furniture could do the former on its own, though the addition of some pillows and throws took away a great deal of the ‘just for show’ look, as did the fact that they both lived there. There was always some bit of clutter here and there to give things that lived-in look, though Crowley refused to allow things to get truly messy.
“Could frame it with curtains or something, I suppose,” Crowley mused. “Give it a week. If you still hate it, we’ll try that. Or maybe get a smaller one with an actual frame if you like.
“One that doesn’t line up with the bed would be nice.”
Crowley grinned then, and took Aziraphale’s cup before setting them both aside on the nightstand. “But that’s the best part. Look.”
Aziraphale watched, bemused, as Crowley sat and scooted back to curl around him and rest his pointed chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder.
“I get to watch you while I do thisss.” Crowley turned his head and cut his eyes at the mirror while a thin, forked tongue danced up the side of Aziraphale’s neck and over the sensitive soft spot behind his ear.
“That is completely unfair,” Aziraphale muttered, shivering as his eyes went half-lidded. It would be nice to see Crowley’s expression for once while he paid special attention to the scales that ran up the length of the demon’s spine, but a much smaller mirror would do just as well.
Crowley made a sound of agreement and shifted to hold Aziraphale’s gaze as he nibbled around the shell of one ear with teeth a bit too sharp and a tongue a bit too ticklish flicking at the tingling skin between nips.
“C-crowley!” At that rate, he wasn’t going to get to muster up much effort to thwart this particular wile. Aziraphale bit down on his lower lip, hard, and leaned back a little so he could brace himself up with his hands. One ended up on Crowley’s bare ankle, and an impulse to run his nails down Crowley’s foot was quickly suppressed.
Crowley might have been the more sensitive of the pair when it came to tickling, but he was also more creative in terms of playful revenge, and Aziraphale was in no hurry to experience the Quetzalcoatl variation on his serpent form again. Not until he was sure he’d sufficiently subverted the ivy growing up the exterior wall to make it a fair fight.
“-watch yourself,” Crowley was saying as one hand deftly loosened Aziraphale’s belt and undid his trousers.
Aziraphale’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Beg-ah-beg pardon?”
“I sssaid,” Crowley repeated, amused, “I could even watch you watch yourself. Or vice versa, of course. Fair is fair.”
That came as a surprise. Aziraphale felt himself stiffen - not in the good way - and tore his eyes from Crowley’s reflection to stare at his own face as the flush across his cheeks deepened and spread down his throat. “Watch myself?”
“Having a wank. You should see yourself sometimes, angel.”
***
Raziel had the expression of amused arousal down pat: eyes dark and heavy-lidded and crinkled at the corners while his lips curled into a smile that was lopsided enough to be smirky, but that showed enough of a hint of tooth that it could be called a grin instead.
Aziraphale wished he could say he was in on the joke, but he never was. Sometimes, like now, even with Raziel drawing deep, unnecessary breaths past his smiling lips as Aziraphale rode his cock , he felt like the butt of one.
After they'd spent themselves - him with an ill-muffled cry and Raziel with a gasp and rustle of feathers - he propped on one elbow to look down at the Keeper of Secrets, who was on his back in a relaxed sprawl and looking all too pleased with himself.
"Ah, you should see yourself sometime," Raziel told him, smacking his rounded stomach lightly. "You look so...human."
Aziraphale tried not to look hurt as Raziel kept prodding at the softness of his form, though by then, he'd seen enough of Raziel's snobbery with regards to mortals to know that 'human' to Raziel meant something akin to 'ridiculous.' He suddenly found that he missed Crowley, and wished he knew where the serpent was those days.
***
Aziraphale grew aware that Crowley had removed his hand, and sensed rather than saw him waiting for the signal to continue.
“Aziraphale?”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “You must have been looking forward to-”
“No apologies,” Crowley cut in as he rubbed the back of his neck with a chagrined expression. “At least none from your end. I’m the sorry one. Should’ve brought something like this up first so we could talk about it.”
Aziraphale sighed. “Well, it’s come up now.”
Crowley looked between Aziraphale and the mirror and frowned. “I can just send it back and get a smaller one to hang. There’s no need to make it more than it has to be.”
“No worries, my dear.” Aziraphale gave a small smile and pat Crowley’s hand. “It’s not the mirror per se, nor anything you’ve done. Give me a moment to collect my thoughts?”
Relief flashed across Crowley’s face, and he nodded and squeezed Aziraphale’s hand before standing to retrieve their cups. “Kitchen or sofa?”
“Sofa, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Take your time, angel.”
Aziraphale watched with a fond expression as Crowley left the room. He had the feeling that when he finally emerged, there would be something rich and comforting waiting for him with which to break the 'no food on the sofa' rule.
Rich. He looked down at his belly and sighed, running a hand back through his messy curls. He didn't actually dislike it. His body, like his clothing, was comfortable, and he never gave it much thought in other contexts. He didn't even tend to think of great deal it when he and Crowley made love; Crowley's obvious enjoyment didn't leave much room for insecurity, especially once he'd insisted Aziraphale let him give as good as he got.
As a lover, Crowley, he'd found, didn't do passive well. Nor selfish.
Aziraphale was still adjusting to that bit. Raziel hadn't been particularly giving, so he was accustomed to being the one who put forth most of the effort, and used to his partner letting him. Crowley had surprised him by being a more active participant, being present, and and it was still something of a struggle when Crowley wanted to be allowed to take care of him.
