Chapter Text
3 years later
Crowley walks past an old ice rink in Moscow and stops suddenly. He recognises it, remembers being here. There was a young woman with long dark hair and glasses that sold him the ticket, where Aziraphale had found him. It sends him down a memory lane and suddenly he feels an irresistible urge to skate. Now.
He doesn’t think about Aziraphale much these days. The truth is… the image of the man in his head is blurry, always slipping away. Crowley concerned himself with Aziraphale's opinion and approval so much that he forgot to get to know him in the process. What was his favourite colour or meal? What did he like to do in his free time? Did he want to have kids?
Aziraphale was a good person, this is what Crowley knew beyond doubt, but… it was almost all he knew about him.
After Crowley left the club, because of course he couldn’t have stayed so close to Aziraphale after everything that was said and done, he went on a spiritual journey to find out what he really wanted to be doing after winning the Olympics.
He travelled, which was one of the things he always wanted to do but couldn't because there was no time left for anything in his life except for training. Traveling on his own was weird—there was no one he needed to concern himself with, no one to appease. Just him and nature. The only person he kept in touch with was Pepper with whom he still had regular sessions and occasionally he'd send a picture or two to Newt.
He got his first tattoo abroad—a little squiggly thing of a snake on his face just beside the ear. Two years later he got a bigger one on his back, just as he promised himself, big coils tangling around his shoulder and hip. Most people disliked his tattoos, especially the one on his face. It was too much of a statement he supposed, but the small number of boyfriends he had in the meantime were at least somewhat accepting of it.
Some were better than others, Crowley mused. He finally had the time and space to figure out what he was looking for in a partner and which traits were a deal breaker. Most importantly, he had learnt how to take care of his own needs, not only of other people's.
But that was after.
There were countless messages and a pile of letters waiting for his return from travelling. Most of it was crap—offers from coaches, invites to interviews, but one email got his attention in particular. Warlock, the kid Crowley remembered from Championships, asked if Crowley would choreograph his next routine, and suddenly it clicked .
Crowley didn't want to be skating anymore, he wanted to be choreographing . He accepted on the spot, moved out of his mother's flat and relocated to where he was needed. He has been moving ever since. He's been enjoying choreographing much more than figure skating itself—it was much less stressful and much more rewarding.
Now he's just finished therapy with Pepper, which felt a little scary, but they agreed he can come back any time for a session or two if he needs it.
For the first time in his life his future looked bright.
Crowley looks around. In some odd, magical way the rink does seem to be just as deserted as last time he's been here. It's a weird coincidence that he has his own skates with him now, his earphones and a phone full of his favourite songs, all of which he choreographed routines to. He is meeting Newt and his 'imaginary' girlfriend for drinks later tonight, but a little detour shouldn't make a difference.
He approaches and buys a ticket from a much older looking woman who looks suspiciously familiar. She smiles at him in a mysterious way too, making Crowley think of sixteen century witches.
Once his skates are on, he scrolls through the sizable list of songs in his phone library as if he hasn't already decided which one he's going to play.
Young and Beautiful is a routine he hasn't dared to skate in a long while, even though it's possibly his favourite. First one he dared to choreograph, with Tracy's help of course, but it had woken up his creative side. So many things have happened since. He puts the earphones in and pushes himself off the ice rink barriers and onto a completely empty rink.
Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful?
The music plays, leaving the question hanging within Crowley somehow, pulling him back to the past when he was still twenty, scared and desperate for attention. He is twenty four now, though in his soul he feels at least a decade older. The past few years had been a time of very intensive growth and introspection giving him the impression as if he lived a few lifetimes by now.
Will you still love me when I got nothing but my aching soul?
Crowley doesn't ask himself those questions anymore. When he thinks of Aziraphale now, he doesn't resent him. There's a certain tinge of sadness, yes, but he's aware that there's nothing nor no one really to blame for how things have turned out. In fact, it was probably for the best.
They likely won't see each other again, ever, and that's okay.
There is a sudden, unexpected clapping that jolts Crowley from his train of thoughts just as he performs the last pirouette. When he turns around he sees the unmistakable cloud of blond hair, the beige coat… The exact same beige coat from three years prior. There might be a moment when Crowley's heart skips a beat at the sight but he would never admit to it.
