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Sunday dinners with Anathema and Newt were started rather by accident. Aziraphale had only gone back to Tadfield to check on Adam, to see for herself that there were no forces, occult or ethereal bothering the boy. It had been all but chance that she had bumped into Anathema as she had passed the general store on her way back out of the village. Anathema had greeted her cheerfully, which was surprising as they hadn't met under the best circumstances (and Aziraphale had stolen and summarily destroyed a family heirloom). She had been invited back for dinner, which she had accepted gladly. After that, it had become something of a habit. Crowley joined them sporadically, but she had never been a creature of routine so one never knew when she would be coming.
This time, Crowley hadn't come. Aziraphale had brought thai food from this wonderful little restaurant in Fitzrovia, which had miraculously stayed warm the entire journey over to Tadfield. The dinner had been pleasant, but there was a strange air about it; Newton had looked (somehow) more nervous than usual, and Anathema was quieter, not once having mentioned nuclear power plants or the environment. Instead, she kept glancing over at Aziraphale, opening her mouth to say something and then stopping in favour of her wine glass instead.
Normally, when dinner was over, the dishes were cleared up and they would retire to the living room with a bottle of wine. However, once again, things were different. Newt piled up the dishes by the sink, but rather than grabbing the bottle of wine to bring to the living room, Anathema had stayed in her seat at the table, fingers laced as she regarded Aziraphale, expression stern.
Aziraphale swallowed nervously, and gave her best polite smile. "Is something the matter?" she asked. "You've been acting strangely all evening."
Anathema refilled both their glasses. "Aziraphale, Newt and I—"
"I'd like it known that this wasn't my idea," Newton piped up from his position by the sink, cutting Anathema off.
Anathema, for her part, glared at him briefly before turning her gaze back to Aziraphale. "You've been coming here for two years now." Aziraphale nodded slowly, unsure where this was going. "And we've decided; it's time to stage an intervention."
"An intervention?" Aziraphale let out a nervous chuckle, "Whatever for?" She had never seen Anathema look quite so serious before (which was worrying, as Anathema was a rather serious person to begin with).
"Why haven't you asked out Crowley yet?"
Aziraphale went bright red to the tips of her ears. "C-Crowley? Don't be ridiculous, we're just friends!" she said, unconvincingly.
Anathema raised an eyebrow. "Do you really only like her as a friend?" she asked, disbelievingly.
"I well… I— why, of course…" Aziraphale found herself unable to lie, not when it came to denying her feelings for Crowley. She buried her face in her hands. "I admit it," she cried, "I love her terribly, but it's true that we're just friends! She doesn't… she would never think of me that way."
"You're… I mean, you're kidding, right?" Anathema took one look at Aziraphale's morose expression through her fingers. "Oh my god, you're not kidding, are you? I thought… I thought I was going to have to convince you that you should forget about your fear that your 'bosses' would come back to punish you, not convince you that Crowley likes you. It's obvious that she's head over heels with you! You'd have to be blind not to notice."
"Don't be silly Anathema. I've known her for 6000 years, since the very beginning. I'd know if she liked me."
Anathema rubbed her temples. "Oh dear god. You really don't know, do you?"
"There's nothing to know! Why on earth would Crowley like me?" She moaned, unable to keep it in now that she'd admitted it out loud. "She's so…" she sighed, "so cool and I'm just a soft angel." She stared wistfully into her glass.
"Er… are you sure?" Newton said tentatively. "Maybe… well… show me your phone?" He suggested. "Or uh… well… maybe show Anathema." He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.
Anathema held her hand out, and Aziraphale plucked her phone out of waistcoat pocket and reluctantly handed it over to Anathema.
Anathema cleared her throat. " Angel, dinner at that new Heston Blumenthal place? It's a date ." She recited, "and then two kisses. Two!"
"Everyone puts kisses in their texts, it doesn't mean anything."
"Crowley doesn't." Anathema countered. "Look at this, when I asked Crowley if she was coming tonight, the only answer I got was 'nah, mb next time.' Exactly 0 kisses."
"I'm lucky if I get more than a 'k'," Newt mumbled.
"It still doesn't mean anything," Aziraphale insisted. "She's known me for longer than either of you. Back in the 1700s she would sign her letters 'yours evermore'. It's just how she is."
Anathema looked unimpressed. "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe she's like that with you because she loves you?"
"I just… I wouldn't want to presume…" Aziraphale fidgeted nervously. "What if I was wrong and offended her?"
"You won't. Trust me."
