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Crowley violently despised Christmas.
Well, no. He claims he violently despises it and will say so with enough hissing and sputtering that people believe it. In truth, he’s never had much of a Christmas. Not as a child, and even less so as an adult. So he’s spent most of his Christmases in the past decade by himself, pulling a total Grinch whenever someone takes pity on him and invites him to some party or get together. If there is something he likes even less than Christmas it is people pitying him, turning him into a fifth wheel. Or even worse, trying to set him up with someone.
That’s how he finds himself in the staff room of a shopping center a few days before Christmas, trying to wriggle his way into a pair of brown tights. He tries to convince himself that it’s because it’s the perfect way to keep himself busy (oh sorry, can’t come to your party… gotta work) but it’s mostly because he can’t say no to a friend in need.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t think there'd be someone in here.”
A soft voice tears him out of his musings and he looks up, one leg halfway into the tights.
“That’s alright. Come on.” Crowley waves a hand, beckoning, but as he does, he loses his balance a bit and hobbles on one foot until he plops down on the bench.
“Easy there, dear. Wouldn’t want to get a ladder in those, hm?” The man in front of him smiles just as softly as his voice sounds but his eyes sparkle a bit mischievously. He’s a bit portly with rosey cheeks and a shock of white curls on his head.
“Trying my best,” Crowley huffs, attempting again to work the tights up his legs.
The man shuffles past him to the other side of the bench, hanging a clothing bag on one of the pegs. He fiddles with one of the lockers until he finally gets it open.
“I’ve never seen you around here,” the man says, starting to unbutton his slightly old-fashioned waistcoat.
“Yeah, I’m new.” Crowley holds up a set of plastic antlers. “Reindeer.”
“Well, I suppose I’m your boss, then.” From the clothing bag, the man pulls a long, white fake beard. “I’m Santa.”
“Right. I’m….”
A short rap on the door interrupts Crowley, and another man sticks his head into the room. “Hate to break up your little chit-chat but… we got a schedule here.”
“Of course. Mr Gabriel,” Santa says, his genuine smile turning a little sour. “We’ll be right out.”
“Yeah, great.”
“Let me guess…. Santa’s boss?” Crowley asks when the door closes again.
“For the time being, yes,” Santa sighs, shrugging out of his shirt. “He’s in charge of the entertainment crew and takes it very seriously.”
“Figured that, yeah. Seems like a…”
“Best not let him wait, then,” Santa interrupts.
“Yeah, best not,” Crowley grumbles, again questioning his life choices. Even more so when slips into the rest of the costume; brown bloomers and a matching shirt with white furry trimmings. Along with the brown booties he looks like an utter knob, his legs way too spindly for such an outfit.
He steps in front of the mirror over the small sink to redo his hair and secure the headband with his antlers when his jaw literally drops. In the reflection, he sees that Santa has stripped out of his regular clothes, leaving him in a white t-shirt that spans a bit over his belly, a pair of ridiculously short shorts and white socks that go almost up to his knees. When he puts one foot up on the bench to pull up said sock, Crowley forgets how to breathe. The shorts hike up a bit further, revealing a perfectly soft looking yet toned thigh. A bout of sudden thirst leaves Crowley’s throat dry when Santa turns around to offer a lovely view of his white-clad arse, tight and perfectly pinchable.
“Don’t forget your harness, dear.”
It takes Crowley a few moments to realize he’s being spoken to. “My what?”
“You’re a reindeer,” Santa says. “ All the reindeer wear harnesses with little bells on them. It’s a riot with the children.”
“Right. Yeah. Sure.” From the bag that contains his costume, Crowley pulls the faux leather harness, the bells already jingling merrily. “This isn’t optional by any chance, is it?”
“I’m afraid not. Let me know if you need help with it.”
The last thing Crowley wants right now is to be helped into a harness by this man. “Think I’m good, thanks.”
Accompanied by more merry jingling, Crowley slips into the strappy contraption, fastening it around his shoulders and rib cage. When he turns around again, all that cotton wrapped glory has disappeared under bright red polyester and fake fur and he finally takes a breath again.
“Which one are you, then?” Santa asks, adjusting a very fluffy looking hat on his head. “Reindeer…” He points at his own chest.
Crowley looks down. “Oh you’ve got to be….”
“Vixen, then?” Santa grins behind his beard.
“How did you know?”
