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They had been standing next to each other, it seemed, since the beginning of time. Aziraphale, bright and gleaming, crisp and clean, and Crowley, his counterpart, crackling with dangerous flame.
Despite their contrasts, they both cared for the humans, in their own ways, but they were largely unnoticed by them. The short, messy lives eddied around them, and they remained, solid and unchanging throughout the years, side by side, ensuring that the business of human life went on.
They were satisfied, because they did not know any different. Aziraphale and Crowley were as they had been made, and for all they knew, they always would be. Even if their routines occasionally wobbled a bit, if their lives leaned a bit unsteadily, away from the smooth execution of duty they had always relied upon from both themselves and each other, things always turned out alright in the end.
They remained, standing next to each other, watching the world go by, carefully not touching.
As is so often true, the revelation that their existences could include more came only upon the precipice of catastrophe. An everyday sort of catastrophe, one that they had weathered many times before, unconsidered. But this time, something shifted, something was thrown out of the predictable whirl of their days, and it all became…precarious.
"Aziraphale," Crowley said, as his companion jiggled and spun enthusiastically, for Crowley could sense the disconcerting vibration beginning to hum underneath. Crowley always had had a sense for oncoming disaster.
"I can't hear you, my dear," Aziraphale called over the noise. "I'm spinning."
"Not for much longer," Crowley muttered to himself, just before Aziraphale began to bump against him.
Something was wrong.
Aziraphale nudged Crowley's side, gently, the slightest tap. They'd done it before, of course, but generally, both were far too stable to go much further. They were steady, and solid, neither of them unbalanced enough to risk moving more than a millimetre from where they had been placed so long ago.
But Aziraphale tapped him again. And again, with more force.
And it was…different than it had always been.
"Aziraphale," Crowley said again. "Are you sure you're alright?"
"Tip top!" Aziraphale proclaimed. "I cannot possibly be anything else. I am the latest model!" He slammed against Crowley's side with a thump.
Crowley felt a shiver run through his entire frame.
Aziraphale did it again. Thump. Thump. THUMP. THUMP.
"Aziraphale!" Crowley shouted. "Stop!"
Aziraphale stopped. "I can't stop, Crowley. Everything is soaking wet."
A residual shiver sparked through Crowley's system. His turn would come soon. Crowley was exceptionally skilled at warming Aziraphale's wet things.
But Aziraphale, left alone, was inclined to self indulgence to the point of disregard for his own safety.
"You've got to distribute the sheets evenly around the agitator," Crowley said.
Despite being a washing machine, Aziraphale somehow managed to pout.
"But I'm set to delicate," he whined.
"You can't just set a thing to one thing and expect it all to go off without a hitch," Crowley said. "Sometimes things just…happen."
"Ineffable," Aziraphale grumbled.
Crowley said nothing.
"Fine," Aziraphale said. There was a sloshing as he began to gently manipulate the delicate materials within his cavity. But the wet noises stopped, and Aziraphale was silent for a moment.
"Angel," Crowley said suspiciously. "What are you planning?"
"What if," Aziraphale said, "we let a bit more…friction occur?"
"No," Crowley said.
"But it felt good," Aziraphale protested.
"You could break down," Crowley said.
"Yes, well, that's always a risk, Crowley. Nothing lasts forever."
"We've lasted this long," Crowley pointed out. They were both half a century out of date, by human standards, but as far as he was concerned, they could go on forever as they were, the two of them, side by side, doing the bare minimum of their jobs and just…being together.
But Aziraphale had always been discontented with their lot, though he rarely said anything. He did have more settings than Crowley, more variability—hot, cold, permanent press—perhaps he was not made to stay in one place, washing clothes over and over. Perhaps he was more affected by the world, the damp and the creep of mould and the buildup of detritus left behind as he washed away the humans' sins.
Perhaps Aziraphale had always been more likely to break down than Crowley.
Perhaps this was it. Their last cycle on earth together.
