Archive of Our Own ^beta

Crowley was in love with the delivery man.

It all started when they made the man tea for the first time. He came into the shop after a delivery and asked for some. Which wouldn’t be a problem, except Crowley wasn’t really familiar with the entire procedure involved with making tea, and not really interested either. But at 5 am they were the only employee in the shop, so they simply… heated up some water, plonked a tea-thing in, and served it. The man drank it all with a straight face, paid, tipped, and then proceeded to tell Crowley to never make tea again.

Crowley would have usually felt something like ashamed, chastised or to hide those, outraged, but the way he just stated it so casually ‘Ah, here’s your money, lovely morning, by the by that was the worst tea experience of my entire life, never do this again’ had simply blind-sided them so completely they laughed instead.

They told him he’d better order coffee next time then, and left to lug around the heavy deliveries to where they needed to be.

The next time he indeed ordered coffee, with a wary but challenging little smile. The most boring coffee Crowley was able to make, as they teased, delighted by the way his nose crinkled up in further displeasure with every way to spice it up they suggested as they made him his coffee.

They then proceeded to make the exact concoction of all ingredients suggested combined for themself and join him at the table.

He admitted the coffee beat the tea^[1] and they got to chatting for a bit, Crowley offering a sip of their concoction every time the man stared at it with increasing glee.

But soon enough it was too late for Crowley to be lazing around, especially since those gosh darn heavy sacks of coffee beans didn’t lug themselves around, so they had to excuse themself.

To their utmost surprise, Aziraphale, as they’d learned the delivery man was called, offered to help. And help he did.

The man could lift the stuff Crowley usually resorted to dragging around, fearing for their back and also kind of for their shoulder popping out of the socket, as if he was picking up a kitten. All while lecturing Crowley about proper lifting posture.

And that was how the two of them went on, for a while.

Apparently Crowley was the last stop on Aziraphale’s route and also the only shop that made any beverage that was up to his standards, and thus he could afford spending a few more minutes chatting and lending a hand.^[2]

Each time they ended up bickering about whether Aziraphale should be allowed to pay for his coffee if he was helping around the shop. Aziraphale insisted he should, that help should come from the joy of helping and he simply never could not pay for something he ordered. Every time Crowley tried not to take his money he countered simply yet effectively by throwing increasing amounts into the tip jar. Crowley had to resort to a different strategy, and luckily, they were quick to come up with a good one.

Standing up extra early wasn’t fun, but it was worth it for offering Aziraphale a freshly made croissant with his coffee. Which he hadn’t ordered, so he wasn’t allowed to pay for it, as they explained, very innocently.

Aziraphale was so delighted about the prospect of a croissant that he only glared at them a little bit, and even forgot to complain about their chosen concoction of the day (which was a shame because it involved both blueberry and mint syrup and strawberry whipped cream).

And Crowley immediately decided that this plan was now the new routine, upon discovering the gusto with which Aziraphale ate their baked goods. And the faces he made. And the sounds. Crowley was idly already thinking of making lemon meringue tarte the next time. Something about stiff peaks.

This plan, made reality, also had the bonus of them being able to smugly deny Aziraphale’s order of a croissant the next day, telling him those would only be done much later, but oh, would he like some lemon tarte? On the house of course.

The weeks passed and with every day, Crowley was drawn more and more to Aziraphale.

They learned he could talk about books and theatre with a passion like no one else. Well, except maybe Crowley themself, although the two of them heavily disagreed on which ones exactly were worth being this passionate about. They also learned the man could be a right bastard, taking people he didn’t like apart with only a few well-placed, very polite words. He was funny, he was fussy, he was kind, he was derisive, he was generous, he was hoggish and Crowley was completely and utterly fucked. Sadly only metaphorically.

When they had learned that his good posture and stance came from fencing, but his upper body strength came from pole dancing they only nodded. Of course it would. It was Aziraphale. He probably did it all wearing his silly little bow-tie and looked a proper gentleman, composed no matter the setting.^[3]

Crowley knew, had known for quite a while, that they liked Aziraphale. And that they were attracted to Aziraphale in a very undeniable way. And yet still, they were completely blind-sided by the realization they had actually fallen for the man.

The realization hit when they fell for him.

Literally.

