Work Text:
The box was unassuming. Most of the boxes Aziraphale got these days were unassuming even if their contents might raise a few eyebrows in the right circles. Crowley liked to tease him about it. Once he’d started this little enterprise, Crowley loved mocking him at every turn.
"Collecting occult objects now, angel? Have you been after this since the start? Wanted to dip your little toesie-woesies into Satanic waters?"
"We both know it's not Satanic. This is all human invention. Tapping into existing power and all."
"No comment on toesie-woesies? You must be gone on this stuff."
"It’s interesting, Crowley. A whole new world of collection."
Crowley laughed. "Should have known it was about collecting. I think you've got a problem you know."
Aziraphale had tutted at him and like always they moved on to another topic.
One of the better side effects of beginning this new collection was that it afforded Aziraphale more opportunity to shut the shop for business. He hated closing for no reason but with sundry objects that could say, burn the hair from a mortal; clamp around a neck and induce mind destroying pain if the wearer didn’t obey orders; or even socks that never got warm, Aziraphale thought it best to avoid customer interference. It was all fascinating. But decidedly dangerous.
So Aziraphale would close the shop while he did his cataloguing. He’d get his little packages and lock the door before retreating to his back room to unpack, study, observe.
He did this undisturbed for the most part. He didn’t have very many unexpected visitors after the failure of armageddon.
There was really only one visitor and his presence defied expectation.
Aziraphale really should have known better than to leave his newly acquired goods on the table. Should have known better than to let Crowley within an inch of it.
Instead, he left his newest box open on the counter by the till and opened the shop door for Crowley, ushering him inside to share whatever bottle of wine he had in tow.
It was always lovely to see Crowley after a week apart. It seemed strange that Aziraphale could miss him so when he went on his little mischief making excursions. It wasn’t as if they hadn't gone so long without seeing each other before. In fact, a week was quite short in comparison to some of the centuries they had gone without each other. But Aziraphale found himself missing Crowley like a limb when he was gone these days. Perhaps some of the ache would be alleviated if Aziraphale simply told him how he felt and they could be together the way Aziraphale wanted, but that was a train of thought Aziraphale tried not to indulge in very often.
He was content. They were content. One day, they would get there. Take the next step. But it was slow going, this forgetting of a thousand years of fear.
Sometimes he was certain that Crowley was about to do something. His gaze would linger for a moment too long and Aziraphale’s heart would skip. But nothing happened and Aziraphale had to remind himself that they both needed to be ready to take this next step.
If Crowley even wanted that.
He tried to not let that particular doubt creep in.
"How’s your week been, angel? Weather in Madrid’s been dreadful. Brought back that wine you like though," Crowley said, sweeping into the bookshop like he always did. No regard for anything around him as he waltzed around like he lived there.
Not that Aziraphale would object if he did. Live there, that is.
"Quite unremarkable," Aziraphale replied, following after as he inspected the label on the bottle Crowley had brought back. "I told you it’d be raining in Madrid. You should have gone to Barcelona."
He looked up when he heard the tinkling of bottles and saw Crowley lifting various jars out of the box Aziraphale had left by the till. The demon was frowning, his face pulled down in comical consideration as he inspected them.
"What's this, angel?" he asked, holding a black bottle close to his face. "Another batch of loot?"
"Crowley," Aziraphale said warningly. "You shouldn’t—"
Crowley uncorked the bottle and was consumed in a plume of pink smoke.
Oh, bugger, Aziraphale thought.
And then the cloud took him too.
Aziraphale swam to consciousness the same way one might imagine swimming through honey during a sunset. The world felt thick and pink and Aziraphale was weighed down in it.
He opened his eyes and saw a ceiling. Brown, not pink. His bookshop. A groan
He turned his head.
Oh, Crowley.
Crowley.
The sight of the demon, sprawled on the rug had every muscle in Aziraphale’s body jerking to attention.
Crowley stirred, and pulled himself into a seated position, tugging off his sunglasses and scrubbing at his eyes.
Then he opened them and their eyes locked. Aziraphale gasped. He was bombarded by the images of slick skin, the huff of breath in an ear, a wandering hand.