“Because everyone reacts that way. Well, at least the men.” Santa turns around, chuckling to himself. “It does suit you, though.”
“Excuse me?” Something hot flares up in the pit of Crowley’s stomach.
“Oh, with your red hair. Very… vixen-y, if you don’t mind me saying.”
The heat spreads into Crowley’s cheeks. “Only if it’s meant as a compliment.”
“Most certainly.” Santa steps up to him, puffing out the padded stomach of his red coat a bit as he reaches out a hand. “My name is Aziraphale, by the way.”
Crowley eyes him. Talk about odd names. “I always thought Santa Claus’ real name was Kris Kringle.”
“Well, yes, but…. maybe we can keep that little secret between ourselves.” Santa - no, Aziraphale - winks.
“Crowley.”
They shake hands and Aziraphale smiles. “Nice to meet you. Shall we, then? The children can be quite the little demons these days.”
*
Crowley almost loses track of Aziraphale as they are dispersed throughout the shopping center. While the photo booth with Santa and the elves is at the very center of the large corridors, the reindeer are supposed to hand out leaflets and usher families with kids towards the photo booth.
Something that Crowley dislikes even more than Christmas. Chatting up random people. While wearing tights.
He makes it through most of the day without snapping at anyone which is probably a Christmas miracle all by itself. Mostly because his mind keeps traveling back to his little encounter in the staff room. And those perfectly milky thighs. And that arse. And…
He rolls his eyes at himself as his tights get…. well, a bit tighter at thought.
“Hey, you… reindeer.”
Crowley turns at the harsh voice, seeing Mr Gabriel stalk towards him. “Me?”
“Do you see any other reindeer around here?”
There’s at least one more down the corridor by Boots. “Guess not.”
“We need you at the photo booth,” Mr Gabriel barks. “Some kid threw up on one of the elves and we need some help with the little critters while they get changed.”
Great. The next thing in line of Christmas things he doesn’t like all too much. Children. With their parents.
“Isn’t there someone else?” he asks, already knowing the answer.
“Would I be asking?” Mr Gabriel looks at him, incredulously. “Come on.”
Crowley finds himself ushered back to the central area of the shopping center where they’ve built a little mini Christmas village including a huge red sleigh and a wooden hut where the photos are printed on site. Everything is covered in tufts of fake snow, fir trees and all sorts of gift-wrapped boxes.
People are queuing to one side, with one very stressed looking elf trying to keep them in some sort of order. Children are babbling excitedly, Christmas music is blaring from hidden loudspeakers and over everything Crowley can hear a laugh. A proper full-belly jolly laugh.
“You’ll help Santa with the kids,” Mr Gabriel instructs, pushing Crowley straight into the winter wonderland. “Take them from the elf and put them into Santa’s lap. Then we take the photo and you take the kid away. Easy.” With a hard clap onto Crowley’s shoulders, Mr Gabriel hurries off again.
For a moment, Crowley only blinks at the whole setup, trying to catch up. When he looks up, he’s met with a friendly smile from behind a bushy beard.
“Hello again,” Santa - no, Aziraphale - says, eyes sparkling behind a pair of fake spectacles.
“Hey,” Crowley says lamely. He even gives a little wave for no reason at all.
“They told you what you need to do?”
“Shake some babies?”
Aziraphale laughs. Not that jolly Santa laugh but a real one. “Best not. I think that’s against the regulations.”
“And we don’t want to go against regulations,” Crowley grumbles. He steps a little closer to the sleigh. “When’s the best moment to say that I’m not great with children?”
Aziraphale eyes him. “Maybe four hours ago?”
“Damn, I knew I’d missed something.”
Another laugh, warm and genuine. “You’ll be fine, dear.” Aziraphale places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Now, best get started again. The children can be forgiving but the parents…”
Before Crowley can respond, someone tugs on the legs of his trousers hard enough to make them slip a bit.
“My turn,” a little voice screeches up at him.
“There’s no need to shout,” he tries not to grumble but lifts up the small boy to hand him to Aziraphale. “There you go… Santa.”
“Thank you, Vixen.”
Something flares up in the pit of Crowley’s stomach and he’s glad he can step away from the sleigh so that the photographer can snap the picture.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he hears Aziraphale ask the little boy what he wants for Christmas - some new electronic gadget of course - and if he’s been good all year to deserve such an expensive present.
