Chapter Text
Crowley glared at Aziraphale from across the table. For all accounts, Crowley should be thrilled to be here- a new, quaint little Italian place in Soho. It was white tablecloth, but had a familiar feeling to it. The light was warm through the lamps above them. Hanging plants grew long and spindly along their fixtures and the crown molding. Crowley studied them, appreciating the health of the succulents. They were lush and spotless, aside from a few browning dots barely visible in the dim light. Soft jazz played from some hidden speaker, and the hushed conversations of the other patrons rose and fell around them like waves.
All of this was lovely, truly, but Crowley was still glaring burning holes into the man’s pristine coat, despite Aziraphales’s (deliberate) ignorance. He looked up from the menu briefly, beaming at Crowley, and he couldn’t help but throw a small smile back at him. It wasn’t as if they were in a true fight, it was just… he couldn’t stop thinking about Aziraphale’s suggestion.
Aziraphale was a fiend for even mentioning it. It was last Sunday (the Lord's day of all things) when they were drinking the last of a Riesling1 and discussing… well, at this point in the night, it could’ve been anything, really. West African folklore or photons or bloody dolphins2
Then Crowley had said something offhanded about him not being able to keep his hands to himself when it came to Aziraphale. It was true, now that they were free from their heavenly and hellish binds. Crowley could hardly keep from touching Aziraphale at all times. Like magnets, if his angel was in the room, he was touching him3 . He’d said it like something casual but it was filled with innuendo, and Aziraphale’s eyes had gotten dark. He’d set the wine down, leaning forward to rest a hand on Crowley’s thigh. It settled like a weight there, burning hot and searing the alcohol out of Crowley’s blood.
“How would you like that, hm?” He’d asked. “A whole day, where you must keep your hands to yourself.” Aziraphale’s free hand trailed up, wrapping around Crowley’s nape. His neck went hot, heat spreading to his face as he flushed. “Hm, better yet, you’re not allowed to come until I say either. A tease, just for you. My hands, all over you,” The phrase was punctuated by Aziraphale’s thumb sliding over Crowley’s nipple, pebbling from the sensation despite the layers. “But no release.”
Crowley whimpered, arching into the touch. “I’ll think about it. Not exactly of sound mind at the moment, Angel.”
Aziraphale chuckled darkly, flicking open the buttons of Crowley’s shirt with one hand “Of course. Take all the time you need, darling. You know I only want to do what pleases you.” The kiss that sealed his promise had seared Crowley to the bone.
Crowley was going to say no. He was going to, he just hadn’t yet. Crowley was always insistent on torturing himself, especially when it came to Aziraphale. Once the words had left those pretty lips, Crowley couldn't get the idea out of his head.
The fantasy had followed him through the week, taunting him with alluring daydreams of Aziraphale's hands keeping him just off the edge. Thoughts of him choking on a thick cock while his remained untouched. The praise he would receive for his control. Crowley shuddered at the thought, and Aziraphale looked up from his meal.
"Something the matter, dear?"
Crowley swallowed thickly, willing away the phantom sensation of a prick in his mouth. He shook his head, “Everything’s fine ‘ziraphale.”
Aziraphale looked at him heavily, and something the hairs on the back of his neck stood up at the sensation of being watched. He felt like prey stalked by a predator just out of sight when Aziraphale looked so deeply into him.
But the man across him just hummed, dabbing daintily at his mouth with a napkin. “If you say so, darling.” He returned to his meal, enthusiastic as always. Crowley felt his attention drawn in, as he always did. Since the lamb in Uz, Crowley has been set alight by Aziraphale eating. He liked to tease that he was a proper hedonist, but something in it rang true. Aziraphale loved to indulge.
Aziraphale met his eye. "You're staring, dear. Something on your mind?" He asked again.
Crowley licked his lips. "Wouldn’t want to sully your meal with my devious thoughts, angel." His smile was all teeth and mischief. Aziraphale had the dignity to look exasperated. Though Crowley knew well enough that the twitch at the corner of his mouth read as pleased.
"I just had you this morning, greedy thing." He chided.
Crowley shrugged, attempting nonchalance, but probably (definitely) failing. The words, said with a low timbre and such ease, sent a shiver through him. He leaned back in his chair to press the arch of his foot flat against the side of Aziraphale's. "Spoken like someone who doesn't fancy a romp in the bathroom."
Aziraphale's eyes lowered, his interest taking a more pointed look. "Foul tempter." He said, but his foot was trailing up Crowley's ankle.
"Since the dawn of the Earth. Though you've tasted the apple too, haven't you? Who's really to blame for your lust?" He challenged.
Aziraphale scoffed. "Those hips of yours, surely."
Crowley laughed, open and full. Aziraphale grinned back at him. His foot pressed in further under the table, their knees touching now. Crowley could feel the heat of him through the fabric. A shiver zinged down his spine, echoing up his neck and across his face. His face was growing warm, and with the way his cock was filling, he knew they should get somewhere more private, and quickly.
Crowley eyed Aziraphale's empty plate. When did that happen? He did spend much of the dinner in a daze, he supposed.
“Dessert, angel?” Crowley asked, craning his head in an attempt to spot their waiter.
Aziraphale paused, looking off at something in the distance as though thinking very hard about his choices. “No, I think not.”