He hoped it wouldn't bother Crowley overmuch that he'd been involved before, but that, he felt, was where he'd need to start. Until a moment ago, he hadn’t realised how much Raziel’s careless comments had stayed with him. Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale pushed himself to his feet to set his clothing to rights, and then made his way to the living room.
Crowley was waiting on the sofa, sipping what appeared to be another cup of the gunpowder green. Sitting nearby was a steaming mug of cocoa, complete with a dollop of whipped cream that looked as though someone hadn’t been able to resist swiping a fingertip through, and what appeared to be the last of the batch of sweet rolls they’d picked up the other day.
The sight warmed him as surely as the cocoa would, and Aziraphale wondered how he could have ever settled for anyone less.
“I suppose,” he began as he settled on the sofa, mug in hand, “I ought to have told you that I have a…slight bit of history.”
“At our age, it’s more than just a ‘slight bit,’ however you slice it,” Crowley said dryly. “And whatever it is, I doubt it’s as shocking as you think.”
Aziraphale made a noncommittal sound and tasted his cocoa. Heavenly. Or better than, considering that Heaven wasn’t particularly known for its beverage selection. "It’s history," he finally said, after a longer sip, "in that I've had a lover. Before you."
Crowley rolled his eyes. "Is that all? Angel, you fumbled less than I did the first time out the gate. I figured you must've had some sort of experience from somewhere.”
"To be fair, you caught up rather quickly."
"Well, you're not the only one with a 'slight bit' of a history, as you put it. It just never seemed worth bringing up." Crowley tilted his head. "Except now it is for some reason."
Aziraphale closed his eyes and wrapped both hands around his mug. "'You should see yourself,'" he repeated quietly, and looked back at Crowley. "I know what you mean, but you're not the first I've heard that from. It hasn't always been complementary."
Crowley's lips thinned at that, pressing into an angry line. "Do tell." Judging by his tone, he was now quite interested in meeting Aziraphale's former paramour and giving him a piece of his mind, at the very least.
"He's rather beyond your reach, my dear. And it was a very long time ago, after the Flood. I'd lost track of you after everyone vacated the ark." He’d always suspected that Crowley had found a rock to sun on and not moved for the next few months. The demon had hated being stuck on what was essentially a large floating barn, especially as a snake. Crowley and horses were just a bad combination all around.
"I went off to get some much-needed alone time after some well-meaning stowaway dropped me in a bloody basket with an overly-affectionate sand boa.” Crowley shook his head. “I still can’t believe you thought I’d go after the birds.”
“You were the stowaway, my dear. And something kept making off with the eggs.”
Crowley opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, and tipped his head back to rest against the back of the sofa. “So, post-Flood. Kind of lean pickings in those days, wasn't it?"
"Only in terms of humans."
"So, who- Wait. You mean you and another angel?"
"Raziel, yes. Suitably shocking, my dear?"
Crowley stared for a moment, and then shook his head. "Figures the angel who won't sell a book hooks up with the one who just gives one away. Some Keeper of Secrets he was."
"Well, after the apple incident, he didn't see much reason to keep it from them, though some of the others begged to differ." Aziraphale shook his head; he was getting off topic. "But after the Flood, there were actually quite a few angels pairing off. Humans, or at least siring children with humans was, as you can imagine, out of the question, but nothing was ever said about relations with each other."
Or about relations with humans that wouldn’t produce half-blooded offspring, but nobody had been bold enough to put that to the test so soon after the Flood.
"Your comment about Raziel isn't completely off the mark, by the by,” Aziraphale added. “He was tight-lipped about Secrets, but he was a terrible gossip about everything else." Especially when drunk. "Sex was not one of the great Mysteries, whatever humans seem to think, and so neither was our sex life. Raziel wasn't deliberately cruel, but that didn't make it much better."
***
"Dear prince, sulking doesn't suit you."
"Nothing about me does, according to you," Aziraphale told him testily. "So I may as well, as you say, sulk."
Raziel gave a thoughtful hum, and moved behind Aziraphale to dig his thumbs into the tense muscles of his neck. "Just because I let the others have some details?"
"Because you delivered them in the most humiliating terms possible!" he snapped, fighting the urge to sag into the other angel's hands.
"What’s humiliating about poking fun at having fun?" Raziel replied, a touch of confusion colouring his voice.
Aziraphale felt a headache coming on, and bowed his head as Raziel put the rest of his fingers to the task, massaging just below his hairline. "You don't even realise you do it, do you?" he said quietly. "You insult me nearly every time we're together. You’re always having a go at my expressions, my responses, my 'human' body. These aren’t accouterments or camouflage or whatever it is you think. It's me, Raziel, and it is tiring and hurtful to be treated as an amusing novelty."
Now Raziel sounded baffled. "Isn’t the whole thing novel? Aren't I to you?"
Aziraphale frowned. “Even if you were, when have I ever treated you with that sort of disregard?”
“It must be nice, having the energy to take unimportant things so seriously.”
Aziraphale went rigid. Had he really just-? “I think you should leave.” The words came out colder than he’d intended, but Raziel didn’t give him a chance to amend them.
“You’ll work out a better arrangement one day, Aziraphale, I’m sure.”
It wasn’t until after he was gone that Aziraphale realised he wasn’t sure that Raziel wasn’t counting himself among the ‘unimportant things.’ And it was centuries before he thought to wonder if Raziel had been hinting about something that would warrant a capital letter one day.