The floors were freshly swept, and Crowley had never been the most sure-footed, especially not when carrying gosh-darn heavy sacks of coffee beans.^[4] And they simply lost their footing, and tripped. It felt slow, like a timeless, endless, slow saunter into the pits of hell.^[5] They braced for the impact, letting go of the bag, beans spilling everywhere.

But the impact never came.

Instead there was softness. A soft hold, with the underlying strength needed to be effortless.

And when Crowley opened their eyes, they were met with the concerned face of their guardian angel, the neon lights above making his hair glow like a halo.

“Are you quite alright, my dear?”

Crowley was not, Crowley had just been sledgehammered by the realization they were actually in love with the man they had been talking with for months and were now experiencing every moment of panicking about it they had missed out on by being too dense to realize.

“Ngk.”

They barely registered Aziraphale getting them upright and ushering them to a seat, proceeding to fuss over them, mind going a thousand miles an hour.

“Coffee!” they blurted out.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that now, we’ll make sure you’re unharmed first-”

“No, you. With me.”

“We can drink coffee later, Crowley, really, dove, I don’t think you should move quite yet, you seem to be in shock.”

“No, I-” Crowley broke off.

Two times denied was one too many, wasn’t it. He probably knew exactly what they meant and was just letting them down gently. They took a shuddering breath and resolved to never speak of this again, when a sharp inhale from the other made them look up.

“Oh. Oh, Crowley were you asking me for a date?”

“Well, I wasn’t asking for a plum!”

Aziraphale snorted undignifiedly.

“Yes! Yes, of course, I’d be delighted to.”

Crowley, who had built up the indignation for another snappy retort felt it dissolve into warm, light bubbles that seemed to be filling the entirety of their chest.

“Really?”

Aziraphale looked at them and smiled his little bastard smile, the one they loved. Oh, they loved that smile.

“I mean, I have been trying my best with dropping hints and flirting and everything.”

“You have?”

“I have.”

“You want this?”

Crowley’s voice sounded small even to their own ears.

Aziraphale’s face did that thing where it became all soft. He put his hands on the sides of their face, hovering.

“May I?”

His tone was impossibly soft and gentle, and Crowley nodded. Aziraphale cradled their face in his hands, his big, strong, soft hands with the immaculately manicured nails and leaned his face forward until their foreheads touched, mindful of Crowley’s sunglasses.

“I want this,” he whispered. “I have wanted this for quite a while and I fear I have been a coward in not being clearer in my intentions. It would make me immeasurably happy to go out with you.”

And Crowley couldn’t help it: They fell into his arms a second time that day. And again the hold was soft and strong and shielding, and they didn’t move for quite a bit.

Then Crowley laughed, if a bit wetly.

“If you’ll be calling me dove now, I’ll call you my homing pigeon,” they joked, and Aziraphale laughed.

“Anything you like, my dear. Although I’m sure a mind as creative as yours wouldn’t be too hard-pressed to find something more fitting. At least for polite company.”

Angel, he was their angel, they already knew.

“Hmm, maybe, my pige-wige.”

“You terrible, terrible creature,” Aziraphale answered, voice very put upon.

But they could feel the curve of his smile against their neck.

They pulled back and grinned.

“Your terrible, terrible creature now.”

And Aziraphale smiled back.

Things changed after that, and yet they didn’t. They still sat down and chatted each morning, Crowley surprising Aziraphale with some kind of baked good. He still crinkled his nose at their fun concoctions. Only now they also met in the evenings, outside of work. At the theatre. At the museum. The park. Aziraphale’s tournaments, for both fencing and pole dancing.

And now Crowley could admit they found it cute when Aziraphale’s nose scrunched up and also lay a little kiss on it when it did that. And sometimes when they held hands Aziraphale brought them up to his lips and laid a kiss on Crowley’s palm. Or their wrist. Or each individual knuckle, while murmuring something achingly sweet and beautiful. Crowley liked to counter with pecks on his soft cheeks.

Their first kiss wasn’t all that different from their new normal, and yet it was.

Aziraphale had said something Crowley had rolled their eyes at, something sweet and ridiculous that made them feel warm all over and painted a proud, smug little grin on his face. Crowley thought of kissing it away, and suddenly realized they could. Just a simple matter of leaning in a bit and asking ‘May I?’ and soon enough they knew Aziraphale’s face was just as warm as their own because they could feel his cheeks against theirs. Just a simple touch of their lips, enough to get the both of them off balance in the most wonderful ways. So they repeated it.