"Truly beautiful, I knew only one person who could pull this routine off so well. Move like liquid on the ice." Aziraphale's voice is cool and collected, but his eyes are bright, smiling.
"Is that right?" Crowley turns around and skates towards the person he hasn't seen in three long years. A cacophony of emotions bursts within him that will have to be put in order before he can deal with the reality of this. "Hello angel, long time no see. Been well?"
"Indeed and yourself? I've heard you moved into choreographing."
"Mhm, yeah. I freelance." Crowley responds, taking his skates off. "Much less restricting, you know? Travelling the world, seeing places, constantly moving, you know how it is."
"Ah, that does sound wonderful."
"It is," Crowley says and it's not a lie. Ever since he left Aziraphale's club he's seen so many wonderful places. He wouldn't change that for the world.
"So I don't suppose I could tempt you to… " Aziraphale does a little wiggle as he says that, "create a choreography for one or two of my pupils while you're here? I know you'd love them, wonderful boys. Going to their first World Championships as Seniors next year. They know all about you, you're their hero."
Hero, Crowley thinks amazed. He supposes a story of a fallen angel who overcomes his shortcomings is more compelling than of one that never fell. It's more relatable for one. And the hope that you can come out on the other side, not unscathed, but at peace with yourself… That one mistake isn't going to define your whole life. That change is always possible even when everything seems hopeless. That you can turn your life around.
Yeah, Crowley can see how important such stories can be.
His lips turn to form a lopsided grin. "I might be able to move a thing or two to accommodate your pupils, for the sake of the old times."
Aziraphale visibly glows and if Crowley didn't know better, he would think that the man is an actual angel. "Talk about it during dinner? If you're free?"
Crowley checks his very smart watch. He's not free, in fact he very definitely has to be going if he wants to be on time for his meeting with Newt.
"Sorry, I—" Crowley's phone chimes in that very precise moment. He raises it to his eyes and smirks. ' Sorry, something came up. Can we move it to tomorrow? — reads the text. It feels like the whole universe is conspiring somehow. He types a quick reply and raises his eyes. "Um, yeah, so my plans just got, inexplicably, cancelled. Lucky for you."
They spend the evening bantering and remembering 'the good old times', even though they're neither good nor particularly old. Memories are funny like that though, like to forget about the bad and colourise the good.
It's incredible how easy it is to talk to Aziraphale though, even after all that time, it's like no time has passed at all. Aziraphale even looks the same. Except… Crowley has changed.
With some amount of surprise Crowley realises that Aziraphale feels much more like a person now, someone on his level. Not a demi-god that could change Crowley's life with the power of his will. And that's a revelation on its own. It's almost as if he shrunk in those three years. Crowley now sees his nervous gestures for what they are, the fact that he doesn't have all the answers.
"...so you see, Tracy is about to retire and I am struggling to fill in her role."
Crowley blinks. "So… you have a job opening at your club," he deducts.
"That's… yes. I… do." Aziraphale seems to weigh every word.
Crowley hums, not giving out anything either. His first thought was that Aziraphale is fishing to employ Crowley, many people have in the past three years, except… Crowley knows Aziraphale would rather eat his bow tie than turn to Crowley for help. Unless… he is really desperate. And who even tipped Aziraphale off that Crowley was in town? Oh of course, he presses the phone even deeper into his pocket. He is so going to have a talk with Newt.
"That was not my intention, Crowley. It's just those two boys… they're really talented and stubborn and I would feel awful if I couldn't provide them with the support they need."
Aziraphale keeps blabbering and Crowley shakes his head. "You're just as much of an angel as I remember." Crowley says and sees Aziraphale's cheeks tinting with the faintest blush. "Tell you what, I'll cover for Tracy for the time being until you can find someone new, will freelance on the side however. Deal?"
He extends his hand without thinking, somehow completely forgetting they haven't touched in ages. Aziraphale looks down at his hand surprised, both by the gesture and by the offer, probably. Aziraphale's hand is bigger and warmer than his own, sending sparkles down Crowley's spine when they touch. It acutely reminds him how long it's been since he let someone close enough to touch him, but well. He knows this is not a path they're allowed to go.
They spend the rest of the evening talking, catching up on everything that happened in between and once they decide to leave, it's already dark outside.
"You should watch that new Great Gatsby, you'd like it. I can tell." Crowley finishes his thought before putting the earbuds in his ears, the music starting to play on its own, blasted technology.
