Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Are you sure I can’t see?”

Crowley reached for his most seductive tone, purring into the ear of the spun-sugar angel who was currently draped against his chest, their eyes meeting in the large mirror of Crowley’s richly appointed dressing room. Aziraphale looked utterly debauched in the soft light, his lips parted and his cheeks flushed scarlet as Crowley slowly rubbed his palm over the thick erection in Aziraphale’s trousers. Aziraphale had unbuttoned the top three buttons of his crisp blue Oxford shirt, and Crowley could just see a whisper of white lace sticking out above the remaining buttons, hinting at the fantasy concoction that Aziraphale had hidden just for Crowley underneath his many layers.

Aziraphale gasped, a light intake of air, but Crowley could see his eyes twinkling in the mirror. “But darling, what if we’re caught?”

He had a point. They were backstage in New York City on the set of the Late Show with Gabe Archer, and Crowley could be needed at any moment. He knew Anathema was out there somewhere running interference for them (he really needed to up her Christmas bonus), but it wouldn’t be smart to go too far. Still, he could pretend.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little minx?” Crowley growled, dragging his lips down the side of Aziraphale’s throat. “Caught in nothing but whatever pretty little piece of fluff you have on under here, riding a fat cock while everyone looks at you.”

Aziraphale moaned, his eyes fluttering shut as he wet his pink lips with his tongue. In the five months that they had been secretly dating, Crowley had learned that his angel had a bit of an exhibitionist streak, and they’d had a few close calls in Crowley’s trailer on location in the Mojave Desert and back at the studio in Los Angeles. News about their relationship hadn’t leaked publicly yet, but the way they were carrying on, it was probably only a matter of time.

“Don’t want — don’t want to spoil the surprise —” Aziraphale managed to squeak as Crowley ground the hot length of his erection against Aziraphale’s plush ass.

“Is that it?” Crowley turned Aziraphale around and gently crowded him back against the vanity counter. “Or is it that a filthy quickie just isn’t enough for you when what you really want is to be spoiled —” He brushed a kiss against Aziraphale’s right temple. “— And petted —” Hot open lips against the hinge of Aziraphale’s jaw. “And told just — how — pretty — you — are —”

Crowley settled his teeth against the exposed skin just below Aziraphale’s collar, sucking a deep bruise that would be covered up when Aziraphale buttoned his shirt. Aziraphale groaned, arching into his mouth and digging thick fingers into the curve of his ass.

“It’s — it’s not that —,” Aziraphale whispered, and Crowley pulled back just enough to cock an eyebrow at him. “It’s that hair and makeup have done such an excellent job fixing you up, darling, and I wouldn’t want to get you all worked up so that you spoil it.”

“I’m already worked up —”

“Oh, I am quite aware,” Aziraphale said archly. “That’s why I’m going to need you to stay perfectly still while I take care of that for you.”

“Take care of — oh god, Angel —” Crowley could only groan in anticipation as Aziraphale slid to his knees, reaching for the button of Crowley’s burgundy velvet skinny jeans. “You’re going to fucking kill me someday.”

Aziraphale’s only response was a soft smile, flicking those bright seafoam eyes upward to make sure that Crowley was watching as Aziraphale swallowed him down.

“Hnnngghh — Jesus fucking Christ, Angel —” A sharp pinch to the back of his thigh reminded Crowley that he needed to keep quiet, and so he clapped a hand over his mouth, reaching out with the other to steady himself on the back of the dressing table chair. They had done this for each other many times, and Crowley knew firsthand what a tease Aziraphale could be, sliding his mouth down Crowley’s shaft so gently that it was barely a whisper, usually when Crowley was tied to the headboard and completely at his mercy.

This wasn’t like that at all.

They both knew that this was risky, that Aziraphale had only minutes at best to get Crowley off. And he was giving it his all, his white blond curls shaking as he bobbed his head, taking Crowley’s cock deeper and deeper with each pass. Crowley wanted to bury his hand in those curls, to make a mess of him, to pull him up and kiss him senseless before tossing him down on the sofa and fucking him until they were both lost. But Aziraphale had told him to be still, to let Aziraphale take care of him, and so he did, letting his hand drop from his mouth to caress the side of the younger man’s face.

Truth be told, these days, he would do pretty much anything Aziraphale asked him to do. He had had many relationships over the years, usually with co-stars or crew members, men and women, most of them lasting a few months and very few of them making it into the gossip columns. He didn’t like to put labels on things, whether that meant his sexuality or his love life, and he liked the air of mystery that it lent him. But when he looked at Aziraphale, when he held him at night, when he just sat and watched him over the dinner table and listened to him talk, Crowley saw labels. He saw a future. He saw red carpets and magazine spreads and vacations on Capri. He’d let Aziraphale completely redesign his house in Malibu and he hadn’t even looked at the bills. And true to his word, he’d showered Aziraphale with first editions and cashmere scarves and Old Master drawings until Aziraphale had sat him down and told him sweetly but firmly that he didn’t need Crowley to buy his affection, that he wanted both of them to be in this relationship for its own sake.