"Hasn't it been enough?" Crowley said. "What we've had? Why risk our existence when we could keep going on?"
Aziraphale sighed wetly. "The world continues to spin, my dear, and perhaps it is time we accepted that we cannot remain unchanged." He engaged one of his wig wags, the agitator beginning to rock within him once more. The slick sounds echoing from below became louder.
"Don't you want to do what we can before it's too late?" Aziraphale said, and once again, Crowley felt the uneasy hum of approaching danger underneath.
"It's always too late," he muttered, but…he knew he wouldn't be able to stop Aziraphale, whether he was pursuing pleasure or ruin or both.
And Crowley…well, Crowley was no angel.
He listened.
He felt.
They were so close, their bodies almost touching, Aziraphale leaning a bit closer from his last unbalanced spin. In the vibrations Crowley could feel through his side, echoing that short distance through the air where they stood together, there was a sort of…anticipation.
Aziraphale was picking up speed, chasing his own purpose, and all Crowley could do was stand next to him and…wait.
The wet folds under Aziraphale's hood rubbed against each other as he moved the shaft at their centre, circling and twisting, moisture flicking from soft peaks. Or so Crowley imagined from the sounds he was making, the splash and the sputter, rivulets coursing along the slick sides as Aziraphale moved.
And once again, Aziraphale nudged against him. The tension between them, the electric expectation of change, was so palpable that Crowley could almost imagine he felt a shock, though he was not yet turned on.
Although…he could be very soon.
Aziraphale's side rubbed against Crowley's. First a little kiss, the gentlest nudge. And then…a stronger thump. Thump. THUMP.
"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale murmured, bumping against him rhythmically, their frames colliding over and over, the pressure of Aziraphale's load building. "Crowley. You can't imagine how it feels." The wet sounds within him began to pulse, a soft whoosh following a louder smack as everything inside Aziraphale, soaking and tangled, gathered momentum.
Alas, Crowley could not imagine it. Skilled as he was at imagining other possibilities for them, other worlds in which they could cross that space between them and become truly the same, no longer opposing sides…he could never feel what Aziraphale did. Aziraphale was so wet, all his parts damp and quivering. Crowley could only ever feel what Aziraphale left behind when he finished.
He knew, at heart, that they were opposites, that they always would be, but he'd thought they were united all the same. The two of them against the world.
But Crowley couldn't do this. He wasn't built for this. He could only ever burn.
The tangled material inside Aziraphale slammed back and forth, constrained only by the limits of Aziraphale's corporation, the sturdy but not invincible form he had been given when he was made. With each motion, Aziraphale gasped as the force moved against him in new ways, and then he moved against Crowley. He slammed against him, again and again, the wet smack against his inner walls matched by the groan when their frames met.
It was almost unbearable to watch. Aziraphale seemed so close to flying apart, so close to risking everything they had had together for ages, and all for what? The potential to feel something different?
Aziraphale and Crowley collided, over and over, rubbing and shaking, and Crowley had never before not known what to do, how to help, how to preserve them from certain destruction.
And then…something shifted. Crowley couldn't tell how or why, what had happened within Aziraphale. It was truly ineffable.
Next to him, Aziraphale suddenly went quiet and still, a small sound like an exhale echoing within him. The tension had reached a peak, and Aziraphale had let go. His load had been released.
The soft rush within Aziraphale slowed, then stopped. The cycle ended, as it was always meant to do.
When Aziraphale had stopped pulsing, when everything within had ceased to spin and the world once again seemed safe and understandable, the only sound was the slow drip of the remaining wetness spattered on the underside of Aziraphale's lid.
"Well," Crowley said finally, unable to avoid the heat in his words, "was it worth the risk?"
Before Aziraphale could respond, he was opened, and the damp mass was extracted and deposited within Crowley's mouth, filling him with the scent and taste of Aziraphale's wetness.
Standing next to Crowley, open and dripping, Aziraphale somehow managed to seem smug.
"I must confess, my dear, I do so enjoy when you can no longer speak," Aziraphale said.
