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Halloween, 2025
Anthony Crowley stalks around the dimly lit, halfheartedly decorated multipurpose room attached to one of the faculty breakrooms, wondering where he had gone wrong in his life. He, technically, is a doctor of fine arts. He could become a successful counterfeiter if he had the inclination; his brush strokes are perfection, his sculpture divine. But no, he decided to teach, and now he's attending a Halloween party he really wishes he could have skipped. Maybe he’s asleep, and this is a nightmare.
"What are you supposed to be?" Adam, occasionally one of his students, asks from a distance.
"I'm obviously a dinosaur," Crowley says, flailing with his tiny T. rex arms to point at the inflatable dinosaur costume his face is poking out of.
"Right. Doesn't quite seem your vibe," Adam says before disappearing as quickly as he'd appeared.
"Not my vibe," Crowley repeats under his breath. Of course, it isn’t his vibe. His vibe is spooky and scary, but right now, he is half deafened by the
music and half by the air pump keeping his costume inflated. He's hungry and wants nothing more than to go home, have a shower, and ignore the cause of this catastrophe. And he fully intends to ignore him.
"Did you lose a bet?" Marjorie Shaxton, angry and bitter English professor, asks as she sips punch from a plastic cup, not even trying to hide her amusement. She squeaks quietly when she moves, dressed all in red pleather with a pair of bat wings on her back.
"As a matter of fact, I did," Crowley growls, wishing he could see his watch and find out how much longer he has to wear this Cretaceous nightmare of a costume.
Shax smirks, patting one of his tiny inflatable arms. "It suits you, Crowley."
"Fuck off, Shax," he growls again, stalking away from her, his costume jiggling around him, the sound of Shax's cackling barely ringing in his ears.
Crowley tries very hard to ignore all of the stares and giggles from the party attendees as he clumsily stalks around the room, keeping an eye out for one person in particular.
Aziraphale Fell, the sweetest man anyone has ever met, until you get to know him and find out how much of a bastard he can be. At least that was the way people usually came to know the man. Crowley, on the other hand, met the bastard first.
Halloween, 2009
Crowley sneaked around the room, witnessing some of the lamest Halloween costumes he had ever seen. He'd been teaching at Tadfield University for four years now, and the quality of fancy dress had declined every year. Not that he was one to talk, he usually wore the same thing: a black henley, tight black jeans, black faux snakeskin shoes, a headband with a pair of devil's horns, and sometimes he'd carry around a pitchfork, or add a tail for variety. He was trying something new this year. He was covered head to toe in a black bodysuit and a hood. His gloves had elongated claws, and the hood had glowing yellow eyes. In the poorly lit room, it was surprisingly easy to sneak up on other staff members and make them drop their toffee apples.
He had been stalking Professor Sandalphon for the last couple of minutes, turning off the lights of his demon eyes to make himself harder to see. Crowley had never been able to figure out precisely what Sandalphon did. He was often referred to as a professor, but Crowley only ever saw him at staff functions and wasn’t in a hurry to change that. Sandalphon was a shameless kiss-arse, and there were only particular scenarios in which he could approve of such actions, and those would never be with Sandalphon.
Crowley was just about to spring out of the shadows when someone collided with him, knocking him backwards into the kitchen and directly into someone else, who caught him and held onto him until he was on his feet again.
“Sorry about that… Crowley?” Rafael Nguyen asked, tilting his head to the side. His handsome face made Crowley extremely happy to be wearing a hood.
“Er, yeah. How’d you know?” Crowley asked, looking the other man over head to toe. He’d had something he would never call a crush on Professor Nguyen since he’d started at the university. Professor Nguyen had a husband and children and just seemed relatively perfect. He also happened to be one of the few people Crowley would consider spending time with outside of work, whatever that might entail.
“Lucky guess. I like the costume, though. Much better than the jeans and headband,” he said, grabbing a beer from the refreshment table nearby. “Oh, hey there,” he said to someone behind Crowley. "It's Professor Fell, right?”
Crowley spun around, nearly face-to-face with blue-grey eyes delicately outlined with eyeliner, blond curls, rosy cheeks, and a thin, twirly moustache seemingly drawn on with the same eyeliner. Crowley took a step back, and the entire man came into focus. He looked ridiculous, dressed as a stereotypical stage magician: a black top hat, a black jacket, and a cream-coloured waistcoat. His face was beautiful.
“Aziraphale,” the magician said with an adorable, bashful smile, his eyes connecting with Crowley’s for only an instant before he looked away. “I don’t know if that’s easier to remember.”
“It is an interesting name,” Professor Nguyen said, guiding Aziraphale further into the room. “Care to join us?”
“You and the … demon?” Aziraphale asked, pointing at Crowley.
Crowley watched Nguyen and the newcomer continue to converse like he wasn’t standing right next to them.
“Yeah, doesn’t hurt to get to know people, right? We met the other day. Rafael Nguyen.”
“Name’s Crowley, art department. Mostly teach sculpture, some painting,” Crowley said, with a wave.