***
"With everything he knows, I suppose his perception of what’s serious or important has gotten a bit skewed over the years," Aziraphale mused. "The blessed fool. In the end, I felt sorry for him, and I suppose I still do. It doesn’t excuse him, of course, but there you have it."
"You're reading a lot into your last ‘chat’ that he might not have meant. And either way, Raziel," Crowley stated, "was a prat. So that's why you keep biting your lip bloody? To keep from making faces?"
"And noises," Aziraphale added as he broke apart a sweet roll. He noted with fond amusement how Crowley eyed the crumbs dropping onto the pristine leather, rotated his wrist, and transferred the crumbs back to the saucer.
"As though anyone could hear you over me," Crowley muttered.
"I suppose not," Aziraphale admitted with a smile. "I do envy your lack of restraint at times."
Crowley flushed becomingly, throwing the light dusting of freckles across his cheeks into greater relief. "Erm, I...." He coughed into his fist. "And the problem with the mirror is from his nonsense about your form?"
"Not all," Aziraphale said. "It does put one in mind of a department store mirror. There's modern, and then there's impersonal."
"Well," Crowley said, leaning in to kiss a spot of cream from the corner of Aziraphale's lip. "We can't have that. All right, mirror goes. We can pick out a replacement later."
“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale said, and turned his head for a proper kiss. He could taste the tea Crowley had been drinking and found it went surprisingly well with his cocoa. Crowley seemed to agree, exploring his mouth with a tongue that was no longer snakelike, but still far more flexible than a human’s had any right to be.
It wasn’t until he’d let out a whimper and fisted one hand in the soft fabric of Crowley’s shirt that the demon drew back to cup his cheek lightly.
“You,” he began, then exhaled forcefully and dipped his head down to nuzzle at Aziraphale’s neck. “Blasted Archangel.”
Aziraphale relocated their cups and the saucer back to the kitchen, though the distant rattle made him suspect he’d been slightly off-target. Ah well. He’d clean up later. “Dear boy, it’s all right,” he murmured, stroking his fingers through the short hair at Crowley’s nape. “You couldn’t have known.”
“It is not bloody all right. You should see yourself.”
Crowley lifted his head, and Aziraphale felt his breath catch at the intensity in those yellow eyes.
“Let me show you.”
Oh dear. Well-meant or not, he just couldn’t face his reflection right then. “Crowley, I-”
“Not with the mirror.” Slowly, deliberately, Crowley took his hand and lifted it to place a gentle kiss on his knuckles. Second row of knuckles. Fingertips. He turned Aziraphale’s hand over, kissed the pads of his fingers, ran his tongue down the length of the angel’s index finger to the center of his palm and left another kiss. “Let me show you, angel.”
Aziraphale swallowed, mouth dry, and curled his fingers to cup Crowley’s face, stroking along his sharp cheekbone with his thumb. He was only vaguely aware of how his other hand was twisting wrinkles into the shoulder of Crowley’s shirt, how Crowley’s was doing the same on the knee of his trousers. But he was aware enough to realise that Crowley was nervous as well. Whatever he was offering, it meant something.
He nodded, and some of the intensity (anxiety, he thought) faded from Crowley’s eyes, warming them. The hand gripping his pant leg relaxed and moved to cover the one of his on Crowley’s shoulder, and Crowley kissed the hand resting on his cheek once more before Aziraphale pulled it away.
“You envy my lack of restraint?” Crowley’s voice was a little breathless as he brought Aziraphale’s other hand to his lips to lavish on the same attention he’d given the other. “You’re the one who wrecks it.”
“Don’t tease,” Aziraphale protested weakly, and earned a sharp nip to a finger for his trouble. “Crowley!” That really shouldn’t have felt so good.
“I’m not,” Crowley said firmly. “D’you know, sometimes I have to close my eyes because if I keep watching, I’ll finish too soon? And then you make some sort of noise and I almost do anyway.”
Aziraphale blushed brightly and turned his head away for a moment. “My dear….” Sincere or not, it was embarrassing. And judging by his matching flush, Crowley was at least as unused to saying such things are he was to hearing him. Still, he thought, as Crowley took the opportunity to straddle his lap, that was some information to keep in mind.
He’d thought with the new position, Crowley would start moving things along more quickly, but instead he found himself being kissed slowly. Languidly. And Crowley’s hands were no more hurried than his lips, sliding down his chest and over the swell of his belly, thumbs drawing ticklish circles over his love handles. He squirmed, huffing into the kiss, and Crowley pulled back with a smile, hands still busy.
“Crowley,” he gasped. “Tickling.”
The smile widened into a gentle grin, but definitely not a smirk. “Would serve you right,” Crowley told him, apparently recovered from his earlier embarrassment. “I know you’ve been trying to turn the ivy.” He stilled his thumbs and rubbed his hands up and down Aziraphale’s sides with enough pressure that it was merely soothing. “But that’s for another day.”
Aziraphale gave a start when his jumper disappeared, but Crowley’s hands were warm from rubbing against the wool, and he relaxed against the sofa, glad there was a blanket behind him instead of bare leather. (They’d both given up removing pull-over jumpers the mundane way. The static just wasn’t worth the trouble.) He closed his eyes as he felt Crowley’s hands resume their wandering, only to open them again at a whispered “Let me show you.”