Crowley scrambled back until his back slammed into the cupboard beneath the till. "What was that?"
Aziraphale stared at his shoes and some of the intense sensations rushing through him abated. "Well, if you’d asked, I would have told you a lust potion. But instead a certain demon decided to open an unlabeled bottle."
He heard Crowley suck in a breath through his teeth.
"What sort of lust potion are we talking about?"
Aziraphale sat against the nearest shelf, trying to ignore the hardness between his legs and the way it ached every time he glanced at Crowley.
Wet mouth, sharp teeth, pink skin.
"Well, I haven’t done my analysis, but information I was provided by the seller stated that the contents create an agitated state that when not relieved will drive the infected mad until they find their release."
"Like plak tow,” Crowley said and when Aziraphale glanced at him, he was pressing a hand against his crotch and looking distinctly uncomfortable. His own cock twitched in sympathy. This was not good. Not good at all.
"Like what?" Aziraphalr asked, not sure he’d understood. Distracted as he was by Crowley palming his cock as images came faster, flashing through his mind, sharp and painful.
Silky short hair, slim hips, a tang like salt on his lips as hands scraped over his back.
"From Star Trek,” Crowley said tightly. He was still touching himself and Aziraphale couldn’t look away.
"Are you really referencing that ridiculous television program at a time like this?" Aziraphale asked, closing his eyes and trying to keep his breathing even.
Hands—Crowley’s hands—on his inner thighs, parting them, seeking, seeking...
Aziraphale opened his eyes and the world tilted, still pink and blurry everywhere except when he looked at Crowley. Shock of red hair, crooked nose, heaving chest. What would his skin taste like?
Crowley stared at him with wide eyes and Aziraphale watched as he swallowed. Aziraphale wanted to lick his Adam’s apple, bite the juncture of his neck, get his hands under that gray shirt and scrape his nails down—
Aziraphale closed his eyes again, trying to grasp at whatever threads of control he had left. He felt about two seconds from crossing the meter between them and crawling into Crowley’s lap so he could suck a bruise into his pale throat.
It was the feeling Aziraphale had always had in Crowley’s presence amplified by a factor of a thousand. Unrelenting and impossible to ignore.
Aziraphale had never done any of this before but it seemed like extensive reading was enough to let his imagination do most of the work, bringing more and more images to his mind for him to inspect. Thoughts like: bite his thighs, lick into him, suck him off.
Aziraphale was gasping for breath as he tried to focus. He was torturously hard, leaking in his trousers. He could feel precome dribbling down the oversensitive head as he shifted his legs in an attempt to relieve the mounting pressure.
“Aziraphale—”
Crowley didn’t sound much better than Aziraphale felt and when Aziraphale opened his eyes he saw that Crowley’s irises had expanded completely, a sure sign that he was under duress.
“Any antidotes?” the demon bit out, sounding desperate. Wild.
Pink tongue darting out between lips. Aziraphale wanted to suck on that tongue.
Aziraphale shook his head and closed his eyes again.
He heard the thud of Crowley’s head connecting with the wood of the cupboard. “This hurts,” he gasped out and when Aziraphale looked at him, he was squirming, pressing his hand harder over his cock.
I can make you squirm.
Aziraphale bit back a groan as his own cock throbbed.
“Do you think we could—separately?”
“What?” Aziraphale asked, not following Crowley’s logic through his broken sentences and his own quickly clouding mind.
“Wank,” Crowley grated out. “Can we wank? Would that do the trick? So that you don’t have to let me—we don’t have to...”
Aziraphale hadn’t even thought of that, so caught up had he been in Crowley that the thought of bringing himself relief hadn’t even occurred to him.
So we don’t have to...Crowley’s words stung. Aziraphale wasn’t going to force himself on Crowley. Lust potion or no. Perhaps they could just...take care of this. Separately. Like Crowley said. But before Aziraphale could say anything, it became clear that Crowley didn’t want to wait to be separate because Aziraphale heard the sound of a zip coming undone followed by the most indecent moan he’d ever heard in his life. It made Aziraphale’s cock harden even further, painfully so, like if Aziraphale didn’t touch himself his body would break apart.