The first time they spent the night together wasn’t unusual either, and yet it was.

They had met up on a Saturday for a James Bond marathon in Crowley’s flat, because Crowley insisted that books only didn’t do the character justice. They had takeaway and wine and cuddles and a lot of movies to get through and everything felt nice. Crowley dozed off in Aziraphale’s lap and awoke being carried to their bedroom. It felt like floating, warm, comfortable, weightless. They nuzzled into Aziraphale’s chest, only to then be let go onto what they blearily recognized as their bed when he tucked them in.

“Nhh, no, stay,” they muttered, grabbing at the leaving form.

“Dear, I don’t have any toiletries with me, and I do think that’s a decision for more conscious you.”

Crowley regretfully blinked themself more awake and sat up.

“There, maximum available consciousness. And I got a guest toothbrush and some old shirt I can lend you.”

“Really, my dear, I’m not quite sure…”

“You just want to get around watching the rest of the movies with me tomorrow,” Crowley teased. “Come on. I’ll make waffles. It’ll be fun.”

The other still looked quite torn.

“Stay, please? We could cuddle.”

Aziraphale’s face softened.

“That sounds delightful.”

“So, you’ll stay?”

“I will.”

Crowley dragged themself out of bed to provide the promised amenities and then quickly huddled back in, already almost asleep when a warm body joined theirs underneath the blankets, pulling them into a warm, soft hold as they drifted off.

Sleeping over became a thing they did often after that, sometimes even on weekdays when their work schedules aligned.

Crowley could tell Aziraphale was nervous sometimes, as were they, but as the two of them became more comfortable with being around each other, touching each other, the nervousness turned into anticipation. A building, swooping sensation furthered with every heated look, every emboldened touch, every deepening kiss, a well soon to overflow and water another part of their budding relationship: sexual intimacy.

It began on Crowley’s couch, where they slid deeper and deeper into the pillows while kissing in much the same way, heat between them, trapped where their bodies met. Every movement against each other was friction, every touch intensifying sensation, until Crowley put a certain twist into the movement of their hips and Aziraphale moaned beneath them. They couldn’t help but repeat it, again and again, kissing the sounds off his lips in a way that affected them at least as much as the movement itself, until Aziraphale separated the two of them, breathlessly.

“My dear, we really ought to stop. Or at least change things up a bit. I would hate to stain these trousers, I like them. And your couch...”

Crowley, whose eyes had glazed over at being pushed up with the same ease as a pillow, one-handed, and at the new angle this brought with it, gasped.

“I’ll launder them for you, I promise I’ll remove any stain, just please don’t stop.”

Aziraphale pouted, honest to anything pouted, and Crowley felt like they were loosing their mind.

“But I’d always know the stain was there. And the same does go for your couch.”

Crowley opened their mouth, trying to say anything, anything at all but could only produce some hacked up vowels.

“I- hn- gh- mm- BLANKET! That’ll save the couch.”

They grabbed a blanket from behind, tucking it under Aziraphale, only to then realize what this change of plans meant. Because while the blanket would save their couch, it certainly wouldn’t do the same for Aziraphale’s trousers. Aziraphale meanwhile was already moving.

“Uhh-”

“Brilliant, dear, that takes care of that. As for my clothes, just let me-”

Aziraphale wiggled below Crowley, clearly shimmying out of his trousers^[6] and Crowley’s brain short-circuited. They flopped, burying their head in Aziraphale’s shoulder. It didn’t help their composure at all that the flopping brought their hips closer together again. And Aziraphale’s hand was right there. However, it had stopped moving the moment Crowley had tried to disappear in the curve of Aziraphale’s neck.

“Crowley? My dove, my dearest, are you alright?” Aziraphale asked, retracting his hand to instead pet their back comfortingly.

Crowley answered with a muffled sound, focusing on their breathing. That usually helped when they were overwhelmed. The smell of Aziraphale’s Eau de Cologne also did. They breathed in deeply once more, focusing on the grounding sensation of Aziraphale’s hand on their back, trying to tune out the grinding sensations from where they connected elsewhere. If they focused on that, they would probably never regain the ability to speak.