In a manner of speaking
I just want to say
That I could never forget the way
You told me everything
By saying nothing
The female voice sings and it's time for Crowley to fight that blush creeping on his face uninvited.
"Nouvelle Vague," Aziraphale recognises. "Bossa nova, you really were born in the wrong decade."
Oh, give me the words
Give me the words
That tell me everything
Crowley grins. "You think? Fortunately, I am not the only one," he says, eyeing Aziraphale's coat tellingly.
"You absolute fiend," Aziraphale quips back, playful.
In a manner of speaking
Semantics won't do
In this life that we live, we only make do
The way that we feel
Might have to be sacrificed
The music still buzzes through Crowley's earphones, bringing him back to the reality of it all. He sighs and places them in his ears.
"Goodnight angel."
"Goodnight, dear." Aziraphale nods, see you next week."
Crowley waves his hand and they walk into separate ways. It's not a goodbye though, Crowley tells himself. With a bit of luck he might make another friend, one that would stay. If that works out, he will have three.
Crowley prepared a few choreographies for Aziraphale's students, visiting for a couple of weeks at a time, freelancing during the remaining time. He connected with the boys, Adam especially, as he knew he would. Aziraphale was there too, spending every day side by side. Working on this thing that was bigger than the two of them.
They worked so well together too, as if they could become business partners, which was a ridiculous thought. Unless…? Once the thought sprouted,, it wouldn't leave his mind, hitting with doubled power every time it resurfaced. Travelling was good and fun, but this club was Crowley's first home, it's where he made his first friends. It meant a lot to him.
They are a few months into this new Arrangement when Aziraphale walks Crowley home. Crowley's 'home' is not a real home either. It's a cold, impersonal flat he rents out whenever he's in the area. There's nothing homey about it.
They've just had a couple of glasses of wine after work (which is a couple too many), in a cute little cafe nearby and are strolling through the park and along busy roads while leaves fall all around them. The world's changing, Crowley can feel it in his bones. It's getting colder again, the figure skating season is almost upon them and there's already the thrill of the anticipation, mixed in with the relief that it won't be him stepping on the ice anymore. He's done his bit, he's won what he wanted to win, which strangely isn't the golden medal but his life back.
The way he feels about Aziraphale has changed too. Reshaped itself into something new, something very different to what he felt three years ago but not the least weaker. He has no idea what it is, he hasn't felt like this before. Maybe a little bit towards Newt but that was on a completely different scale.
Is that how people feel when they're… He's too afraid to word it. Part of him wants to run, another one wants to make a move on Aziraphale. Crowley reconciles them both by choosing to do nothing.
"Adam truly bloomed under your direction," Aziraphale points out. He is beaming as only he can. With the colder weather a warm scarf has made an appearance, tartan of course, like everything else in Aziraphale's wardrobe.
Crowley has been choreographing in the club for a while now, working with younger figure skaters—those who were about to move into the senior league and those who still had a few years before that happens. It drew out a softer side in him. One he hadn't suspected himself of having, and yet.
"He had it in him, he just needed a good routine to show off his strengths." Crowley says with a shrug. Those kids, they all had passions for skating and wanted to have a shot at the competitions. Little rising stars. Crowley was there to help them shine.
"You've managed to get into his world somehow, make him believe in himself. That's a miracle on its own and more than I managed as his coach."
"That's what we all need though, no? Someone who believes in us when no one else does." You believed in me, he wants to say but bites his tongue.
Once they reach the doors to Crowley's flat, it feels like the spell breaks, because where do they go from here? In a couple of weeks he's going to move again and Aziraphale will continue running his little club. There's no real future holding them together in any way.
But they're standing way too close to each other already and the wine is pleasantly rushing through Crowley's bloodstream, pulsing in his temples. All it would take for him is to lean in, but… Is it wise? Is this right? Is it… too fast?
Is it going to permanently ruin the budding friendship between them that Crowley wouldn't give up for the world?
Aziraphale takes an abrupt step back before Crowley can make up his mind, possibly realising how inappropriate the diminishing proximity has become.
" Crowley …" he trails off as if changing his mind mid-way whether they should talk about it or not. Crowley has felt the increasing urgency of addressing the elephant in the room in recent days. One they both must have felt but neither wanted to admit.