He looked at Crowley and that was a mistake.
The demon had shoved his hand into his too-tight trousers and was moving it over his cock, the tip just peeking out over his fist as he moved his hand up and down. His head was tipped back against the cupboard and his eyes were closed. He was still moaning and Aziraphale nearly lost control of his desire to go to him, bat his hand away, suck his cock into his mouth until Crowley came down his throat.
He scrabbled at his own zip. He wanted to touch himself while watching Crowley. Some distant corner of his mind objected, said reasonably, Aziraphale, this isn’t how you wanted this to happen. It’s not appropriate. You’re out of your mind.
Aziraphale could think that all he wanted but his body didn’t care. He hissed with pleasure when he finally wrapped his hand around his erection. His fingers were too large, too warm, and not at all the fingers he wanted but it still felt good. So good.
“Fuck, are you touching yourself?” Crowley asked and then he groaned again. His eyes were still closed and there was pink high on his cheeks. Did that mean he was close? Aziraphale wanted to make him look like that with Aziraphale’s cock in his arse, wanted to bend him over the counter and fuck him until—
“Yes,” Aziraphale breathed, still staring at Crowley. He didn’t think he could look away. He already felt close just from watching, his balls were tight and if he flicked his thumb just right he could—he shuddered as he came in his boxers in three hot spurts. It didn’t matter though. It didn’t feel like enough. His cock was still hard and he was still staring at Crowley.
That wasn’t good.
Crowley’s eyes snapped open and met his and then Crowley was coming too, wet stripes over his stomach, staining his gray shirt.
Aziraphale nearly swore. His stomach was in knots and his whole body was crying out to touch and even though he kept telling himself to stop, to stay put, he found himself moving towards Crowley, tugging on the fabric of his jeans, pulling pulling pulling until they slipped down over his thighs. Sure enough, Crowley’s cock was still hard too, dripping with the last of his orgasm and Aziraphale needed to taste it. Needed everything. As he reached out to fist Crowley’s cock in his hand—re-enact the moment they just had—Crowley snatched his wrist out of the air.
“There has to be some...way to not…do this,” Crowley said through gritted teeth. His eyes seemed to have trouble fixing on Aziraphale’s face, skating over his body, his exposed cock, the embarrassing mess of his trousers. Aziraphale stomach turned. Crowley didn’t want this. But even as he tried to focus on the thought— control yourself—it slipped away.
“I have to kiss you. I can’t think of anything else,” Aziraphale said, staring at Crowley’s pink mouth. He wanted to bite it.
Crowley seemed to be struggling with himself. His hands had come up to Aziraphale’s chest, mindlessly undoing his bow tie and then the buttons of his waistcoat. He was breathing hard and swearing every time he undid another button like he was trying to stop his own hands but couldn’t. “Fuck. I don’t—it’s taking advantage.”
“I want it,” Aziraphale said, licking his lips and drawing close. “You have no idea.”
Crowley groaned. “I’m so bloody sorry about this.”
And then he grabbed the back of Aziraphale’s head and slammed their mouths together. Aziraphale had pictured this so many times and in his mind, their first kiss had always been tender, a slow exploration. But why had he wanted that when it could be fast and brutal? When it could be the swipe of Crowley’s tongue behind his teeth, making his cock ache. He needed more. To be closer.
Crowley’s hands were inside his shirt, tugging at his vest and trying to get at his skin. Aziraphale didn’t want to break the kiss so he wriggled messily out his shirt and waistcoat before shoving Crowley’s jacket off his shoulders and ignoring the sound of tearing fabric as he pulled it down over Crowley’s wrists. They’d have to get undressed the old-fashioned way because he was certain that if he tried to use his powers right then, he’d miracle them across the Atlantic or rip their corporations apart at the seams.
Crowley’s hand circled his throat, holding him in place so he could kiss him deeper, nearly choking the air from him and making him dizzy with want. He dug at Crowley’s waistband with his nails, wanting his trousers off so they could slide their cocks together. So Crowley could fuck him.
As soon as Aziraphale slipped his fingers underneath Crowley’s belt, he found himself pushed onto his back by the hand on his throat and then Crowley was pulling away, sucking in air as he shucked off his pants.