This goes on for what feels like hours. Children of various ages walk up to the sleigh - some bold, some shy, one starts to cry - and Crowley lifts them up into Aziraphale’s lap for him to do his little number. It’s the same question over and over again, asked with the same enthusiasm, and soon enough Crowley realizes he’s actually genuinely curious about what the children wish for. The brash ones he reigns in a bit, the shy ones he coaxes to a smile and a little laugh. He is - as fake and commercialized this whole setup might be - a proper Santa.
One Crowley should not think the thoughts about that are circulating his brain right now. Thoughts like “maybe he could sit in Santa’s lap for a bit” or “he’s been properly naughty this year so he certainly deserves some sort of punishment”.
He tries not to think them - he really does - but they just flare up again whenever he turns around to hand over another child, whenever his eyes fall on all the red covered soft goodness that is Aziraphale’s body, when he absently brushes their hands together and feels the white gloves against his skin. He doesn’t dare to look further down at those perfectly round knees and - even worse for his mental stability - at the black boots on Aziraphale’s feet. Crowley had never been aware that those did anything for him but today seems to be a good day to discover an array of new things about himself.
One, he’s almost okay with making a total arse out of himself in this costume.
Two, he’s surprisingly okay around children, or at least he’s developed a routine that makes them bearable.
Three, he is horny for Santa Claus.
The latter of these realizations makes the day drag on for even longer, makes the queue of children seem to stretch on forever, and Crowley almost sighs in relief when a voice over the loudspeakers announces that the shopping center would be closing in half an hour.
“Guys, this has been a great day,” Mr Gabriel says, appearing seemingly out of nowhere to everyone’s surprise. “The center thanks you for your commitment.” He gives an awkward little clap, smiling a little too brightly. “Now, if you could make it a little easier for the cleaning crew and get some of this packed away.” He points at the decorations. “Oh, and don’t forget to return your costumes - washed, please, there have been incidents in the past - after the Holidays. Thanks.” With that, he appears as quickly as he has shown up and for a second everyone just stares at the blank space he’s left.
“Folks,” one of the elves - a nice chap named Mark - asks eventually as they start to store away the fake presents. “This is our last day today and we’ve been thinking of having a pint at the pub. Everyone’s invited to join us, so…. we’ll meet outside if you want to come along.”
For no reason whatsoever, Crowley turns to look at Aziraphale only to see him smile behind his beard, giving a little nod.
“Yeah, sure,” he says then, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, even if something quite fizzy is bubbling up inside him at the thought of spending more time with Aziraphale.
It takes them a little while to clean up a bit more before everyone filters away into their respective staff rooms to change.
Crowley tries to catch another glimpse at Aziraphale - just for good measure, no ulterior motives here - but the room is too busy now and his view seems to be constantly blocked by another reindeer or elf.
Back in their regular clothes, they make their way outside.
The pub is only a short walk away and already quite cramped with more employees of the shopping center, enjoying a much needed drink after a busy day. They take turns ordering their drinks at the bar and after everyone is equipped with a glass, Crowley finds himself in somewhat close proximity to Aziraphale who is talking to another one of the reindeers.
He tries to listen to their conversation but the overall din of the pub is too loud for him to understand them clearly. So he kind of zones out a bit, watches Aziraphale talk to Martha - or Blitzen, as it happens - and laugh at something she says.
“So what are you having then, dear?”
Crowley blinks - once, twice - then realizes Aziraphale is speaking to him. And has actually taken a step towards him, a hand on his shoulder to draw his attention.
“Uhm… just a… a beer. You?” Crowley nods at the umbrella covered glass in Aziraphale’s hand.
“Oh, a passion fruit martini. It’s quite lovely actually.” He makes a pause that comes with a little shimmy of his shoulder. “Very… fruity.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” Crowley says, unsure if they’re still talking about the drink or something else.
Aziraphale seems to take another step closer. “If you don’t mind me asking… if you’re not very good with children - which is not true, by the way - why did you volunteer for this?”
“A friend asked me to step in for him.”
“Oh, so you’re friends with Newton?”
“Yeah, he had a family Christmas thing so he asked if I could step in,” Crowley explains.
“Ah, right. That’s very nice of you.” Aziraphale clinks his glass against the bottle in Crowley’s hand. “So what about you, then? No… family Christmas things?”
Heat flares up in Crowley’s cheek that he can feel almost all the way up to the tips of his ears. “Not if I can avoid it, no.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Aziraphale looks genuinely distraught.
