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“Darling, that’s a urinal.”
Aziraphale wrinkled his pert nose, and Crowley wanted to eat him.
“Come on, it’s the most important work of art of the twentieth century,” Crowley laughed. “Thought you told me you took an art history class in college.”
“We did the whole twentieth century in one day,” Aziraphale groused, folding his arms over his chest. “And there were — well, complications that day.”
“Complications?” Crowley cocked an eyebrow, watching the pink blush spread across Aziraphale’s cheeks.
“The teaching assistant, if you must know. He sat next to me, and he was rather gorgeous.”
Crowley let out a mock gasp. “Aziraphale Eastgate, failing to pay attention! I hope he kept you after class.”
Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled. “I waited until the semester was over, but I made sure he knew exactly how much I appreciated his help.”
“Filthy minx,” Crowley purred, leaning in close and letting his eyelids droop. “You know, I think if you had asked Duchamp whether you should learn about his art or get laid, he would have told you to get laid.”
“And look what it’s gotten me! Now I have you here to teach me, and I get to learn for the first time from you.” Aziraphale batted his eyelashes, and Crowley could feel all the emotions that he’d been keeping buttoned away for the three months of their acquaintance bubbling up to the surface. This wasn’t the time or the place to let any of it come tumbling out.
They were standing, of course, in front of Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain, the urinal turned on its side that had once thrown the New York art world into an uproar. It was one of many works by the mercurial artist arranged in a single gallery at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Crowley glanced furtively around the gallery. The Duchamp collection was at the end of one of the museum’s long wings, and on a sleepy Thursday afternoon, it was completely deserted except for the two of them. He drew Aziraphale into his arms, turning him so that they were back to front, facing the white pedestal where the sculpture stood.
“Do you think you can manage without getting distracted by a hot guy this time?” he purred, hooking his chin over Aziraphale’s shoulder.
“I make absolutely no promises, dear,” Aziraphale replied, wiggling his shoulders as he settled into Crowley’s arms. Crowley grinned, letting his thumb graze Aziraphale’s nipple through his blue Oxford shirt, eliciting a little gasp. “Fiend.”
“Don’t you forget it,” Crowley rumbled. “Now — art. And remember, there’s going to be a quiz.”
Aziraphale giggled. “I’m listening.”
“You’d better. So, there was a big art show in New York in 1917. It was supposed to be unjuried, which meant that any artist who was part of the society putting on the show could submit two works to be shown, and the society would accept them and show them. Duchamp wanted to test how far they were willing to go with that, and so he submitted this urinal under an assumed name. And they rejected it.”
“I mean, I can see why,” Aziraphale cut in. “He didn’t make it, he just bought it at a store. And it’s a toilet.”
“A lot of sculptures aren’t actually made by the artist who designed them. Do you know how to run a bronze foundry? I don’t think so. But that’s actually Eric’s department — he has a whole theory about how Fountain might be a commentary on sculpture in the nineteenth century —”
“How is Eric doing, anyway? We haven’t completely traumatized him, have we?”
“More handsy than ever,” Crowley laughed. “I think he’s hoping we’ll invite him back for another round.”
“We really should,” Aziraphale mused. “The last time was so delightful, and I’d really like to —”
“Focus, Angel.” Crowley snapped his fingers in front of Aziraphale’s face, then pecked his cheek. “We’re learning here.”
“My apologies, darling.”
“The point is that this looks like a dumb joke, and maybe it was. He could have picked any other object, and in fact he did for other shows —” Crowley gestured around the gallery at the bottle rack, the stool with a bicycle wheel mounted into its seat, the glass ampoule filled with Parisian air. “So he was definitely trying to yank everyone’s chain a bit. But the point he was trying to make is that art is about the idea, not necessarily just the execution of the idea. And in this case, his idea was choosing this particular object and taking it out of its everyday life and making it a work of art. ‘I choose you, and that’s what makes you special.’”
Aziraphale leaned his head back against Crowley’s shoulder, looking up to hold his gaze. “I choose you, and that’s what makes you special,” he repeated solemnly.