"But you don't know that."
"What about the Bastille, huh? Saving you from getting guillotined?"
"Well, a friend wouldn't leave their friend to be discorporated in the French revolution. It was a perfectly reasonable thing for one friend to do for another."
Oh, Crowley had looked so dashing that day, like a hero from one of the tawdry novels Aziraphale refused to admit she read. Her hair had been long and wild around her shoulders, and she had been clad in boyish leather breeches and riding boots, and a billowing shirt that was open in a deep dip that exposed her collarbone. She wouldn't have looked out of place on a ship as a swashbuckling pirate, or brandishing an epée against a man who had offended her honor. She let out a longing sigh as she remembered it.
Anathema rolled her eyes. "Absolutely hopeless," she muttered to herself.
Newton piped up again. "What about when we were all in that bar and when that guy tried to talk to you she put her arm around you and said," he put on his best Crowley pout, "sorry, she's with me."
"That's just solidarity, she's always done that. She knows I have trouble turning people down, so she helps me out."
Anathema and Newton shared a look. "Aziraphale, just… think about it." Anathema said, as if Aziraphale didn't think about Crowley every single day anyway.
Aziraphale didn't see Crowley for another couple of weeks — this was not unusual for Crowley. She would disappear off the face of the earth for weeks, sometimes even months at a time, before showing up at Aziraphale's door with a few bottles of wine or a very nice bottle of scotch to share. Often she would have been sleeping, sometimes she had been away somewhere and in those cases she always brought back a souvenir of some kind for Aziraphale (usually a local delicacy). Aziraphale didn't mind this, she'd known Crowley since the beginning, and knew she wasn't the sort to stay in one place for long. The only thing that really mattered was that she came back to Aziraphale every single time.
In this instance, they were a bottle and a half deep in a rather nice vintage cabernet, Aziraphale perched daintily on her favourite chair, Crowley tottering about, leaning on any object she came across that was the right height for leaning. She was wearing a pair of high heeled boots — not that she needed the height, but Crowley had always enjoyed dressing in a way that men found challenging.
(Aziraphale had once witnessed a man shout "Men don't like tall birds" at her, to which she had responded by knocking him to the ground and pressing the heel of her stiletto into his sternum, before replying in a hiss "Good." That scene had played out in Aziraphale's fantasies a fair few times.)
Crowley draped herself over the second wingback chair Aziraphale kept should Crowley ever feel the need to sit down. "So how is the little witch and her witchfinder?" she asked, before bringing the wine bottle to her lips. "Not been to one of the Device dinners for uh…" she took another drink, leaning heavier and less gracefully onto the chair, "Well, ages."
"Oh yes, quite well," Aziraphale chose to examine her freshly acquired manicure rather than look at Crowley. Thinking of Anathema reminded her of the things Anathema had said, and she didn't want to think about them. Not in front of her.
"Has Newt proposed yet?" Crowley grinned, her upper lip curling to display a flash of pointed canines.
"What?" Aziraphale looked up. "No, I didn't know he was planning on doing that."
"He's had the ring hidden in a sock for well… must be six months now." Crowley partly moved, partly fell off the wingback chair and tottered her way to the ladder propped up against one of the bookshelves, hooking her hands through it.
Aziraphale gave a disbelieving look, "How can you possibly know that? Newton is scared of you, Crowley."
Crowley nodded seriously, "Good, as it should be." Her head lolled back as she regarded Aziraphale, "He doesn't have to tell me, I just know people. It's what I do — did. Feed off their little insecurities and doubts. Get inside people's heads." She tapped her temple.
Aziraphale fell silent, enraptured by the sight of Crowley, one hand in her hair, the other wrapped around a wine bottle, lithe body twisted around the ladder as naturally and gracefully as if she were still a snake. Her glasses were low on her nose with the drunken movements of her head and Aziraphale kept catching glimpses of those yellow eyes. She had this wide, enrapturing grin and sharp white teeth, the kind that draws you in even though you know the danger of it. Crowley was the original temptress, the great snake of Eden, and what Aziraphale wouldn't do for just one bite.
"... don't you think, Angel?" She came back to awareness to see Crowley staring at her. "Angel?" She slowly realised Crowley must have been speaking and she'd not been listening, too busy watching her.
"Hm, sorry? Ah yes, er, I quite agree," she said, giving a small smile and taking a sip from her wine glass to try and cover for herself.
Crowley groaned and dragged a hand through her hair, "For pity’s sake, you've not been paying attention have you?"