“Oh no… no no… nothing… nothing bad just… very annoying.” Crowley clears his throat. “So, uhm… no family Christmas things for me.” The heat seems to reach the top of Crowley’s head now. He’s pretty sure they are not talking about what they’re talking about.
“Me either,” Aziraphale says. “I’ve got this.” He nods at the bag with his Santa suit.
“How long have you been doing this?”
“It’s my third year and I must say it’s the busiest yet.”
“Three years?”
Aziraphale smiles proudly. “Yes. After the first time I had my own costume made.”
“You got your own costume?” Crowley is ready to chew off the neck of the bottle he’s drinking from. A variety of thoughts run through his mind, most of which center around the fluffy red coat and the black boots. Somewhere in there he envisions a set of tight white shorts.
“Are you alright, dear? You look a bit….” Again, Aziraphale’s hand lands on Crowley’s shoulder, pulling him out of his revery.
“Yeah… yeah, I’m…”
“You were thinking about the costume, weren’t you?”
Crowley sputters, almost knocking out a tooth with the bootle.
Aziraphale laughs, not all fazed by Crowley’s reaction. “Forgive me for being so forward. I’ve seen that look numerous times already so I thought I’d ask.”
“It’s a…. very nice costume,” Crowley admits, trying to not admit to anything else.
“Well, thank you very much.”
There’s a moment of awkward silence before Aziraphale speaks again.
“This is quite a nice pub but I could actually go for some mulled wine at the Christmas market. What about you?”
For once, Crowley isn’t surprised at being spoken to and nods. “Yeah, that’d be… nice.”
“Right then. Why don’t we finish our drinks here and head back into the city?”
Crowley almost chokes on his beer.
*
“Oh no, what a shame… I didn’t know they’d close the market this early today.” Aziraphale looks genuinely crestfallen as they make their way to Leicester Square and all the huts are already closed.
“Yeah well, maybe some other time, then.” Crowley tries not to sound too disappointed. He isn’t even really sure what he’d hoped for other than having another drink. While he’s got a certain - and he absolutely hates himself for even thinking it - vibe from Aziraphale, he certainly can’t expect anything more.
“Or….,” Aziraphale lets the word dangle for a moment, “we could have that drink at my place? I live right here in Soho.”
Something prickles in the back of Crowley’s neck and despite the cold, he feels a bit hot under the collar. “Sure, yeah.” Should anything come of this, it’s certainly not due to his eloquence.
Aziraphale literally beams at him and points vaguely into the direction of Chinatown. “After you.”
“I don’t know the way.”
“Right. Certainly. Do come along, then.” Aziraphale leads the way and it actually is only a few left and right turns along the narrow Soho streets until they stop in front of a shop. “There we are.”
“You live in a bookshop?” Crowley looks up at the rust-colored facade with the golden lettering above the corner entry.
“Don’t be silly, dear. I own a bookshop and live in the flat above.” Aziraphale unlocks the front door and gestures for Crowley to go in.
The shop is dark but Crowley can still make out the shelves stacked with books and tables filled with more volumes and other items he can only guess at. It smells a bit of dust and old paper and when the lights come on, his suspicion is confirmed.
“Antiques,” he states the obvious.
“Well, being Santa doesn’t exactly pay the bills, so…”
“You’re a good Santa,” Crowley almost blurts, not really sure what he means by it. “The children… they… they really like you.”
With a somehow pointed thud, Aziraphale lets the door fall close. “And what about you?”
For a moment, Crowley feels a bit dizzy. “Well, I… yeah, I do, too.”
“Oh thank goodness,” Aziraphale places a hand on his chest, puffing out a breath of relief. “You had me worried there for a second.”
“I did?”
“Oh yes. I have to admit… my little Christmas market stunt there…”
Crowley stares at him for a long moment, watching an adorable blush bloom on his cheeks. “So you knew the market would be closed at this time?”
“I did, yes.”
“So you were just trying to…”
Aziraphale clears his throat. “Well, let’s just say… your friend Newton is a nice fellow but he… is not exactly my type.”
“He’s also very straight.”
“That too, yes.”
Crowley’s mind reels with these new revelations. Had he hoped this evening would go into this direction? Yes, of course. Had he thought it would actually go there? Not really. He knew his chances with men were not stellar on the best of days. But with a gorgeous man like this and a few days before Christmas? Now that was just plain utopic.