Aziraphale was whispering now, quiet and calming.

“If this is too fast for you, you only need to say so. Or tell me otherwise. I’d never want you uncomfortable.”

Crowley vigorously shook their head.

“No, angel, just. Having a moment. Got overwhelmed. I didn’t think we’d go this far today. And I didn’t quite realize what I was suggesting.”

Aziraphale hummed, not letting up on the petting. His other hand, previously used to holding them up now found it’s way into their hair, gently carding through the strands. It made Crowley feel warmth, comfort, where before they’d felt hot arousal. They gradually relaxed against him, as he spoke up again.

“That’s perfectly alright, my dear. Take as long as you need, and again, there’s no need to rush these things.”

Crowley grumbled.

“There’s a need alright. I can feel it pressing against my thigh and you can too.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice was serious now. “I need you to understand, without doubt, that no physical need of mine will ever override a boundary you set. I would never want you to take on discomfort to please me. If you don’t, there shan’t be any intercourse at all.”

Crowley snorted.

“Does that also count when I’m waiting on you in an antique store the next time?”

They sighed when Aziraphale didn’t answer, and buried their face deeper.

“Just a joke, angel. Both of it. You know, joking, the thing I do when I’m trying not to get weirdly emotional?”

“You do indeed,” Aziraphale muttered, tone still unaffable.

Crowley sighed. Raw truth time then. They pushed themself up a bit to look at Aziraphale properly, and pet his cheek so he’d look at them.

“Don’t think I could ever force myself to want anything with you because I want so much already. You don’t have to worry about it.”

Aziraphale sighed.

“I am very aware. I suppose that is part of what has me worried – that you might think you want something with me, just because you want me. But it’s unfair of me to take away your agency like that, isn’t it?”

Crowley hummed.

“That’s alright. I have realized by now that you might, just sometimes, be a little overly cautious.”

They grinned at him. Then they got a bit thoughtful.

“I mean, I’m very glad we stopped this for a bit if you had concerns like that. But I can assure you that I’m usually very aware of what I do and don’t want. And I’m very vocal about it. So, rest assured, I very, very much want this and uhm. Would like to continue. If you’re still up to it, and no” -they glared at Aziraphale’s cheeky grin- “you are NOT allowed to make that joke right now after not even laughing at mine before. That’s unfair.”

Aziraphale laughed.

“Alright then, no word shall pass my lips.”

Crowley narrowed their eyes up at him, and decided they’d better make sure of it. So they moved up and kissed him, kissed him until they were both breathless again, until arousal pooled hotly in their stomach, until they could feel Aziraphale’s arousal hot against them.

They separated for air and laughed, breathlessly, disbelieving, joyful, together.

Crowley fluttered their eyelashes.

“I believe you were doing something before we stopped,” they purred, looking up at Aziraphale who mirrored their heated gaze.

“Shall I? Or did you?”

Crowley’s breath caught. They could feel their flush deepening.

“I, uh. Think I better work on mine, actually. Not that easy, shimmying out of them.”

And it wasn’t, Aziraphale was actually out of his clothes completely by the time Crowley had gotten rid of their shirt but their trousers only down to their knees. They frustratedly decided this was good enough.

“Uh, well then,” they murmured, awkwardly, before Aziraphale once more started kissing them.

Crowley’s hips started to move again, small grinding movements, which did feel good but a bit rough, a bit scratchy. They kept catching in the hair, and they were sure Aziraphale wasn’t faring any better. A frustrated noise escaped against Aziraphale’s lips. Aziraphale kissed it away.

“Now, if you’d be patient for just a second longer, this will feel much better,” he said.

Crowley wanted to ask what he meant, when they heard the telltale ripping sound of a small package and in the next second they could feel Aziraphale’s hand on them, cool and smooth with lube. Their breath was punched out of them when he circled them both, bringing them together and started to move.

Their kisses turned desperate as Aziraphale stroked the two of them with slow, deliberate movements and just the right amount of pressure. It would have been mind-blowing even without the feel of Aziraphale himself, twitching and hot against them.

When Crowley tried to move their hips, speed things up and chase this wonderful feeling, they were stopped once more by Aziraphale’s iron grip on their hips.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he panted. “I would like to set the pace.”