"No! Of course I have!" Aziraphale insisted, picking up the metaphorical shovel and breaking the earth on her own grave.
Crowley arched one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows. "Oh yeah?" she drawled. "What was I just saying then?"
"Oh, er…" Her cheeks went pink. "Well, you were, ah, er, that is to say…"
"If you weren't listening then just say so. Almighty knows I don't listen to half of what people say."
The tips of Aziraphale's ears went pink. "Sorry…" she had the good grace to look shamefaced.
Crowley released the ladder and swaggered over to her. "What's up with you anyway?" She stopped in front of Aziraphale and leaned against a bookcase. "You've been acting weird all evening."
"With me?" Aziraphale gave a very unconvincing laugh. "I don't know what you're talking about!"
"You don't have to hide anything from me, angel." Crowley looked at her with a smouldering expression, and for a minute Aziraphale thought Crowley might reach out and cup her cheek. She wanted that more than anything.
"Well I... I was just thinking — well not thinking so much as wondering…" She had gone pink in the cheeks and she felt like her heart was trying to beat out of her chest. She couldn't look at Crowley; she would die if she did, so she settled for staring at a copy of Fragments of Sappho , which was either helping or hindering, she wasn't sure. "I…" her voice wobbled. "Well… I was wondering what you... think of me, or er… us… rather?"
Crowley stilled suddenly. "Oh no… you're not saying what I think you're saying are you?" There was a sharp, shuddering intake of breath. "You want to break up, don't you?"
"I'm so sorry Crowley, I didn't mean to offend you by asking- I'm sorry what?" She looked over at Crowley, who had a hand on her face, pressing her fingers over her eyes.
"You want to break up, don't you? It was all that talk about marriage, I swear, I was only asking about Anathema and Newt. I mean… I don't even know if I could get married. I'd probably burst into flames or something…" Aziraphale had never seen Crowley look so miserable before, not since the end of the world.
"Wait, wait, wait." Aziraphale held her hand out. "Break up? But… from what? We..." She frowned, struggling as if she had put two and two together and got negative seven. Friends, just friends didn't break up — not in an official break-up sort of way.
"Well… from, um, dating?"
Aziraphale jumped up from her chair as if electrified. "Dating? Since when?"
"Well um… 1567?" Crowley's hand had come away from her face, and instead of the look of abject misery, she seemed just as perplexed as Aziraphale felt. "You mean you — you didn't know?"
"No! We never even… I thought we were just good friends… you never called me your girlfriend!"
"We had so many people watching us, it seemed best not to say it out loud. You really didn't know !" She raked a hand backwards through her hair in distress.
"I mean… we never even kissed!" Aziraphale waved her arms, as if it would help release the confusion that was overwhelming her.
"You always seemed pretty shy about it! I suggested it a few times, but — well — you've always been shy about this sort of thing, so I didn't want to pressure you." She took her glasses off and placed them on the side, letting Aziraphale see those beautiful yellow eyes. "What about all those dates we went on?"
"I didn't realise they were dates," Aziraphale exclaimed, although looking back on it, it seemed obvious, "I just thought they were… friendly outings." It had made more sense in her head, but out loud it just seemed silly really — how had she not realised they were dates?
"Angel, you know I don't eat. Why on earth would I take you out to dinner for, if it wasn't a date?"
"Yes, well, it seems obvious now ." Aziraphale spluttered, feeling rather sillier than she wanted to admit. She found she couldn't look at Crowley out of embarrassment, and knew her cheeks were pink.
"Does this mean… you don't want to... be my… girlfriend?" The tone was a forced casual, but it was small, tentative.
Aziraphale whipped back to face her. "Now hold on! I didn't say that!" She raised her hand, outwards to Crowley. "I just wish I'd known , heaven knows I would have actually kissed you silly rather than just thinking about it."
"Well, I hope heaven doesn't know," Crowley muttered, and then snapped to face her once again. "Hang on. Did you just say you wanted to kiss me?"
A reflexive objection leapt into her mouth, centuries of embarrassment and repression bubbling up inside her. Instead, she tilted her jaw defiantly, drawing herself up to full high. "Kiss you silly , specifically." She replied.
There was a beat, a second where Crowley looked at her incredulously, then, she slouched down to her normal, relaxed standing position, arms folded casually. "Well… go on then."
Aziraphale let out a shuddering breath, her heart doing somersaults. She was certain that were she human and actually needed the organ she would have died from arrhythmia by now.