A particularly wicked swirl of Aziraphale’s tongue brought Crowley back into the moment. Things were reaching a desperate point, the tantalizing drag of Aziraphale’s mouth all that Crowley could think about. His thighs were shaking, his heart racing as he reached up to massage his own neck, dragging his hand down his chest. In the mirror, he could see the flush of his arousal even through the stage makeup, his eyes glassy and his lips parted as he —

A sharp rap on the door. “Crowley? They want me to bring you out in about five minutes.” Anathema’s voice.

“Just — just a sec —”

Aziraphale redoubled his efforts, his eyes on Crowley’s face, the suction from his lips driving Crowley mad. Two hands snaked up the backs of Crowley’s thighs, fingers curling around his ass and encouraging him to move. Crowley complied, his hands dropping to Aziraphale’s shoulders as he thrust gently, not wanting to hurt him or to take too much, even as he was coming apart at the seams.

“So close, Angel, so fucking close —” he breathed, making sure that only Aziraphale could hear him. “I’m going to —”

A reassuring squeeze, and Crowley was spilling, filling Aziraphale’s mouth with everything he had, his breath escaping in a heavy rush of air. Aziraphale worked him through it, slowly in and out, milking him until Crowley gently pushed him away. Aziraphale tucked Crowley back into his trousers, and then Crowley reached down, cupping his elbows to help him to his feet.

“Can I do anything for you?” Crowley whispered.

“You have to go, darling,” Aziraphale replied, his voice a little raspy. “Besides, I want you sitting up there and seeing me in the audience, knowing that I’m picturing every single depraved thing you’re going to do to me in full color.”

“You know you’re a bit of a bastard? A square of dark chocolate under a dollop of marshmallow fluff.”

“And you love it, darling.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s cheek. “I’m going to go and put myself back together in the bathroom so that it’s not too awkward for Anathema. Good luck out there!”

“Thanks, babe.” Once Aziraphale was safely enclosed in the bathroom, Crowley walked to the main door, opening it to his scowling assistant. “Ready to go?”

“Tuck your shirt back in your pants,” Anathema grumbled. “You two are ridiculous. That’s the third time I’ve had to cover for you this week!”

Crowley grinned, putting himself right as he checked his reflection in the mirror. “What’ll it be? Christmas bonus? Nicer office furniture? A weekend in Napa with that nerdy boyfriend of yours?”

“Maybe all three. Come on, let’s get you on set before somebody leaks you two to Page Six.”

Crowley went.

“All I’m saying, Trace, is that the next time you go clubbing, I want an invite.” Crowley peeked over the tops of his rose-tinted glasses, sizing up his fellow guest as if she were the love interest in one of his action films.

Dame Tracy Potts gave a tinkling laugh, shaking back the flowing sleeves of her aquamarine tunic top as she tucked her hands into the crook of Crowley’s elbow. “My dear, I don’t think you could keep up with me.”

“I think I can speak for the entire audience when I say that I’d like to see him try,” Gabe Archer cut in smoothly.

Crowley cocked an eyebrow. “I bet you would, Gabe.”

In the audience, Aziraphale chuckled, his laughter joining a wave of titters from the crowd. He was still feeling rather warm and tingly from his tryst with Crowley in the dressing room earlier, and he couldn’t believe he was sitting in the audience of the Late Show with a secret that would turn every head in the room.

The last few months with Crowley had been a bit surreal. Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to call their relationship, exactly. They were definitely fucking, pretty much any chance they got, when Crowley wasn’t on location and sometimes even when he was. But they had kept that information pretty quiet, telling only a few people in Crowley’s entourage who needed to know. Aziraphale hadn’t even told his parents, and he was about to fly home to England for a week to spend the holidays with them at the family manse in Gloucestershire. He was rather glad to be getting out of the country, actually, and had booked his dates with an eye toward self-preservation. Crowley had invited Aziraphale to New York for a few days to keep him company on a press tour for his latest movie, Galexis. There was the Late Show tonight, and then the Today Show tomorrow, and then he’d be joining the whole cast for a press junket the next day. That was the day Aziraphale was leaving, because the movie premiere was the next night, and even though Aziraphale told himself firmly that he understood their arrangement, that he didn’t even want to attend the premiere of some movie about aliens, it still stung a bit to think of Crowley walking the red carpet without him.

Because Aziraphale had to admit that he was falling rather head over heels for Crowley. The man was objectively ridiculous. He had more money than he knew what to do with, and he was used to having his way, doors opening to him with just one dazzling smile or a single devastating twitch of an eyebrow. He could be brash and impulsive, too much, too fast. But he was also unfailingly kind and generous almost to a fault, witty and sweet and charming. He made Aziraphale feel like flying. It was a dangerously addictive thing.