“So you’re saying…,” he starts, not 100% sure what Aziraphale is actually saying so just goes for it, “that you were trying to… seduce me?” He could kick himself in the shin for that choice of words but it’s out there now.
Aziraphale laughs at that. “I was afraid I’d read your signals wrong and you were just being nice to silly old me. But I think I can assume that you’re…not? Just being nice, I mean.”
“I’m never nice.”
They both frown at that.
“Well, no, I am,” Crowley corrects himself. “But not… not like that.”
Aziraphale’s blush deepens and he looks away for a moment. “Well, I was hoping you’d also be… naughty.”
Now it’s Crowley’s turn to laugh. “Is that so… Santa?”
“Yes, it is. Otherwise it’d be downright silly of me to ask if you’d want that drink down here or… upstairs?” Aziraphale makes a little step toward an almost hidden door that Crowley assumes is leading to the flat above.
He finds himself taking a step in the same direction. “They always say not to go home with strangers but… they never say anything about Santa Claus.”
“Is that a yes, then?”
Crowley puffs out his chest, deciding to be bold about this now. “Only if you put on the coat.”
Aziraphale raises a brow, obviously willing to accept the challenge. “That can be arranged.”
Crowley isn’t quite sure how they make it up the stairs without helplessly tripping over one another. Where he has thought himself to be the slinky one, he has Aziraphale positively wrapped around him as they try to ascend to the flat upstairs.
Their jackets are quickly discarded and Aziraphale’s hands make their way quite bluntly underneath Crowley’s shirt, his grip warm and strong, and Crowley is more than willing to give into it. He himself digs his fingers into Aziraphale’s waistcoat, tugging impatiently at the finicky buttons until they finally come out of their holes.
While they grapple and stumble up their steps, their lips are fused together and Crowley can almost taste the remnants of that frilly drink on Aziraphale’s tongue.
“Bedroom…. there….,” Aziraphale points vaguely towards a door that branches off an open kitchen and Crowley nods, trying to kick off his shoes without getting tangled up in his own legs.
The flat resembles the shop downstairs, with slightly fewer books. Everything is a bit old-fashioned but in a cozy way and for a moment Crowley is almost tempted to not rush as quickly into this as they are about to do. Almost, since his cock seems to have a say in this, too, and is already straining against his trousers.
Stumbling through the bedroom door, Aziraphale pushes Crowley backwards until his legs hit the edge of the bed and he plops down on the mattress with a huff.
“Are you alright, dear?” Aziraphale asks, leaning over him to brush his shirt off his shoulders.
Crowley makes a non-committal sound, letting himself be wrangled out of the garment.
“I’ll be,” Aziraphale murmurs against his lips in between kisses, “right back… won’t be long… back in a jiffy.” With one last kiss, Aziraphale pulls back. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Even if Crowley wanted to, he wouldn’t move a muscle until Aziraphale returns, his knees the best kind of weak already. He watches Aziraphale leave the bedroom, trying to get a grip of what is happening. He is really about to do this, isn’t he? He is going to have sex with a man he’s just met this morning, someone he doesn’t know - he doesn’t even know Aziraphale’s last name, now that he’s thinking about it -, someone he might never see again after this. It’s not like he’s entirely opposed to this kind of casual thing but so far he hasn’t sought it out either. But there’s only so little temptation he can withstand when…
The breath hitches audibly in Crowley’s throat when Aziraphale appears in the door again.
“Is this what you were asking for?” Aziraphale asks, his confidence slightly watered down by the sheepish expression on his face.
Crowley makes a non-committal sound and he just nods.
It is exactly what he had asked.
Aziraphale stands in the door, backlit a bit from the kitchen. He has shed his trousers and shoes, his white socks peek out underneath the long red coat. He has tied the belt a bit more sloppy than at the mall and the garment falls open, revealing little glimpses of Aziraphale’s bare chest and those tiny white shorts.
Crowley stands, wincing when his jeans tighten over his cock. He tries to take a step forward but Aziraphale is quicker to breach the gap between them.
“I’ve seen you look, you know,” he says, kissing the side of Crowley’s neck. “In the staff room. When I got changed.”
“Oh…”
“I quite liked that, to be honest.” Aziraphale continues his way down to the base of Crowley’s throat. “It made me feel very… appreciated.”