"Alright," she said, her voice shaking. She smoothed away a crease that had appeared in her skirt (it had nothing at all to do with the fact that her palms were sweating, of course).
There were only a handful of steps between them, but briefly it seemed like it could have been a gulf for all Aziraphale felt able to cross it. She had fantasised about kissing Crowley for so long, but now that the real thing was in front of her, she was terrified. She looked over at Crowley, who was looking pointedly away at some unimportant trinket on a low shelf. She was trying very hard to look uninterested, but Aziraphale saw through it to the fear underneath. She wasn't sure she had ever seen Crowley look so afraid and uncertain, and it was all because she was afraid Aziraphale would reject her. It broke her heart.
This was her only chance. If she backed off now, as she had done so many times before, she would lose the chance — possibly even Crowley herself — forever. So why was she so scared?
She took a deep breath. Now was not the time for thinking, for being afraid. She stepped into the chasm of space between them.
Knowing it was only a matter of time before her nerves got the better of her again, she grabbed Crowley's shirt in both hands to pull her down as she stretched onto her tiptoes until their lips met. It was a hard crash of mouths, ungainly and messy but Crowley's lips were so damnably soft. Damnably was the right word — Aziraphale would gladly fall if it meant she could kiss Crowley whenever she wanted, to feel the burning warmth of her body leaning over her.
There was a second, almost imperceptible, where Crowley didn't react, as if she hadn't expected Aziraphale to respond to her. Then her mouth softened, one arm coming around to press into the small of her back, bringing their hips closer, the other resting fingers lightly against her jaw. Crowley used the leverage to tilt Aziraphale's head upwards so her mouth fell open, pressing herself down into the kiss. It was absolutely divine. Her lips tasted like wine, but underneath there was something else, something Crowley (probably something demonic), it tasted hot, like fire, but not something to be afraid of. It was a bonfire on Guy Fawkes night, cinder toffee and spice and the smell that fireworks leave after they burn out.
Crowley's tongue ran over her bottom lip and plunged into her mouth, tasting, catching her tongue and dominating it. Aziraphale’s knees went weak and threatened to give way, forcing her to hang on to Crowley’s shirt for dear life. She gasped into the kiss and Crowley used this to her advantage, her hand moving from Aziraphale’s jaw to the back of her head, nestled under her hair and used it to dominate the kiss, pressing down onto Aziraphale, catching her lip easily between her teeth.
An ineffable amount of time passed — somewhere between seconds and days — where they were locked together, Aziraphale kept up only by her grip on Crowley and Crowley’s hands holding her close. Somehow, eventually, they broke apart, and Aziraphale’s knees failed her, causing a slow descent towards the floor. She looked upwards at Crowley, whose face was pink, her lips red and swollen from kissing. Aziraphale felt oddly bereft of Crowley’s lips and decided that she would happily have kissed her for an eternity. Her only regret was that she hadn’t been able to bury her hands in that fiery mane or touch her cheek or see if her skin was just as hot as it had felt through their clothes -
But she didn’t have to have that regret, did she? Crowley was still there, she could kiss her again .
There was a moment where they stared at each other, both panting for breath, Crowley slumped against the shelves, Aziraphale from an exhausted heap on the floor.
“Would you say that you’ve been sufficiently kissed silly?” Aziraphale said, managing a soft and shaky laugh.
Crowley tilted her head. “I’m not sure. You’ll probably have to try a few more times.” She grinned playfully.
“In that case, you’ll have to come down here. I think you broke me — I don’t think I can stand.” It was the truth, but it was also just a little bit an excuse to get Crowley on top of her.
Hunger flashed in Crowley's eyes in response to her words, her grin widening. The flick of a tongue — was that a serpent tongue? — that caused something deep in her stomach to stir, and Aziraphale suddenly found Crowley on top of her, hands on either side of her shoulders as her hair fell around Aziraphale, creating a barrier between them and the rest of the word, between them and heaven. Crowley’s eyes were blown out yellow, her pupils cutting a dark, hungry slit through them.
“You can’t know how good you look to me.” Crowley hissed, “My perfect, prissstine angel, undone by my handsss… by my tongue.”
Aziraphale shuddered visibly at her words, and a hand reached up to touch the sharp of her cheekbone, to brush her thumb over it and cup her face. “Crowley.” She breathed, unable to keep the adoration out of her voice. “ My Crowley.” Her thumb came to rest upon Crowley’s mouth, and she kissed it softly, sweetly. "I cannot put into words how much I desire you," she whispered.
"Then don't," Crowley growled softly, before kissing Aziraphale fervently.