Crowley looked up at him, mind half lost in pleasure but very aware of what Aziraphale was asking. They swallowed heavily.

“Yeah. Yeah that’s. That’s alright with me. All fine and dandy. Absolutely tickety boo.”

They would have rambled on more, but Aziraphale beamed at them like the sun.

“Oh, jolly good!”

And then he wound his free arm around them and pinned them against his chest, while continuing the sweet, slow torture of his movements.

Crowley couldn’t even kiss him anymore like this, just lay against him and feel. It was indulgent, it was agonizing and it was sublime.

They kissed along Aziraphale’s jaw, wherever they could reach, which got him to emit little sighs of contentment, but soon enough they were too overwhelmed for more than trying to lay sloppy kisses on the skin of Aziraphale’s neck in which their face was once again buried, mostly gasping against him.

And then Aziraphale started talking.

“You’re doing so well, dove, so wonderful. The feeling of you in my arms like this is divine, I could stay like this for hours. You are so lovely to me, so wonderful, you’re doing so well-”

Crowley whined as Aziraphale continued to whisper praises against their hair, beautiful words, until his voice got raspy, until they could hear just how affected he too was.

“Aziraphale,” they gasped back at him, again and again, just that one word. “Aziraphale.”

He continued, soft praises, gentle movements, a strong hold and the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside of Crowley.

“Aziraphale, please, please, please,” they gasped, begged, prayed, and finally Aziraphale moved faster, gripped tighter.

The both of them moaned in unison, Crowley once again feverishly trying to kiss every inch of Aziraphale that was in reach, which wasn’t much, but it did earn them some lovely soft noises that would probably be burned into the very essence of them for the rest of their days.

They could feel the pleasure coiling tight, about to crest. Aziraphale was tensing beneath them, his hand around the two of them, pace stuttering, finally loosing control and that tipped them over. They moaned into the soft skin of Aziraphale’s neck as their orgasm hit, hips stuttering desperately as they chased the high. It felt like flying, soaring up into the sky, weightless and awing and so good, so incredibly good, and then gently, gently starting to glide down.

Aziraphale beneath them was still breathing hard, hardly in control of his own movements anymore as he too tipped over. He loosened his grip immediately, but the feeling of him pulsing against them as he was hitting his own peak when they were still sensitive was enough to make their eyes roll back from pleasure. They collapsed on top of him, gasping, desperately trying to catch their breath, gather their wits, some of them at least.

Aziraphale was breathing just as raggedly beneath them and they snorted.

“Good thing you’re so fussy about your trousers, I liked that. A lot.”

Aziraphale let out a breathless sort of laugh, the kind that isn’t breathless because you can’t breathe but rather because air doesn’t feel particularly necessary at the moment.

“As I am glad you do not quite harbour the same concerns about your blanket.”

Crowley finally moved, propping themself up on their arms slightly, grinning up at him.

“What, so the gentleman does not offer to pay for the dry cleaning?”

“Oh, I would, but I did have an offer of a certain someone swearing to clean every stain for me,” Aziraphale grinned.

Crowley gasped.

“You! How dare you use my very own words against me like this, just to escape taking responsibility. I feel like I don’t even know you. I bet you commit tax fraud too.”

Aziraphale sniffed.

“I actually do them too correctly apparently. At least that’s what the department for organized crime thought.”

Crowley’s eyes and grin widened in delight.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Aziraphale looked down at them and smiled.

“I’ll tell you about it in bed? Cuddling after clean up?”

Crowley pulled a mock-considering frown.

“Hmmm, you drive a hard bargain, angel. Alright, deal.”

And if their cool and aloof persona was completely destroyed by the squeak that followed Aziraphale picking the both of them up off the couch, well, that was only between Crowley, Aziraphale, and the blanket.

Sexual intimacy soon enough became more of a regular thing for the two of them too, not in the sense of an old, well-tread, maybe boring routine, but instead in a way that made it simply feel natural, comfortable, and even more pleasant.

The first time they had tried penetrative sex they had prepared, and talked, long and properly, and they had taken their time, slow, gentle, romantic. Making love.