“You teach here?” Aziraphale asked, not bothering to hide his surprise. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Crowley. And you, again, Professor Nguyen,” Aziraphale said, shaking one of Crowley’s elongated fingers.
“And you teach history, right?”
“That’s perfect for you, Raf,” Crowley said, sitting down on the staff room sofa.
“It’s true. I’ve longed for the day when my world of art history would mean that I’d get to be in a conversation with a handsome history professor and a handsome art professor.” Raf winked playfully, the tease.
Aziraphale wrung his hands, looking uncomfortable. “I really would love to stay, but I have an evening class I need to prepare for. It was wonderful seeing you again, Professor Nguyen. It was nice meeting you, Professor Crowley.” He turned and fled from the room, leaving the others lounging around.
“He’s shy,” Raf explained with a shrug. “I thought you might like to meet him. I was sure you two would have hit it off.”
“Were you trying to set us up? Me and him? Him and me?”
“Yes. You didn’t like him?” Raf asked, sipping his beer.
“Seems a bit stuffy. And we barely spoke.”
“You looked at him, though, right?” Raf raised a suggestive eyebrow.
“Who even are you?” Crowley flipped on the lights of his costume, his eyes glowing yellow. “You and Ari need a night out or something.”
“I know!” Raf said dramatically, grabbing Crowley’s shoulders and shaking him. “I love those kids so much, but I’m so tired.”
“That’s rough, mate. Tell Ari and the twins I say hi,” Crowley said as he walked off to find someone to follow around creepily.
Crowley soon got bored when some of the associate lecturers started playing torch tag, constantly pointing him out in the shadows. He flipped them off as professionally as possible, grabbed a toffee apple and left the party.
It was after six, and most of the students were gone. His wandering through the halls of the administrative office building was occasionally met with raised eyebrows or a half-hearted wave as he lifted the hood enough to eat his apple. A creature of darkness just wasn’t scary in the light.
“Brenda, can you make a copy of these and just put them on my desk? Have a nice night, I’ll see you Monday,” a soft, posh voice said from one of the few offices with open doors.
Whoever Brenda was must have responded because soon Crowley heard: “No, I’m going home directly after class. Mind how you go.”
Crowley dived out of sight and peered around the corner. The adorable magician from the staff party emerged from the office, still in full costume, carrying a brown leather messenger bag. He had a pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses on, and he pushed them further up onto his nose as he hurried away.
Trying to remember the professor's name—it was something weird like Azerfell or Asrafell—Crowley watched as he hurried down the stairs, waiting until the other man had reached the next floor before following him from a distance.
2025
Crowley feels the tug on his costume before he hears his name being called, and turns his entire body to face an annoyingly smug angel.
“How are you holding up, dear?” Aziraphale smirks, adjusting the tinsel halo suspended over his head. “I brought you a couple of finger sandwiches. I thought you might be having difficulty getting food into your mouth.”
“You’re enjoying this too much,” Crowley scowls and opens his mouth.
“As I’m sure you would have been if our situations were reversed,” Aziraphale says, pushing a sandwich into Crowley’s mouth.
Managing to fit the entire finger sandwich in his mouth, Crowley glares at Aziraphale while he chews. “Y’know,” he begins, swallowing the snack. “I’d at least wait until we were home.”
“Where would be the fun in that?” Aziraphale asks, holding up a glass of water. “Thirsty?”
“Water? Really?”
“It must be hot in there. You have to stay hydrated,” he smiles sweetly, tossing a straw into the cup and holding it up for Crowley to drink from.
Crowley looks around the room and pouts while making a mental note of the coworkers sniggering at him as he takes a sip of the cold water. “This is humiliating.”
“Oh, stop. It’s no good pouting.”
“You are a merciless man.” Crowley’s pout intensifies. “Parading around here dressed like an angel is just lying to people. They all think you’re sweet and kind, but you’re mad with power.”
Aziraphale smiles serenely and pats Crowley’s cheek. “Do you not remember the terms of the deal, my darling?”
“Yes. Whoever won game night last month picked the costumes.”
“That’s right. And who won?” Aziraphale leans in closely as if trying to hear him while sipping some of Crowley’s water.
“You did,” Crowley says quietly.
“And since I won, I’m merely exercising the rights earned by my board game superiority.” Aziraphale’s smirk remains on his face, but his eyes soften.
“Can we go home soon?” Crowley asks innocently as he slurps up the rest of the water. “And can I have that other sandwich?”
“Of course,” Aziraphale holds out the other finger sandwich. “And we’ll go home at nine. That’s twenty minutes, will you make it?”
“Dammit, Fell, I know when you’re mocking me,” Crowley again manages to shove the entire finger sandwich in his mouth. "Mphphph, go homfph soofer, mphph nakey soofer.”
“Not much of a couple's costume.” Furfur, a fellow member of the art department, appears out of nowhere, dragging his finger along Crowley’s costume.