Aziraphale did not forget this time, to show her desire, to worship Crowley as she deserved. She wasted no time in slipping a hand underneath the inviting gap between her shirt and her abdomen. As her fingers met skin, Crowley broke the kiss with a sharp gasp, her body pressing down against Aziraphale's hand.
Her hands traced, up the sides of Crowley's waist and around the hollows of her hips where they were visible over her jeans. One ran up her spine, revealing more skin as she went, until her fingers brushed at the edges of her bra. She hesitated for just a second, before remembering that she wasn't supposed to be thinking right now. Without any more pause she brought both hands round to cup her breasts.
Crowley groaned loudly as her hands moulded to the shape, the lace of her bra rough against her palms. Oh, how she had dreamed of this, when her friends had spoken in reverent whispers — illicit meetings of poets and writers whose desires did not match society — of the tender crush of a lover's breast against your own. Each time it had been Crowley's breast that she had envisioned, though she was ashamed to admit it. To hold her now, to caress her and feel the hot flesh mould to her fingers was as exquisite as it was difficult to believe, since she had spent so long convincing herself it was unattainable. The only thing she could compare it with was the time she had discovered a first edition of Thus Spoke Zarathustra at a car boot sale amongst china figurines and well-loved barbie dolls, and Aziraphale decided then and there that she would happily pass that opportunity up a thousand times if she could keep Crowley here like this.
"Fuck…" hissed Crowley. "Oh fuck, angel…" She shifted, slipping her legs between Aziraphale's to kneel between them, forcing her legs apart. Her skirt rode up, allowing Crowley to press her knees against the bare flesh of her thighs above her stockings. Crowley drew herself up and away, and Aziraphale keened quietly as she moved, mourning the loss of heat and the soft touch of Crowley's breasts.
Crowley gave a soft, playful laugh that was full of promise, coming to settle crouched on her heels between Aziraphale's legs. "Hush," she soothed, raking her nails against the inside of Aziraphale's thighs, "I'm not done with you yet."
She shuddered in response, rolling her hips in desperation for a sensation that wasn't there. "Crowley…" she cried, and it was a question, it was begging.
"It's not too much, is it?" Her hands stilled at her knee, holding, comforting and not urgent.
She squeezed her eyes shut. "Not too much, you could never be too much," she whispered, "I want more, I want you so badly."
"I know," her hand squeezed encouragingly, "I want you too."
She pushed Aziraphale's jacket open, and smoothed her hands over the gentle curve of her stomach, above the shirt, then upwards, pressing against her breasts and finding the shape of them, all the while watching Aziraphale with an intense stare which she found herself unable to pull away from. Aziraphale propped herself up slightly, biting her lip. “I know I’m not-”
“Shhh.” Crowley said, reaching up to press a finger to her lips. “Don’t. You’re perfect.”
“Yes, but-”
“No argument,” she insisted, “would it make you feel better if we went somewhere darker? More private?”
Aziraphale squirmed uncomfortably, because the answer was yes , lying on the floor was starting to get uncomfortable as much as anything, but - “I don’t want to stop,” she admitted.
Crowley laughed and shifted her weight so she could lean in and kiss Aziraphale. “I swear, sometimes it’s like you don’t know that you’re an eons old celestial being with command over the Heavens and Earth,” Crowley snapped her fingers and the world became blurry, space shifting around them until she found herself lying on a soft bed — Crowley’s bed, if she had to guess, considering Aziraphale didn’t own one.
Crowley kissed her lovingly once more, “Better?” She asked in a whisper. Aziraphale nodded. “Good. Now, where were we?” Crowley returned her attention to her body, her fingers searched for her nipples through the layers of fabric and circled her areolas, before finding the point with the tip of her fingers and rolling it between two fingers with the most featherlight of touches. The sensation shot down into her stomach and further, deep down into her pussy (she couldn't pinpoint exactly when she'd made the effort, but it would have been more surprising had she not by now). Aziraphale cried out, her back arching to press herself more into Crowley's hands, her thighs quivering against her legs.
A hunger came upon Crowley at the sound, and she looked at Aziraphale with a predatory gaze, one that wanted to devour. She took Aziraphale’s blouse in her hands and tore, buttons flying away and clattering against furniture. Perhaps another time, Aziraphale might have raised an objection — it was a very expensive tailored shirt — but was too distracted by the way Crowley's eyes widened and her tongue darted out against her lips hungrily at the sight of flesh.