But how could Aziraphale resist? He looked down at the stage, where Crowley was cozying up with Dame Tracy, queen of the British stage and screen (Aziraphale wondered idly if his parents had ever met her). Crowley looked effortless in his burgundy velvet skinny jeans and custom jacquard Docs. He was also wearing a slim-cut leather blazer and a silky dark green shirt, the top few buttons open. And he was making it look like Dame Tracy and Gabe Archer were his oldest friends, even though Gabe was the sort of stuffy middle-aged comedian who usually got these late night hosting jobs, just bland and handsome enough to be appealing to all demographics.

“So tell me a bit about Galexis,” Gabe was saying. “You and Jack Furfur —”

“So I’m a roguishly handsome and rebellious space pilot —” Crowley began.

“Sounds a bit like Captain Atomhunter in Starmaker,” Gabe cut in.

“Look, I have a bit of a type, okay?” Crowley winked at the audience, and there were several catcalls and wolf whistles. “Anyway, I crash-land on an enemy planet. My ship is destroyed, and I’m in pretty bad shape. I think I’m a goner, but then I meet Jack —”

“Who’s playing one of your alien enemies —”

“Yeah, he plays an alien named Trex,” Crowley replied. “So he helps me get back on my feet, and we form a bit of an unlikely friendship, and then I have to go back to war, and — well, you need to go and see it to find out the rest. Bit of a buddy comedy, bit of a love story, and definitely some unexpected surprises.”

“That certainly sounds fascinating,” Gabe said. “Now, you were telling me backstage — much of this film is a two-hander between you and Jack, and you got a little distracted sometimes —”

Crowley smiled a little coyly, looking through his lashes as Gabe. “Now, you know Jack Furfur is one of the truly great motion-capture performers —”

“Golden Globe nominated for this film, right?” Gabe interjected. “I believe you both are.”

“Yes, and that’s so great. For me, whatever. But for Jack — guys like Jack Furfur, like Andy Serkis, Doug Jones — they’ve all been doing amazing motion-capture work for years and it’s so thrilling to see it finally being recognized, am I right?” He raised both hands toward the audience, and the whole studio erupted into cheers, Aziraphale included.

“So true. But you were saying?” Gabe prompted.

“Right, so this is a little embarrassing, but — you’ve all seen what a motion capture suit looks like, right? I believe we have some behind the scenes stills of Jack and me.” A photograph of Crowley and Jack Furfur appeared on a large monitor, and a murmur went through the crowd. “So Jack is truly amazing at what he does, and when you act with him, it’s like you can see the creature he’s playing in front of your eyes. It really doesn’t take much imagination, and it’s incredible to watch. But unfortunately, I apparently never left middle school, and on the first day, I noticed — I don’t think he would mind me sharing this, either, but —”

Crowley gave Gabe a significant look and held his hands about a foot apart. Next to him, Dame Tracy wiggled in her chair, letting out a soft ooooh.

“You mean —” she asked.

“He has a truly enormous —”

“Crowley, buddy, I don’t think we can say that on network TV,” Gabe chuckled.

“Sorry! Sorry about that —” Crowley laughed. “All I’m saying is that once you’ve noticed — well, it’s truly awe-inspiring. If you meet Jack Furfur at a bar and you’re thinking of taking him home for the evening, uhh, you’re in for a treat.”

Next to Crowley, Dame Tracy was in stitches, her hand on Crowley’s knee. “My dear boy, have you even considered —”

“What’s the matter with you, doll?” Crowley wiggled his eyebrows. “Want his number?”

“Well, yes, actually — but my granddaughter was helping me get ready for the show tonight, showing me some of your work, and she introduced me to the idea of — do they call it fan art? Fanfiction?”

Crowley threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, I am very familiar with fanfiction. It comes up at fan conventions a lot.”

“Well then, my dear, I do believe you may have just issued — shall we say, an invitation? For some very exciting fan art about this film.”

“Would love to see it,” Crowley gushed. “I know some people like to look down on fan art and fanfiction, but when you’ve been making sci-fi films as long as I have, you know that fans are the lifeblood of any franchise. And they’re so talented! I’m always going to support fan art.”

“And your fans love you for it,” Gabe broke in smoothly. “Now, Dame Tracy, I haven’t brought you into the conversation in a while, so tell me — how are you enjoying your latest Broadway run? I just took my wife to see you the other night, and we thought you were sensational —”

Aziraphale settled back into his seat with a huff, both disappointed and a little relieved that the attention had moved away from Crowley temporarily. Crowley was always like this on talk shows — freewheeling, unpredictable, walking the edge of propriety. Who knew what he was going to blurt out next?

Crowley was pretty sure he was going to float off into space.

The lights were lowered, and Mimi Navarro, the musical guest, was in the midst of belting out O Holy Night, the title track of her new Christmas album. (“It’s actually Muriel,” she had softly whispered to Crowley last year at the Vanity Fair party, before gushing breathlessly about how much she loved the Starmaker series. She was cute, but she was also twenty years Crowley’s junior. He’d eventually taken home a young man who was slightly more age appropriate, who had fucked Crowley silly before begging him never to tell anyone.) Mimi was usually a pop singer with a bit of Latin flavor. Who knew that she could sing so smoothly and sweetly, every high note piercing right to the center of Crowley’s gut? This wasn’t usually his type of music, but he’d been in a strange mood lately, softer, more sentimental.