The first kiss to his stomach made him tense, unconsciously bracing for a casual comment that would sting despite being ready for it, but the jibe never came. Crowley was not Raziel, even if he’d had a go at him from time to time over the years before they’d finally arrived where they were. (And those little digs had been the equivalent of pulling someone’s pigtails besides.) Aziraphale bit his lower lip as the kisses continued around his middle, accompanied by slow caresses that moved more flesh than he might have liked, but that were both reassuring and arousing in turn.
Crowley was smiling at him again as he slid off Aziraphale’s lap and knelt between his legs to remove his trousers by hand, kissing and nibbling down his legs all the way to his toes. His feet were treated as his hands had been, and he jerked at the sensation of Crowley’s tongue on his toes. When Crowley decided to try sucking them, Aziraphale nearly came off of the sofa. And nearly came.
“Don’t! Nng. Stop….”
Crowley laughed. “Don’t stop, or don’t comma stop?”
Aziraphale rubbed his face with his hands. “I’m not sure. I-oh!” How had he never found out about that before then? A foot massage could do him in, so it stood to reason…. “Don’t stop,” he said quickly. “Do no-aht! stop!” As Crowley sucked and curled his tongue around his toes, Aziraphale writhed, digging his fingers into the cushion as everything began to draw tight.
He came with a shout, slumping bonelessly and shuddering as Crowley tested how long he could draw things out. “Crowley, ngk! Oh go-mercy, mercy!” Oh, that was going to be blackmail, bribery, and torture all three in the future, he just knew it. For the present, though, he was buzzing and sated, so he looked down at Crowley with a dazed smile and beckoned. “Come back up here, my dear.”
Crowley hummed and took the long away around, so to speak, making his way up the same way he’d gone down, and though Aziraphale gasped and shivered the whole way, he couldn’t make himself tell Crowley to stop, not with how much he was clearly enjoying it. His serpent was going to be the absolute death of him. And as Crowley’s fingers traced tingling trails along the silvered marks striping his hips and thighs, Aziraphale inhaled sharply as he recognised the rapt expression he wore.
Really, he was surprised he hadn’t caught it sooner. Angels were, after all, rather familiar with expressions of worship.
“Oh, Crowley.” Shifting, he reached down to pull Crowley back up into his lap for a kiss, wrapping his arms around the demon as he melted against him. “Oh, my dear. Crowley, Crowley….”
Crowley’s eyes fluttered closed. “You have no idea, angel,” he whispered. “How much I- How you- I know I’ve said things, and I’m sorry for some of them, but snark aside, I love all of this.” He slid a hand over the wide bumps of his side down to his hip. “Soft and strong and warm and I will only admit it’s the best form for cuddling if you swear to never call me out on it. Do you see? A little?”
Aziraphale chuckled softy and kissed Crowley’s temple. As if he didn’t already know Crowley was a cuddler (though he’d never get him to admit it to anyone else). “I think I’m starting to.”
***
The new mirror was smaller, and much more tasteful. Crowley thought the frame was a bit twee, but Aziraphale had presented a good argument for it. (The ivy, by the way, was wholly on the angel’s side.)
“Lovely, my dear.” Aziraphale smiled over Crowley’s shoulder and stroked his fingers up his back. In the mirror, he saw Crowley’s brows knit together and his fingers hook into the sheets like claws. His moan was probably heard in all of the surrounding flats. Aziraphale followed the trail again, this time with his tongue, and Crowley shook apart with a wail.
“That was quick,” he observed smugly as he nipped at Crowley’s ear.
Crowley gave him a look that he supposed was meant to look cross, but failed at it entirely.
“Just wait, angel. I’ve got your number now.”
~end
Happy Holidays, meganbobness, from your Secret Writer!
Recipient: meganbobness
Author: aten_ra
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley; past Aziraphale/other angel
Rating: R/NC-17
Word Count: 4594
Prompt: Crowley showing Aziraphale that his pudginess is absolutely adored. (BONUS POINTS: I'd also love any kind of backstory on either of their sexual history with other angels/demons/humans that have formed the way they approach love/sex.)
"Aziraphale, the faces you make. Really, I wish you could see them."
Aziraphale looked away and primly smoothed down his feathers. "Thank you, no."
"Oh, now, don't be so missish, dear prince."
"I wish you wouldn't call me that."
Raziel ignored the complaint. "And that extra padding makes for some interesting effects." He pinched Aziraphale's side, chuckling as the Principality squirmed and bit his lip in an attempt to not react. "Do you think humans know how ridiculous they look doing this sort of thing? Though I suppose it's a fair trade for how it feels."
Aziraphale was giving serious thought to gagging the Archangel when Raziel rolled onto his back and gave that brilliant, disarming grin that had attracted him in the first place. Raziel was lovely to look at, no two ways about it: dark skin, black hair falling past his shoulders in unruly waves, luminous amber eyes, and wings of some shade that no one in the Spheres could seem to agree on. And Aziraphale was just as enamored of the bastard’s beauty as the rest. The only difference was the he got to do something other than look.
"But you, dear prince, can make me look as ridiculous as you like."
And while some part of Aziraphale felt that anyone would suffice for Raziel, he just couldn't bring himself to tell him to bugger off.
***
Aziraphale stared at the ridiculously large mirror that had taken up residence over most of a wall in the bedroom and watched an expression of horror bloom across his face, reminding him one of Crowley’s more terrified perennials. “Er, my dear?” he called. “When did you acquire this-” Monstrosity. “-mirror?”
Crowley’s voice floated in from the kitchen. “Delivered this morning, while you were out shopping.”