There was a familiar electric shock against her back, the sensation of a demonic miracle fizzling out directly against her skin. “C-Crowley?” she managed to say. “What was-” Before she could finish, Crowley answered her question by slipping her fingers underneath her bra and lifting it away. “Did you… did you really miracle my bra open?” Crowley leered over her, a playful spark in her eyes. “But- why not just… all of it?” She motioned her hands deliriously.
“Becaussse,” Crowley hissed, dragging her fingers along Aziraphale’s neck and down her sternum. “I want to take you apart. Bit… by… bit.” She dipped her head, and her tongue languidly dragged along her nipple.
Aziraphale gasped, her hands grasping at the air, trying to find purchase and grounding while her body was wracked with sensation. Crowley pressed her tongue flat against her nipple, then the other, swirling it around her mouth, so gentle and delicate and so much less than she wanted. It was a tease, a maddening descent into want. Then, when she couldn’t take any more, Crowley drew her nipple into her mouth, dragging her teeth across it. The bright spark of pain cut through the pleasure, magnifying it to a dizzying height.
“Oh!” She cried out. “Crowley!” Her hands came to Crowley’s shoulders, and she gripped them tightly, her nails digging in.
“Aziraphale…” She sighed against her skin, pressing kisses against her breasts. “Such sweet temptation.” Her hand drifted up against Aziraphale’s thigh, and Aziraphale responded with a shuddering breath. Her hand went up, and up, and a finger stroked where her thigh met her pelvis. A thumb brushed lightly over her knickers, featherlight and intoxicating. “So wet… so deliciousssss.” She turned her attention to her other breast, biting gently, as her fingers carefully pushed her knickers away, pressing a finger between her labia.
She gasped, and her hips jerked, pressing down against her fingers. “Oh, yes!” She begged, so desperate for more, for Crowley to touch her and take her apart.
Crowley snapped her fingers, and the sensation of electricity skittered across her skin again. This time, Crowley had miracled all of her clothes off — both of them, actually — so she was faced with Crowley in all her stunning beauty, the burning touch of skin on skin.
And then she noticed. “Really, you left the stockings on?” She laughed breathlessly.
Crowley grinned, her free hand — the one that wasn’t currently exploring the folds of her vulva — stroking her calf over the silk stockings. “Can’t blame a girl for having her vices. Certainly not a demon.”
She darted backwards as quick as a snake, and lifted Aziraphale’s legs up and onto her shoulders. She pressed burning kisses into her thigh, ever higher — or well, lower, given the angle — until she could rest her cheek against her hip. Crowley’s eyes lazily rolled upwards to meet Aziraphale’s and her mouth widened into a grin, her tongue flicking out, a long snake tongue that skittered over her stomach.
Crowley’s fingers spread her open wide, and she pressed her mouth against her open cunt. Her tongue brushed up against Aziraphale’s clit, causing her hips to jerk and with an amused hum Crowley placed her lips around it. She sucked and flicked it with her tongue, coaxing it deftly to attention until it was throbbing, sending white hot shocks of pleasure down into the very core of her being. She was convinced Crowley was attempting to damn her; using her tongue and her lips and her hot breath to bring her up to that peak, to allow her to see the view from the top but kept her there, just out of reach. And then her mouth shifted, and she felt the heat of her lips hovering over the opening to her deepest self. The tongue, that fucking tongue, darted out, and then in, deep into her, pressing up against her walls and drinking her in. She howled in pleasure, near sobbing. Damned indeed.
Aziraphale had seen that snake tongue before, and she had dreamt of it, of what it would feel like on her, in her, around her clit. But her imaginings and her deftest touches came nowhere near the thing itself. Crowley was well and truly fucking her, her face pressed hard against her pussy, her hands digging tight against the soft flesh of her thighs. Her hand reached out for purchase, and in an act of sheer desperation her grace extended, managing to bend space and put her hand in two places at once; allowing her fingers meeting the wet heat of Crowley's cunt.
Her hips bucked in surprise, and her head jerked up suddenly, leaving Aziraphale so empty and wanting she thought she might scream. "Hang on!" Crowley whined, her face wet and lips puffy and so beautiful. "Are you using a miracle to finger me?"
Aziraphale slipped her fingers between her labia, pressing them apart and running a finger around the entrance to her cunt proper. Crowley groaned, her hips rocking backwards until Aziraphale's finger was enveloped in heat. "You're too far away to do it properly." She managed to say.
