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Aziraphale has to admit, he finally understands why Crowley was so enthusiastic for him to try sleeping. He's discovering that it's a very pleasurable thing to allow the body every once in a while.
He'd objected to it at first, mostly on the grounds that so much time could be lost indulging in it. Time that could be spent on inventory, or book repairs or a little late night conversation and wine shared with a certain demon. The idea of lounging the night away, of leaving his corporation to simply rest and do nothing, had seemed...wasteful.
But, as Crowley had reminded him, time was something they both now had an abundance of. There was no one to hide his indulgences from any more. No one who would appear unexpectedly and force Aziraphale to justify or explain his actions. Sleeping had seemed a harmless diversion, a brief exploration of something humans found so necessary but he'd never tried. He'd decided to humour the demon, much to his delight.
Aziraphale is trying many things he'd never dared to consider before.
He's allowed to make choices for himself now.
He's enjoying a freedom that would have terrified him just a year ago.
Why shouldn't that freedom come with a king-sized bed, covered in an indecent number of pillows and drowned in the softest blankets he's ever encountered? The blankets he's fairly sure are a temptation, because once inside them it's terribly hard to find his way out again. His wily demon is certainly to blame for that.
He doesn't always sleep. Sometimes he simply enjoys the warmth, the relaxation, the softness of his own body sinking into the mattress. The slow tick of the minutes passing by as he lets himself drift in his own memories, in his plans for the day, or in nothing at all.
Aziraphale is currently indulging in the memory of a very nice strawberry ice cream he'd had in Paris - Crowley leaning across the table like he'd wanted to taste it from his mouth - when he registers the changing air in the room. It's a slight drop in temperature, and the sudden scent of paper and ink seeping in, that tells him the bedroom door is being slowly pushed open. He stops breathing and smiles into the pillow, concentrating on every noise in the room. He catches the faint sound of scales sliding on the hardwood floor. A long whispery rasp from the door all the way to the bottom corner of the bed, where it stops.
A cheeky visitor has come to disturb his rest.
The bed frame gives the tiniest shake as something loops itself around the wooden leg, twisting up and onto the end of the mattress with barely a sound.
"What's thisss? Did I catch an angel sleeping unaware?"
The words are more than loud enough to hear, but Aziraphale remains perfectly still.
"What a lucky demon I am." Crowley sounds delighted by the clear intention to play with him.
Aziraphale feels the addition of weight to the mattress, the nudges that pull a scaled body into a loop beneath his feet. "Look at you, practically defenceless tucked in under all these sinfully soft blankets. You didn't even hear a demon slither in your door."
The blankets in question shift slightly, tugging gently where Aziraphale has them curled over his shoulder. The neat tuck at the end of the bed is slowly and silently pulled apart and there's a sudden pointed draft from that direction, before something noses underneath the covers and invades the space. The slightest drift of air tells Aziraphale that a weight has settled near his foot, and he can feel the faint 'flick flick' of a forked tongue in the warmth of the bed.
"Not even ssstirring from your heavenly slumber while in the presence of pure evil."
Aziraphale turns his face into the pillow, stifling the breath of amusement that wants to puff free.
The mattress dips again as more of Crowley slithers under the blankets, though he's currently big enough to have already made a significant lump. Aziraphale makes a point of sighing quietly, as if he's perfectly relaxed in his morning doze.
Until something warm flutters ticklishly across the bottom of his left foot -
- he jerks it up the bed, a little punch of laughter turned into the pillows. Though he doesn't bother to try and smother the delighted laugh that comes after.
"Dissscovered," Crowley hisses and quickly slithers over Aziraphale's ankles. His cold, heavy scales and diamond-shaped head flattening across his calves in a fast, chilly slide. "No matter, I'll make quick work of you. You'll be my captive."
Aziraphale's still laughing when he turns over, watching the way the blankets push upwards as Crowley slowly climbs his thighs, rucking up his pyjama trousers. There's a good five feet of serpent on the mattress, but the lower half of him is still mostly draped over the end of the bed and the floor.
"You're making a terribly poor job of it, darling."