He looked out into the crowd, his eyes sweeping over the rapt faces. There — that was the reason Crowley was letting this song get to him. Aziraphale’s white-blond candyfloss was nearly a halo in the soft blue light, shining bright in a sea of shadows. His lips were parted as he drank in every note, his confounding eyes sparkling with joy and maybe a few tears. Fuck, he was beautiful. Of course he would love this sort of thing, the sweet, gentle man. Crowley wanted to kneel at his feet, to tug him down by the snowman-printed bowtie and kiss the daylights out of him, to be aired later that night on national television. He wanted to tell everyone that his heart had been stolen by an angel and that he would never be the same. He wanted —

A gentle hand fell on his knee, and he turned to see Tracy looking at him intently, a knowing smile on her face. She nodded out into the audience toward Aziraphale, then raised a pointed eyebrow. Crowley grinned apprehensively, then shrugged.

Truly He taught us to love one another
His law is love and His Gospel is Peace

Somehow Crowley managed to float through the rest of the taping. Mimi was glad to see him, and he turned on the charm for her, throwing in a few eyebrow wiggles and vaguely racy comments that would have the censors thinking carefully later. When it was over, he said his goodbyes to Gabe (definitely a bit of an ass, but good at what he did, all things considered). He was on his way back down the hallway to his dressing room when he heard a dry cough just off to his left.

“Crowley, dear, a word please —”

Tracy was leaning against the doorframe of her dressing room, her dozens of bangle bracelets jingling as she crossed her arms over her chest. She had to be in her mid-sixties, but she was just as gorgeous and bawdy as she had ever been. Crowley honestly wouldn’t have minded taking her up on that nightclub invitation.

“Sure, what’s up, Trace?”

Tracy looked both ways up and down the corridor, then caught Crowley by the elbow and pulled him into the room, shutting the door behind him.

“That sweet young man you brought with you — oh, he was so kind to me, had the loveliest things to say about my outfit, and my work — are you two an item?”

“Ngghh —” Crowley hesitated, then tried again. “That is to say — um — yes. But we’re not —”

“Don’t worry, my dear, I’m not one to reveal secrets that aren’t mine to share. But are you sure it needs to be a secret?”

“Um — I hadn’t really thought about it. Somehow I never — I dunno, came out exactly. And I don’t want to bring the heat down on him, so, uh —”

Tracy reached out, dusting a bit of fluff off the lapel of Crowley’s jacket. “I only thought someone should say — in my day, darling, you really did have to be careful, and agents would have told you to hide who you were. But I don’t think it has to be like that anymore. If you’re serious about him — and by the way you were looking at him, it looks like you are — maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be open about it. He seems too lovely to be hidden away.”

“Fuck, I know.” Crowley let out his breath in a whoosh, leaning back against the door. “He’s the greatest, right? Terrible for my image. It’s like I’m a teenager with a crush all over again.”

“Well, dear, it suits you. I don’t want to keep you, but think about what I said, hm?”

“I will.” Crowley dropped a kiss on the offered cheek, then turned to pull the door open. “Thanks, Trace.”

Aziraphale was back in the dressing room, making sure that all of his and Crowley’s things were in order and ready to go when the door opened.

“Darling, I have your bag and coat right here. Anathema said that our limo is just pulling up now and that our suitcases are already at the hotel, and oof —”

Crowley swept into the room and scooped Aziraphale up in a bear hug, squeezing him tight. Aziraphale sighed into it, resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder and breathing in the familiar scent of leather and Crowley’s smoky cologne. After a minute, Crowley relaxed, kissing Aziraphale’s forehead as he let him go.

“What was that for?” Aziraphale murmured.

“For being you.” Crowley’s smile was crooked, his gaze soft as he looked down. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

They shrugged on their coats (Aziraphale’s was a sensible tweed wool that matched the rest of his ensemble, while Crowley’s was an emerald green faux fur number that would not have been out of place in Vegas) and set off down the hallway, following the lead of the security guards who pointed them to the exit. When they stepped out into the early evening darkness of a dingy Midtown side street, it was to the accompaniment of flashbulbs, paparazzi leaning over a velvet rope as Crowley paused to sign a few autographs.

“Hey blondie, looking good!”

“Crowley, who’s your friend?”

Crowley signed a DVD of the first Starmaker film with a flourish and put his hand on the small of Azirphale’s back, steering him toward a waiting limo. “He’s my interior designer!” he called over his shoulder.

“What do you need an interior designer at the Late Show for?”

“I wanted to take a look at the dressing rooms!” Aziraphale replied. “They’re surprisingly eclectic — Mr. Archer’s people really have wonderful taste —”

Crowley snorted and pushed Aziraphale into the car, clambering in after him.