“I can do that again,” Crowley almost spits out the words. “Appreciate you, I mean.”
Aziraphale laughs against his skin. “Oh would you?”
“Mmmh…” Feeling bold, Crowley reaches for the belt of Aziraphale’s Santa coat and pulls it open. “Oh my….”
Aziraphale pulls back, looking down to where Crowley’s fingers are almost carefully brushing against his belly, sliding up to splay over his chest. “You needn’t be shy, dear.”
“I’m not. I’m…” Crowley sinks down on the bed again, dragging his hands down Aziraphale’s torse, feeling the warmth of his skin, the coarse hair on his chest and stomach - he bites back a groan at just how good it feels to touch him like that - then over where the shorts sit on the soft curve of his hips. “These are…”
“Ridiculous, I know.” Aziraphale runs a hand over his face, his cheeks reddened visible. “The costume is incredibly hot and…”
“They’re perfect,” Crowley interrupts. “They’re all I could think of all day.”
“Really?”
Crowley nods, not looking up. Instead he lets his hands drop further down over Aziraphale’s thighs, ever so gently squeezing them to feel their smooth strength in his grip. “Beautiful,” he mutters, some part of him hoping that Aziraphale doesn’t hear his praise.
“Thank you.” Of course, he has heard it. “That’s… very kind of you to say.”
Crowley glances up quickly as he takes hold of the waistband of Aziraphale’s shorts who answers the silent request with a little nod. Licking his lips, Crowley tugs on the shorts and whatever Aziraphale is wearing underneath, and Aziraphale helps him get them off with a little wriggle of his hips.
With his position on the edge of the bed, Crowley is almost face to face with Aziraphale’s cock now. He’s not as long as Crowley - nothing to be proud of, just plain anatomy - but thick and with a delicious upward curve.
This time, Crowley doesn’t ask for permission but just leans forward to wrap his lips around the tip and his fingers around the base, drawing a hitched moan from Aziraphale. Crowley matches that sound when he feels Azirphale’s hand in the back of his head, not with force but with just enough pressure.
“Oh that’s lovely, dear,” Aziraphale breathes, thrusting forward just a bit.
Crowley hums around him, letting himself be guided just a bit. This is not how he wants to end this but the sight of Aziraphale in front of him had just been too tempting. His free hand drops to his crotch, fumbling for the buckle of his belt until he finally gets it free. He works his cock through the fly of his jeans, the rough fabric and the teeth of the zipper scraping along the sensitive skin.
“Can I help you?” Aziraphale asks and Crowley almost chokes a bit as he has to laugh.
Crowley pulls back, running his tongue across his bottom lip. “No, I’m… I’m good.”
“Right…” Aziraphale smiles down at him, his face an even deeper shade of red. “I have to say… as much as I’d like for you to keep doing that,” he nods down at his cock in Crowley’s hand, “I’m quite ready for more.”
Crowley nods once again. “Do you have… protection?” He cringes a bit at the words but there’s no other even remotely sexy way to address this.
Aziraphale reaches into the pocket of his coat and produces a condom.
Crowley’s eyes go wide. “Please tell me this wasn’t there the entire day.”
“Don’t be silly, dear,” Aziraphale laughs. “I grabbed it from the bathroom when I changed.”
“Good thinking.” Crowley’s imagination is still reeling with the idea of Santa carrying condoms in his pockets. On slightly shaking legs, he stands to shimmy out of his trousers, and he just about faints when Aziraphale drops the condom onto the bed and slides his hands into Crowley’s jeans as well.
“Let me do that.” With a little mischievous smile, Aziraphale drops to one knee. “These are awfully tight, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, they’re… not very convenient,” Crowley admits as they both struggle to work the jeans down his legs.
At last they have the trousers off him along with his socks and Crowley plops down on the mattress again, pulling Aziraphale on top of him by the lapels of his coat. He tugs him down into a kiss that leaves them both a bit breathless.
“I want us…,” he pants, swallowing, “to do it like this.”
Aziraphale props himself up on one arm to gesture between them. “You want me to…”
Crowley nods. This is the part he dislikes most about casual sex; the explanations and negotiations.
“Quite right,” Aziraphale says, smiling. “I was almost hoping you’d say that.” He leans over to reach into the drawer of his bedside table, knocking a small stack of books down, before he retrieves a bottle of lube. “Do you need….”