Crowley nodded, pleased to leave4, flagging down their waiter, who just pushed through the kitchen door into the front of house. They argued over the check despite money being worthless to both of them. It was the principle of the thing. Or, at least, that’s what Aziraphale claimed. Aziraphale picked up the check, eyeing Crowley with a growing intensity. He crossed his legs, which worsened the heat and squeezed his dick in a way the toed the line between pain and pleasure. The smile Aziraphale gave him was vicious.
It wasn’t surprising, really, that they couldn’t even make it fully into the bookshop. Crowley groaned, burning with it as they rutted against each other against the bookshop door. The full, hot length of Aziraphale was pressed against him, pinning him. Teeth bit down harshly where his neck met his shoulder and Crowley yelped. Aziraphale cooed at the noise, lapping at the indentions from his teeth. Crowley melted into it, fingers threading through soft curls to hold his angel in place.
Their hips rolled together, searching for friction. Crowley could almost taste the desperation on his tongue. “Ah- Aziraphale. Please.” He panted out. How was he so far gone from a few kisses and a dinner of teasing? The angel must have gotten into his head somehow. Crossing wires without permission.
The man just hummed, mouthing at Crowley’s neck as his wicked hands slipped down his sides. He gripped Crowley’s arse, encouraging him to rock forward more , to take what he wanted. Crowley nearly whined at the feeling, back arching with nowhere to go. He was light-headed, blood rushing through his ears at the thought of being pinned so thoroughly.
Aziraphale didn’t help matters when he grabbed at Crowley’s wrists, pressing them against the wall above his head. He stepped back a fraction, just out of reach of Crowley’s jerking hips, leaving him cold and urgent.
Aziraphale licked his lips, eyes wild as they trailed down the length of Crowley’s body. “Beautiful thing. Have you thought about my proposition?”
“What proposition?” Crowley asked, the fib rolling off his tongue smooth as whiskey.
Aziraphale eyed him skeptically. He adjusted himself so that only one hand pinned Crowley’s wrists. He bucked against the grip and found he was just as trapped as he’d been before. Delicious. The now free hand slipped down his chest, following the line of his abdomen. His fingers stalled when he got to his hips, toying with his waistband.
“Don’t act coy,” Aziraphale said, slipping his fingers between Crowley’s waistband and belt.
Crowley groaned, hips pushing forward into nothing. “Okay, I’ve thought about it. Thoroughly.”
Aziraphale’s hand moved once more, thumb running along the leather of his belt. “Hm. You have been rather distracted lately.” He slipped his thumb into the buckle, pulling the leather from the loop. “I would’ve been worried had I not seen that pretty blush of yours.” Aziraphale looked up through his lashes at him. His hand moved away from Crowley’s belt, and his stomach dropped with anticipation. Aziraphale trailed his finger along the helix of his ear.
“Your ears get red when you’re thinking about something naughty.” He scratched at the hair just behind his ear, fingers dipping down towards his neck. “It trails down your neck.” The caress against his chest felt like fire, the pads of Aziraphale’s fingers leaving cooling flames in their wake. “Across your chest, just below your collarbones.”
“Please, sweetheart,” Crowley begged, firstly because he wanted to, and secondly because he knew endearments made Aziraphale fold, especially when said in the pleading, desperate tone he used.
Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but his cheeks went pink, and he sunk to his knees, letting go of Crowley’s hands. He took his chance to sink his fingers into his soft hair, petting him gently and with reverence. Aziraphale closed his eyes, leaning into it. Crowley closed his fingers around the white curls, tugging lightly. He earned a low moan for his trouble, and Aziraphale’s eyes, hazy with pupils blown, watched him from his knees.
“Beautiful.” Crowley breathed out.
When Aziraphale smiled at him then, it was a warm thing, something pure and unadulterated. It made Crowley’s heart glow and his stomach fizzle. He stroked along the edge of his angel’s jawline. Aziraphale undid his belt.
“I trust you’ve come to a decision, then?” Aziraphale said, undoing the zip and eliminating any and all of Crowley’s cognitive functions.
“Decision?” Crowley asked dazily.
An exasperated but fond sigh. “The bit about keeping your hands to yourself. The orgasm denial.”
Crowley nodded, not sure if he could form sentences. His throat clicked when he swallowed. Aziraphale tugged on the waistband of his pants, an eyebrow raised at Crowley. He nodded again. In one fluid motion, Aziraphale pulled his cock free and swallowed him hole, and that was all it took for him to say-
"Yes." He groaned, regretfully pulling Aziraphale off of his dick. "Yes. To the orgasm denial. To the hands off. All of it."
Aziraphale hummed, brushing his cheek along the heat of Crowley's prick. "Hmm. Okay, darling. This weekend, I should think. So we have time to prepare and discuss."
“Whatever you want, angel.” Crowley breathed out.
He stroked his free hand along his length, eyes darkening. "For now, though, I'm starving." Crowley was engulfed in the tantalizing heat once more.
1. Aziraphale had been, quite uncharacteristically, in the mood for whites in recent weeks. Crowley vaguely recalls he’d said it had something to do with the warming weather. Spring was rapidly fading into summer. return to text
2. Anything but Wilde was fair game. return to text
3. Or circling him like an animal. He wasn't sure if he'd got that predatory urge after the fall, or if it had been there all along. Either way, he paced, and he watched. return to text
4. Though, he would’ve been happy sitting across from Aziraphale, aching in his trousers while the man ahh-ed and hmm-ed his way through some rich dessert. Fuck, that kind of torturous behavior was what got him into this mess anyhow.return to text