“Fuck, if the paps weren’t right there, I’d be kissing your face clean off,” he growled, soft enough that only Aziraphale could hear. Aziraphale shivered, a warm ball of anticipation settling in his stomach.

The limo driver cleared his throat. “Good evening, sirs! We’ll have about a ten-minute drive to the Pierre — traffic in Midtown is a little rough tonight — but just sit back and enjoy yourselves and I’ll have you there in no time.”

“Thanks, dude, that’s really helpful,” Crowley replied. The driver hit the button to close the privacy window between them, and as soon as it was closed, Crowley draped an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders, turning to look through the back window as the theater receded into the distance.

Aziraphale was used to this by now, teasing the paps but making sure they didn’t have anything to print. He was used to arriving separately at restaurants, eating in dark corners of VIP lounges, being introduced as Crowley’s friend or assistant or some other member of his entourage, holding back his touches until they were behind closed doors and away from prying eyes. In a way it was rather hot, the thrill of concealment, the threat of discovery, desperate clinches in trailers and dressing rooms, up against the wall with his trousers pulled down just enough for Crowley to enter him, a hand clamped over his mouth. It was exciting, and a great deal of fun, getting to be a part of Crowley’s world. But he had to wonder how long it could possibly last. Neither one of them had said anything about love, and Aziraphale was starting to wonder whether he was a fool, letting his heart open to Crowley as much as he had, giving himself so completely if this was all they were ever going to be.

But it was hard to worry about anything beyond the end of his nose when the handsomest man Aziraphale had ever seen was reaching for his chin, gently turning his face as his arm snaked more firmly around Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“I think the coast is clear, Angel. Time to get started on kissing this gorgeous face off.”

Aziraphale moaned at the touch, tipping forward into Crowley’s embrace and letting himself be swept away. It was still an utter thrill to kiss Crowley, somehow both deeply familiar and completely new every time, the novelty never wearing off. Crowley made him feel like he was the center of the universe, his long fingers caressing Aziraphale’s face as he devoured Aziraphale’s lips. If they were indeed in a film, Aziraphale imagined the dolly shot swirling around them, the violins swelling in the score, the setting sun sending a flare into the camera lens. It was everything he could possibly want — so why did he feel as if there was an even greater prize just out of reach?

Crowley’s fingers were scrabbling down the front of his shirt, feeling through the thin fabric for the prize that Aziraphale had concealed underneath. “Guess you’re still not ready to give me a preview,” Crowley grumbled, his lips wandering just underneath Aziraphale’s ear.

“I want you to enjoy me, darling,” Aziraphale whispered. “Unwrap me slowly, piece by piece.”

He had to admit that he loved teasing Crowley, relishing the dual glint of exasperation and appreciation in his lover’s golden eyes.

“You’re a vexing little tart, aren’t you?”

“Only the most delicate puff pastry, filled with cream and dusted with powdered sugar,” Aziraphale purred, batting his eyelashes. “It took hours to make me — you wouldn’t want to wait to savor me a little?”

“You drive a hard bargain.” Crowley reached up, fingering the edge of Aziraphale’s bowtie. “Could I have just the tiniest taste of the garnish?”

“Oh, I suppose.” Aziraphale tilted his head, pretending to pout as Crowley slipped the knot free and undid the first two buttons of his shirt. But as Crowley’s lips touched his throat, he whimpered, his eyelashes fluttering as he leaned into the sensation, one hand reaching up to wind into Crowley’s hair.

As Aziraphale leaned back a bit, letting Crowley press him against the leather seat, he couldn’t help letting his eyes wander to the tinted window. The lights of Midtown were dancing past the window, the streets still crowded with shoppers and revelers, the billboards of the Broadway theaters advertising the names of the various shows. And all of it was decked out with Christmas lights, wreaths and bows and all manner of things, a pleasant cacophony of color and sound. A light snow was just beginning to fall, the flurries too delicate to amount to anything, but Aziraphale drank them in anyway, along with each delicious sensation lighting up his brain and his body.

Crowley must have sensed the shift in Aziraphale’s attention, because he lifted his lips from the hollow of Aziraphale’s collarbone, surveying his face with a wry smile. “Am I boring you, Angel?”

“Oh, darling, no! You’re wonderful — it’s just that —” And here Aziraphale gestured vaguely at the scene outside the window.

Crowley followed his gaze, his face softening considerably. He pulled Aziraphale back up so that they were sitting upright side by side on the leather seat, encouraging Aziraphale to nestle into his side. Then he reached for a small button beside him, pressing it to open the cover of the moonroof, exposing a view of the tall buildings whizzing by, the tiny flakes swirling in the city lights.

“You know, I lead this crazy life,” Crowley said, his voice a little hollow, something shimmering in its depths. “I get to do so many amazing things, but I forget — I forget to really think about them sometimes, until I see them through your eyes.”

Crowley leaned his cheek on top of Aziraphale’s head, and they spent the rest of the ride to the hotel that way, soft Christmas carols piping through the limo’s speakers as they breathed together, letting the moment take them.

