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All on his own, ten minutes after his conversation with the starmaker, Aziraphale couldn’t stop thinking about him.
He had been unlike any of the other angels Aziraphale had ever met. He was kind, creative, assertive… stunning. He was also recklessly curious, which Aziraphale knew from experience was dangerous. Still, the quality was undeniably intriguing. Alluring, even.
When he had been talking to him, Aziraphale had determined that the strange feeling overwhelming him was sympathy: he wished the best for this poor angel that thought he could make a difference, and hoped that he’d be alright.
Still, now that he was alone, he had to admit that this felt… different from just sympathy. He’d felt sympathetic plenty of times before, and it never came with this adoration. With this fluttering of his heart. Most peculiar of all was the strange sensation in his groin that had lasted the entire conversation, and continued now that he was still thinking of the other angel.
Looking down at himself, it was undeniable: the thing between his legs was doing something.
Was that normal? He cursed himself for skipping the day the other angels had designed that particular piece of anatomy. He hadn’t thought it was important at the time. It had never moved on its own before.
What was he supposed to do now? He had the strangest urge to touch it, but also felt like doing that may make the problem even worse. Still, he couldn’t keep on living with this very noticeable tent in his robe.
What would the other angels say? Had this ever happened to any of them before? He wasn’t sure, but it didn’t seem appropriate to ask. The other angels weren’t fond of being asked questions in the first place. Aziraphale had a feeling they especially wouldn’t be fond of him asking what exactly the rod between his legs was for, and why it had decided to move on its own when he had encountered the particularly stunning angel with the red hair.
It practically ached to be touched. He needed to do something. His hand twitched in want and curiosity. He brushed a hand over the bulge through his tunic, and oh, that felt good.
He needed more. More direct contact, more something. He lifted his robe up with his left hand, using his right to touch himself directly. Without the fabric disrupting the contact, the pressure felt even better. Involuntary noises were coming from his mouth. His chest was pounding and his breathing was rapid, as though he had been running. He hated running. This, though… this was something he could get behind.
As he kept stroking himself experimentally, the starmaker ran through his mind. The way he looked when he had seen his creation, the excited glint in his eyes, the sound of his voice. What was it that he’d said with that beautiful grin? Look at you, you’re gorgeous. It hadn’t been intended for him, but Aziraphale briefly allowed himself to imagine it had, and oh, that thought was… quite something.
He had certainly been gorgeous. What did he look like under his robe? Was his chest covered in that same red hair? How would it feel to touch his neck and shoulders, to sink his teeth into them? What about his legs, his thighs? Did he have a rod between his legs, too? Had he ever done this to it? And if he had… had he thought of Aziraphale in the same way Aziraphale was thinking of him now?
Aziraphale moved his hand faster. He wasn’t in control of the movements anymore, mind far too busy thinking of the starmaker touching himself like this. He’d make the most wonderful sounds. Would he call out Aziraphale’s name in that same awestruck voice? What if rather than the starmaker touching himself… he was touching Aziraphale?
The hand on him was no longer his own, it was the starmaker’s. He pictured those long, slender fingers wrapped around him, making him feel good. That delightful voice whispering in his ear. Looking at Aziraphale like he was the one who was gorgeous, like he was as breathtaking as the stars themselves…
Oh, Lord…
A rush of happiness flooded through Aziraphale’s body, warmth and pleasure and relief. A rather loud moan was torn from his lips. He couldn’t help it. He’d never felt that good before in his life. Hadn’t known that feeling that good was even possible.
He was still breathing quickly, and his hair was surely a mess. As he brought his hand away from the thing between his legs, which was thankfully no longer standing upright, he saw that his fingers were sticky, covered in a strange white substance. In a moment of curiosity, he brought it to his mouth.
It tasted odd. Aziraphale scrunched up his nose at the unfamiliar flavor. This was physical evidence of his weakness, his inability to resist curiosity and temptation.
He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d just done, but had a feeling it was wrong. Most enjoyable things were.
The pleasurable haze he’d found himself in a few minutes ago had vanished, leaving cold reality in its place. He couldn’t let anybody know about this, ever. Especially the starmaker.
Aziraphale hastily miracled his hands clean. Then, still feeling dirty and a bit disturbed, he miracled them clean again, just to be safe. He was an angel, after all, and angels were above temptation, even the temptation to do… whatever this was. This never should have happened.
And if he felt the need to repeat the act directly after the next time he encountered the starmaker, well… now that he’d already done the shameful act once, and had already succumbed to this particular sin… he saw no added harm in doing it again.