"Angel?" Crowley asks cautiously, raising a brow. "We don't have to—"
"This is… not wise, is it." Aziraphale cuts in and looks away. It is not a question. Crowley smiles, always ever so cautious, this impossible man.
"We could take it slow." Crowley says only half-jokingly, maybe because he's drunk too much wine and is being too forward, God help him. But Aziraphale's eyes shine and his nervous smile is back on.
It's… strange. This new power balance between them. Crowley doesn't at all feel like he's the one having to fight for attention, that he needs it to breathe. It's nice but it's not everything anymore.
At the same time he knows he has baggage, that he's not always easy to be around. He's aware of his and Aziraphale's past but also no one knows him like Aziraphale does and the past few months have been… different. Special. He realised that at the end of the day nothing is more comforting than the kind of connection that grows from certainty—no games, just presence.
Aziraphale knows him, knows Crowley's darkest secrets and he still hasn't pushed Crowley away. He doesn't make Crowley feel like a broken thing. Whatever happens, he will always be grateful for that.
Aziraphale sighs and leans on the wall next to Crowley, looking out into the quiet street. The tension in the air is still very much present, but it's receding. They're settling into something new, something more comfortable and stable, whatever that is going to be.
"It's not that easy, is it." Aziraphale sighs.
"Is anything ever?" Crowley asks, his hand tentatively bumping on Aziraphale's own, it could easily be read as an accident. But Aziraphale twines their fingers together and neither of them shy away.
"I don't generally… make friends with people but the past few months… I guess I just wanted to say that I consider you my friend."
Crowley swallows, he can feel the rejection dancing on the surface of his skin, little pinpricks of fear. It flares within his bones, but he clings to what he has within his reach. This is not a rejection, this is— this is real, if he can just accept it for what it is.
"I know you want to do the right thing here, I do too. I don't treat this ," he squeezes Aziraphale's hand, "lightly."
"Where do we go from here?" Aziraphale asks, sounding hopeful but apprehensive.
Crowley shrugs. "Wherever we want." He turns towards Aziraphale then, a movement so slow you might not be able to register it. "I know where I want to go, do you?" He says loud and clear, surprising Aziraphale with the tone of his voice.
He is searching for something in Crowley's eyes, an answer maybe. He wasn't wearing his fashionable sunglasses anymore, he didn't need to. An understanding seems to pass across Aziraphale's face then. His features go from guilty through worried to happy.
"Yes, I think I do."
It's Aziraphale who leans in first. Crowley hesitates only for a second, relishing in the moment and then he's surging forward, brushing their noses together like they have all the time in the world to savor this.
And it is a big decision, a big step. It's going to change everything, hopefully for the better. Right now Crowley is exactly where he wants to be. Even when he thinks back about his past—he doesn't regret anything. If he had a chance to go back in time and make a different decision, he wouldn't. Except for… yeah, maybe he wouldn't train with Luk. But everything that happened afterwards has led him onto the path of self-discovery he wouldn't have gone on otherwise.
Their lips brush finally, after all this time. It deepens but not too fast, as if they wanted to be sure of this decision. It's perfect, exactly as Crowley imagined it happening. Before he knows it, his hands are on Aziraphale's hips, soft and full, and Aziraphale is pulling Crowley closer by the lapels of his designer jacket.
It's electrifying and so surprising that Crowley can’t think of a single thing to say once they part. Those crystal blue eyes looking right to his soul.
"I can't believe I'm actually kissing you," Aziraphale admits with a blush.
"Me neither," Crowley responds, not stopping his hands from wandering over Aziraphale's body. "Is this too fast?"
"I think if we go any slower I might actually stop breathing." Aziraphale confesses.
Crowley feels his heartbeat quickening, experimentally he grinds his hips against Aziraphale, finding him suitably interested in turn. He feels for a door knob blindly. "Mine?"
"Yes."
They stumble through Crowley's flat and into his bedroom. Crowley’s legs hit the bed behind him and he lets himself collapse on it, pulling Aziraphale down with him. His heart is racing like never before, it's almost too much after such a long wait, after having such a long break from having sex too before that because he needed a break to clear his head for a bit, not to always chase that high that was always just out of his reach.
Nothing has prepared Crowley for a touch this tender. He's suddenly feeling very self-conscious, but he pushes it down and away. He has practice now.
"Tell me, what do you like," Aziraphale breathes into his skin.