“Just a bit. I can do it.” Using one leg as leverage, Crowley flips Aziraphale onto his back, sitting astride his thighs in the process. He takes the lube from his hand and clicks the cap open. “Not exactly what I imagined when I thought about being in Santa’s lap.”
Aziraphale raises a brow at him, running his hands up Crowley’s legs. “Are you quite sure about that?”
Crowley doesn’t answer. Instead, he squirts some lube into his hand, then reaches behind him to prepare himself. There’s nothing sexy about this, at least he had always thought so. It’s always been a bit too awkward and a bit too private somehow - even considering what they are about to do - but there is something in the way that Aziraphale looks up at him that makes his stomach flutter and his cock twitch.
He works his fingers quicker - almost a little too quickly - and he stills after a while, just reveling in the moment, in the anticipation.
“Whenever you’re ready, dear.”
He hears Aziraphale’s words but they take a moment to filter into his brain. There’s no urgency to them, no pressure. He means it. He’s certainly unaware of just how ready Crowley is right now.
So he reaches back for the discarded condom, tears into the foil packaging, and works it over Aziraphale’s shaft, giving him a few strokes for good measure. Then he slips from his lap and plops down next to him, knees falling open just so.
Aziraphale looks at him - at all of him - and it sets off a weird tingle in the pit of Crowley’s stomach. No one has ever looked at him this way, not even the one that stayed for more than just one night.
“Whenever you’re ready… dear,” he says, trying to break up the building tension by mimicking Aziraphale’s tone.
With almost a little pounce, Aziraphale is on him, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s mouth. He settles between Crowley’s legs, using one hand for guidance while the other is splaying on Crowley’s chest. Not to hold him down, there is no force behind it, but to feel him. Crowley takes in a sharp breath and his mouth falls open when Aziraphale pushes into him.
“Fuck,” he exlaims on the exhale, his eyes flickering close for a moment.
“Am I hurting you?” Aziraphale stills and his hand reaches up to cup Crowley’s face.
Crowley shakes his head. There is no way he’s telling him that he’s clearly underestimated his girth. “I’m good… go on… please.”
Aziraphale pushes forward, slow and deliberate, until he’s fully sheathed, their bodies pressed together with Crowley’s cock trapped between them. He’s softened just a bit - Crowley’s focused clearly elsewhere right now - but now with Aziraphale settled against him, warm and heavy, he gets fully hard again.
“Is this alright?”
Crowley nods. “More than.” He pulls his knees up, feeling Aziraphale push in just a bit deeper. “You can move.”
Their rhythm is slow at first, testing each other out with shallow thrusts that cause more friction than anything else.
Aziraphale’s Santa coat falls around them as he leans forward to draw another kiss from Crowley, the soft fur trimmings tickling Crowley’s skin. He wraps his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, hands exploring the gentle curve of his back, cupping the soft swell of his arse. He decides to give his cheek a little pinch that makes Aziraphale freeze.
“Sorry, I didn’t….,” Crowley lets his hands fall away.
“No, it’s… it’s fine. No one’s ever….”
Crowley leans up to kiss him again. “They’re idiots. They didn’t know what they were missing.”
They move faster then, the pace steady and relaxed but with more purpose now. Crowley lets his hands roam again, seeking out the warmth of Aziraphale’s skin, of his belly and hips until he finally lands on his thighs. He can barely reach them in this position but every thrust pushes them into his grasp over and over again.
He could do this for hours. He knows that he won’t. Neither of them will last this long. But it’s certainly not every day that he gets to have sex - and pretty amazing sex, too - with a gorgeous man like Aziraphale so he’ll make the best of it while he can.
Hooking one leg around Aziraphale’s middle, he draws him deeper, changing their angle a bit. With each push forward, little sparks shoot up Crowley’s spine and he’s sure… if he were to touch his cock, this would be over way too soon.
So instead he gives into their rhythm, moves with Aziraphale, kisses him wherever he can reach and be reached, listens to the little moans and soft sounds that burn their way into his brain. He knows the inevitable is just within reach, at the tips of his tongue and fingers.
With Aziraphale’s mouth so close to his ear he can barely make out the words at first. “I’m close, dear.”
Crowley nods, pulling him even closer. “Don’t wait for me.”
Aziraphale’s body quivers in his embrace. The smooth roll of his hips stutters before his movements still, their bodies slotted together in a tight tangle. Hot puffs of breath tickle against Crowley’s ear along with unintelligibly murmured words.