“Just a little farther down this hall — here we are, Angel —” Crowley tapped the keycard against the ornate paneled door of their suite at the Pierre and pushed it inward. “If I have to be in Midtown, I find it helps to have somewhere comfortable to be at the end of the day.”

“Oh, darling, this is lovely,” Aziraphale breathed as he stepped into the suite’s foyer, his eyes sweeping over the lushly appointed rooms, all done up in cream and gold.

Crowley shrugged out of his own coat and then helped Aziraphale with his, draping both over a chair. “There’s a kitchenette down that way, living room over here, and then the bedroom is right through this door —”

Aziraphale brushed past Crowley into the bedroom, striding over to the window and looking out. “Oh, my goodness —”

Below them, the city spread out in a sea of twinkling lights and tall buildings shooting up into the darkened sky. At this time of night, Central Park was an inky void, dotted here and there with lights and surrounded by illuminated structures. But Crowley knew from past experience how it would glow when the sun came up, the early rays slicing their way down the city streets, the skyscrapers casting long shadows over the park. He stepped up behind Aziraphale, wrapping his long arms around the man’s comfortable waist and hooking his chin over his shoulder. Aziraphale sighed, leaning back into Crowley’s embrace and bringing up his hands to caress Crowley’s forearms.

“Thank you for bringing me here, darling,” Aziraphale whispered. “I’m so glad you suggested I come with you.”

“Anywhere I go, you’re welcome to be,” Crowley replied, squeezing Aziraphale just a little bit closer.

“Really?” Aziraphale turned his head to look over his shoulder, his windswept eyes darting back and forth as they studied Crowley’s face, their noses nearly touching.

“Really. I mean it.” Crowley really did. He could feel all of the emotions that had been building over the past several months, every hope, every dream, welling up in his heart and trembling on his lips, his eyes shining as he took in the sweet face before him, nearly glowing in the soft light of the room.

“Oh!” Aziraphale must have seen it all written on Crowley’s face, every unspoken word that he had somehow lacked the courage to say, and his eyes sparkled, his lips parting gently for a sweep of his perfect pink tongue. Crowley reached up, brushing a hand along the line of Aziraphale’s throat, then leaned forward, pressing their lips together.

There were times when they wanted each other desperately, when they pushed aside just enough clothing to reach the essentials, hard and fast but very much enjoyed on both sides. This was something else, a gentle dance written in the very fabric of time, the steps of which had been told to them long before they even knew life. Aziraphale sighed into the kiss, turning in Crowley’s arms until they were flush together, his hands wandering up into Crowley’s hair, smoothing down his shoulders, winding around the nape of his neck. It was poured caramel, silky and sweet, hurrying for no one, meant to be savored. Crowley’s fingers found the buttons of Aziraphale’s velvet waistcoat, undoing them one by one, and Aziraphale’s hands slipped up under Crowley’s leather blazer, pushing the garment to the floor. With a groan, Crowley walked Aziraphale back towards the bed. When they reached it, the angel sat down abruptly, and Crowley slid to the floor, kneeling reverently at his feet.

Aziraphale giggled. “Darling, you don’t have to —”

“But I want to.” Reaching down, Crowley gently removed Aziraphale’s brogans and socks, not too surprised to find a pair of sheer white stockings underneath. With a groan, he reached for Aziraphale’s belt buckle, undoing his trousers and sliding them off to reveal his luscious thighs, the silky hose clipped into something lacy and satiny that was peeking out from underneath his shirttails.

“Fucking hell, Angel —”

Crowley brought his lips to the inside of Aziraphale’s knee, feeling the sheer material dampening under his tongue as he made his way up the plump inner thigh with hot, open-mouthed kisses. When he reached the crease of Aziraphale’s hip, he surged upward, capturing his mouth instead, pouring every ounce of feeling inside him into the kiss.

“Can I see now?” Crowley groaned, ducking his head to suck a bruise into Aziraphale’s throat.

“Mmm —” Aziraphale moaned, his head falling back to offer more of his neck to Crowley’s mouth. “I think — you first actually, darling.”

“Minx.” Crowley stood, kicking off his boots and facing Aziraphale on the bed. The angel was sprawled in his pale blue shirt, the top three buttons undone, reclining on his elbows as he eyed Crowley hungrily. He reached out one stockinged foot, teasing Crowley’s thigh with his toes, and Crowley chuckled. “Two of us can play it slow, you know.”

He made a show of it, shimmying the velvet jeans down his slender legs and then opening the buttons of his silk shirt one by one, exposing his skin inch by inch as he hummed a tune under his breath. Aziraphale giggled, chewing his lower lip, his eyes sweeping up and down Crowley’s spare frame. Finally, Crowley was bare, and he knelt on the bed, pulling Aziraphale up towards him.

“You know, you could give a guy a big head, the way you look at me,” Crowley purred.

Aziraphale let out a silvery laugh. “I don’t think I could make your ego bigger if I tried, Mr. Sexiest Man Alive.”