“I’m so sorry,” Crowley said, face contorting with distress before he lunged at him, bracketing Aziraphale’s head with his forearms and kissing him again, all tongues and teeth. And then Crowley’s hand was in his pants and Aziraphale gasped, bucking up into his hips and feeling the press of Crowley’s cock through the ribbed fabric of his vest. It was like the first breath of air after leaving the city, the relief of oxygen in tired lungs. Aziraphale moaned and tugged on the semen covered fabric of Crowley’s henley as he said, “Off,” the word muffled into Crowley’s mouth. The request earned him a groan as Crowley sat back and tugged it over his head.
And there was the patch of chest hair Aziraphale had seen peeking out of Crowley’s most low-cut shirts, the trail of hair beneath his belly button that led to his cock. He hadn’t seen Crowley shirtless in years, and never naked, and now he could see everything. It made his mind stutter and stop, a runaway car, a faulty wire. He needed...he needed…
“Inside me,” Aziraphale managed to say through the tumult of his body's sontinued cries for relief. Closer, closer. “Now.”
Crowley shook his head as if to clear it, a lock of hair escaping from his artfully mussed style and falling over his forehead. “I’ve got to…”
He tugged off Aziraphale’s trousers and ruined pants, pushing back his thighs in one swift movement before settling on his belly between Aziraphale's legs and licking over his hole with no warning.
Aziraphale cried out, back arching as Crowley tongued him, a finger coming up next to his mouth to flutter against the tight muscle. He’d imagined a lot of things, but had somehow forgotten to imagine this. Crowley between his legs, Crowley’s tongue twisting inside him, the flop of his hair and the serpentine glow of his eyes as he pressed further inside, his crooked nose digging into his balls as he fucked Aziraphale’s arse with his tongue.
His cock was hard against his stomach, still aching. He felt entirely possessed. Pinned as a butterfly to a board. Whatever lust inducing power the potion held not abating in the face of a single orgasm. It felt as if his need was only growing and, with Crowley pleasuring him, it was so intense that when Crowley slipped his finger inside, another orgasm washed over him, semen dribbling out of his spent cock.
He felt like he had nothing left and yet his arousal didn’t fade.
Crowley bit at his inner thighs, steadily thrusting his finger in and out. With only spit to slick the way, Aziraphale began to feel an uncomfortable drag but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wanted more. He wanted to be fucked.
“Fuck...fuck...Aziraphale, I’m not... “
Crowley stared at the place where his finger slipped inside Aziraphale and then he groaned and Aziraphale felt something wet hit the backs of his thighs.
“Shit, sorry,” Crowley said, head dipping to rest against Aziraphale’s knee where it was hooked over his shoulder.
Aziraphale wanted to say something. It’s alright. Darling. Please, anything. I love you. Love seeing you like this. For me.
Except it wasn’t for him. This was some human lust spell that they couldn’t shake. He screwed his eyes shut against the cold regret trying to settle inside him. It didn’t matter. His desire was burning his doubts away at every turn.
“Do you have any...fuck, why would you have lube?” Crowley mumbled to himself, still breathing hard. “I’m gonna try…”
He withdrew his fingers and Aziraphale hissed. A snap sounded and suddenly the room was filled with the scent of flowers and Aziraphale opened his eyes to see dozens of red roses scattered over the surfaces of the bookshop.
Crowley ducked his head and turned pink, but before Aziraphale could ask, slick fingers were back at his entrance and pushing inside, steadily opening him and making his whole body spark.
“Ah,” Aziraphale gasped. It was so much. Too much. Perfectly too much. “Yes. Please. Do you think you could...inside me?”
Crowley glanced up at him, expression tight. He looked afraid and Aziraphale didn’t have the ability to ask why. All he could do was grasp between his legs and urge Crowley to push into him.
Whatever hesitation Crowley still seemed able to hold onto, fell away as he sank into Aziraphale, inch by steady inch, a delicious throbbing stretch that Aziraphale wanted to feel every second of. The painful pressure of the spell inside him began to fade and all he could feel was Crowley.