Aziraphale looks around, going up on his tiptoes. “Did you design that, Furfur?” he asks cheerfully, his fakest smile plastered on his face.
Furfur steps back and holds his arms out, flapping them just enough for the gauzy green fabric draped from his shoulders to his wrists to flutter in the resulting breeze.
“Are you a ghost or something?” Crowley asks, eyebrow raised skeptically.
“I’m a bat!” Furfur angrily snaps at them.
“Of course,” Aziraphale says as if he’s speaking to a child. “And is this your costume with Professor Shaxton?”
“W-what? No! She di—Why would we have? We’re not—”
“I’m almost certain she’s supposed to be a bat, too. What a coincidence.”
Crowley finds himself watching the interaction with his mouth agape, snapping it shut as soon as he notices. He grins as it continues.
“It’s Halloween, Fell. Bats are popular costume choices for fancy dress parties such as this,” Furfur explains. “Not everyone dresses like a silly angel or a giant lizard.”
Aziraphale takes a careful step forward, patting Furfur on his velveteen shoulder. “Have a good night, Professor.” He turns to Crowley and takes one of the tiny arms. “Come with me, Crowley. We’ll get you another sandwich and be on our way.”
He leads Crowley to the refreshment table and downs an entire glass of punch in one gulp before shoving another sandwich in Crowley’s mouth. “That man infuriates me,” Aziraphale says in a whisper.
“Umff, I mnowe he duzz,” Crowley says with his mouth full before swallowing. “But I only know because you’ve told me—many times. I’m sure nobody else noticed. You are very good at being fake nice.”
Aziraphale gasps and looks genuinely hurt. “I’m not fake nice, Crowley.”
“Not the right words. But sometimes the authenticity of your kindness is questionable.”
“There is a difference between being kind and being polite.”
“Is there? Face it, angel, you just have a bit of a bastard streak. It’s one of my favourite things about you.” Crowley holds out his tiny T. rex arms.
“Should we actually stay until nine, then?” Aziraphale asks innocently.
“No!”
2009
Crowley followed the professor to the lecture hall in the next building over. He was sure he hadn’t been spotted; at least not by his prey. Other people, though, were staring as he scrambled from the administrative building and slipped inside a few paces behind the blond.
The lecture hall was large enough that he could sneak in and sit in some of the higher seats, and if he stuck to the back, he could go unnoticed. None of the students had arrived yet, so Crowley went straight for the back corner as Fell walked down the steps, placing his bag on top of the desk.
“Why are you in my class?” the Professor asked, standing at the lectern with a laser pointer directed at Crowley’s chest.
“You knew I was following you?” Crowley asked.
“Did I know a tall, skinny man dressed literally head to toe in black with glowing eyes and claws was following me? No.”
“Ah, you’re being sarcastic.”
The professor magician nodded, eyebrows raising into his top hat. “Excellent job, Professor Crowley.”
“Sorry, Azerfell, I thought it’d be fun. And Raf thought we should talk or something.”
“Professor Nguyen? Why would he do that?”
Crowley shrugged, standing up and leaning back on the desk.
“Is this because you two just assume that I’m gay and since you’re obviously gay, we’d be perfect for each other?”
“What? No. And I’m not obviously gay.”
They stared at one another until Fell was distracted by the classroom door slamming open and two students walking in, loudly debating the best Doctor Who villain.
“My name is Aziraphale, by the way,” Fell said, taking off his top hat and putting it on the table beside the lectern. “And if you’re going to stay, be quiet.”
Crowley returned to the corner seat, trying to make himself invisible.
“Turn your eyes off, too,” Aziraphale said, his glasses on the end of his nose, not looking up from his laptop screen.
“Right,” Crowley mumbled to himself, leaving the hood on but turning off the glowing yellow eyes.
Over the next fifteen minutes, more students found their seats and got out their laptops and notebooks. A few looked over at Crowley, wondering what was going on with the weirdo in the corner. Only a few students were in fancy dress; considering it was later in the day, they were probably coming from work. At least being dressed up wasn’t an immediate clue that he was faculty.
“Last time we started our discussion of the First Crusade and how, in 1095, the Byzantine Empire requested aid with a conflict they were having with the Turks. Emperor Alexios I Komnenos appealed to the Council of Piacenza in March of 1095.”
Projected onto the screen behind him, a boring-looking slide appeared with the exact same information.
“Later that year, the emperor received support from Pope Urban II at the Council of Clermont for an armed ‘pilgrimage’ to Jerusalem,” Aziraphale said, flipping to the next slide, which showed a map of Europe. Aziraphale paused to take a question from a student near the front of the class, but Crowley couldn’t hear the answer. He only saw the professor laugh with a lingering smile that he couldn’t take his eyes off of.
Crowley was utterly unaware of the passage of time until the room was nearly empty. Aziraphale had packed up his things and was standing at the bottom of the steps, staring at Crowley.
“Did you fall asleep? It’s hard to tell with that hood on,” Aziraphale asked, putting his bag on and adjusting the crossbody strap. “I know medieval history isn’t for everyone, but history students have to work during the day, too.”