"Insssults." The blankets at Aziraphale's waist punch upwards on a thrash of head. "Brave words considering I now have you trapped here with me. No escape from my fiendish clutches."
Aziraphale feels a wave of such impossible fondness as he watches Crowley curl his way fully onto the bed, his heavy coils tucked in the warm space the angel had made for himself but would always share with him.
"I'm fairly sure I could just scoop you up in a blanket like this," he points out.
Crowley hisses sharply and Aziraphale is certain that there's a marvellous threat display going on under there. But, from here, Crowley is mostly a stretch of pale blue blanket and a series of wriggling lumps. Aziraphale reaches down into the warmth of the bed, finds the demon's lower jaw and cups it gently in his hand. Crowley's mouth slowly shuts, the weight of his head sinking into Aziraphale's fingers. He uses a thumb to stroke the line of his snout, the soft, glossy shine of his scales. Feels the way the pressure is returned when Crowley turns his head into the touch.
"You're a terrible fiend," Aziraphale says, with a mixture of affection and amusement. "Sneaking into my bed."
"As if you were asleep to start with." Crowley's sibilant voice is a touch muffled through the blankets. But Aziraphale feels his tongue slide out, the damp warmth of it wrapping briefly around his thumb, drawing in the taste of him. "Also, I recall spending far more time in it than you. S'more my bed than yours, surely?"
"True enough," Aziraphale allows.
There's a strange coughing noise that sounds like amusement. "So it's really you taking liberties with my bed. I teach you to sleep and this is the thanks I get, very Goldilocks of you."
Aziraphale feels Crowley's lower body press against his feet so he can push himself higher in one long stretching wriggle, dragging himself up the bed. Aziraphale gives into the temptation to flip the blankets down, finally spotting Crowley's large head braced over his heart. A serpent is not meant to smile but Aziraphale can't help but feel like that's exactly what he's looking at.
"Have you come to join me for a nap?" Aziraphale had rather enjoyed that even when he didn't sleep himself. Crowley sprawled across him like he was a prize he intended to keep, whether he was wearing scales or a collection of long limbs and red hair. The whole of him softened and relaxed in sleep. Sometimes Aziraphale had simply held a book and watched him. He'd never imagined being together would ever feel this easy.
"Now that does sound appealing." Crowley's tongue flutters against his wrist when Aziraphale cups his head in both hands. He doesn't resist when Crowley pulls his heavy coils into a messy pile on his body, the chill of him seeping through Aziraphale's pyjamas. "You're always a warm place, angel. Perfect for a demon to curl up on."
He hums agreement and wraps an arm around Crowley's wide loops, bare foot tucked under his tail. The demon gives a slow squirm, as if to get comfortable, before his head settles on Aziraphale's chest.
"Well I've certainly been convinced that I don't need to get up for a little while." Aziraphale slowly strokes the length of Crowley's neck and upper body, enjoying the feel of the smooth scales under his hand. Crowley offers a contented hiss, tongue lashing gently across his chin.
"I've ruined you, angel, you'll never be the same. The bed was a mistake."
Aziraphale laughs, remembering last week, when Crowley had brought a platter of fruit to the bed and they'd made a terrible mess of each other - before making a terrible mess of each other in a far more intimate way. It's been no time at all but this bed already has memories, and Crowley knows how attached Aziraphale can get to those.
They lie together for a while, the light through the curtains slowly warming the room, Crowley's tail coils and uncoils, head tucking under Aziraphale's chin and then nosing inside his pyjama shirt. Which seems to necessitate the slide of a tongue across his collarbone.
"That tickles," Aziraphale tells him, though it doesn't sound the slightest bit like an objection.
"Just trying to find the warmest spot," Crowley explains, dipping his head in a bit farther and stretching the carefully buttoned material around his wide snout.
"You're going to ruin my pyjamas." Aziraphale can't manage to make that sound scolding either. "You absolute menace."
"Hmm," Crowley says, from inside said pyjamas. "Well, that'll never do, you better take them off."
He's expecting it, that teasing suggestion offered with a flex of scales and a flick of head. Aziraphale makes a noise like he's considering it, folding a hand over a shiny curve of black scales. "Are you going to change?"
