Chapter Text
Night fell across London like it always did—slowly and with a subtle shift in ambiance. Busy streets swarmed with pedestrians and vehicles alike, pressing this way and that against the flow of movement. City lights illuminated every corner and inch of the many businesses still open as the hour drew late. One particular street in Soho advertised delights galore.
From French cuisine to mystic arts to the most discrete of pleasures, business owners coaxed pedestrians off the streets and into their warm interiors. The noise bounced off brick walls by way of shouts, laughter, and the honking of car horns. It seeped into the cracks and nooks of each building, telling a story one could partake of if only one stopped long enough to listen.
The sound, however, stopped abruptly at a quaint bookshop which, despite its position on the road, sat tucked amongst the noise and the hustle. Its lights were low, almost impossible to see from the street, and the door was locked. Displayed neatly in the front most window on the shop’s door was a sign that read “closed.” The sign, easily purchased at any supply store, often sat as such, only occasionally deigning to flip itself at the whim of the proprietor.
Said proprietor was, however, busy.
Within the walls of the shop, tucked behind several layers of shelves in a small corner at the back of the space was a sitting area. Two lamps lit the room, enough by which to see for the two beings who sat within the nook. Beings being the proper word here, as neither were human. Rather, they were an angel and a demon, though anyone who knew the events of the previous year might argue they were neither.
“Really, dear, you’re too much,” laughed the angel, for it was most obvious which was which, if you went by classic standards. His hair was pale and feathery, his ruddy cheeks round and plump. From head to toe he wore neutral tones, various shades of pale beige and brown. In one hand he held a glass, empty now save for the drops of red wine lingering at the bottom.
“I’m not joking, angel, that really happened,” the demon replied, laughter equally as evident in his tone. His fiery red hair and serpentine eyes gave him away to anyone paying any real attention. In the presence of his ange—for the blonde truly was his—he bared his eyes without question. His lithe figure was bedecked in blacks and greys, clothing so tight one could hardly believe he’d been able to slip into them. They would be right, of course, for he dressed himself with a snap of his fingers, clothes donning him in the blink of an eye.
“I believe you,” laughed the angel—Aziraphale—wiping a finger under his eye where tears of mirth had begun to form. “I simply find it most amusing.” A snort from the demon—Crowley—could be heard at this choice of words.
“Amusing, angel?” The term slipped easily off his tongue, had for millennia. “It’sss fucking hilarious.” No reaction was had on the angel’s face, for he had become accustomed to his demon’s crass language and humor. Honestly, it had quite grown on him in the last few millennia.
“Right you are, dearest,” Aziraphale sighed, laughter trickling out like a faucet being turned off. He still glowed with the delight of the tale Crowley had just told, but his breathing evened out and he maintained a smile alone as he reached forth to pour himself a new glass of wine. They were, both of them, buzzed at this point in time, and well on their way to absolutely sloshed.
Comfortable silence fell as Aziraphale sipped at his drink, basking in the comfort of their current situation. Crowley, too, was still smiling, something all too new to him in the comfort and familiarity of the bookshop.
It felt like only yesterday they had stopped the apocalypse and saved the world—their world—and shaken their respective “sides” off their backs. In reality, it had been well over a year by now. They had celebrated the one year anniversary, of course, but they seemed to find a lot to celebrate these days. Now, they were trading tales of times long passed. Being alive for the last six thousand years guaranteed that all conversation remained interesting.
A sigh came from Crowley across the room as he, impossibly, slouched lower into the chair upon which he sat. Aziraphale looked at him, an expression read by any human as pure love. His eyes softened as he looked over his best friend, his smile gentle and warm against his cheeks. Having feared he’d lose him for so many millennia, it was nice to look at him and know that was no longer the case.
“Wha’s the strangest mission you’ve ev’r been on?” Crowley asked into the silence, wine glass held precariously between his thin fingers. Aziraphale considered the question. They’d been on many missions on their time on Earth, had done many of those for each other, to make their jobs easier. The list was endless, he wanted to say, there could be no winner.
“Oh, it’s so hard to choose,” he replied airily, still half in thought. Crowley grunted and shifted again.
“Try me,” he challenged and Aziraphale gave him a look that could only say “oh you rapscallion.”
“Well… I suppose I’ve been on a number of, er, conceiving missions,” he finally said, speaking more to his glass than his guest. A glance up informed him he’d need to explain more, if the raised brow from Crowley was any indication. “I had to… encourage and promote two people together, you see. Make sure they… procreated to conceive some of the greatest minds in the world. Einstein, Marie Skłodowska-Curie, Grunya Sukhareva, you know the like.” Crowley snorted.
“You had to make sure their parents fucked?” He asked and Aziraphale felt heat rise in his fair cheeks, aware it was something he couldn’t hide, darn corporation. A cocky smirk twitched at the corners of Crowley’s lips and he repositioned himself once more, this time a bit straighter in his seat. “Did you have to watch them?” Aziraphale definitely couldn’t hide the pink exploding across his cheeks now.
“I… well… the, erm, the Department of Very Important People wanted to make sure it happened,” Crowley barked out a laugh, “I barely looked in, most of the later ones I just… listened.” Now the demon was practically rolling in laughter, it was a true miracle he wasn’t spilling wine all over the antique carpet.
“Imagine that,” he finally said once his laughter had died into light chuckles in his throat, “you, the most holy, watching people shag.” Aziraphale didn’t know it was possible, but he felt himself heat up more. “Mr. Prude is a fucking voyeur.” A snort again as Aziraphale’s mouth flapped open in an attempt to find a defense.