“I wasn’t sleeping. It was very informative. I’m surprised you didn’t use some examples of Crusader art in your slides.”
Aziraphale’s mouth twitched, as if he were trying to stop himself from smiling. “Ah, yes. You’re an artist. Do you know a lot about Crusader art? Most of it was from later Crusades. I don’t want to ruin it for them.”
“Right, that makes sense,” Crowley said, rapping his knuckles on the desk and getting to his feet. After stretching his limbs in a way that would have featured how flexible he was, Crowley refocused his gaze on the professor in a top hat.
“It’s been an interesting evening, Professor Crowley, but I have to lock up the room and turn the key in before I can leave.”
Crowley scooted out of the row and led the way to the door, turning to watch Aziraphale lock up. “How long have you been teaching here?” he asked.
“I started this term, so approximately a month.” Aziraphale started the trek back to the administrative building.
“You know there are multiple keys for each room; you don’t have to turn yours in every night,” Crowley followed after him.
“That’s not what they told me at orientation.”
“Bollocks to orientation. Nobody would ever get home at a decent hour if we all had to rush back to the admin building every day before leaving campus. Just keep the key. Whoever uses the hall tomorrow will be able to get in.”
Aziraphale stopped short just before the building’s exit. “I could get fired.”
“What? No, you wouldn’t. Look—” Crowley started to reach for his keys, forgetting he was still in the bodysuit. “Never mind. I don’t have them with me.”
“You mean you aren’t hiding your keys on you somewhere? You’re barely wearing clothes, I’m shocked nobody’s said anything to you. Very unprofessional.”
Crowley barely stopped in enough time to avoid walking into the other professor. He turned the lights in his hood back on. “Oh, come on. I’m covered head to toe; I couldn’t be more clothed. You’re just jealous.”
Aziraphale scoffed, pushing the door open. “Fine, I’ll keep the key. But if I get in trouble, I’m blaming you.”
“As you should,” Crowley said seriously, still following Aziraphale.
They walked together to a bus stop not very far away.
“Do you take this bus?” Aziraphale asked. “I’d say I’ve never seen you on it, but I don’t imagine you dress like this every day.”
Crowley shook his head, trying to figure out something for his hands to do. “No, I usually drive. I just thought I’d accompany you.”
“Why? And come to think of it, why did you stay during class?”
“Because I wanted to. You’re interesting—mmf, your class. Your class was interesting.”
“This isn’t because Rafael Nguyen thinks we should ‘hook up’?”
“Ngk… I never said that he said that. He didn’t say that! All he did was introduce us; we could have gone ages without ever meeting, you know. Besides, nobody said anything about a hook-up.”
“I did,” Aziraphale said coyly, glancing at his watch. “I think I missed it. There won’t be another bus for some time. Should we get dinner?”
Crowley silently nodded enthusiastically.
“First, I want to see your face,” Aziraphale took a step closer to him. “What you look like doesn’t particularly matter, but I’ve been talking to a pair of LED lights all evening.”
“Sorry, yeah.” Crowley pulled the hood off and pushed his hair out of his face. “Hi, I’m Anthony Crowley,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Okay,” Aziraphale breathed, taking a moment before shaking Crowley’s hand.
2025
“What are you wearing under that?” Aziraphale asks, leaning against Crowley’s car and nodding at the inflatable T. rex costume.
“That’s inappropriate,” Crowley says, pretending to be scandalised.
“Will you be breaking any decency laws if you take that thing off before getting in the car? How will you even drive? Unless you want me to drive?”
“No, I don’t want you to drive. I’m wearing a vest and boxers under here.”
“That’s not as bad as it could have been.”
“I think you mean that it is as bad as it could be because now you will have to undress me when we get home,” Crowley says, turning off the air pump keeping the suit inflated.
Aziraphale pushes himself off the car and starts to help Crowley out of the costume. “I thought that you would be the one undressing me tonight.” He kisses Crowley on the cheek.
“Even better,” Crowley purrs, leaving the still partially inflated dinosaur costume in the car park. “Get in, angel.”
Crowley slides into the driver’s seat, waiting for Aziraphale to get in and fasten his seat belt before grasping Aziraphale’s knee until the other man leans over the console, grabs Crowley’s vest by the collar, and pulls him into a kiss.
“Should we pick up dinner on the way home?” Crowley whispers before giving Aziraphale a quick kiss.
“No,” Aziraphale releases Crowley’s collar and sits back in his seat. “I’ll order something to be delivered. Are we going to yours or mine?”
“Mine,” Crowley starts the car and revs the engine before shifting it into gear. “Could you order from that Thai place nearby?”
“Already working on it, dear.”
They drive in silence once the food is ordered. Crowley takes Aziraphale’s hand while the other man yawns and leans his head against the window.
“Tired, angel?” Crowley asks quietly, speaking in a deeper register than usual.