Crowley bites his lip. He used to be very passive in bed, but he knows what he likes now and he's learned to ask for it.
"I want you to start slow," he says, "I want you to touch me everywhere and be sure about it. I want to see you. If anything makes me feel uncomfortable, I'll tell you." Crowley announces and then his hand is reaching underneath Aziraphale's shirt. "My safe word is apple ."
Aziraphale nods, he doesn't ask why Crowley even needs a safe word, doesn't freak out, thank fuck. Instead he fully focuses on Crowley now as he's uncovering more of Crowley's skin, watching closely for his reaction at all times as their clothes are being discarded one by one. This is also new. It's transforming, because it was never like this for him in the past.
There is a thrill to being touched like this for one, almost reverent, which Crowley instinctively feels is wrong, an emotion that always flags up, but that he knows how to tolerate now. He is not a broken thing that doesn't deserve to be seen. Aziraphale doesn't look at him with this endless hunger in his eyes, his gaze is soft when he kisses Crowley, attentive, searching, asking . He doesn't look at him like he is a failure, doesn't just rush to have him and leave him behind. He knows this. They're friends.
Their mouths find each other and they're kissing again. Heated, desperate kisses and searing touches. Aziraphale moves to kiss down his body, every part of it, until he is kneeling in front of Crowley, kisses his thighs, but is careful not to touch his already achingly hard cock. Crowley thinks he is about to lose his mind.
"Is this okay?" Aziraphale asks before moving closer.
"Yes, please." Crowley whispers, breathless.
"Oh, you're beautiful. Absolutely exquisite."
Crowley snorts. "I know what I look like. I'm a beanpole." He protests because he is not used to being talked to like this, especially not during sex.
Aziraphale traces his hand over the snake on Crowley's shoulder, side and down to his hip where the tattoo twists back. "You have such long legs and sharp hips," Aziraphale says, kissing them too.
"You're beautiful yourself, you know? So soft, so nice to touch," Crowley replies, sitting up, sliding his hands over Aziraphale hips and grabbing a handful. This is still new to him too. For too long he's never dared to take anything for himself, didn't think he deserved more than what he was given, what he clawed out for himself.
Aziraphale doesn't protest, but from the way his lips twitch Crowley can read that he wants to, that he doesn't somehow believe that Crowley would be interested in him.
"You are," Crowley confirms, sinking his face into Aziraphale's soft and furry chest.
A moment later Aziraphale finds his lips and they're kissing again, soft long kisses like they couldn't get enough of each other. Can't stop for long enough to proceed with other activities.
At that Crowley can feel something new and strong expanding in his chest, holds Aziraphale close, hands digging into his back, not wanting to ever let go.
Aziraphale grabs his hips possessively in turn and Crowley feels an unexpected rush of fear surges through him, reminding him of— well. Crowley immediately pushes Aziraphale's hands away.
"Not like that," he explains and Aziraphale lets go of him as if his skin burned, nearly leaping away as he does so.
"I'm sorry," Aziraphale whispers, looking both scared and confused.
Crowley used to feel guilty whenever people would react this way, like he was making a big deal out of nothing, but he doesn't feel that way anymore. He's allowed to have needs and preferences.
Crowley takes a deep breath. "It's alright. Just too strong, not my thing."
Aziraphale nods in understanding. "I'll be mindful."
Then Aziraphale carefully leans in to kiss his chest, flicking his nipple with his tongue and Crowley feels himself slowly unwinding. It's not just this mindless hunger in his chest that compels him to reach for more, not just the itching between his legs, not only a plain physical need. He wants Aziraphale to have him, all of him, wants to bare himself in front of the man and to see that in return. As equals.
"Is this okay?" Aziraphale asks again, lips skating over Crowley's erection. He's already fisting the sheets in anticipation, his eyes closed shut.
"Yes," he whispers, nodding frantically. "Oh shit," his breath catches when Aziraphale swallows his cock, looks up at him, their gazes locking. He's rarely had this, Luk would only ever take him into his own mouth as a reward. But he looks down at Aziraphale, and his hands carefully sink into those soft bright locks. Luk would have broken his arms for this, but here now… Aziraphale only moans in appreciation, licking the underside of that vein on Crowley's cock. He moans, and writhes, blood thumping in his temples as he races to the precipice.