Crowley stills, tongue fluttering on Aziraphale's bare skin. "Do you want me to?" he asks.
Aziraphale's hand smooths down Crowley's long neck, gripping in one gentle squeeze that has the demon letting out a surprised hiss, body briefly going completely limp.
"No," he decides. "I don't think I do."
Crowley considers him through familiar eyes, before his tongue slides out, tasting curiously, as if to decide if Aziraphale is telling the truth. He should know better than that by now. Aziraphale moves his hand and rubs Crowley under the chin, nudging his head upwards in tiny increments.
"I'm perfectly happy like this if you are?" he reassures him.
Crowley's head dips down, both eyes yellow-gold and fixed on him. "I know we've fooled around a little bit like this before." He pushes himself a touch higher, scales tugging at Aziraphale's pyjamas, until the almost-warm curve of his snout presses up under the softness of his jaw, tongue fluttering across the thump of his pulse. The faintest tickle of warmth to the skin.
"Yes," Aziraphale agrees. "I wouldn't be averse to fooling around a little more."
"Is that right?" Crowley's serpent hiss is teasing, but there's a genuine curiosity to the words.
"Well, it would be something of a waste not to take advantage of me, wouldn't it?" Aziraphale slides his hands down Crowley's long body and pulls, feeling the way he twists and flexes as Aziraphale slowly gathers more of him onto his chest and stomach. "Now you have me exactly where you want me."
Crowley can't seem to resist a delighted squirm at the words, before pressing down into Aziraphale's skin. "Exactly where I want you," he agrees. "Though I won't object if you want to wriggle a bit," he tells him. The coils of his body roll from side to side, which feels a lot like excitement. He lowers his head to prod at a button on Aziraphale's pyjamas. "Come on then, let me see some skin."
Aziraphale touches the button, and Crowley lifts himself slightly out of the way - only to discover that Aziraphale has no intention of unbuttoning the garment, instead letting the fabric melt away under his touch, matter dissolving under the slightest gesture from his fingers.
Crowley's sprawl becomes far more indulgent as he spreads himself out across Aziraphale's naked skin, absorbing the warmth of him. The sensation is rather lovely, more so when the demon lowers his head and starts gently rubbing. The small, smooth scales of his snout dragging across the soft curves of his chest, and the pale hair scattered there. Before he focuses his attention on the small, stiff peak of a nipple, sliding back to give it an appreciative touch of his long forked tongue.
"Oh." Aziraphale doesn't mean to squeeze Crowley quite so hard, but the sensation is unexpectedly arousing.
"Can't appreciate you as much as I could with a mouth." It's almost an apology, but Aziraphale can't help another gasp when Crowley lays a second, longer flutter to the suddenly very interested nipple, his forked tongue briefly curling around it.
"I certainly feel very appreciated," Aziraphale breathes, toes curling in the sheets.
"You always feel so good like this." Crowley twins the words with a long, slow writhe that seems designed purely to settle more of his underside across Aziraphale's stomach and groin. An attempt to feel as much of him as possible.
"Is it very different in this form?" Aziraphale asks, giving slow rhythmic squeezes to Crowley's neck in a way he's very quickly discovered that the demon enjoys. "Compared to the other?"
"It's different but good, " Crowley tells him. "Physically sharper. I can feel the warmth of you and the beat of your pulse. That underlayer of angel static is like electricity and fireworks on my tongue. I can taste so much of you." He squirms again, then stills. "It's harder not to be aroused by you like this," he admits quietly. "Snake is more me, things feel more immediate, more visceral."
Aziraphale thinks that sounds very pleasurable, why would he ever deny Crowley something like that? The demon always seems - in a strange way - both more fierce and more vulnerable like this. The rawness of his demonic aspect, so natural to him, so fluid. But it's not as easy for him to hide like this, which is much less of a mask. There's a certain intimacy to it which Aziraphale has always rather liked, though he'd been hesitant to share that knowledge. Crowley is more or less at peace with his demonic nature but Aziraphale knows that certain reminders could still sting, certain insecurities rearing their heads at inopportune moments.