"That'ssss cheating," she said, punctuated with a low moan as she ground her hips into Aziraphale's hand. She lifted herself up and twisted, bringing her knees to Aziraphale's shoulders. "Do it properly." She hissed.
Aziraphale's hands were already reaching for Crowley, to expose more of the pink of her pussy, to touch the heat, to feel it silky under her hands. The view was intoxicating, Crowley's small, tight arse and pretty pink pussy hovering over her face, framed by pale thighs and in the distance, the spot where her breasts pressed against Aziraphale’s stomach and the ripple of the shiver it caused down Crowley’s spine.
Crowley was glistening wet, and her fingers dragged through it, gathering it up on her fingers. Her thumb brushed over her clit as she wasted no time in plunging two fingers deep inside her. She felt the vibration of Crowley's moan deep in her pelvis, her tongue stilling ever so briefly before returning to its task of driving Aziraphale to distraction. Crowley's body tensed around her, drawing her fingers in deeper, and her hips bucked, bobbing up and down in an attempt to find friction. Her thumb worked tirelessly against her clit as she fucked Crowley in earnest, pushing her fingers as deep as she could, pouring all her want and desire and love into her cunt.
Crowley's tongue curled against that spot, deep inside of her that made her see stars. She cried out, "Oh! There!" Her body convulsing. "Oh please, oh please. " She felt as if she might discorporate, shatter into pieces underneath Crowley. A hand hooked around her thigh and squeezed gently, lovingly. It was a message, silent; it's ok, you can let go now .
So she did. 6000 years of wanting and yearning exploded inside of her, and pleasure and heat flooded her, filling her up until there was no room for anything else. She was vaguely aware of her body shaking, convulsing, her hips riding against Crowley's face but it didn't matter, her soul, her being was so much larger than a mere body now. There was love and want and need and nothing else. She sobbed with the intensity, white spots appearing in front of her eyes, and as she screamed, it was Crowley's name, blasphemous, between her lips.
Persia, 1567
It was a hot night, and they sat underneath the stars on a Persian balcony, passing a hookah pipe between each other. Crowley was resplendent in black silk, a black veil covering her eyes but little else covered otherwise. They were sprawled on cushions and blankets, lounging, relaxed.
Crowley looked at her, and her eyes, just visible through the gauzy fabric, looked like nothing less than the moon staring back at her. "You know," said Crowley casually, before taking a long drag off the pipe. "You and I have been getting on quite well, don't you think?"
Aziraphale took the pipe and toyed with it. "Better than one might expect, at least. You know… considering the circumstances." The vapour peeled off into the inky sky, and she watched it disappear.
"I've been thinking, perhaps you and I might…" she tilted her head, "go forward as partners."
Aziraphale's heart hammered in her chest, and she fought desperately against the urge to go red. Crowley couldn't mean what Aziraphale thought she did, could she? There were many ways to be partners, in business, in crime not just… that way. "I-I don't know, Crowley," She stumbled nervously, "I erm… I'm not sure head office would approve."
"Is that your only objection? Head office?"
"Well of course. I do like you Crowley, despite what others might think." This was a lie; Aziraphale wished to say, 'I love you desperately, Crowley, no matter what others might think.'
"They never need to know, do they? It's just like the Arrangement, just… more."
Aziraphale flinched. So it was a business partners sort of thing? "I don't know, Crowley. Isn't the Arrangement pushing it enough?"
Crowley shifted closer to her. "But this would just be us. Nobody needs to know."
Crowley's face was so honest, it melted her heart. She couldn't say no to Crowley, she would never be able to. Slowly, she nodded. "Well… ok. Just like the Arrangement."
Crowley’s answering grin was as genuine as it was wide, practically from ear to ear. "You and me then. Partners." Her voice was warm and rich, like honey, and it filled her chest with an unknowable feeling that was suspiciously like love. Crowley placed her hand a fraction away from Aziraphale's, not quite touching but oh, almost. She leaned in conspiratorially. "...shall we kiss on it?" She had that look on her face, the hungry one again.
Aziraphale went red, her heart hammering. It was a joke, a cruel demonic joke that was being played on her. She let out a nervous laugh. "Oh… er, I don't know…" She looked away, ashamed to let Crowley see her like this. "Is that really er, ah, necessary?"
Crowley shifted, and her fingers brushed against Aziraphale's as she moved. "Not if you don't want to." Her voice was serious, sincere. "We never have to do anything you don't want to."
She stared up at the stars and reached out, stretching her little finger out to press against Crowley's. "I know." She whispered.