Of course. That was usually the way it went: if Crowley wanted something he thought was too modern or trendy for the angel’s taste, he arranged to have it brought in when Aziraphale was out so that he’d feel obligated to at least give it a fair shake. Though, to be fair, he tended to do the same sort of thing, as was the case with the Pingshui gunpowder green tea that Crowley was fussing with.
“And, ah, why did you get one so large?” Really, there was no hiding from one’s reflection, he was discovering as he walked about the room. Even on the bed. Aziraphale cringed as he sat on the edge of the mattress. Across the way, a plump, bespectacled, man-shaped being cringed back in sympathy.
“Best way to get more light without going to the trouble of knocking out another window, for one,” Crowley answered as he padded into the room with a pair of steaming cups. “You’re trying this first, by the way.”
Aziraphale gave an amused huff and took the offered cup. “Really, Crowley. It’s only green tea.”
“I prefer black. Or jasmine.”
He chose not to point out that Crowley’s favourite jasmine variety was green, and sipped his tea instead. The slight smokiness was something of a surprise - the clerk hadn’t mentioned that part of the profile - and he sipped again, trying to decide whether he cared for it.
Crowley watched for a moment, and took a taste from his own cup. “Not bad,” he conceded. “I don’t think I’d want it every day, but now and then might be nice.” He took another sip and said, “You don’t like it.”
“Mm. I’m not sure yet. It’s a bit different than what I’m used to.”
He snorted. “I think that’s most things, angel.”
“You’re as much of a creature of habit as I am, dear boy, so don’t start. Now, about this turning one of our walls into a floor-to-ceiling mirror….”
“I thought we were talking about the mirror.”
“I was talking about the tea.”
“Oh.” Crowley tapped his nails lightly against the side of the cup. “Well, what about it? Makes for better light, makes the room look bigger….”
“We could get some lamps if you feel the lighting’s that poor, my dear. And I like the bedroom cozy. That-” Aziraphale gestured at the mirror. “-makes me feel like I’m in a department store.” Not to mention, uncomfortably exposed.
Crowley’s taste in furniture could do the former on its own, though the addition of some pillows and throws took away a great deal of the ‘just for show’ look, as did the fact that they both lived there. There was always some bit of clutter here and there to give things that lived-in look, though Crowley refused to allow things to get truly messy.
“Could frame it with curtains or something, I suppose,” Crowley mused. “Give it a week. If you still hate it, we’ll try that. Or maybe get a smaller one with an actual frame if you like.
“One that doesn’t line up with the bed would be nice.”
Crowley grinned then, and took Aziraphale’s cup before setting them both aside on the nightstand. “But that’s the best part. Look.”
Aziraphale watched, bemused, as Crowley sat and scooted back to curl around him and rest his pointed chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder.
“I get to watch you while I do thisss.” Crowley turned his head and cut his eyes at the mirror while a thin, forked tongue danced up the side of Aziraphale’s neck and over the sensitive soft spot behind his ear.
“That is completely unfair,” Aziraphale muttered, shivering as his eyes went half-lidded. It would be nice to see Crowley’s expression for once while he paid special attention to the scales that ran up the length of the demon’s spine, but a much smaller mirror would do just as well.
Crowley made a sound of agreement and shifted to hold Aziraphale’s gaze as he nibbled around the shell of one ear with teeth a bit too sharp and a tongue a bit too ticklish flicking at the tingling skin between nips.
“C-crowley!” At that rate, he wasn’t going to get to muster up much effort to thwart this particular wile. Aziraphale bit down on his lower lip, hard, and leaned back a little so he could brace himself up with his hands. One ended up on Crowley’s bare ankle, and an impulse to run his nails down Crowley’s foot was quickly suppressed.
Crowley might have been the more sensitive of the pair when it came to tickling, but he was also more creative in terms of playful revenge, and Aziraphale was in no hurry to experience the Quetzalcoatl variation on his serpent form again. Not until he was sure he’d sufficiently subverted the ivy growing up the exterior wall to make it a fair fight.
“-watch yourself,” Crowley was saying as one hand deftly loosened Aziraphale’s belt and undid his trousers.
Aziraphale’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Beg-ah-beg pardon?”
“I sssaid,” Crowley repeated, amused, “I could even watch you watch yourself. Or vice versa, of course. Fair is fair.”
That came as a surprise. Aziraphale felt himself stiffen - not in the good way - and tore his eyes from Crowley’s reflection to stare at his own face as the flush across his cheeks deepened and spread down his throat. “Watch myself?”
“Having a wank. You should see yourself sometimes, angel.”
***
Raziel had the expression of amused arousal down pat: eyes dark and heavy-lidded and crinkled at the corners while his lips curled into a smile that was lopsided enough to be smirky, but that showed enough of a hint of tooth that it could be called a grin instead.
Aziraphale wished he could say he was in on the joke, but he never was. Sometimes, like now, even with Raziel drawing deep, unnecessary breaths past his smiling lips as Aziraphale rode his cock , he felt like the butt of one.
After they'd spent themselves - him with an ill-muffled cry and Raziel with a gasp and rustle of feathers - he propped on one elbow to look down at the Keeper of Secrets, who was on his back in a relaxed sprawl and looking all too pleased with himself.
"Ah, you should see yourself sometime," Raziel told him, smacking his rounded stomach lightly. "You look so...human."
Aziraphale tried not to look hurt as Raziel kept prodding at the softness of his form, though by then, he'd seen enough of Raziel's snobbery with regards to mortals to know that 'human' to Raziel meant something akin to 'ridiculous.' He suddenly found that he missed Crowley, and wished he knew where the serpent was those days.