“I’m not a prude!” He finally managed with gusto, taking a hefty swig of his wine as he watched Crowley’s expression shift from amusement to something more akin to curiosity.
“So you’ve fucked someone?” The way his voice lilted upward and cracked slightly on the word “fucked” had Aziraphale wondering where this curiosity was coming from all of a sudden. Still, he was too distracted by the topic of conversation to wonder at it for long.
“No, I haven’t… made love to anyone,” he mumbled into his drink, avoiding eye contact with Crowley all together at this point. There was no noise from the demon for a moment, but Aziraphale didn’t break his pouty determination to look at his drink.
“’Ave you masturbated?” Crowley asked. If it hadn’t been for the other questions he’d asked up to this point, Aziraphale would have found his drink either down the wrong pipe—darn corporation—or across the antique rug in front of his seat.
“Wh-what!? Of course not,” he spluttered, barely managing to swallow his sip without getting it everywhere. Wine would come out easily with a small wave of a hand, but he really preferred not to know there had been anything there in the first place. Silence lingered longer this time, bleeding dangerously into discomfort. “H-have you?” Aziraphale finally asked, looking up to find Crowley making a very tight expression.
“Nn… yeah. Yeah I have.” Aziraphale blinked at this, wide eyed. Crowley had been the one to introduce him to food and drink, to Earthly pleasures he otherwise would have avoided his entire existence. Of course it made logical sense that Crowley had experienced other forms of Earthly pleasure, but it still surprised him to hear it aloud.
“Have… have you… copulated before?” He asked, ignoring the strangled snort that escaped Crowley’s mouth at the use of the word. Despite having brought the conversation up himself, Crowley was looking a tad bit uncomfortable.
“Y-yeah, ‘ve had sex, angel,” he replied, eyes darting toward the floor for a moment before darting back up not quite to Aziraphale’s eyes. His gaze lingered, oddly enough, on Aziraphale’s lips, wet with lingering wine and saliva. Moments passed like this, Aziraphale attempting to determine if he wanted to end the conversation or continue it while Crowley’s eyes traced every fine detail of his mouth.
“Wh...what’s it like?” Aziraphale finally asked, surprising himself at the question. Crowley’s brows screwed together in thought, mouth hanging open uselessly as he considered the question. Aziraphale took the moment to admire the demon’s luscious lips himself, suddenly all too conscious of the way they might feel on his.
“It’s… fuck, angel. It’s amazing. You thought food was good,” Crowley laughed, a strangled sound. He looked conflicted and Aziraphale felt a pang of guilt hit at his heart. Was he forcing Crowley to recall painful memories?
“I’m sorry, dearest, forget I asked,” he muttered, downing the rest of his glass. Crowley shifted in his spot and Aziraphale looked up again as the demon leaned forward and set his glass on the table beside him.
“’S not a problem, angel,” he replied, voice soft. It was a tone Aziraphale rarely heard used. Most frequently it was directed toward him, though he had heard Crowley take it with young Warlock and a variety of other young ones through the millennia.
“I just… don’t want to force you to relive painful memories, is all,” Aziraphale said, this time not looking away from those striking yellow eyes. Nothing in all the realms could ever compare to the beauty that was Crowley’s eyes.
“They’re… well, they’re kinda painful but not, like, a bad painful.” The look in Crowley’s eyes was one he’d seen numerous times. A small plea was present there, one to trust him, believe his words. Aziraphale did so every time. They sat in this moment for a while, almost communicating silently. After a moment, Crowley coughed and sat back up.
“I could… I could show you what it’s like,” he suggested, not quite looking at Aziraphale anymore. Several emotions raced through Aziraphale’s corporation at that suggestion: fear, arousal, confusion. Show him what? Sex? He’d seen it before, how it could hurt. But also how joyous it could be. What would it be like? “M… masturbation, that is. Don’ wan’ to start you off, nn, too fast.” Crowley clarified and the panic subsided, replaced almost exclusively by arousal.
“I… wouldn’t want to be a bother….” Aziraphale muttered, resisting the urge to throw himself at Crowley. He could be coy—not really—he could play it cool—quite poorly, actually.
“’S no bother, angel,” Crowley replied, pulling himself to his feet and approaching where Aziraphale sat on the sofa. “Here, get up,” he gestured the direction and Aziraphale stood, watching as Crowley ducked around him and sat long ways on the sofa, one leg splayed across the cushions, the other on the floor. “You’ll, erm, need to take off your trousers and pants, angel.” Crowley spoke after Aziraphale made no movement.
“Oh, r-right,” he stammered, placing his glass on a nearby table before his fingers rested on the button of his trousers. He found he was shaking rather much, something he rarely found himself falling victim to. A warm hand on his directed his attention back to Crowley.
“We don’t have to do this,” he whispered, a reverent sound. Aziraphale felt himself relax at the look in Crowley’s eyes.
“No… I’d like to,” he said, fingers nimbly undoing the button and zipper. With little effort, Aziraphale let both articles of clothing drop to his ankles, feeling a bit of chill as the air touched his bare skin. Crowley gasped, a soft sound in the silence, as he looked at Aziraphale. Heat raced its way up his cheeks and down south simultaneously.
What’s between Aziraphale’s legs?
Chapter 2: A penis
Chapter 3: A vulva