"Angel! Angel, I'm gonna—"
His spine arches off the bed and he cries out. Aziraphale holds him by the hips, sucks him off and swallows every bit of him. Crowley feels utterly spent, but he reaches for Aziraphale and pulls him up for a searing kiss.
"Thank you," he says trying to catch his breath, his vision still blurry after this unexpected orgasm. He can count on the fingers of one hand how many times his sex partners offered to do this for him. "Oh God." Crowley takes a deep breath."What do you want to do now?"
"What do you want, dear?"
The endearment makes his stomach flip. "I want you to fuck me."
"I don't know about that, but I could make love to you."
Crowley huffs a laugh. "You're such a sap."
"Look who's talking. Can you even go again?"
"You wound me. Just give me fifteen minutes."
"I'd wait for you forever," Aziraphale admits, curling by his side and kissing his shoulder, scooping Crowley into his arms. "Actually I think I would be happy with just this."
"What? Just rubbing yourself off on me?" Crowley asks, perking his ass to rub against Aziraphale's rather prominent erection in turn. "Or are you into orgasm denial?"
"What if I am?" Aziraphale asks playfully.
"You were always a terrible liar," Crowley turns to kiss Aziraphale. He will never get tired of this: of how soft his lips are, how carefully he holds Crowley, how much he can just let himself drown in this. His already half-hard cock rubs against Aziraphale's with interest.
Then comes the warm touch between his buttocks, parting him and a wet finger carefully starts massaging around his rim.
"Oh fuck! " He breathes, biting Aziraphale's shoulder.
Aziraphale's hand withdraws. "Alright?"
"Yes, don't stop!" He says curling in Aziraphale's embrace, lets himself be pulled on top of Aziraphale's body. Crowley’s hands are digging into his flesh, wherever he can grab it, teeth scraping Aziraphale's neck, biting his own lips not to scream. Tears are springing to his eyes again. He's never been touched with so much care. "It's so good. I don't need much, just, I can be ready in—"
"It's not a race," Aziraphale kisses his head. "Relax, focus on yourself. I've got you."
Crowley does and it's— it's different. Aziraphale takes his time, whispers sweet nothings into his ear, how beautiful Crowley is, how perfect, not because of something he does, but because he exists. Aziraphale's fingers ease him into this with the speed of an oozing honey and Crowley is trying and failing not to writhe too much but it just— it feels so good . Not even the physical sensations, though those are incredible too, but even just being here, now. Before he knows it, he is rock hard again.
He doesn’t want to rush through this, doesn't want this to be over even though logically he knows, this is just the beginning. Must be. There will be more, much more, days and evenings and nights spend together and—
"Oh fuck, " Crowley cries out when Aziraphale reaches his prostate, massages around it gently and then withdraws only to apply the pressure again.
"Good?"
"Fucking amazing." He clings to Aziraphale for dear life. Luk would just— fuck Luk, why is he even still thinking about that bastard? Fuck him.
Aziraphale's fingers reach his prostate again and he whines. " Please, angel." He pleads and is surprised when Aziraphale listens at his first request. God, there's so many things he'll have to get used to.
"How do you want to do this?"
"I want to see you."
Aziraphale kisses him, "of course." He reaches for his jacket to roll on a condom and Crowley raises a brow.
"Did you just bring a condom to a coffee shop?" He asks surprised.
"I beg your pardon, I'm a responsible adult and always have one with me."
They rearrange themselves on the bed, Crowley by the headboard. Aziraphale raises his thighs and places them on his own shoulders, looks at Crowley waiting for one last confirmation.
Crowley spreads his legs wider apart, trying to relax and then he nods. Aziraphale lines himself up with Crowley and gently pushes in past the tight rim of his muscles, their gazes locked. It feels so… intimate.
Aziraphale rocks his hips in small increments until they're flush. And there's no discomfort, no burning at all. He feels like he's been ready for years for this, waiting for his bruised heart to finally land somewhere safe and soft .
"Oh good Lord, you're so tight," Aziraphale huffs, sagging his head on Crowley's forehead.
"Nah, you're just big."
"Can't take a compliment to save your life."
"That's me."
"Still okay?"
Crowley hums and Aziraphale starts moving. It's a slow slide within him, filling him, and that feels so good. Their foreheads are nearly touching, he can read every little change in Aziraphale's expression, knows now what they all mean. And it's him, it's Crowley who's making him feel like this, makes him moan and writhe, and lose control.