“Ngk.” Crowley gave Aziraphale a squeeze around the middle, losing himself in those seafoam eyes. There it was again, that thing that had been hovering between them for weeks, a hazy ball of something that Crowley desperately wanted to name. The words were almost visible in the air, trembling on Crowley’s lips whenever there was a lull between them, in moments like this, in walks along the Wissahickon, hand in hand, in quiet dinners at hole-in-the-wall restaurants, in the heat that pulsed between them in their bed. Crowley wasn’t sure why he couldn’t voice them, what he could possibly be afraid of when he saw them written in the crinkles at the corners of Aziraphale’s eyes, in the teasing curve of his mouth. But as usual, he froze, trying to keep his breathing even as his heart thumped between Aziraphale’s shoulder blades.
Aziraphale was the first to break the spell, sighing as he looked back toward the sculpture. “Thank you for bringing me here today, darling. But I’m getting a bit famished — would you like to get something to eat before we go home?”
“Something light for me.” Crowley chewed on his lip. “That is — if you still think you want to do, um — that thing we talked about. Tonight.”
“Of course I still do.” Aziraphale hooked his arm through Crowley’s, and together they made their way out of the gallery.
“Darling, are you alright in there?” Aziraphale called. He was sitting in Crowley’s bed, back against the wall, all of his clothes neatly folded on the floor beside him, the covers pulled up over his lap.
“I’ll be out in just a sec!”
Aziraphale peered down at the book in his lap. It appeared to be composed of words and letters that he recognized, but it had been several minutes since he had last gleaned any sensible information out of it. Of course, he knew what was taking Crowley so long. This wasn’t exactly his first rodeo — well, perhaps it was, actually, in the sense that it was his first time as the — goodness gracious, he had better not finish that terrible joke, even if he wasn’t planning on saying it out loud. He must be spiraling, if his inner monologue was serving up such hideous puns. Was he shaking?
He held his hand straight out in front of him, noting the slight tremor in his fingers. He was going to have to pull himself together if this was going to work.
Aziraphale had to remember that tonight wasn’t about what he wanted or needed. It was about giving Crowley what he deserved, making him feel good. In the months since they’d met, they had found so many ways to bring each other off, to satisfy each other fully, just the two of them at home or occasionally with others. But alongside everything they did with hands and mouths and toys and other people, Crowley had been dutifully fucking Aziraphale about once a week, hard and slow and deep, exactly the way he craved it, and each time Aziraphale had lain awake when it was all over, watching the slow rise and fall of Crowley’s chest and knowing, knowing that he should offer to return the favor, that part of being with someone you — well, loved — was putting yourself out there for them, even if it was hard, even if it took you places you never thought you would go. And Aziraphale loved Crowley, loved him desperately, even if he hadn’t worked up the courage to say the words aloud.
Why was this so hard? When Aziraphale had suggested it a few days earlier, murmured it over the phone one night when they hadn’t slept over, Crowley had been ecstatic. And when he’d pictured it, Aziraphale had imagined himself confident, a little dominant even, pushing against the silk ribbon of Crowley’s pliant streak, ordering him this way and just so and right there in exactly the tone that Crowley seemed to crave. But now that he was sitting here, watching the minutes tick by on the clock hanging on the opposite wall, his palms sweaty and his heart pounding, he knew that he would have to play this another way, any way that would allow him to keep himself stitched together. He took a deep breath, and the air wavered as it filled his lungs. He could do this, he really could.
“Angel.”
Aziraphale turned his head toward the sound. “Oh, my darling.”
Crowley was leaning against the bathroom doorframe, the light within casting a golden rectangle onto the carpet. He was wearing a barely-there deep purple negligee, a slip of a thing in lace and satin with a plunging neckline that showed off his freckled chest and a short hem that only just covered the curve of his ass. His long legs were encased in sheer black stockings that were clipped into a garter belt concealed beneath his garment, and his scarlet hair was brushed out over his shoulders. As he walked closer, Aziraphale could see that his eyes were lightly lined in black kohl, setting off the deep amber facets in their depths. Was he swinging his hips even more than usual? Crowley’s walk at the best of times defied all laws of human locomotion and physics, but tonight he was nearly liquid, pouring himself across the carpet and onto the bed, where he came to rest just in front of Aziraphale’s bent knees, sitting back on his heels.