He hadn't wanted to push. But Crowley has never shied away from something he wanted for long. Aziraphale had learned that all he had to do was give him time.
He spreads his thighs apart, feels a heavy coil slide into the space, then another, squashing his balls and cock gently to his body. Crowley loops the chilly end of his tail around Aziraphale's calf, gives it a delicious little squeeze that suggests pleasure.
"Angel, you are the most unbearable tease."
"Oh, surely it's not teasing if I'm simply encouraging you to take advantage of me?"
Crowley's body contracts sharply, before sprawling back out again. Aziraphale feels the faintest touch and rub of something damp and hot on the back of his thigh.
"My scales are half up already," Crowley says, and Aziraphale understands enough to find the words wonderfully lewd. "So if we're not taking this in the direction I think we are. You should tell me now."
Aziraphale reaches a hand curiously down beneath the smooth stretch of bright red scales on Crowley's underside, fingers sliding to where he expects to find - yes, there, the raised edge of his cloacal scale, leaving him mostly open already. Beneath it, the damp heat of Crowley's vent is exposed, the vulnerable pink flush of his sex. Which Aziraphale has only ever seen once, before Crowley had abruptly changed form, and they'd finished the night in their human corporations.
The demon gives a deep, rumbling hiss but he lets Aziraphale touch, he lets him gently explore with his fingers. Squirming his lower body towards him in quiet encouragement. The flick and thrash of his tongue grows more erratic as Aziraphale slips a finger into him, gently probing at the inside of his beloved. Until it's no longer a slick, warm place to press his fingers into. Crowley's hemipenes evert into his hand, the twinned thrust of them slick and warm. They slide against his palm, strange tapering lengths that thicken at the head. He squeezes them gently, making them throb and twitch in his hand.
Crowley's tail has arched itself fully out of the way, his upper half undulating as he gives quick, desperate rubs of his head against the swell of Aziraphale's chest.
"Aziraphale, tell me." The words are cracked and shaky, Crowley's ability to turn his hisses into words tearing at the seams. "Tell me what you want."
Aziraphale has a brief moment of guilt for becoming so distracted, for leaving Crowley waiting for an answer while he indulged his curiosity.
"No matter which form you choose, I was hoping you'd make love to me this morning," he says. "I always desire you, my love, always."
Crowley slides upwards and butts his head against Aziraphale's jaw, the smooth scales sliding to rub frantically under his chin. His serpent body twists into what might be considered an easier position to accomplish penetration, loops braced on warm skin. His hemipenes slide out of Aziraphale's hand and sink downwards with clear purpose. Aziraphale gives a long sighing moan, and reaches a hand down to cup his cock and balls, ease them up out of the way.
"Lubricate yourssself for me," Crowley hisses.
Aziraphale's whole body clenches in arousal at the demand, and he does as he's told, legs spreading wider - though clearly not wide enough, because a looping stretch of Crowley's body uncurls against the soft skin of his inner thighs, forcing them farther apart. Which has him exhaling a short moan of a breath. The unexpected physical demand from such a different shape is intoxicating.
"I've thought about this," Crowley admits - as Aziraphale spares a miracle to leave the space between his buttocks slick and just a little stretched - "Thought about you all the time, angel. I thought about winding my way around every soft inch of you. About pressing a pattern of scales into your skin. Biting that tempting stretch of your neck." There's a series of frantic wet nudges against his buttock and the base of his balls, a hiss of frustration that does nothing but increase Aziraphale's arousal. That impatient, unsteady desire to push into him, to have him like this. "Spreading you open and seeing how much serpent you could take in every wet, greedy hole."
Aziraphale chokes a breath as the next solid jab catches on the fluttering squeeze of his anus - pushes in, an arrow of slick heat that stretches him open in a sweet, delicious burn, that strange wide shape filling him until the join with the second hemipenis prevents anything deeper.
"Crowley -" He squeezes Crowley's glossy coils between his thighs, pushing down onto the solid shape now buried inside him. The tangle of them in the bed so blatantly erotic.