“Oh, Crowley, yes, please, more,” Aziraphale said, squirming. Crowley’s balls were pressed against his arse and he wasn’t moving at all, one hand braced on Aziraphale’s hip and the other clasped around his thigh to tilt his hips back.
Crowley swallowed visibly, the concave angle of his chest expanding and contracting sharply. “I don’t think—I’m losing control of this, Aziraphale. I’m going to— I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you.”
“Don’t be,” Aziraphale said. “I want it.”
With a full body shudder, Crowley pulled out carefully. Then he pushed back in just as slow. For a moment, Aziraphale wondered if that slow pace would drive him mad, but then Crowley snapped his hips and his eyes shut and Aziraphale found himself being fucked. Well and truly fucked. His belly shook with the impact of it. Crowley’s fingers dug into the tender flesh of his thighs, leaving behind the half-moon imprints of his nails. It hurt and Aziraphale loved it. It was what the spell was begging for. Brutal, animalistic relief.
Crowley was staring at where their bodies connected, every few moments emitting a high-pitched keening sound that made Aziraphale shiver. The muscles of his thighs were aching from where they were pressed into the air. His arse hurt. His hips were scraping over the rug and his skin was tearing under the friction.
He loved it all.
And then Crowley pushed his thighs back further and thrust his cock just right. It sent a flash of pleasure so intense through Aziraphale that it whited out his vision and made his ears ring as he came a third time.
Crowley made a strangled sound and squeezed Aziraphale’s thighs so hard that he couldn’t bite back a cry of pain. He felt the hot pulse of Crowley coming inside him and gasped when Crowley pulled out with a slick, obscene noise. Before he could say anything, Crowley was kissing him again and he felt the press Crowley’s still hard cock against his stomach.
He had no idea when this would end. He didn’t know if he wanted it to. This was permission to touch, to be close, to make love.
Crowley tucked his head into Aziraphale neck and rutted against him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he repeated, a litany breathed into Aziraphale’s skin.
Crowley’s thigh brushed over Aziraphale’s oversensitive, unflagging erection and he gasped, “Don’t be. I want this.”
Groaning, Crowley moved faster, rising up on his elbows to gain traction as he screwed his eyes shut. “You can’t mean it. The potion.”
“I do,” Aziraphale said, struck by a sudden need to see Crowley’s eyes. Without them, he felt lost. “Look at me. Please.”
Crowley opened his eyes, liquid gold, and all Aziraphale saw there was a clouded pain. He looked drunk and Aziraphale wondered if he was more affected by the potion, if inhaling more of it had made this worse for him.
“I do,” Aziraphale said again and Crowley made a broken noise that Aziraphale never wanted to hear again.
Aziraphale pushed at Crowley’s chest until the demon fell back onto the rug. “I want you in my mouth” Aziraphale said, rising up to straddle one of Crowley’s legs. “Let me suck you.”
Crowley groaned, a half-hearted protest, but when Aziraphale took him into his mouth, he threaded his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair and gasped. He tasted of the bitter salt of his own come but Aziraphale didn’t care. It was Crowley. He’d take Crowley every possible way. He liked knowing that Crowley tasted like this because of him. Because he’d brought Crowley pleasure. Because he still could.
Aziraphale spread his hands over the dip in Crowley’s hip bones, fingered the feathersoft hair under his belly button, and licked over his cock, moaning at the heat under his tongue. He felt powerful, drunk with lust, needy when Crowley began to guide him with a hand in his hair.
“Fuck, angel. Yeah, use your tongue. Like that. Fuck. Your mouth. I thought about your mouth. You’d eat things. Lick your spoon. Pictured you licking me.”
Crowley was babbling and Aziraphale wondered if he knew it. When he looked up at him through his lashes, the demon was hazy-eyed and pink-cheeked.
Aziraphale swirled his tongue over the head and was rewarded with a rush of warm salt as Crowley’s muscles locked under his hands.
Crowley groaned like he’d been punched in the stomach. He wrapped a hand around Aziraphale’s jaw. "Fuck, Aziraphale, come here. Come up here."