“Mm, you have a point.” Crowley cradled Aziraphale’s face in both hands, lightly brushing Aziraphale’s lips with his. “But maybe I’m realizing that what you think matters more to me than any of that.”

“Oh, darling —” Aziraphale threw his arms around Crowley’s neck, squeezing him hard, and when he pulled back, he looked a little wobbly. “I think it’s time to unwrap me, if you’d like —”

“Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.” Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s shirt buttons, holding his seafoam gaze as he slipped each one free, finally pushing the shirt off Aziraphale’s shoulders. When he looked down, he couldn’t help the groan that escaped from his lips. “Oh, Angel.”

Aziraphale was wearing a diaphanous white teddy composed of panels of delicate satin and edged in sheer lace that set off the cream and roses of his skin, flushed in the soft light. Running a finger along the lace that edged the garment’s deeply plunging neckline, Crowley saw that the pattern was composed of feathers interspersed with sprigs of leaves, all woven together with a network of interconnected threads and placed along the neckline to flatter Aziraphale’s soft shape.

“Is this why you wanted me to set you up with Eric?” Crowley purred appreciatively. Two months earlier, Aziraphale had asked if Crowley could put him in touch with his designer friend, Eric Kane. Crowley had done him one better, calling Eric immediately and telling him to put anything Aziraphale wanted on Crowley’s account.

Aziraphale looked up coyly. “Perhaps, and there may be a few other pieces that you haven’t seen yet. Would you like to see the back?”

“Obviously.”

With a shy smile, Aziraphale turned away from Crowley, sitting back on his heels on the bed. The other side of the garment was open in the center, revealing the elegant curve of Aziraphale’s spine and the thoroughly kissable expanse of his back. But on his shoulder blades were elaborate appliques that looked like wings, the flight feathers folding down his back in frothy lace. The ensemble ended in a thong that dipped teasingly into the cleft of Aziraphale’s ass, his ample curves on full display for Crowley’s delight and admiration.

“Down —” Crowley cleared his throat. “Lie down — on your tummy, Angel —”

Aziraphale complied, sinking onto his front on the bed and resting his head among the pillows. As Crowley nudged his knees aside, settling over his body, Aziraphale chuckled softly. “Do you like it?”

“You’re a goddamn treasure, Angel — fuck, you look gorgeous —”

Crowley pressed his open lips between Aziraphale’s shoulder blades, consuming him in great sucking kisses that began at the nape of his neck and traveled down his back, nipping at the sensitive skin on either side of his spine until Aziraphale was writhing on the bed, whimpering continuously as he rolled his hips into the bedspread. Crowley was nearly out of his mind, floating on a current of pure lust, and well — love. They hadn’t said it yet, but Crowley knew that was what it was, the feeling that made him want to hold Aziraphale close always, to wreak havoc on the public persona that he had crafted so carefully, to let his private life be known, all so that he could have Aziraphale by his side. He made his way back up Aziraphale’s body, draping himself over the angel’s back and grinding his cock into his perfect ass, thrusting gently against the soft skin.

“How do you want me to fuck you, sweetheart?” he growled, lips pressed to Aziraphale’s ear.

“I’d — I’d like to be able to see you, darling —”

“Anything for you.” Crowley pulled off abruptly, scrambling off the bed. “I’m going to get a few things we need from the bathroom — you just make yourself comfortable while I’m gone.”

Crowley strode quickly into the bathroom, finding that whoever had unpacked his bag had thoughtfully placed his bag of toiletries on the counter. He rummaged for the small bottle of lube and grabbed a few towels, then returned to the bedroom. Aziraphale had rolled onto his back, settling himself into the pillows (one of them under his hips to prop him up) and unsnapping the bottom of his teddy to expose himself. He was gently stroking his cock, watching with limpid eyes as Crowley returned to the bed.

“I’m going to make you feel so good, Angel,” Crowley whispered, kneeling on the bed.

They were so mad with want, so ready for this, that it was only the work of a moment to prep them both before Crowley was nudging up against Aziraphale’s entrance, folding Aziraphale’s knees back toward the head of the bed as he pushed in, both of them sighing in contentment as he sank home, their bodies flush together. With a groan, he began to move, slowly at first, bending down to capture Aziraphale’s mouth with his own, lips and tongues exploring as Aziraphale wound both arms around his neck. They had all the time in the world, and they made love languidly, rolling together on the bed, hips moving in tandem as the heat began to build between them.

“Why are you so perfect, Angel?” Crowley broke the kiss to watch Aziraphale’s face, all the little expressions of lust and affection flitting in and out of focus, his ever-changing eyes fixed on Crowley’s face as they moved together. “Thought I had everything I could ever want — and then I met you — and fuck if you weren’t the last piece that made it all make sense —”

“Oh, god — oh, my lo — my dear —” Aziraphale bit his lip, reaching up to cradle Crowley’s face with both palms as his head rolled back against the pillows. Crowley caught one of Aziraphale’s hands, pressing a kiss to the tender skin just inside his wrist as he braced himself, picking up the pace. He focused all of his attention on hitting that bundle of nerves inside Aziraphale’s body, lighting him up with each thrust, drawing wanton little cries from his mouth, the sweet notes echoing over and over in his ears as his own climax gathered at his core. Crowley reached down between them, pumping Aziraphale’s cock with his hand, nudging them both toward their peak.