“Not yet,” Aziraphale grins and squeezes Crowley’s hand before letting him go. “Get us back first, though, please.”
“If you insist.”
Crowley pulls into the car park of his building, not in record time, but still within a reasonable amount of time, given the traffic. They gather their things, and Crowley leads the way inside.
Archie, a teenager from the second floor played a hand-held video game. He quickly glanced up. “Oi, Mr Crowley. A delivery came for your boyfriend. It’s over there.” He points to the small table for food deliveries.
“Wonderful!” Aziraphale sighs happily as he takes the bag with his name on it before they enter the lift to Crowley’s floor.
They nearly race into Crowley’s flat once the door is unlocked. Aziraphale places dinner on the worktop and joins Crowley in the lounge.
“Do you know, we met on Halloween?” Crowley says, drawing Aziraphale to him. “Sixteen years ago.”
Crowley closes the distance between their mouths, sliding his tongue along his angel’s while he grabs at Aziraphale’s clothing. The white tunic is untied and allowed to fall onto the floor. Aziraphale stands by the sofa in only a sheer, white lace thong.
Crowley swallows, his cock straining against his black boxer briefs. Aziraphale is beautiful. His strong arms and chest, dusted with light blond hair. His nipples look ready to bite, as do his love handles.
“Fuck,” Crowley drops to his knees and hums, mouthing at Aziraphale’s cock through the lace.
“Crowley—” Aziraphale starts, the rest of his sentence dies in his throat.
“Go sit on the sofa,” Crowley says, speaking roughly, looking up at his angel.
Aziraphale does as he’s told, sinking into the leather sofa. His blue-grey eyes are nearly black as he watches Crowley crawl to his lap, draping himself over Aziraphale’s gorgeous thighs. His teeth gently graze Aziraphale’s inner thigh.
“My beautiful Anthony,” Aziraphale murmurs so quietly that Crowley isn’t sure if he heard correctly.
Slipping his fingers under the satin hip straps of Aziraphale’s thong, Crowley starts peeling the lingerie off the blond, never breaking eye contact. He follows the bit of fabric with his lips, mouthing at Aziraphale’s skin and the familiar smell and taste of him.
“Comfortable?” Crowley asks, slipping the lacy pants off of Aziraphale’s feet.
“Very,” Aziraphale sighs as he wraps his legs around Crowley. “Come here, my love.”
Crowley leans forward, kissing Aziraphale’s belly, trapping his cock between them. Aziraphale tilts Crowley’s face up and kisses him slowly and methodically, only breaking the kiss for air. Pulling away, Crowley repositions himself between Aziraphale’s knees, sinking down further onto his own knees, his face now level with the angel’s cock.
“Can I?” Crowley asks, his mouth watering. “Is that what you want?”
“God, yes,” Aziraphale whines, his voice deep and gravelly.
Crowley kisses the tip of Aziraphale’s girthy cock, sucking on it briefly before taking him further into his mouth.
Aziraphale groans Crowley’s name, melting back against the sofa as his hands immediately find the other man’s hair and tugs, wringing a moan out of Crowley that vibrates around Aziraphale, causing him to thrust his hips forward.
Pushing down, Crowley holds Aziraphale’s hips as he pulls off, leaving a trail of kisses along the shaft. “You are the perfect mouthful,” Crowley whispers, sucking gently on Aziraphale’s bollocks. “You’re so sweet that you taste like it too.”
“Crowley!” Aziraphale laughs.
As he rests his chin on Aziraphale’s thigh, Crowley grins at him, his lips swollen. “It’s the truth, angel. I’ll gladly argue with you about it once you’ve come down my throat.”
“Good lord,” the blond groans as he wiggles around on the sofa.
Crowley takes Aziraphale into his mouth again, bobbing his head a few times before slowly sinking down until he can feel Aziraphale at the back of his throat, his lips at the base of his cock. He swallows around the other man’s girth.
“Oh god, Crowley,” Aziraphale cries out, tugging on the red hair tangled around his fingers. “I’m getting close, darling.”
Crowley doubles down on his effort, using the flat of his tongue on the underside of the cock in his mouth; his lips are tickled by the light hair between Aziraphale’s legs each time he swallows him down. He pulls off with a pop, gasping a breath before doing it again, and again, fucking his own throat with Aziraphale’s cock.
He feels that Aziraphale is close before the other man moans out the words, pulling Crowley’s hair, his hips’ rhythm turning more erratic.
“Oh god, Anthony! Oh god, I’m coming!” Aziraphale shouts, holding Crowley’s head in place as he thrusts once, twice more before coming down Crowley’s throat. He swallows it all as Aziraphale collapses back on the sofa, his chest heaving as he catches his breath.
Once again draped over his lap, Crowley rests his chin on Aziraphale’s thigh, waiting for him to come back into focus, for the world to come back to him. He kisses and gently nips at the other man’s skin, those nips turning to bites as he loses patience.
Crowley’s cock is hard and leaking, so far completely neglected, though he can’t help but smile when Aziraphale’s eyes finally focus back on him.