Crowley can get lost in those crystal blue eyes, half-lidded and hazy, but still fixed on Crowley as if he doesn't want to miss even a second of this, and neither does Crowley.
It's not a position he went for often in the past, not that his hook ups would ever offer him options. But that also means he's not used to it. He hitches his hips to chase that sensation from before, the one that nearly made him see sparks. Aziraphale notices, shifts to accommodate Crowley's body until—
He cries out and his fingers dig into the softness of Azirraphale's back once he feels Aziraphale hitting that spot just right.
"God, you're stunning." Aziraphale whispers into his ear and nips it, one hand sinking into Crowley's hair and the other holding his cheek. He kisses it. "How was I ever able to resist you?"
"I would also like to know that."
"With great difficulty."
Crowley blinks. Banter is good and all, but he's also learnt it's rarely really true or meaningful. "Really?"
"Of course. You moved so beautifully on ice, you were so driven and you teased me and flirted all the time. I think I should be given a medal for resisting you."
Crowley wanted to say something, was already thinking of a witty response, but he couldn't put his thoughts together, he didn't want to be witty or a tease or a hookup, he wanted to be loved.
He notices that Aziraphale's movements stutter and he tenses, but doesn't speed up. He's holding himself back.
"You don't have to hold back, I can take it," Crowley murmurs.
"Now where's the fun in that?" Aziraphale says, kissing Crowley's neck. "I'll love you very thoroughly until you know how precious you are to me."
"Angel…"
"You are."
Their hips move frantically in unison, the lidded gazes, whispered confessions and searing kisses are so good and overwhelming Crowley doesn't even know when it all becomes too much, when he starts dribbling on his own stomach and he moans and cries out. It's never ending, that sensation coiling low in his belly, the high of it lasting for forever. Aziraphale holds him through it, murmurs even more sweet nothings and kisses his neck.
"Did you just…?" Aziraphale asks, looking down between them at Crowley's still untouched cock.
"It… never happened before." Crowley responds, cheeks heating up, it feels unreal. Just as unreal is the view of Aziraphale over him, entirely debauched. "Now you, angel, please, I want to see you."
Aziraphale kisses Crowley and speeds up then, it's just on the side of oversensitive, but that just makes him cling more, transfixed at the view of the man he so deeply cares for. Vulnerable and bared in front of him, and just his. Aziraphale's hips lose its rhythm then, his brows drawing together and he groans, falling to Crowley's shoulder to bite. Crowley holds him by the hips, feeling every little vibration. He'll never have enough of this.
As much as he'd like to stay joined like this forever, his thighs are about to give up from being squeezed so much, so he lets Aziraphale pull out and discard the condom, but not to leave the bed. They're tangled together on the sheets, Aziraphale's head on Crowley's chest, their legs knotting together and Crowley feels entirely wrung out. He doesn't remember the last time he felt like this. All words have left him and all he can do is hum in appreciation.
"That good, hm?" Aziraphale chuckles, kisses Crowley's chest.
" Good doesn't even scratch the surface. My legs are so numb I can barely feel them."
"Do you want me to massage them? After all, you might still need them."
"Would you?"
"Only if you let me clean you up finally."
Crowley snorts. "Five more minutes." He feels weightless and content. He hopes it will last but it always feels like that after the first time, so in an unlikely scenario that it doesn't, he wants to exist in this moment for a while longer.
The first thing Crowley notices once he wakes up is that Aziraphale must have at some point left the bed to clean them both because they're both clean, cuddled together under the covers. No one has ever cared for him this way and his immediate thought is that he doesn’t deserve it, but he's trying not to think about it in these categories anymore. Step by a small step.
He's here and he deserves all the good things. He wants them and he accepts them, accepts his nature and feels he can almost grasp his intended purpose. His past doesn't have a hold on his heart anymore.
It's a nice bright day and Crowley is tangled within clean sheets with a man he cares for and who cares for him. He has no way of knowing how this will develop, what will happen next, whether it will last. But he knows this is not a fearful kind of relationship where he has to appease the object of his feelings, but a secure one, a safe one. One that he can trust will not leave or betray him if he performs the smallest misstep, and that's a pretty good start.
It's a new beginning and for the first time Crowley is not afraid.