Work Text:
“We have been arguing about this for over a month now!” Aziraphale smacks his pencil down onto the table, dislodging a bright blond curl to flop onto his forehead that he pushes back in frustration. “We have to choose a script. Tonight.”
Crowley points at the white board with his marker, making a smudged check next to every bullet point - “fake marriage, SHITE, only one bed, SHITE, hometown reunion, SHITE, friends to lovers, SHITE, secret prince, DOUBLE FUCKING SHITE. It’s all been done to fucking death!” He caps the marker and slams it into the holder before circling all the way around the table in anger, sprawling himself horizontally into a chair across the table from Aziraphale, dangling his head backwards and letting his red waves drape over the chairback. He avoids eye contact. He can’t get close to him, not right now. Not ever, really, unless he wants to give himself away - and he really wants to avoid doing that.
“Why don’t we...wait. Crowley…? Are you? You smell like…” Azirapahle leans over across the table and then sits back, his blue eyes wide. “...Crowley…?” The scent of brown sugar, cloves, cinnamon and something smoky is thick in the air. “I think you’re-”
“Fuck you.” Aziraphale barely manages to dodge the three ring binder that flies by his head and hits the wall behind him.
“Excuse me?!”
“No excuse for you.”
Aziraphale rolls his eyes, “Are you an actual child? That was uncalled for.”
“Bullshit, you’ve read them, I’ve read them, it’s all trash.”
“Not the point. Not what I was asking.”
“Did I already say fuck you?”
"Yes.”
“Well fuck you a second time. Maybe a third for good measure.”
Aziraphale, his patience finally exhausted, pushes his chair back and rises up before circling the table and coming to Crowley’s side.
“I rather think I’d like to fuck you, since you keep bringing it up.” He grabs Crowley by the shoulders and forces him up out of his chair and onto a seated position on the conference table, placing himself between his knees and running his hands through his long crimson hair. “I don’t want to do this here, but I will if I have to. How long do you have?”
Crowley whimpers, the pupils of his honey-colored eyes taking over, and he can’t help his hands from rising up to take Aziraphale by the waist, pulling him closer. “Alpha….”
“I don’t think we have time to dance around this, my dear. Do you want me?”
“Fuck yes.”
“Would you want me if you weren’t going into heat at this very moment?”
“I’ve always wanted you, angel. Wanted you for years.” Crowley is looking up at him, his eyes searching his face, bouncing between his eyes and his lips.
“Angel…?”
Crowley looks away. “Ngk…arghhh.. Shut up. Shut up and fuck me. Right here, right now. Lay me out on this table and ruin me.”
“Only if you’ll let me bring you home and see you through the rest of this.”
“Deal. You can fuck me now, later, and for the rest of my life.”
Aziraphale goes still in between Crowley’s legs. “You don’t really mean that….do you?”
Crowley goes still as well, still as he can manage anyhow, trembling with his legs around Aziraphale’s thighs, knees pushed up, trousers wet in the crotch. His amber eyes meet Aziraphale’s, wide and vulnerable. “I…’course I do. You haven’t a clue, do you?”
Aziraphale looks back at him, confused now, “but…but….you’re…you’re so…”
Crowley uses both arms to sit up and pushes Aziraphale away from him before jumping up off the table. “Yeah, I’m not worth your time. Got it. You could fuck me in this office, and maybe through this heat, but I’m not the keeping type. Noted. Think I’ll just take care of myself after all. As usual. Pick whatever script you want. Don’t fucking care. I’ll sign off on it and you can tell Gabriel to stuff it up his arse and shit it right back out in time for Christmas.”
He has the door open and is halfway out before Aziraphale grabs him by the arm and swings him back into the room, slamming the door shut. He pins him against the wood and takes his face in his hands, cradling his head, anchoring his fingers in his hair and slotting his leg between Crowley’s to hold him up, feeling the dampness on his thigh.
“Yes.”
Crowley feels like his heart is in his throat and his cock is at full attention at Aziraphale's gaze. “...yes?…sorry…wot?”
“The rest of your life. Our lives. Now. Later. Always. Yes.” Aziraphale says, rubbing his nose along his neck to inhale his scent before moving down to nip at his collar bone. Crowley goes entirely limp against the door and it’s really only Aziraphale’s thigh keeping him up.
Aziraphale hesitates for just a second and then plants his lips against Crowley’s, pressing his full weight against him. Crowley’s arms come up to lock around his back and his tongue probes into Aziraphale’s mouth before he lifts himself and wraps his legs around his waist with a moan. He kisses up and down the sides of Aziraphale’s throat before lapping at his scent gland.
“I’ll take ‘now’ to start. But, also later.” He nuzzles into his neck. “And yeah, all the rest, since we seem to agree. For once.” Aziraphale walks them backwards to sit in one of the office chairs, positioning Crowley on his lap and untying his bowtie at the same time. He runs his fingers across Crowley’s shoulders, down his arms, appraising. “Stand up and take all this off.” He undoes his trousers as Crowley stands, shakily. “And then get back on my lap.
******
They never tell anyone exactly how the claiming came about, though Aziraphale did feel guilty for having left the conference room in such a state.
For the script selection, they end up settling on “co-workers to lovers.”