"Mmmfff," Crowley replied, before his 'start' button was pushed and he immediately began to tumble, his balls nestling close to Aziraphale's folds.
"Oh dear," Aziraphale said. "Your 'sound' function is turned on, but you're so full. What a quandary."
"Affarrrr," Crowley growled. His insides were spinning, everything wet becoming warm. Sparks flickered along the edges of his awareness.
He should have realised. Aziraphale always did this to him. Crowley wasn't the one who wanted to shake up their lives, to change what had always worked between them.
Aziraphale may have wanted to shake things up, to experience more than was safe, all in the pursuit of…who knew what. But Crowley had always had enough…because he always had Aziraphale. Even if Crowley alone wasn't enough for him. Aziraphale could do what he pleased, and Crowley would always follow him.
No matter what Aziraphale did, Crowley always burned for him. He always would. It was unchangeable. It was how he was made.
And it was what he wanted.
Mouth full and hot, Crowley choked on Aziraphale's load, the ropy tangle almost too much, its threads tickling the edges of his vent, undoubtedly leaving behind traces that Crowley would cherish later. Crowley could tell he was vibrating now—not so forcefully as Aziraphale, but they were still pressed together fully along one side, and he was shaking with the force of everything inside him, pulsing and crackling with the static and the flames that raced through him, all for Aziraphale.
"That's it, darling," Aziraphale cooed next to him, still smug and demanding as ever, the bastard. "Take it all. You're so hot, Crowley, taking everything I give you."
Crowley sucked air carefully through the back of his mouth, everything becoming hot and damp as he moved, then exhaled around Aziraphale's folds, his balls warming and smacking against Aziraphale's load. Crowley tumbled, over and over, all of the edges of his corporation humming and heating.
And on one side, where he was pressed against Aziraphale, the energy between them crackled and sparked. Crowley imagined he was hotter there, on their side, where all their differences met in a thin, bright line of connection.
"Come on, Crowley," Aziraphale murmured at his side, and Crowley felt the vibrations. "You're always so good for me, so fast, beating my load until it's hot and soft, tossing off everything I give you. It's almost filthy, the way you finish me off. We're so good together, aren't we, my love?"
All too soon, Crowley tumbled over the edge, the heat and energy that had been turning circles within him coasting to a stop, his mouth dry.
As his cycle ended, Crowley went off with a bright little ding!
"You did so well, Crowley," Aziraphale said as Crowley rested beside him, air flowing more freely now that he wasn't moving his mouth. When Aziraphale's load was finally removed, and the remnants of lint cleaned from the edges of Crowley's mouth, Crowley felt the cool air of the laundry room on his insides, almost as if the crisp, clean vapours still hovering around Aziraphale's rim were caressing Crowley's lips, his throat, everything inside him, soothing the lingering heat.
"Was that what you wanted?" Crowley gasped when he could speak once more. He could feel that they were still pressed together, their bodies at angles that were unusual, but not uncomfortable.
Aziraphale seemed thoughtful. "I may have felt my rubber split, but that was bound to happen at some point, and it's easy enough to manage with a few proactive strategies." Crowley felt a shiver run between them where they were still joined. "But overall…yes. You see, Crowley, a little indulgent sensation isn't always the end of the world."
Crowley's mouth had been left opened, and he slammed it closed with a snap, intending to convey his frustration with Aziraphale's blithe disregard for his own corporation but…
But.
They were alright, weren't they? For now, at least.
They had done it. Together.
Maybe, eventually, a second catastrophe would come, one that they couldn't fix on their own. After all, their parts were old, and time could not be stopped. Aziraphale might break down irrevocably, Crowley might burn up for good.
Crowley would deal with that if it happened. He'd come up with a plan.
Until then…they were here. They were next to each other.
They were touching.
"Shall I do the dark load next? I've got a 'heavy' setting," Aziraphale said, and Crowley braced himself for the pain and pleasure of the oncoming impacts.