“You feel so fucking good, Angel — god, I want to give you everything —”

“You already do — oh darling, I’m so close —”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart — come for me —”

Aziraphale reached out a hand, scrabbling his fingers across the bed until he found a towel, thrusting it between them to protect his lacy garment. Then he was coming, hot ropes of spend painting the towel, convulsing along the length of Crowley’s shaft as he moaned his pleasure. It was too much, too good, and soon Crowley was spilling after him, thrusting deep until they both were exhausted. Pulling out, he helped Aziraphale to clean up, then collapsed onto the bed beside him.

“Fuck, I wish you weren’t going,” he blurted. “I’m going to fucking miss you.”

A dry sob from Aziraphale’s throat made Crowley turn his head sharply. “Angel, what’s wrong? What did I say?”

But Aziraphale was turning away, both hands pressed to his face. “It’s — it’s nothing — just, oh coming down from my high a little bit — just a little emotional —”

“Bullshit.” Crowley pushed himself up on one elbow, reaching out a gentle hand for Aziraphale’s shoulder, turning him back to peer into his red-rimmed eyes. “What’s going on, baby?”

“Oh —” Aziraphale reached up, hastily dashing away two tears that were spilling from his eyes. “I’m being silly, that’s all. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“Try me.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, his eyes searching Crowley’s face. “I booked the trip to see my parents a few days early, because — oh, I know you need to work. I know what this is, between us, and I know what you need from me. I would never ask you to — but oh, bother —”

Crowley frowned. “Angel, you’re not making a whole lot of sense —”

“You needed me to keep this light, to keep it secret, and I’ve tried so hard to do that for you, to keep my feelings out of it, and darling, I’m so grateful, because this is such an adventure, but oh —” Aziraphale took a shuddering breath, casting his eyes toward the ceiling. “I’ve gone and fallen in love with you, and now I’m spoiling everything by telling you, and I understand if you don’t want to —”

“Angel, I love you too.”

“What?” Aziraphale’s eyes snapped toward Crowley’s face.

“I love you too, you goose.” Crowley let out a small chuckle, relief flooding through his body as the truth finally came out. “Fuck, I haven’t been able to think about anything else for weeks. Angel, the day I first saw you — god, how could I know that my whole life was about to change? I’ve never met anybody like you. You’re the kindest, sweetest person, and so goddamn smart, but you call me on my shit and you keep me grounded and I couldn’t imagine not having you here with me. I’ve never wanted to label anything, never met anybody who made me want to — but Angel, I want all of that with you. Whatever you need to feel safe, to know how much I love you — just ask, babe, and you can have it.”

“You love me?” Aziraphale’s eyes were wide in his sweet face.

“So goddamn much.”

“But what about — all the things we worried about? Your career? The paparazzi?”

Crowley laughed. “We’ll figure it out. If I have to move you in with me, hire extra security to keep you safe — whatever we need to do, we’ll do it. And it’ll die down. I’ll call my publicist in the morning and we’ll work out a plan.”

“And your career —”

“I’ll be fine. Things have changed so much since I first got started in this business. Plenty of guys are out now and still doing the work they want to do. I’m not scared of any of it, if it means I get to live my life out in the open with you.”

“Oh, Crowley —” The kiss was so much sweeter, knowing that the air was clear between them, that they were finally on the same page. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s shoulders, pulling him close, and Crowley cradled his face with one hand, finally breaking the kiss and resting their foreheads together with a sigh.

“Come to the Golden Globes with me.”

“What?” Aziraphale pulled back with a start, studying Crowley’s face.

“You get back on the 30th, right? I’ll pull some strings with my designer friends and make sure you look amazing, and I’ll do whatever my publicist and my agent want me to do to put the news out there. No time like the present when we know what we want.”

“You —” Suddenly, Aziraphale’s face broke into an incandescent smile, his eyes sparkling. “You lovely, impulsive, ridiculous man —”

“The good kind of ridiculous? The kind that gets to take a pretty angel to the Globes?”

“Yes!”

“Thank fuck.” Crowley peeked at the clock, and groaned. “Ugh, we should probably call room service and then get some sleep. That call time for the Today Show tomorrow is going to be a real bitch.”

Aziraphale sat up, running both hands through his hair and leaving the curls standing on end. “Come to think of it, I am rather famished.”

Crowley grinned. “Let’s get you fed, then. I need to watch you moan over a dessert.”

“Fiend.”

“You love it.” Crowley leaned in brushing their lips together.

“Mm, and I’m going to keep loving it for a very long time.”

There were practical matters to consider, but Crowley knew that he was making the right decision, that he and Aziraphale were absolutely meant to be.