***
Aziraphale grew aware that Crowley had removed his hand, and sensed rather than saw him waiting for the signal to continue.
“Aziraphale?”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “You must have been looking forward to-”
“No apologies,” Crowley cut in as he rubbed the back of his neck with a chagrined expression. “At least none from your end. I’m the sorry one. Should’ve brought something like this up first so we could talk about it.”
Aziraphale sighed. “Well, it’s come up now.”
Crowley looked between Aziraphale and the mirror and frowned. “I can just send it back and get a smaller one to hang. There’s no need to make it more than it has to be.”
“No worries, my dear.” Aziraphale gave a small smile and pat Crowley’s hand. “It’s not the mirror per se, nor anything you’ve done. Give me a moment to collect my thoughts?”
Relief flashed across Crowley’s face, and he nodded and squeezed Aziraphale’s hand before standing to retrieve their cups. “Kitchen or sofa?”
“Sofa, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Take your time, angel.”
Aziraphale watched with a fond expression as Crowley left the room. He had the feeling that when he finally emerged, there would be something rich and comforting waiting for him with which to break the 'no food on the sofa' rule.
Rich. He looked down at his belly and sighed, running a hand back through his messy curls. He didn't actually dislike it. His body, like his clothing, was comfortable, and he never gave it much thought in other contexts. He didn't even tend to think of great deal it when he and Crowley made love; Crowley's obvious enjoyment didn't leave much room for insecurity, especially once he'd insisted Aziraphale let him give as good as he got.
As a lover, Crowley, he'd found, didn't do passive well. Nor selfish.
Aziraphale was still adjusting to that bit. Raziel hadn't been particularly giving, so he was accustomed to being the one who put forth most of the effort, and used to his partner letting him. Crowley had surprised him by being a more active participant, being present, and and it was still something of a struggle when Crowley wanted to be allowed to take care of him.
He hoped it wouldn't bother Crowley overmuch that he'd been involved before, but that, he felt, was where he'd need to start. Until a moment ago, he hadn’t realised how much Raziel’s careless comments had stayed with him. Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale pushed himself to his feet to set his clothing to rights, and then made his way to the living room.
Crowley was waiting on the sofa, sipping what appeared to be another cup of the gunpowder green. Sitting nearby was a steaming mug of cocoa, complete with a dollop of whipped cream that looked as though someone hadn’t been able to resist swiping a fingertip through, and what appeared to be the last of the batch of sweet rolls they’d picked up the other day.
The sight warmed him as surely as the cocoa would, and Aziraphale wondered how he could have ever settled for anyone less.
“I suppose,” he began as he settled on the sofa, mug in hand, “I ought to have told you that I have a…slight bit of history.”
“At our age, it’s more than just a ‘slight bit,’ however you slice it,” Crowley said dryly. “And whatever it is, I doubt it’s as shocking as you think.”
Aziraphale made a noncommittal sound and tasted his cocoa. Heavenly. Or better than, considering that Heaven wasn’t particularly known for its beverage selection. "It’s history," he finally said, after a longer sip, "in that I've had a lover. Before you."
Crowley rolled his eyes. "Is that all? Angel, you fumbled less than I did the first time out the gate. I figured you must've had some sort of experience from somewhere.”
"To be fair, you caught up rather quickly."
"Well, you're not the only one with a 'slight bit' of a history, as you put it. It just never seemed worth bringing up." Crowley tilted his head. "Except now it is for some reason."
Aziraphale closed his eyes and wrapped both hands around his mug. "'You should see yourself,'" he repeated quietly, and looked back at Crowley. "I know what you mean, but you're not the first I've heard that from. It hasn't always been complementary."
Crowley's lips thinned at that, pressing into an angry line. "Do tell." Judging by his tone, he was now quite interested in meeting Aziraphale's former paramour and giving him a piece of his mind, at the very least.
"He's rather beyond your reach, my dear. And it was a very long time ago, after the Flood. I'd lost track of you after everyone vacated the ark." He’d always suspected that Crowley had found a rock to sun on and not moved for the next few months. The demon had hated being stuck on what was essentially a large floating barn, especially as a snake. Crowley and horses were just a bad combination all around.
"I went off to get some much-needed alone time after some well-meaning stowaway dropped me in a bloody basket with an overly-affectionate sand boa.” Crowley shook his head. “I still can’t believe you thought I’d go after the birds.”
“You were the stowaway, my dear. And something kept making off with the eggs.”
Crowley opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, and tipped his head back to rest against the back of the sofa. “So, post-Flood. Kind of lean pickings in those days, wasn't it?"
"Only in terms of humans."
"So, who- Wait. You mean you and another angel?"
"Raziel, yes. Suitably shocking, my dear?"
Crowley stared for a moment, and then shook his head. "Figures the angel who won't sell a book hooks up with the one who just gives one away. Some Keeper of Secrets he was."
"Well, after the apple incident, he didn't see much reason to keep it from them, though some of the others begged to differ." Aziraphale shook his head; he was getting off topic. "But after the Flood, there were actually quite a few angels pairing off. Humans, or at least siring children with humans was, as you can imagine, out of the question, but nothing was ever said about relations with each other."
Or about relations with humans that wouldn’t produce half-blooded offspring, but nobody had been bold enough to put that to the test so soon after the Flood.