“Alright?” Crowley asks, still on his knees on the floor.
“Extremely.” Aziraphale grins back at him.
“Good, good. I want you to turn around and kneel on the sofa,” Crowley says, ignoring the crack of his knees as he finally stands up, slowly fucking into his fist as Aziraphale stands, faces the sofa, and kneels on the cushions, his chest against the back of the sofa. “Look at you.”
Aziraphale bends forward, making a show of his arse being in the air.
“I know you wanted to fuck me tonight, angel, but I have to have you,” Crowley growls, pressing himself against the other man’s arse.
“We have all night,” Aziraphale says encouragingly. “Right now I want you to take me, Crowley. Take my arse to Pound Town.”
“What the fuck, never say that again!” Crowley laughs, bending to take a bite of Aziraphale’s arse cheek.
The other man laughs, shouting an obligatory “hey!” when he’s bitten. His giggles soon turn into gasps as Crowley kneads the supple flesh, pulling it aside to reveal his hole. Crowley lightly sweeps his thumb over the delicate skin.
“Fuck, hold on. I need lube,” Crowley grumbles, trying to remember where he’d last used it. They hadn’t visited his flat together for a while.
“Wait a minute,” Aziraphale gasps and wiggles impatiently before he looks over his shoulder with a travel sized packet of lube between his lips. When Crowley takes it, Aziraphale quietly says, “Ta-da!” with a grin.
“I know we’ve talked about magic during sex, angel,” Crowley grumbles, opening the packet.
“Yes, I know dear. But one of us is almost always prepared and the other one isn’t so until that changes, I’ll continue to find lube behind your ears. This time it was just in the sofa cushion,” Aziraphale sniffs, arching a perfectly groomed eyebrow before turning back around. “Now hurry it along, dear.”
Crowley squeezes some of the packet directly onto Aziraphale’s arse, grinning as he cries out from the cold lube.
“Everything alright, angel?” he asks innocently, slowly breaching that tight ring of muscle with one finger.
Aziraphale nods eagerly, sighing as Crowley starts to fuck him with his finger.
Crowley nips at Aziraphale’s arse and closes his eyes, listening for every hitch of breath, each gasp and impatient huff.
“This is wonderful, dear,” Aziraphale says, turning to look more directly at Crowley. He twists to kiss him, biting Crowley’s bottom lip as he pulls away. “But I’m afraid this needs to progress before you drive me mad.”
Laughing, Crowley adds another finger as Aziraphale’s eyelids flutter for just a moment. “But I like making you squirm.”
“You’re certainly doing that!” Aziraphale groans between each thrust of Crowley’s fingers. “But I’d rather have something more significant in me. Take me, Crowley. You know you want to.”
“Of course I want to,” Crowley says matter-of-factly, fumbling with the little lube packet again.
“Then. Do. It.” Aziraphale smiles against Crowley’s skin, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.
“Fuck, angel, you’re so bossy.” Crowley pulls his hand away and catches Aziraphale’s mouth just as he whines in frustration.
“Anthony, please,” Aziraphale pleads.
Crowley crawls onto the sofa behind Aziraphale and aligns himself with his entrance and pushes into him, slowly and gently. Crowley can’t contain the moan that escapes his lips as he sinks into his angel’s heat.
“Yesss,” Aziraphale gasps as Crowley grabs a handful of blond curls. “Take me, Crowley. Fuck me.”
Crowley’s hips twitch forward as Aziraphale whines and squirms more as Crowley eventually bottoms out, his hips flush with Aziraphale’s ample arse. He grunts, laying his chest across Aziraphale’s back. “You are so perfect, angel. So perfect.”
“Anthony, I’m going to go mad if you don’t move,” Aziraphale whines as he tries to move and is held again by Crowley.
“You’re being impatient,” Crowley says, pulling his hips back and slowly thrusting back inside. “When have I ever not taken care of you, angel?”
Aziraphale grips the back of the sofa and looks back over his shoulder, staring until Crowley’s eyes meet his. “Please,” he begs, tears beginning to pool in his eyes.
“Fuck, angel,” Crowley growls, nearly pulling out before slamming into Aziraphale’s arse, his hips like pistons.
“Yess,” Aziraphale groans as Crowley pounds into him. “That’s it, Anthony. Fuck me, fuck me!”
Kissing along the other man’s spine, Crowley nips at Aziraphale’s neck, pushing two fingers through Aziraphale’s lips. Crowley bites down onto his shoulder with a moan as Aziraphale’s tongue caresses Crowley’s fingers.
“You take me so well, Aziraphale.” Crowley punctuates each word with a thrust of his hips, the smack of their skin.
Aziraphale sucks on Crowley’s fingers, teeth grazing the tip of his middle finger. He leans back, his head on Crowley’s shoulder as he’s pulled back onto Crowley’s lap.
“Come for me, angel,” Crowley breathes into his ear, his hips moving more erratically but he keeps speed.