After a little while, Aziraphale pushes himself up on one elbow, his eyes dark and his cheeks flushed crimson. He nods between their bodies. “Can I touch you?”
For a brief second, Crowley wonders why he asks. It’s not like he hasn’t just shoved his cock up his arse repeatedly and expertly and…. the breath hitches in his throat when Aziraphale’s hand closes around his shaft. He has almost forgotten just how neglected his cock has been through all this.
“Fuck, that’s…,” is all he can manage before Aziraphale sets a rather quick rhythm. Not hurried but he’s definitely done teasing. He wants to get him off and decidedly quickly. Crowley neither has brainspace nor willpower to stop him.
With a little outcry he spills over Aziraphale’s hand shortly after, hips bucking up as much as they can. His vision blurs with every stroke, with every bit Aziraphale takes from him until he finally slumps down, spent and sated.
He swats at Aziraphale’s hand. “Please… no more…”
“Sorry, dear.” Aziraphale places a soothing kiss to the corner of his mouth and lets him go, carefully easing out of him. He slumps down next to Crowley, drawing in a long breath. “That was fantastic.”
“Santa certainly did come to town.”
Aziraphale looks at him, their gazes meeting, before they both burst into laughter. They laugh until tears are rolling down their cheeks and Crowley has to hold his sides. He hasn’t laughed this hard in a long time.
“I should….,” Aziraphale says, still giggling a bit, as he gestures down his body.
“Yeah,” Crowley nods. As Aziraphale stands, he reaches out for his coat and tugs it off his shoulder, pulling it across his hips to cover himself. “So those are the incidents…. got it now.”
That draws another round of laughter until Aziraphale finally trods off into the bathroom. When he returns, he holds a bottle of wine in one and two glasses in the other. “I did promise you that drink, didn’t I?”
“You did, angel.”
“Angel?”
Crowley feels another rush of heat in his cheeks. And it’s not just because he can take another unabashed look at all of Aziraphale’s naked glory. “You’re all backlit standing there. Very glowy, very… angelic.” He waves a hand, vaguely outlining Aziraphale’s shape in the door.
Aziraphale smiles, obviously please. “I’ve been called worse.” He shrugs, then climbs back into bed.
“Who are they and what gruesome punishment can I inflict on them?” Crowley does his best glower.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort. You’ll stay right there.” Aziraphale leans into him for a soft kiss, then hands him a glass of wine.
“Fine. But only because you made my legs feel all… noodly.”
Aziraphale beams with pride. “They are some very nice legs, though.” He settles back against the headboard, sipping his wine.
“Likewise.” Downing his drink, Crowley scoots down, resting his head on Aziraphale’s thigh. He can’t help it. It’s a drug and he’s just become its addict.
Like that, they stay for a while and from under half-closed eyes Crowley watches Aziraphale belly rise and fall with every breath. He could get used to this, to the feel of him, to the sounds of him. It’s oddly soothing without even trying to be.
But he certainly isn’t that lucky. This is just one of those afterglow moments out of cheap romance novels - those he definitely doesn’t read, thank you - that turns into a sleepover at best and an awkward morning at most.
“Can I ask you something?” Aziraphale asks after a while.
Crowley makes a non-committal sound. He’s already begun to drift off a bit.
“What are you doing on Christmas Eve?”
Crowley’s eyes snap open and he’s wide awake again. He shrugs, trying to be nonchalant. “Nothing special. I’ll probably get some subpar Chinese takeout that has absolutely nothing to do with Chinese food and watch Die Hard.”
“Die Hard?”
“Parts one and two. Proper Christmas classics.” He squints up to see Aziraphale making a face. “What about you?”
“Well, I was thinking…. maybe I could upgrade your Chinese takeout to the best sushi in town and we’ll watch A Christmas Carol.” There’s an unsure, slightly hesitant tone in Aziraphale’s voice.
“Only if it’s the Muppets version.”
“That can be arranged.”
“Alright, then.” Something light flutters up in Crowley’s stomach. “Christmas Eve it is.”
Aziraphale clears his throat. “Could you bring your costume?”
Crowley’s mouth runs dry. “Yeah, sure.”
Aziraphale gives a little wiggle, grinning from ear to ear. “Excellent. I’ve always wanted to ride a reindeer.”