Crowley's hiss is sharp and pleased, though there's a sway of unsteady bliss to his upraised head. "You're so hot inside, angel. So fiercely hot around me - stay there, stay right there and let me have you."
Aziraphale throws a hand over his head to grasp the headboard, toes fisting in the sheets as Crowley squirms himself deeper, a strange twisting rhythm that works him in and then draws him free. His other hand clutches at the solid black scales of Crowley's neck, squeezing fiercely as his thighs tighten and pull up. He can feel the way Crowley's cock drags and rubs over his prostate, the stretching ripples of his long, muscular body driving him in hard every time his tail pushes against Aziraphale's calf.
Aziraphale can do nothing but lay there, clutching his lover for dear life while Crowley squirms back and forth, his hissing long and loud, tongue lashing against Aziraphale's throat and mouth. It flutters between his lips when he takes a breath and he doesn't resist, he lets Crowley kiss him.
Until his wide head rears back, upper coils pressing down against Aziraphale's chest to angle himself in deeper.
"You have no idea how good you feel. I could stay in your for days, stay locked tight to you while you sleep."
The thought of it is briefly enticing, but Aziraphale is already panting, his thighs shaking. He can't resist reaching down, curling a hand around himself, sparing barely a moment to make the grip of his fingers slick.
Crowley's head cranes down to look, to watch Aziraphale's cock slide through his fist, the head flushed and desperate, balls bouncing beneath where Crowley's body is folded awkwardly against him, the bright red of his hemipenis pushing in and then sliding free. Crowley gives a shaken spit of sound and then trembles violently. Aziraphale feels the long rush of warmth inside him, the heat of it. He has to squeeze himself, because he knows that the demon isn't finished with him.
"The other," he says simply, breathless and desperate, his fingertips digging into warm scales.
"Aziraphale, you beautiful greedy thing, you're going to kill me." Crowley slides out, his spend spilling from Aziraphale and into the sheets, before he's pressing back inside with his second hemipenis, sinking deep in one driving thrust where Aziraphale is wet and sensitive and so very close. But he holds on - he grips the sheets in his toes and encourages that fast undulating rhythm, occasionally stroking, or squeezing his cock as every press and push inside him makes his whole body tremble and stretch and ache for orgasm.
"Please," he finds himself panting. "Please, Crowley, I'm so close."
"Come for me," Crowley urges. "I want to know what it feels like, want to be inside you, want to sssee you -"
Aziraphale's hand moves on himself, in quick squeezing pulls that drive him all the way to the edge. Until he's coming, over his own fingers and stomach and Crowley's glossy black and red scales, which are draped and piled and coiled around him as if he's claimed him for good. He's shaking with pleasure and Crowley rears up to watch, his movements between Aziraphale's thighs jerky and hard. Aziraphale is just starting to come to a trembling finish when Crowley hisses a long note of satisfaction, his weight bearing down as he spills into Aziraphale a second time.
It's a moment of such naked intimacy and Aziraphale accepts him gladly when Crowley's coils sink against his body. It's so easy to gather him in and hold him, his serpent form limp against his cooling skin. His hemipenis very slowly eases free, leaving a sweet ache behind. But Aziraphale feels warm and sensitive and completely satisfied.
He pulls the blankets over them both when Crowley doesn't seem capable of words just yet. He lets him exist in the quiet moment, stroking his scales and the ridges of his eyes.
"That was a wonderful experience, thank you."
Crowley makes a muffled hissing noise into his chest.
"I know," Aziraphale says simply. "You know I feel the same."
After a moment of silence there's a shudder against his skin, Crowley slowly expands and contracts, and then there are warm hands cupping Aziraphale's cheeks, a mouth crushing his own with furious insistence. Crowley's long lanky body is more familiar to him, and equally loved. Aziraphale kisses him back, tangles their limbs together in the sheets, feeling Crowley's leg slip between his own, the hair on his thighs, his bony hips and spare buttocks which fit so nicely into his hands.
"Wanted to kiss you," Crowley says against his mouth. "Always want to kiss you. It's one of the benefits of having a face."
Aziraphale laughs and hums agreement.