After that, they had gotten a bit more adventurous, sometimes a bit rough, sometimes involving lingerie, toys, restraints. But the undercurrent of love was always there, and they always ended up cuddling and talking after, no matter how hoarse their voices. It reminded Crowley of the way they worked in the café: No matter what different flavours you added, the base stayed the same, warm and comforting. The flavours just made it a bit more fun. When they had told Aziraphale about this, their response had been a soft, fond kiss and him telling them ‘As lovely as this sounds, my dear, I still refuse to drink those concoctions’.

Their relationship too was developing better than ever.

Crowley had joined the pole dancing classes and had found they had a truly surprising untapped potential of flexibility, which had been both immensely fun to explore and very motivating. Even more surprising however had been the day they had found themself able to pick up the heavier coffee bags instead of lugging them around. Their spindly arms were still no match for Aziraphale, but they didn’t need to be.

And in return, Crowley had taught Aziraphale how to bake properly. Which had been a process. But although Aziraphale had been infuriating sometimes, eating the dough, being impatient and opening the oven with the cream puffs still baking and Crowley sometimes just wanted to throw him OUT,^[7] it had been fun. And it was all worth it for the moment alone when Aziraphale had woken them up on a Sunday morning, with a big, proud smile on his face and the flat smelling of freshly made croissants.

Between the two of them, they also had a bit more disposable income to spend on their dates, which, considering how much Aziraphale loved the theatre (alright, Crowley also didn’t hate it), was quite an advantage. They went often enough they even spent the money on the annual pass.

It had been just such an evening.

The both of them were coming back to Crowley’s flat from the play, dressed their best, brimming with joy and excitement, and maybe just the slight bit boozed that was needed to appreciate some of the saucier lines to their fullest extent.

Crowley was laughing at some snippy comment Aziraphale had made, throwing their head back, and in the next moment they felt themself being crowded against the wall, hot kisses all over the curve of their neck and down all the way to where their shirt began. Which wouldn’t be much usually, except this was the wide, billowing silk one, of which Crowley usually preferred to have at least three buttons unbuttoned.

They gasped.

And then they gasped again when Aziraphale, with a simple, almost casual flick of his hand, opened another button, and another, kissing after his deft fingers immediately as if to apologize for their cavalier behaviour. If the shirt hadn’t been tucked in, it would have slid off almost entirely by now, only bunching around Crowley’s wrists. As it was, it instead slid off their shoulders, framing them like a gift carefully unwrapped.

Aziraphale bent to kiss the fine trail of hairs going down from their bellybutton, his hands moving along their still clothed thighs, and Crowley closed their eyes.

Only to open them wide again in the very next moment, because they were being hoisted up and held against the wall. Their legs automatically closed around Aziraphale’s hips, squeezing, holding on for balance.

“Aziraphale!” they choked, thrown off-balance by the sudden weightlessness making their stomach flip.

Aziraphale laughed, kissing their cheek.

“Terribly sorry, my dear, I should have warned you. But never fear, you won’t fall,” he downright purred and if that didn’t go right where the weightless feeling sat, making it pool heavily instead. But the thing was also, even said this way, it just all sounded terribly earnest. Maybe simply because Crowley knew it was.

“I don’t fear falling. That’s what brought us together, remember? I fell for you and you caught me,” they joked.

By the entirely too sappy look in his eyes they could see they had also sounded far more earnest than they had meant to. They squirmed, tempted to say something else to make the joke land. Earnest sappy stuff was hard to deal with sometimes, still. But they were stopped by the feel of Aziraphale leaning in and slowly, gently, carefully, and most of all intently pressing his lips on theirs. It was a familiar feeling, comfortable and comforting down to their bones and Crowley relaxed under the gentle insistence of it.

Aziraphale moved back, as softly and unhurried as he had moved in, stopping with their faces still mere inches apart.

“You old sap,” Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale simply laughed, not even trying to deny it.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall” he whispered against the skin of Crowley’s neck, moving in for another kiss.

Crowley snorted. They couldn’t not, not with that.

“But am I the fairest of them all?”

“Very much so, dove,” Aziraphale said, and they could feel that bastardly smug smile against their skin.

Because he knew exactly what he was doing, and Crowley knew that he still meant it. The odds seemed to be against Crowley winning a verbal argument this evening, and thus they simply went with a nice, non-committal ‘Ngk’ sound as reply.