"Your comment about Raziel isn't completely off the mark, by the by,” Aziraphale added. “He was tight-lipped about Secrets, but he was a terrible gossip about everything else." Especially when drunk. "Sex was not one of the great Mysteries, whatever humans seem to think, and so neither was our sex life. Raziel wasn't deliberately cruel, but that didn't make it much better."
***
"Dear prince, sulking doesn't suit you."
"Nothing about me does, according to you," Aziraphale told him testily. "So I may as well, as you say, sulk."
Raziel gave a thoughtful hum, and moved behind Aziraphale to dig his thumbs into the tense muscles of his neck. "Just because I let the others have some details?"
"Because you delivered them in the most humiliating terms possible!" he snapped, fighting the urge to sag into the other angel's hands.
"What’s humiliating about poking fun at having fun?" Raziel replied, a touch of confusion colouring his voice.
Aziraphale felt a headache coming on, and bowed his head as Raziel put the rest of his fingers to the task, massaging just below his hairline. "You don't even realise you do it, do you?" he said quietly. "You insult me nearly every time we're together. You’re always having a go at my expressions, my responses, my 'human' body. These aren’t accouterments or camouflage or whatever it is you think. It's me, Raziel, and it is tiring and hurtful to be treated as an amusing novelty."
Now Raziel sounded baffled. "Isn’t the whole thing novel? Aren't I to you?"
Aziraphale frowned. “Even if you were, when have I ever treated you with that sort of disregard?”
“It must be nice, having the energy to take unimportant things so seriously.”
Aziraphale went rigid. Had he really just-? “I think you should leave.” The words came out colder than he’d intended, but Raziel didn’t give him a chance to amend them.
“You’ll work out a better arrangement one day, Aziraphale, I’m sure.”
It wasn’t until after he was gone that Aziraphale realised he wasn’t sure that Raziel wasn’t counting himself among the ‘unimportant things.’ And it was centuries before he thought to wonder if Raziel had been hinting about something that would warrant a capital letter one day.
***
"With everything he knows, I suppose his perception of what’s serious or important has gotten a bit skewed over the years," Aziraphale mused. "The blessed fool. In the end, I felt sorry for him, and I suppose I still do. It doesn’t excuse him, of course, but there you have it."
"You're reading a lot into your last ‘chat’ that he might not have meant. And either way, Raziel," Crowley stated, "was a prat. So that's why you keep biting your lip bloody? To keep from making faces?"
"And noises," Aziraphale added as he broke apart a sweet roll. He noted with fond amusement how Crowley eyed the crumbs dropping onto the pristine leather, rotated his wrist, and transferred the crumbs back to the saucer.
"As though anyone could hear you over me," Crowley muttered.
"I suppose not," Aziraphale admitted with a smile. "I do envy your lack of restraint at times."
Crowley flushed becomingly, throwing the light dusting of freckles across his cheeks into greater relief. "Erm, I...." He coughed into his fist. "And the problem with the mirror is from his nonsense about your form?"
"Not all," Aziraphale said. "It does put one in mind of a department store mirror. There's modern, and then there's impersonal."
"Well," Crowley said, leaning in to kiss a spot of cream from the corner of Aziraphale's lip. "We can't have that. All right, mirror goes. We can pick out a replacement later."
“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale said, and turned his head for a proper kiss. He could taste the tea Crowley had been drinking and found it went surprisingly well with his cocoa. Crowley seemed to agree, exploring his mouth with a tongue that was no longer snakelike, but still far more flexible than a human’s had any right to be.
It wasn’t until he’d let out a whimper and fisted one hand in the soft fabric of Crowley’s shirt that the demon drew back to cup his cheek lightly.
“You,” he began, then exhaled forcefully and dipped his head down to nuzzle at Aziraphale’s neck. “Blasted Archangel.”
Aziraphale relocated their cups and the saucer back to the kitchen, though the distant rattle made him suspect he’d been slightly off-target. Ah well. He’d clean up later. “Dear boy, it’s all right,” he murmured, stroking his fingers through the short hair at Crowley’s nape. “You couldn’t have known.”
“It is not bloody all right. You should see yourself.”
Crowley lifted his head, and Aziraphale felt his breath catch at the intensity in those yellow eyes.
“Let me show you.”
Oh dear. Well-meant or not, he just couldn’t face his reflection right then. “Crowley, I-”
“Not with the mirror.” Slowly, deliberately, Crowley took his hand and lifted it to place a gentle kiss on his knuckles. Second row of knuckles. Fingertips. He turned Aziraphale’s hand over, kissed the pads of his fingers, ran his tongue down the length of the angel’s index finger to the center of his palm and left another kiss. “Let me show you, angel.”
Aziraphale swallowed, mouth dry, and curled his fingers to cup Crowley’s face, stroking along his sharp cheekbone with his thumb. He was only vaguely aware of how his other hand was twisting wrinkles into the shoulder of Crowley’s shirt, how Crowley’s was doing the same on the knee of his trousers. But he was aware enough to realise that Crowley was nervous as well. Whatever he was offering, it meant something.
He nodded, and some of the intensity (anxiety, he thought) faded from Crowley’s eyes, warming them. The hand gripping his pant leg relaxed and moved to cover the one of his on Crowley’s shoulder, and Crowley kissed the hand resting on his cheek once more before Aziraphale pulled it away.
“You envy my lack of restraint?” Crowley’s voice was a little breathless as he brought Aziraphale’s other hand to his lips to lavish on the same attention he’d given the other. “You’re the one who wrecks it.”
