Chapter Text
Aziraphale squirmed under the brush of Crowley’s hand, anxious to have this part of the fitting over.
“Will you please stop wiggling!” Golden eyes pleaded with him as Crowley glanced up from where he knelt, pinning a piece of fabric. “What are you afraid of, anyway?”
“You’re going to poke me,” Aziraphale complained halfheartedly.
Crowley leaned back on the balls of his feet, dropping his hands. “Aziraphale, Prince of the Swordbreak, have I ever once in our long acquaintance poked you with a pin?”
A laugh slipped from Aziraphale at the indignation on Crowley’s face. “No, my love, you have not.”
With a huff, Crowley dove back to his work. It was clear he was finished when he slid his hand tantalizingly slowly up Aziraphale’s leg, stopping when the blond inhaled sharply. “Right. Because I’m not going to stick you with a pin when there are other, more enjoyable ways to poke you.” With a flourish of his wrist, the fabric he’d been so carefully working on was loose and he stood to place it on his workbench carefully. “You’re nervous, want to tell me why?”
Yes. “Not yet.” The invitation he’d brought, complete with a wax seal was tucked away safely in his bag. “Did you want to work again this evening?”
Crowley’s eyes lit up. “That mean you found a new story for me?”
Aziraphale tucked an errant strand of red hair behind Crowley’s ear before he leaned in to kiss him quickly. “A princess and daring prince, wildly in love. With a happy ending, of course, it could be nothing else for you.” He pulled the book out careful to leave the envelope tucked away inside.
As the redhead dragged his small supply table over next to the sofa, Aziraphale took his seat and opened to the first page. He waited patiently for Crowley to curl up next to him with tonight’s embroidery work before he began to read the story of the long-haired princess locked away in a tower.
Night fell to the gentle cadence of Aziraphale’s voice and the soft noises of thread and snipping scissors. As they found their way to the happily ever after, Crowley set his work to the side and instead kissed his way up Aziraphale’s arm to his neck. His hand snaked forward to slide the buttons of Aziraphale’s doublet loose as the blond finally sighed out “happily ever after.”
Aziraphale closed the book, setting it to the side as Crowley’s hands slid up, pushing the doublet from his shoulders so that the redhead could lean in and kiss down the blond’s neck to his chest. “I like those stories,” he murmured as he slid to straddle Aziraphale. “Gives me hope.”
A shudder at those words raced through Aziraphale. Their relationship was not, had never been, strictly prohibited. But that was why the upcoming ball was critical. Crowley had been outstandingly patient with him from the moment he’d laid a calming hand on Aziraphale’s sword arm outside his shop the first time they’d met. He deserved better than this unacknowledged relationship. “Darling, can you wait, just a moment?”
Crowley pulled back until he sat comfortably on Aziraphale’s lap, looking at him expectantly.
“It’s just… that is…” He studied the bookshelf across the room wishing the words in his own head weren’t swirling, trying to find their place. “What if we made things official?”
“Official? What you’d like me to move to the castle? We’ve been over that. My work is here.” He took a shuddering breath. “And it's not as if I’d be accepted among the royalty there.”
Aziraphale reached up to cup his cheek, waiting until he was sure Crowley was ready. “No, not move to the castle. Would you…” He needed to say it, to force the words out. “Come to the spring ball with me? I simply don’t want any confusion as to who owns my heart.”
“That’s where they announce betrothals.”
“It is,” Aziraphale stated firmly. “That is what I’m asking. Traditionally I’d go to your parents, but given the circumstances, I rather thought you more than capable of answering for yourself.”
Crowley peered at him curiously, a trace of fear in those golden depths. “They don’t want me there. We found that out years ago.”
“I don’t care what they want. Mother is gone, there will be no protests. I’ve spoken to the King and father, well, I won’t say he was happy but he gave his permission. I want you, Crowley. And I want everyone to know that I am yours.” He brought the redhead’s hand to his lips and kissed them softly. “It won’t change anything, really. I know that. I don’t want you to worry anymore they may whisk me away from you.” He scoffed, “as if they could. As if I would ever leave your side.”
“You’ve thought about this.”
Aziraphale reached over into the bag and pulled out the invitation, holding it up gingerly.
“Is that… Aziraphale did you get an official invitation for me?” Crowley squeaked out.
“Only if you want it. If you do, it’s yours. As I am.”
Crowley took the heavy envelope from his hands, twirling it. He ran a finger over the wax seal at the back, the King’s lion insignia staring out at them both. “We can be together?” He asked softly.
“Well, wed anyway.” Aziraphale ran his hands up Crowley’s back resting them there as he leaned forward just slightly to rest his head on the redhead’s chest. “I rather think that we’ve been together for quite a while. I don’t want you to need to wonder or worry. I know you do. Don’t think I haven’t caught you staring at me in the mornings, that sadness in your eyes that I can’t quite erase.”
Crowley’s name shined on the front of the envelope and Aziraphale watched him silently sound his own name out, though he knew that was one of the few words Crowley could easily read. His deft fingers slid under the seal, pulling it open in a flash. He pulled out the invitation, his hand shaking. “I recognize my name. And yours. Your name, right there next to mine,” he marveled. “Read it to me?”