It was a slurred mumble but Aziraphale obeyed, letting Crowley kiss him again. The rushed force of their first kiss had faded into a messy slide of tongues. Crowley tugged his vest off finally and pulled it over his head, hand coming down to run over his chest, flicking his nipples. With a low growl, Crowley slipped his hand underneath Aziraphale and pressed two fingers inside. Even though he was still loose, it made Aziraphale gasp in surprise.
Crowley seemed too far gone to notice, sucking biting kisses into Aziraphale’s collarbone as he fucked him with his fingers, his semen still dripping from Aziraphale’s hole.
“Gorgeous, fuck, ride me. Angel, I’m gonna…”
Aziraphale shifted up, bracing Crowley’s hips with his knees. They were even closer than when Crowley had him on his back. This was better, the full expanse of their chests pressed together, the scrape of Crowley’s chest hair over Aziraphale’s sensitive nipples.
Aziraphale reached between them, aligning Crowley’s cock and sinking back down. This time, it didn’t burn, just a stretch, a release, a slide. Aziraphale slammed his hand into the center of Crowley’s chest and cried out as his cock brushed over his prostate, making him shudder. Crowley’s hands were kneading the flesh of his arse, hungry gaze fixed on Aziraphale’s cock where it was pressed between their bellies.
Then Crowley leaned down and flicked his tongue over Aziraphale’s nipple, sending a spark of pleasure straight through Aziraphale’s stomach and making his cock twitch. Crowley hummed at the reaction, sucking Aziraphale’s nipple into his mouth which only forced Aziraphale to shake harder.
Lost to the sensation, Aziraphale didn’t even protest when Crowley’s hands found his hips, urging him to move. Rocking back and forth, Aziraphale chased the sensation of Crowley’s mouth, the hot stretch of his cock. He clutched at the back of Crowley’s head as the demon sucked bruises into the skin of his chest, all the while helping Aziraphale move up and down, bringing them both closer to the edge.
Aziraphale’s muscles had started to hurt, his need for release not abating even as he moved against Crowley. He felt hungry. Insatiable.
Crowley groaned and sank his teeth into the meat of Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale felt his cock pulse inside him once more.
As Crowley shuddered, Aziraphale slowed the movements of his hips, trying to relax the tension in his muscles. How long had they been at this? Ten minutes, an hour? His corporation wasn’t used to this and he didn't know how long he could last
Crowley was licking over his clavicles, emitting a low whine as he started to shake. The whine devolved into a sob as Crowley’s whole body shook. “Aziraphale, this...I’m…”
With Crowley still fully seated inside him, Aziraphale couldn’t do much but embrace him. He still felt the steady heat of his need—of the potion—and he needed to move, but Crowley was…
“It’s alright, darling,” Aziraphale said, stroking his hand through his hair as he started to move his hips again, gasping as Crowley’s cock stimulated his oversensitive nerves. “I’m here.”
Crowley pulled him closer, hands spread over the wide expanse of his back, cool and sure as Crowley sobbed against his chest.
“Hurts...need you…”
Aziraphale held him closer as they moved together. “Then take me, darling.”
Crowley whined, low in his throat, but then his hands slipped to Aziraphale’s arse and held him in place so Crowley could fuck into him. The painful sensation lasted long enough for Aziraphale to drift out of his body before he felt Crowley’s come inside him.
Crowley fell back against the floor, breathing hard, as he stared at the ceiling with shining eyes. Aziraphale lifted himself off of him and slumped to the side, fisting his cock once, twice and then coming onto his stomach with a stuttering gasp.
“Fuck,” Crowley said on a long breath.
Aziraphale hummed in agreement.
He was still hard.
Now that he wasn’t touching Crowley his body was aching in new ways. A agonizing tug in his pelvis. A rush of images in his mind, hot and impossible to look away from.
Crowley’s head tossed back as he came, the dip of Crowley’s sternum, a dimple at the base of his spine that Aziraphale had only felt with his hands but could stare at if he bent Crowley over the nearest surface and…
“I want to fuck you,” Aziraphale said, shocking himself.
Crowley let out a strangled noise and when Aziraphale rolled onto his side to face him, his heart thumped loudly in his chest. Crowley’s eyes were screwed shut and his hands were fisted at his sides. He looked miserable.