“See something you like?” he purred.
“Oh, my dear — a truly incalculable number of things,” Aziraphale replied. He held Crowley’s gaze for a moment, and he wondered if his own eyes were sparkling with as much mirth as he saw in Crowley’s face. Then they were both bursting into titters, Aziraphale covering his face with both hands and Crowley reaching out to brace himself against Aziraphale’s knees, the weight of him a comfort to Aziraphale’s soul. This was Crowley. No matter what happened, everything would come out right in the end.
“I wanted —” Aziraphale caught his breath between giggles. Might as well be completely honest. “I wanted to sweep you off your feet, to be suave and sure of myself. But oh darling — I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Good thing I do.” Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s hands, brushing soft lips over his knuckles before folding both hands to his chest. “Angel, it’s me. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do tonight. We could just kiss, and cuddle, and I’d be happy. But if this is what you want — then you can count on me. I promise.”
“It is what I want.” Aziraphale was almost surprised by the forcefulness of his own reply.
“Then kiss me.”
The first brush of their lips was tentative, the last of their giggles still hovering in the air as they leaned in. But then Crowley sighed, and Aziraphale reached for him, threading his fingers into Crowley’s hair. They melted together, Crowley leaning forward and Aziraphale letting his knees relax, extending his legs in front of him along the bed. As he moved, Crowley clambered into his lap, throwing his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders to deepen the kiss, his lean thighs straddling Aziraphale’s hips. Aziraphale rested his hands on either side of Crowley’s satin-clad waist.
“You really look wonderful, darling,” Aziraphale whispered, tipping his head to the side to give Crowley access to his throat.
“Mmm —” Crowley murmured between kisses. “Couldn’t let you be the only pretty one —”
Chuckling, Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s face, bringing their mouths back together. It was one of the joys of being with Crowley, the way they both appreciated soft and delicate things. Aziraphale had shared a few of his own favorite ensembles with Crowley, and he was thrilled to see Crowley returning the favor. The satin was smooth under his palms, zhushing over Crowley’s trim waist, the ladders of his ribs. When Aziraphale lightly pinched Crowley’s nipples through the thin fabric, Crowley groaned, arching into the touch as he rolled his hips in Aziraphale’s lap. They kissed and kissed, and as the blood rushed to Aziraphale’s midsection, his unfiltered need lengthening his cock against the cleft of Crowley’s ass, he knew that he was going to be able to do this, that he would give Crowley everything.
He let his hands drop to Crowley’s thighs, gripping the scant meat of them as Crowley moved, caressing the silky stockings. As he moved his hands further up toward Crowley’s hips, pushing underneath the skirt to cup his ass, he paused. “Mmm —”
Crowley pulled back with a chuckle. “It’s always a pain in the ass to get the knickers off once I have the stockings clipped in, so I skipped them.”
“Let me see what you do have under there —” Aziraphale folded the hem of Crowley’s negligee up to his hips, exposing his flushed cock standing tall amidst a froth of satin and lace, his neatly trimmed russet curls framed by the deep purple garter belt, the thin straps that held up his stockings standing out against the pale skin of his thighs. Aziraphale reached out, wrapping his hand around Crowley’s shaft and stroking him slowly, drawing a groan from Crowley’s lips. “Oh, you sweet, filthy tart —”
“Mmm, takes one to know one,” Crowley purred, leaning forward into Aziraphale’s touch. “Do you know how fucking beautiful you are? I can’t believe I get to do this with you.”
He braced himself on Aziraphale’s shoulder with one hand, lifting his chin with the other to draw him into a kiss that laid it all bare, hot and searching, his breathing ragged as Aziraphale lightly pumped his cock.
“You’re so goddamn sexy, Angel — I’ve fucking dreamed of riding your fat cock — gonna make you feel so good —”
Aziraphale nuzzled into Crowley’s cheek, their lips nearly touching, drinking in every panting breath from Crowley’s mouth. “Can I suck you, darling? Will you let me take care of you?”
“Nnnngghh —” Crowley moaned. He took both of Aziraphale’s hands, stopping the slow drag along his cock, lacing their fingers together and gently pressing Aziraphale’s hands into the mattress. “Not tonight, baby. I want you to lie here and relax and watch me take you apart. Got all dressed up like this to make sure you would enjoy the view.”