“I’m so close,” Aziraphale gasps, awkwardly wrapping his arm behind Crowley, his hips matching each of Crowley’s movements. “Keep going, darling, please don’t stop.”
Crowley quickly pushes his hair out of his eyes before he grabs onto Aziraphale’s thighs tightly. Completely losing any semblance of rhythm, he pounds into Aziraphale relentlessly until his arm around Crowley tightens and he keens, falling forward into the cushion on the back of the sofa.
“I came so hard,” Aziraphale says, whispering into Crowley’s ear. “Come for me, my love. I know you can.”
“A-ah, angel!” Crowley shouts.
2009
Crowley found himself at a ridiculously charming Italian trattoria in London, sitting across from new acquaintance Aziraphale Fell. They had been chatting, and Crowley soon found himself driving into London. Aziraphale directed Crowley to one of his favourite places in Soho. Crowley was sure that the bistro probably had a fancy name he couldn’t pronounce correctly, but he didn’t particularly care. He’d changed in the car before they’d left, not wanting to go anywhere halfway decent while wearing skintight lycra and long-fingered claws.
Aziraphale was still in his black dinner jacket, though it clashed with the rest of his light-coloured ensemble. The top hat had been left in the car, and the eyeliner moustache had been scrubbed away. The eyeliner around his eyes remained, though. Crowley was glad, he really liked the look on him.
“How old are you?” Aziraphale asked, sipping his elderflower concoction.
“How old are you?” Crowley asked back as he sipped from his glass of Prosecco.
“Thirty-four,” the blond responded with his nose in the air.
“I’m thirty-seven. So I’m older.”
“Barely.”
Crowley nodded and watched the other man. “Where are you from?”
“South of here.”
“You know, this was your idea. We don’t have to get to know one another, I can just take you to a nice hotel and fuck you there,” Crowley suggested, shoving bread into his mouth.
Aziraphale smirked and shook his head. “As tempting as that is, maybe we should just stick to getting to know each other. We wouldn’t want to disappoint Professor Nguyen.”
“What is your problem?”
The smirk disappeared and the blond’s cheeks flushed as his lips were pressed into a thin line. “I don’t like being introduced to the only other gay man in the room as if we were meant for each other because we both like cock.”
“Damn, just put it out there,” Crowley said with a laugh. He really wished they had managed to wait until he was more intoxicated for this conversation. “Listen. Raf knows me, I don’t know how well he knows you, but he only said he’d hoped to introduce us, not plan our wedding. And for the record, I was not the only other gay man in that room. Raf has a husband, and there’s Brown in maths. Oh, and I’m pretty sure Furfur’s bi. So not the only one.”
The waitress returned to the table with refills of their drinks and updates on their orders and hurried away again, sensing that she’d walked into something.
Aziraphale remained quiet, sipping his drink, without looking at Crowley.
“Am I missing something?” Crowley asked.
“No.” Aziraphale sniffed haughtily. “I suppose I just overreacted. My last relationship was a disaster, and we had been introduced by one of his coworkers. ‘Oh, you two have so much in common.’ ‘You’ll be such a great match!’” Aziraphale explained, staring at the placemat, his eyes unfocused.
“You weren’t?” Crowley asked carefully.
Aziraphale laughed joylessly. “No, we most definitely were not. He was a liar and a manipulator and nearly robbed me of my life savings. It took me two years to see it when so many of my friends had been warning me. I was just too blind to see it. I felt like a fool.”
“Well, that’s shite, but maybe relax?” Crowley suggested as his food was placed on the table in front of him. “Raf hardly had bad intentions. I honestly think he just likes you and was projecting that onto me.”
Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed dark pink. “Doesn’t he have a partner?”
“Yes, with twins. But he also isn’t that kind of bloke; he wouldn’t flirt. He’s p,” Crowley explained, stabbing a piece of broccoli.
“So you weren’t that interested anyway,” Aziraphale said, taking a bite of salmon. He closed his eyes and hummed as he slowly withdrew the fork from his mouth. “Ohh, that’s delicious!”
Crowley wished he’d worn his sunglasses in, as he was unable to hide his wide eyes. He sipped more of his Prosecco, giving himself time to recover from the other man’s very vocal delight. “S’not that. I hadn’t even seen you before and he was pointing you out to me.”
“I haven’t seen you before either. But history and art wouldn’t really have a reason to mingle, would they? I rarely see the other professors in my department unless a meeting’s been called,” Aziraphale explained. “It is nice to have met you, Professor Crowley.”
“We’re not at work, it’s just Crowley. And are you backing out of our hook-up? Because I believe this was your idea, was it not?”
If possible, Aziraphale turned entirely pink and averted his eyes. “I was just saying that to get you to come to dinner with me.”
“So… No sex?” Crowley pouted.
Aziraphale sat back in his chair and just watched Crowley with a small smile on his face.
“What?” Crowley asked, shoving a carrot in his mouth. “What’d I do?”