Aziraphale took the wavering paper and read it aloud.
From the Court of the King of Angels,
Crowley, the Tailor, is hereby invited to the Spring Ball at the request of
Aziraphale, Prince of Swordbreak and Guardian of Angels.
Should this invitation be accepted, the two shall be traditionally wed before the first snow.
There was a flourish and the signature of King Erich.
As Aziraphale read, Crowley’s eyes had shut. His lips formed every word after him as if he were committing it to memory. He didn’t open them as he whispered, “yes.”
“Yes?”
“I’ll go. Of course, I’ll go.” He leaned in and kissed Aziraphale, desperate and needy. “How could I ever say no to anything for you? And I… I want you. I can’t believe…” His eyes narrowed. “What will we wear? ”
The laughter that bubbled out of Aziraphale was pure joy. “You’re worried about that? Of all things?”
Crowley jumped from his lap and hurried over to the shelves where he stored his fabrics, pulling them out hurriedly. “I’ve only got six months, do you know how long it takes to create something beautiful enough for one of those balls? And I need to make two. Oh, we’ll be the most dashing there…” He glanced at a dark red before discarding it to the side with a tsk.
Aziraphale stood, straightening his doublet but not buttoning it. He came up and wrapped Crowley from behind. “What if you order something special? But my colors. For us both?”
“Your…”
“Not the Kingdom dark blue. My light one, I know you’ve got someone supplying that to you whenever you send off a letter, I’ve noticed how it seems to just magically appear whenever you’re in need.”
Crowley grinned wickedly. “I have my ways. But for me, truly?”
“Of course. We can be a matched pair.” Aziraphale nuzzled his neck. “But tonight, I’d rather celebrate with you a different way.”
* * *
Crowley walked backward, dragging Aziraphale by the hand towards their bedroom. He haphazardly pushed the doublet off the blond’s shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. It’d probably make the prince fuss later, but it wasn’t as if Crowley couldn’t repair it.
Partners. They would be official partners. It was something Crowley had dreamed of and never dared to ask. Princes do not marry tailors, particularly ones with a slightly questionable history. He’d been content enough to know he held Aziraphale’s heart, but this was a change. It was terror and elation wound together in one little bundle that was making him want to vibrate out of his skin as he fell back onto the bed.
Aziraphale’s lips found his own, pressing him down into the mattress as he groaned into the kiss. Too much. His prince was too much on a normal day, but right now Crowley felt awash in feelings. Luckily, Aziraphale seemed to sense it and his body pressed down against him, anchoring him as they kissed.
The fact that this pressed their two growing erections against each other delightfully was not lost on Crowley as he pushed his hips up, grinding them against Aziraphale. The kiss broke as the blond gasped out and then gave him a mock glare before working the buttons on his own far simpler shirt and pushing it off his bony shoulders.
It was more than he deserved, the gentle attentions his lover gave him as Aziraphale kissed down his neck to his shoulders, his hand darting into his breeches to start stroking his cock slowly.
“Lay back and let me take care of you,” Aziraphale murmured leaning his chest against Crowley’s and pressing back. The tailor hadn’t even realized he had been leaning forward. He let Aziraphale guide him, relaxing back into the touch. Aziraphale’s other arm slid under his neck, supporting his head in an embrace.
It didn’t take long. Aziraphale knew just how to twist his wrist, how to respond to Crowley’s quickly writhing body. He stuttered out Aziraphale’s name, trying to call it. The prince shushed him with a kiss as he tumbled over the edge, spilling between them before settling back into the soft sheets, feeling as if every bone in his body had turned to soup. Aziraphale kissed his forehead and shifted to lay next to him as he held him.
Crowley turned, rolling to his side and nestling into Aziraphale’s warm embrace. At some point, their breeches had both been pushed down far enough that he could feel Aziraphale’s cock pressing hard and needy against him.
The blond slid a hand between his thighs, “May I?” he asked huskily.
“Please,” Crowley spread them just far enough for Aziraphale’s cock to slip between his thighs, mixing with the mess he’d already left there.
Aziraphale held him tightly, his chin resting on Crowley’s shoulder as he fucked him. His strong arms wrapped around Crowley’s chest, and the redhead traced the muscles there, glad to be caught in their embrace.
He knew his lover was close when Aziraphale’s breathing became erratic, coming in little gasps.
“That’s it, let go,” Crowley murmured.
With a quiet cry, Aziraphale did, his come leaking out onto Crowley. He’d be sticky, but he didn’t care. It was just a reminder that his love was here and with him. Aziraphale’s embrace loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go of Crowley.
“Can you stay the night?” Crowley dared to ask. He was worried about the answer, but Aziraphale only nuzzled him and hummed an assent.
After a moment the prince added, “and tomorrow. I cleared my schedule. Thought you might want to talk about details and outfits. Maybe you could try that golden heart embroidery against the blue that you’ve been waiting for an excuse to try.”
That would be nice, Crowley thought. But he didn’t quite have the words to say so, not right that moment. Instead, there in the arms of the one he trusted more than anything he fell asleep.