“Oh darling, you do spoil me —”
“You should be spoiled every minute of every day — because you’re fucking amazing —”
Crowley was rocking in Aziraphale’s lap now, and he unlaced their fingers, bringing up both hands to cradle Aziraphale’s face. And oh, what a kiss it was — Aziraphale could feel every tender thought that he’d ever had about Crowley mirrored back at him, poured into his soul with the movement of Crowley’s lips. Crowley broke the kiss with a sigh, briefly pressing their foreheads together before beginning his journey down Aziraphale’s body. He knew every peak and valley of Aziraphale’s pleasure, a nibble here, a nuzzle there, lips and teeth and tongue working together until Aziraphale was writhing among the pillows, one hand tugging at his own hair as he fisted the coverlet with the other. When Crowley reached Aziraphale’s waist, he folded the blanket down, finally baring him to the room.
“Just fucking look at you,” Crowley murmured. “I can’t believe I get to have this.”
And then he leaned in and swallowed Aziraphale down.
They had both done this for each other so many times now, slow and languid in bed, either here or at Aziraphale’s apartment, hot and heavy when they were out and about and simply couldn’t keep their hands off each other, ducking into an alley or a public bathroom or an unoccupied corner at the leather bar. Aziraphale knew exactly the tricks Crowley would use when he wanted to bring Aziraphale off quickly, to have him hot and panting and desperate, spilling down the willing throat that held him. At the moment, it was clear that Crowley’s intention was not to seek completion, but to tease. He took Aziraphale’s cock between his lips with barely any pressure, the slide up and down his shaft slow and nearly torturous, the tickle of Crowley’s breath on his skin almost maddening. After just a few strokes, he would break off to tongue at Aziraphale’s cockhead, or to gently suck at his balls, or to nip at his tender inner thighs. He was sprawled across the bed with his ass in the air, his back elegantly swayed, his whole body on display, lithe and utterly delectable. And he tucked his scarlet hair over one shoulder so that Aziraphale could see every teasing lick, every purse of his lips, every cheeky flick of his amber eyes, so maddeningly sexy that Aziraphale felt as if he might burst. Even with the lightest of touches, he could feel his pleasure mounting, his thighs aching, a fire burning in his belly that threatened to consume him —
“Darling —” he gasped. “Oh, you perfect, teasing thing — if you still want to have me — please — I’m ready for you —”
Crowley pulled off with a soft pop. “Oh god, yes please —”
He pushed back onto his heels, then reached over to the bedside table for the lube. Aziraphale watched his movements, admiring the grace in his slender limbs, the tumble of his hair, his lips kiss-swollen and his creamy skin flushed in the soft light. Goodness, he was a wonder. Aziraphale gently stroked his own cock, trying to think of how lucky he was, how much Crowley meant to him, rather than any of the worries that had fluttered through his mind as he imagined this night.
Crowley turned to him with a soft smile, straddling his hips once more and reaching up to push a stray curl off Aziraphale’s forehead. “My Angel,” he whispered. “You’re everything to me.”
He poured a little lube into his palm, then reached for Aziraphale’s cock, making sure he was slick and ready, then put a hand between his legs to brush a bit more over his entrance. When he was done, he pushed himself up on his knees, wrapping both arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders.
“Are you ready for me, baby?” he asked.
“Yes,” Aziraphale breathed. He put a hand around his cock and held himself steady, pushing the head gently against Crowley’s hole. “You can have me whenever you want me, darling.”
“Fuuuuck —” With a sigh, Crowley sank down, taking Aziraphale’s cock inside him in a series of careful movements, working his way down the shaft as he breathed slowly, whimpering slightly with each roll of his hips. Aziraphale thought he would go mad at just the first press, his cockhead breaching that tight ring of muscle, the exquisite squeezing heat that followed. And as Crowley worked to take him, as his cock was swallowed up by Crowley’s body, it was all he could do to keep control, to keep himself from shattering, to breathe. When Crowley was finally seated fully, they both let out a sigh of relief, huffing a laugh as they pressed their foreheads together.