Aziraphale hated that he looked that way after everything that had just happened. It was forced and not at all how Aziraphale had wanted any of their first times to go, but he loved Crowley. So much. He wanted this. It broke him apart to think Crowley didn’t feel the same way, that any of this reaction was horror at the reality of their coupling.
Aziraphale pushed away the clutching shame and closed the distance between them to gather Crowley in his arms, back snug against his front as he rubbed soothing circles over Crowley’s chest, soft hair tickling his fingers. He knew he should be trying to keep himself to himself but his cock was throbbing and before he could do anything, he was rutting slowly against Crowley’s arse, the swell of it brushing over his tired cock and driving him wild.
He felt more in control of himself when he was finding relief, his words coming easier. It was when they weren’t touching, when his cock was aching, that he began to grow incoherent and the madness set in.
Crowley whined and pushed back against him.
“Don’t fight it, darling. It’s hurting you. Let go for me,” Aziraphale murmurred into his neck, nuzzling into the sweet smell of Crowley’s hair. Apples. Somehow like apples.
“If I let it out, I’ll drown you in it,” Crowley said nonsensically, each word ragged and tearing at Aziraphale’s chest.
“In what, darling?” Aziraphale asked. He kissed the knob of Crowley’s spine. The dry drag of his cock over Crowley’s arse was beginning to hurt but he couldn’t stop moving. If he stopped moving, he wouldn’t be able to focus and Crowley would fall further into himself. Crowley would hurt.
Crowley made a noise that sounded like a laugh but twisted into a sob when Aziraphale reached around to fist his hand around his cock, hoping the stimulation would help Crowley come back to himself enough to speak.
“Love,” he finally managed. “It hurts.”
The word rang through Aziraphale clear as a bell. The shop filled with roses summoned by Crowley. The ravenous look in Crowley’s eye.
I pictured this.
Aziraphale snapped his fingers to risk conjuring slick. It worked but it also started music playing somewhere, low and romantic, and Aziraphale realized they were both fools.
“Oh, Crowley, don’t hold back, please. Let me...let me feel it.”
Crowley wasn’t wrong. Aziraphale would liken it to drowning, the rush of love like a wave coming over him and making him breathless. But if drowning felt like this, Aziraphale would do it every day.
The warmth and comfort and sheer desire was enough to make Aziraphale come again. The weak tremors of his orgasm didn’t satisfy him, his cock still pressing up against his stomach, dribbling over his skin. How long would this last? He felt nigh on snapping in half.
“I love you,” Aziraphale gasped into Crowley’s shoulder blade, his neck, his hair. He said it over and over until Crowley rolled onto his back with shining eyes and kissed him until Aziraphale’s face was sore from the scrape of Crowley’s stubble but he didn’t want to stop.
“Is this real?” Crowley asked, hips moving mindlessly, seeking friction as Aziraphale straddled him. “Not the...not the potion?”
“Very real,” Aziraphale said and then he gasped when Crowley’s cock brushed against his stretched hole.
Aziraphale suddenly found himself on his back surrounded by soft velvety red fabric. He brushed his hand over it. “Did you summon this on purpose?”
Crowley ignored him and sucked a nipple into his mouth, laving over it with his warm, clever tongue. When he finally pulled away, Aziraphale had forgotten the question.
“You said you wanted to fuck me?” Crowley said, falling back on his haunches as he pumped his hand over his cock. Aziraphale had no idea how it was possible to want someone so much. Potion or no, he thought it might always be like this. Desire like flashes of lightning, electric, illuminating.
Aziraphale nodded, lost for words. Crowley loved him. He did. Aziraphale didn’t have to doubt anymore. It hadn’t been some silly hope or flight of the imagination. Real. So very real.
He heard Crowley snap his fingers and then there were pillows joining the blanket and Crowley was straddling him, sinking down on him.
Aziraphale swore. It made Crowley laugh and that made Aziraphale swear again until they were both laughing because there was a unique relief here. Soft and easy even as the spell pressed down on them. Crowley kissed him again and they paused to adjust to the new position.
It felt slower, less desperate, and Aziraphale wondered – hoped? dreaded? – that the effects of the potion were fading. He didn’t think his corporation could take much more.