“You’re very nice, Crowley,” Aziraphale started, causing Crowley to hold up a finger and chew faster. “Your friend tries to fix you up with an old fuddy-duddy and you’re kind enough to join me for dinner.”
“No—” Crowley started, wagging his finger. “I am not nice or kind. You implied sex so I agreed because, well, you’re bloody gorgeous. Even dressed like a nerdy magician.”
“I—” Aziraphale shook his head. “Not this time, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologise to me, you know. Maybe next time?”
“Next time?”
“Right. Why don’t we go out again on Friday? See where the night leads,” Crowley said with a waggle of his eyebrows. He’d decided he liked Aziraphale Fell, dating jitters aside. At the very least they could be friends.
A smile slowly crept onto Aziraphale’s face, his cheeks pink and his adorable dimples on full display. Crowley was doomed. “I’d really like that.”
“It’s settled then,” Crowley said, putting his mobile down in front of Aziraphale. “Give me your number.”
By the time dessert was on offer, they were in the middle of a debate regarding the significance of Shakespeare’s tragedies, given that Crowley only liked the funny ones. Aziraphale ordered tiramisu, while Crowley decided to indulge in an affogato.
“You’ll be awake all night,” Aziraphale chided him, taking a bite of espresso-soaked ladyfingers.
“I’ll likely need all night, as stubborn as you’re being.”
They were asked to leave at half one in the morning, after hours of debate, chatter, and laughter. Crowley double-checked his phone to make sure Aziraphale’s number was in place, looking forward to seeing him on Friday before they parted ways.
“It’s been a wonderful night, Crowley,” Aziraphale beamed.
“I have had fun,” Crowley agreed. “Need a lift back to Tadfield?”
“Sadly, no. I’ll be visiting family and returning tomorrow night. It’s late, do you really want to make that drive in the middle of the night? You can come back with me and leave in the morning.”
“At your mum’s?”
“It will ensure our honour holds another night.”
Crowley tried not to laugh and leaned in, quickly kissing Aziraphale’s perfect lips. The blond gasped, dropping his takeaway order of tiramisu for tomorrow, and wrapped his arms around Crowley, kissing him again, tongues exploring, hands grabbing for a few, brief moments.
“Can we snog, at least?”
“I don’t see why not.”
2025
Crowley wakes in his empty bed, the duvet draped over his naked body. He doesn’t quite remember coming into his room. He remembers sex with Aziraphale on the sofa, he remembers falling asleep against the other man’s back, but that was all out in the lounge. He stretches like a cat and wraps the duvet around himself tightly. He can hear noises in the kitchen and knows Aziraphale hasn’t gone far. He’s probably not making much progress in there either. Crowley usually picks up coffee and—if he’s in the mood—breakfast on the way to campus. The smell of coffee is wafting in from somewhere, though.
He rolls out of bed with the duvet wrapped around his shoulders, and stumbles into the kitchen, leaning against the island and watching as Aziraphale pours two cups of coffee and pulls two delicious-smelling pastries out of the oven. He screams and nearly drops the baking pan when he turns and sees Crowley.
“Morning,” Crowley says, smiling innocently.
“You could have warned me!” Aziraphale places the pastries onto a plate and hands Crowley his coffee in a pink mug that announces that he is fresh out of fucks. After last night, it is undoubtedly true for now.
“What’s the occasion?” Crowley asks, sipping his perfectly prepared coffee.
“Does there need to be an occasion for me to take care of you?” Aziraphale asks, placing a hand on Crowley’s cheek.
“You always take care of me,” Crowley sighs as he leans into the warmth of his angel’s hand.
“I feel the same about you, darling,” Aziraphale caresses Crowley’s cheek with his thumb. “I was thinking—”
“What about?”
“I was thinking that I should ask you to marry me. Make it official. Make it so you can’t testify against me in court if we get caught doing something stupid at work.”
“I think that’s only in the US,” Crowley says with a laugh.
“But would you mind?”
“What? Are you serious?” Crowley puts his coffee down on the worktop, watching Aziraphale as he retrieves something out of the messenger bag he always carries around with him.
“Yes,” he says, placing an open, black velvet ring box in front of Crowley. “I’ve had it for a while, but it’s essentially the anniversary of the day we met. We won’t tell anyone at work, of course.”
Crowley smirks at him before finally looking at the white gold ring with two black bands around it. He subtly tries to see the look on Aziraphale’s face without making it evident that he’s watching him. Aziraphale looks nervous and anxious, and Crowley refuses to do that to him any longer. Trembling, he gives the box back to Aziraphale, who looks devastated.
“Right,” he says, with false cheerfulness in his voice as he takes the ring box back. “We should have talked about it first. Silly me.”
“No, you idiot,” Crowley says, putting his own shaking hand in Aziraphale’s. “Put it on.”
“Oh! Really?” Aziraphale says, breaking into a grin and sliding the ring onto Crowley’s finger.
Crowley reaches for Aziraphale’s dressing gown, pulling him close and then pushing him against the island and kissing him.