Mayfair, Present
Aziraphale placed a kiss on top of Crowley's hair. "Oh, I am thick, aren't I?" she said. She sat up against the headboard of Crowley’s surprisingly nice bed, with the demon herself between her legs, curled up on her breast.
Crowley laughed softly, running her fingers up and down Aziraphale's thigh. "Maybe," she replied. "Perhaps I could have been clearer."
"I'd say you were as clear as you could have been." She curled a strand of red hair around her finger. "Given the circumstances."
"And you didn't realise all that time? Even when I asked you to come with me to Alpha Centauri?"
"Oh, well… you know. I thought you meant it as well… pals. In a friendly way."
"As pals!" Crowley looked at her incredulously. "You go to the pub with your mates, not another galaxy." She shook her head in disbelief.
"I just… I didn't dare hope." She admitted. "Hang on, does this mean that when you said I could stay at your place, you were asking if I-"
"Wanted to move in together? Yes."
"Oh gosh…" she buried her face in Crowley's hair. "You must have been so upset when I came back here."
Crowley shrugged. "S'okay. Wouldn't have had room for all these books anyway. We'd have to move in here."
"Oh!" Aziraphale's face went pink.
"Not that I was implying- I'm not trying to hint- or- or- anything." Crowley slumped down, curling in against Aziraphale.
"I know, but well… you can if you want to."
"Really?" asked Crowley. Aziraphale nodded and was rewarded with a beaming smile from Crowley, who craned up for a kiss. "You know," Crowley said as they broke the kiss, looking down at where their fingers were entwined, and brought Aziraphale's hand to her lips. "I'd wait another 6000 years if I knew I'd end up back here with you at the end of it."
"I can't help but mourn lost opportunities though." Aziraphale sighed.
Crowley laughed. "Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?"
"Well, do you remember the Bastille…?"
Crowley's laugh was rich and loving. "I'm not sure… perhaps you should jog my memory." She winked.
Aziraphale laughed and held her closer. "Well, it all starts with an angel who wanted to nip to France for some crepes, all tied up in a dungeon…"
Bonus:
"Newton!" Aziraphale reached up to kiss Newt's cheeks in greeting. "I'm glad you could make it - always lovely to see you when you're in town."
Newton smiled nervously at her. "Hi, Aziraphale. How's the shop?"
"Quite good, thank you. Haven't had a customer in weeks." She stepped away from the door to let Newt through. "We'll take tea in my office."
Aziraphale led the way to the office, which was less cluttered than usual — not that Newt noticed, having only been there once or twice before. There was an imposing desk placed at the end, a high backed chair behind it, facing away from the room. Aziraphale motioned to the desk, to a chair in front of it and the teaset sitting atop. "Do have a seat, dear."
The high back chair swung around, revealing Crowley, holding a fern in a plant pot on her lap as if it was a pet, looking every bit the mafia boss she was often accused of being. "Well, well, well," she drawled, "If it isn't Newton Timothy Pulsifer."
Newt swallowed nervously. "I-I don't have a middle name," he stammered out.
Crowley placed the plant on the table. "You do now," her tone brooked no argument.
Newt glanced between Crowley and Aziraphale. "I didn't expect to see you today."
"I live here, why wouldn't I?" She kicked her heels up, resting her feet on the desk.
"Oh really, Crowley, I wish you wouldn't put your feet on the furniture." Aziraphale chided.
She shrugged, "My desk, my feet." But she shifted her feet off anyway.
Aziraphale shook her head. "Now really Newt, sit. Drink tea."
Hesitantly, Newt allowed himself to be herded over to the desk, where he sat with Aziraphale and Crowley opposite him. Like a job interview, or perhaps an interrogation. He looked between the two. "Is something wrong?"
Aziraphale and Crowley shared a conspiratorial look. "Well," said Aziraphale, leaning over the table to pour everyone tea. "We've been friends for two years now, wouldn't you agree?" Newt nodded silently, unable to look away from Crowley, who was staring at him intensely. "And we've decided; it's time to stage an intervention." Aziraphale finished, looking rather smug.
Crowley leaned in. "We know about the ring, Newton."
Newt went bright pink, which was something of a giveaway. "Ring?" he said, his voice an octave higher than usual. "What ring?"
Crowley leaned in further, her smile turning demonic. "Your grandmother's ring, the one you've had in your sock drawer for six months."
"That's not true!" argued Newt, leaning away from Crowley as much as he could while remaining seated. There was a pause where he opened and closed his mouth, looking for a plausible lie. "...It's in a shoebox under the bed."