“Okay?” Crowley murmured.
“Perfect,” Aziraphale replied. “Oh darling, you feel wonderful —”
“Let me make you feel even more wonderful.”
With a sigh, Crowley rested both hands on Aziraphale’s chest and began to move.
And oh, what a revelation it was! Aziraphale suddenly understood all the times he’d gone home with a promising top, only for them to come apart forty-five seconds into the sex. He’d never felt anything quite like this, the tight clutch of Crowley’s body, the rippling of his inner walls as he slid over Aziraphale’s cock. Aziraphale balled his hands into fists, closing his eyes and biting the inside of his lip as his fingernails carved half-moons into his flesh, reminding himself to hold on. When he opened them again, Crowley was smiling indulgently at him.
“You still with me, Angel?”
“Oh yes, darling — it’s just — it’s incredible —”
“I know —” Crowley moaned. “Is this really happening? Are you real?”
“Kiss me and find out.”
Crowley complied, crushing their mouths together, and Aziraphale wrapped both hands around his thighs, supporting him as he rose and fell in Aziraphale’s lap. It was all so much, both of them whimpering, their faces pressed together, the air around them laden with words unspoken. From the way Crowley was moving his hips, Aziraphale could tell he was searching for that bundle of nerves deep inside him, trying to hit it perfectly. When he found it, he broke the kiss, resting his cheek on top of Aziraphale’s head and winding long arms around his neck, a wavering moan of pleasure falling from his lips. As he began to set a rhythm, Aziraphale tried snapping his hips up on one of Crowley’s downstrokes, drawing a surprised cry of pleasure.
“Do that again, Angel — ahhhh —”
Each time Aziraphale rolled his hips upward, Crowley cried out, sweet little whimpers and moans that went straight to Aziraphale’s core. They were face to face now, nuzzling against skin, sharing the breath from their lips, the sounds they made. Crowley’s amber eyes were open, intent on Aziraphale’s face as he cradled Aziraphale’s cheeks with both hands. The pace was slow, deep, both of them savoring each drawn-out moment. And Aziraphale knew, knew in his heart that he would do this again, that he would do anything to bring Crowley to this state of bliss, to show him how much he was loved.
“Darling?” The word came out almost as a gasp, a breath of air against Crowley’s cheek.
“Hmm?” Crowley was grinding down against Aziraphale’s cock, biting his lip as he moved.
“Could we — could I — switch places? I want to try —”
“Oh fuck, yes —” Crowley clambered to the side, letting Aziraphale move. “How do you want me?”
“On your back.”
“Fuck, Angel —” Crowley flopped onto his back, spreading his legs wide, and Aziraphale knelt between them, sitting back on his heels just to look. Crowley was splayed out among the rumpled sheets, the soft light of the bedside lamp casting a golden glow over his freckled skin. His long hair was fanned out across the pillow, his negligee twisted a bit to the side, revealing one dusky pink nipple, his skin marked by the progress of Aziraphale’s mouth and hands. He looked thoroughly debauched, and Aziraphale adored him.
“What?” Crowley squirmed under Aziraphale’s gaze, rocking his hips against the bed as a slow smirk lifted the corner of his mouth.
“You,” Aziraphale replied simply. He covered Crowley’s body with his own and thrust his hips forward, driving into the heart of him.
God, it was everything. They were lying chest to chest, skin gliding on skin, the hard ridge of Crowley’s cock pressing against Aziraphale’s stomach, heels digging into the backs of his thighs, urging him on. Aziraphale was braced on his knees and elbows, rocking into Crowley’s body, drinking in his soft cries, the touch of his hands as they wandered down Aziraphale’s back, over the meat of his ass, back up again to clutch at his shoulders or caress the side of his face. To know that he was the one making Crowley’s thighs shake, making him moan and clutch at his hair — well, it was something he’d never known that he could do, never knew that he wanted. What a blessing that it was finally his.
A stray sniffle in Aziraphale’s ear caught his attention, and he turned his head sharply.
“Darling, are you alright? Do you want me to stop?”