Aziraphale had liked being fucked, the feeling of Crowley inside him. But this? The tight heat was enough for him to think he’d been discorporated. The sharp slick pleasure tugging at him every time Crowley moved. Crowley made little noises every time he sank down like he was whimpering, begging, and it made Aziraphale’s stomach grow heavy and hot.
He wrapped his hand around Crowley’s hip and stayed his movements.
“On your knees,” he managed and Crowley stared at him for a long moment, jaw working like he wanted to say something, but then he was scrambling to comply. Aziraphale ran his hands over the long expanse of Crowley’s back, tracing the fine shadows of his spine and wondering if he could do this forever.
Perhaps he could.
Crowley whined and Aziraphale returned his attention to his hips, grabbing tight before sinking back inside. He groaned, long and low. At this angle, he could get deeper inside, control the pace, fuck Crowley exactly how he'd imagined it for all these years.
Crowley was babbling again, pushing his arse back against Aziraphale’s pelvis. “Fuck, yes, angel. Harder. Your cock. Never thought I’d get your cock. Wanted it. Wanted you. Love you. Love you. Love you.”
Aziraphale felt it again, that heady swell, as Crowley’s inner muscles spasmed and he groaned, coming again and bringing Aziraphale over the edge with him.
They collapsed on the velvet pillows and Aziraphale stared at the ceiling for a moment before reaching out and taking Crowley’s hand. He felt more in control, but his erection seemed to be going nowhere.
“I love you,” Aziraphale said between harsh breaths. Crowley squeezed his hand.
“Wanted to make love to you, you know? The first time we did this,” Crowley said quietly. Like it was a secret. A confession.
“Isn’t it always making love? If we love each other?” Aziraphale asked, feeling warmed by Crowley’s tenderness. He should have known better than to expect anything else. The poor demon tried to summon lube and ended up with several dozen roses. The old romantic.
“Felt a bit more like fucking, angel,” Crowley retorted drily.
“Well, I liked it,” Aziraphale said, rolling over to slot their legs together, rocking them lazily together to relieve the pain gathering between his legs.
“You would. You’ve got a secret violent streak,” Crowley said distractedly. He was looking between them at where their cocks were rubbing together and when Aziraphale followed his gaze, he found that the sight was terribly erotic.
Aziraphale groaned and dropped his forehead against Crowley’s shoulder. “Oh, Crowley. Oh, love.”
“I like when you call me that,” Crowley said, hips moving with more purpose but still agonizingly slow.
“Love,” Aziraphale repeated softly, even as he began to lose the thread of his thoughts. He was close. He wanted to come. He wanted Crowley to make him come again. “Love. It’s what you are.”
“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me, you know that,” Crowley said and Aziraphale felt himself come apart.
They laid there tangled together, sharing breath. With some chagrin, Aziraphale noticed they were both still hard.
Crowley did too. “How long do you think this will last? I don’t feel like I'm going mad anymore but this is…well, I’m getting a bit sore.”
Aziraphale untangled himself and stood on unsteady legs to fish out the index that came with box of potions. He scanned it and groaned.
“Twelve to twenty-four hours.”
He looked down at Crowley and saw the marks of his own nails over his hips, a bruise sucked into his clavicle, kiss bitten lips and mussed hair, come streaked over his stomach and thighs, and Aziraphale was slammed with the same desperate need from before as he fell to his knees.
“Come here, kiss me,” he said hurriedly and Crowley did. Some of the pressure fell away and Aziraphale said, “It seems we won’t get a break for a while.”
Crowley shrugged. “There are worse ways to pass the time.”
Eighteen hours later Aziraphale’s shop had seen the accidental summoning of ten dozen roses, fifteen velvet pillows, a new bed, several ounces of lube, whipped cream, and two lacy garments that were set aside for later use.
The shop also saw, much to its horror, more sex acts than it had seen in its lifetime, done on a variety of surfaces it thought unsuitable for such activities. Unfortunately, little did the shop know what it had seen that day would pale in comparison to the things it had yet to see.
After all, Aziraphale was now collecting occult objects. And some had very interesting uses.