“Don’t tease,” Aziraphale protested weakly, and earned a sharp nip to a finger for his trouble. “Crowley!” That really shouldn’t have felt so good.
“I’m not,” Crowley said firmly. “D’you know, sometimes I have to close my eyes because if I keep watching, I’ll finish too soon? And then you make some sort of noise and I almost do anyway.”
Aziraphale blushed brightly and turned his head away for a moment. “My dear….” Sincere or not, it was embarrassing. And judging by his matching flush, Crowley was at least as unused to saying such things are he was to hearing him. Still, he thought, as Crowley took the opportunity to straddle his lap, that was some information to keep in mind.
He’d thought with the new position, Crowley would start moving things along more quickly, but instead he found himself being kissed slowly. Languidly. And Crowley’s hands were no more hurried than his lips, sliding down his chest and over the swell of his belly, thumbs drawing ticklish circles over his love handles. He squirmed, huffing into the kiss, and Crowley pulled back with a smile, hands still busy.
“Crowley,” he gasped. “Tickling.”
The smile widened into a gentle grin, but definitely not a smirk. “Would serve you right,” Crowley told him, apparently recovered from his earlier embarrassment. “I know you’ve been trying to turn the ivy.” He stilled his thumbs and rubbed his hands up and down Aziraphale’s sides with enough pressure that it was merely soothing. “But that’s for another day.”
Aziraphale gave a start when his jumper disappeared, but Crowley’s hands were warm from rubbing against the wool, and he relaxed against the sofa, glad there was a blanket behind him instead of bare leather. (They’d both given up removing pull-over jumpers the mundane way. The static just wasn’t worth the trouble.) He closed his eyes as he felt Crowley’s hands resume their wandering, only to open them again at a whispered “Let me show you.”
The first kiss to his stomach made him tense, unconsciously bracing for a casual comment that would sting despite being ready for it, but the jibe never came. Crowley was not Raziel, even if he’d had a go at him from time to time over the years before they’d finally arrived where they were. (And those little digs had been the equivalent of pulling someone’s pigtails besides.) Aziraphale bit his lower lip as the kisses continued around his middle, accompanied by slow caresses that moved more flesh than he might have liked, but that were both reassuring and arousing in turn.
Crowley was smiling at him again as he slid off Aziraphale’s lap and knelt between his legs to remove his trousers by hand, kissing and nibbling down his legs all the way to his toes. His feet were treated as his hands had been, and he jerked at the sensation of Crowley’s tongue on his toes. When Crowley decided to try sucking them, Aziraphale nearly came off of the sofa. And nearly came.
“Don’t! Nng. Stop….”
Crowley laughed. “Don’t stop, or don’t comma stop?”
Aziraphale rubbed his face with his hands. “I’m not sure. I-oh!” How had he never found out about that before then? A foot massage could do him in, so it stood to reason…. “Don’t stop,” he said quickly. “Do no-aht! stop!” As Crowley sucked and curled his tongue around his toes, Aziraphale writhed, digging his fingers into the cushion as everything began to draw tight.
He came with a shout, slumping bonelessly and shuddering as Crowley tested how long he could draw things out. “Crowley, ngk! Oh go-mercy, mercy!” Oh, that was going to be blackmail, bribery, and torture all three in the future, he just knew it. For the present, though, he was buzzing and sated, so he looked down at Crowley with a dazed smile and beckoned. “Come back up here, my dear.”
Crowley hummed and took the long away around, so to speak, making his way up the same way he’d gone down, and though Aziraphale gasped and shivered the whole way, he couldn’t make himself tell Crowley to stop, not with how much he was clearly enjoying it. His serpent was going to be the absolute death of him. And as Crowley’s fingers traced tingling trails along the silvered marks striping his hips and thighs, Aziraphale inhaled sharply as he recognised the rapt expression he wore.
Really, he was surprised he hadn’t caught it sooner. Angels were, after all, rather familiar with expressions of worship.
“Oh, Crowley.” Shifting, he reached down to pull Crowley back up into his lap for a kiss, wrapping his arms around the demon as he melted against him. “Oh, my dear. Crowley, Crowley….”
Crowley’s eyes fluttered closed. “You have no idea, angel,” he whispered. “How much I- How you- I know I’ve said things, and I’m sorry for some of them, but snark aside, I love all of this.” He slid a hand over the wide bumps of his side down to his hip. “Soft and strong and warm and I will only admit it’s the best form for cuddling if you swear to never call me out on it. Do you see? A little?”
Aziraphale chuckled softy and kissed Crowley’s temple. As if he didn’t already know Crowley was a cuddler (though he’d never get him to admit it to anyone else). “I think I’m starting to.”
***
The new mirror was smaller, and much more tasteful. Crowley thought the frame was a bit twee, but Aziraphale had presented a good argument for it. (The ivy, by the way, was wholly on the angel’s side.)
“Lovely, my dear.” Aziraphale smiled over Crowley’s shoulder and stroked his fingers up his back. In the mirror, he saw Crowley’s brows knit together and his fingers hook into the sheets like claws. His moan was probably heard in all of the surrounding flats. Aziraphale followed the trail again, this time with his tongue, and Crowley shook apart with a wail.
“That was quick,” he observed smugly as he nipped at Crowley’s ear.
Crowley gave him a look that he supposed was meant to look cross, but failed at it entirely.
“Just wait, angel. I’ve got your number now.”
~end
Happy Holidays, meganbobness, from your Secret Writer!