“No, please —” Tears were trickling from Crowley’s eyes, leaving tracks of eyeliner down his cheeks, but he wrapped both arms around Aziraphale’s neck, burying his face in his shoulder. “It’s so good — it’s so fucking good — and it’s you — never thought I’d —”
“Oh, my love —” The word fell from Aziraphale’s lips almost unbidden, and he blanched, but Crowley only hugged him tighter.
“Fucking love you, Angel — love you so fucking much —”
“Oh god, I love you —”
They were both crying now, tears mingling on their cheeks as they kissed, rolling their hips together, their peak barreling toward them. Crowley let one of his hands drop between their bodies, wrapping it around his cock, and Aziraphale was grateful — it was all he could do to keep his hips moving, to concentrate on giving Crowley as much pleasure as possible even as he was coming apart.
“I’m so close — so close, Angel — need you to come for me first —”
“Oh fuck —”
Aziraphale came with a shout, pulsing deep into Crowley’s body, a deep primal note echoing within him as he gave Crowley everything he had. He continued to move until Crowley spilled too, painting both of their chests and the scrap of satin and lace still clinging to his torso. He looked down his body between them and laughed, then flopped into the pillows.
“Didn’t think that through,” he chuckled.
“It just needs a little water on it,” Aziraphale suggested. Crowley met Aziraphale’s gaze, and they both giggled, suddenly shy.
Aziraphale was the first to break the spell. “Did you mean it? What you said?”
“Course I fucking meant it.” He reached up to caress Aziraphale’s face, and Aziraphale felt the tear tracks crinkling under his thumb. “I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks but I kept chickening out. Guess you fucked it right out of me.”
“Oh dear, I didn’t know I had it in me.” Aziraphale caught hold of Crowley’s hand, pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “For the record, I meant it too. I think you’re simply extraordinary and I’m so lucky you came into my life.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Crowley sighed, stretching his limbs along the length of the bed. “Hey, should we clean up? I want to snuggle the shit out of you but like — I can feel your come trickling out of me. Not that I’m complaining, because I’ve been wanting to have your come trickling out of me pretty much from the moment you bumped into me at the bar, but —”
Aziraphale cackled. “You are filthy, and I absolutely adore you.”
“We’re totally going to be that couple, aren’t we?” Crowley’s eyes were soft. “The couple that is so sickeningly in love that they make everyone around them uncomfortable.”
Aziraphale leaned down to brush their lips together. “I sincerely hope so, darling.”
They ended up taking a quick shower, kissing and giggling under the spray, then toweling each other off and slipping back into bed, scrubbed pink and gloriously naked and blessedly content. Aziraphale curled into Crowley’s chest and Crowley held him close, pressing a kiss into his damp curls.
“So, did we make a tried and true top out of you?” he teased, running his fingertips down the plush curve of Aziraphale’s spine.
Aziraphale laughed. “Hardly. I definitely want to do it for you again, because — well, I love you, and I want to give you every kind of pleasure that I can. Oh, and you have a truly delectable ass that deserves to be well fucked.”
“I’ve always thought so —” Crowley interjected with a chuckle.
“But I couldn’t imagine doing it for someone else.”
“Once a pillow princess, always a pillow princess, huh?”
“Anthony Crowley, you know I’m not a —” Aziraphale pounced, blowing a raspberry into Crowley’s belly and digging his clever fingers into Crowley’s sides. Crowley shrieked with laughter, writhing away from the onslaught.
“Truce! Okay, okay, you are a bossy and delightful power bottom. Is that better?”
Aziraphale had Crowley pinned now, wrists over his head, seafoam eyes twinkling. “Vers only for you, but generally — yes.”
“What about Eric?”
A flush broke out across Aziraphale’s round cheeks, and he grinned. “Only if you were fucking him too.”
Crowley guffawed. “That’s the last thing the poor boy needs — two completely inexperienced tops who have no idea what they’re doing!”
“I could practice on you.” Aziraphale’s voice was nearly a growl now, his hands brushing down Crowley’s ribcage as he nuzzled his jaw.
“Oh, could you now?” Crowley purred. He tipped his head back to offer his throat, and Aziraphale murmured his assent, sucking a bruise into his skin. Crowley groaned, reaching down to squeeze Aziraphale’s ass with both hands. “I think that could be arranged.”