Aziraphale, apparently sensing their capitulation, decided that they had indeed argued enough and got back to the matter at hand in earnest, bending down slightly to tease at one of Crowley’s nipples. Meanwhile Crowley decided it was high time their state of undress matched and they scrambled to loosen Aziraphale’s bow-tie. They waited, almost patiently, for him to come further up again, to then kiss him, deeply – and move down to pull the bow-tie off with their teeth.

They grinned up at Aziraphale, letting the piece of fabric flutter down to the floor and his eyes darkened.

In the next second Crowley was effortlessly hoisted up higher, leaving them scrambling for purchase and Aziraphale in a prime position to shower their neck and chest with kisses without ever bending down. Crowley threw their head back, wincing slightly as they remembered there still was a very much solid wall behind them. Well, better a solid one than explaining to someone how a hole like that had happened.

Aziraphale’s kisses were getting hotter and filthier, and between that and the hand he had somehow freed (Oh fuck, he was holding them up with one fucking arm, oh holy hell) that teased along their abdomen, Crowley was incredibly aroused already when he moved to open their trousers. They groaned as he somehow managed to pull them down a bit, thumbing over the tip of them that had to be stretching the black silk of their underpants obscenely. Oh, Crowley was so glad they had chosen this pair, nothing beat silk for a bit of fondling and frottage. And it was Aziraphale’s favourite, they knew, they already knew of course, but his hum of appreciation still sent a jolt right into the middle of the beautiful pandemonium of arousal churning inside them. As did the slow, deliberate movement of Aziraphale’s thumb along their length, starting at the base and moving up with less and less pressure, until they could barely feel a whisper of sensation on the head, only to then start all over again. It was maddening in the best ways. They couldn’t even push into it, the press of Aziraphale’s body against theirs keeping them from gaining leverage, couldn’t really reciprocate the kisses because they were too far up, all they could do was blindly fumble at Aziraphale’s buttons to finally, finally run their fingers along his skin, his soft stomach, his broad shoulders taut with tension from holding them up. It made their head spin, this devotion and powerlessness, this perfect balance in-between where the arousal was.

It could have been frightening with anyone else, but it couldn’t ever be with Aziraphale. Their angel, their guardian angel, a manifestation of light and power and goodness in physical form only for them, and the only one who could use all of that not against them but on them, for them while also being just enough of a bastard.

And then Aziraphale dropped them.

Crowley could feel their heartbeat up in their throat, together with a strangled gasp, a panicked inhale of air trapped in there when the weightless sensation had abruptly stopped again. Because of course Aziraphale hadn’t dropped them to the floor. Just lower.

Their legs were still held up around Aziraphale’s waist, right in the bend of his arms, granting him more freedom to touch. But he didn’t make use of it yet, instead leaning in for a soft and gentle, almost apologetic kiss and oh.

Crowley’s eyes rolled back at the sensation of Aziraphale pressing against their arse. They could feel how hard he was even trough his trousers, through their underwear, layers that should have muffled the sensation. Well, if that was muffled they were done for.

Of course, this was the exact moment Aziraphale chose to gently pinch one of their nipples. Crowley moaned into the kiss that still felt far too chaste for the situation at hand. And then Aziraphale started to roll his hips. Slowly, measuredly, indulgently. The gentle pressure mirrored the movement of his hand, which he had picked up again, and Crowley felt like melting, like exploding, maybe both. A supernova surely wasn’t over the top as response to something that felt so earth-shatteringly divine. And yet still, they needed more.

“Aziraphale,” they gasped. “Aziraphale, oh fuck, please.”

“Shall we move to the bedroom then?”

“No,” Crowley growled, surprising even themself with the fierceness of their reaction.

“Are you sure, love? Only I’m not too sure about the angle-”

“The angle is going to be fine, Aziraphale, angel, please, just-”

Aziraphale had stopped his movements, looking at them, contemplating. Crowley knew how they looked right now, reduced to a complete and utter mess, flushed, needy, begging. They knew Aziraphale probably wouldn’t deny them in this state, just as they wouldn’t if the tables were turned. The thought of Aziraphale like this, a complete and utter mess, writhing on their sheets, made them twitch in Aziraphale’s hand.

He considered Crowley for a moment that felt like eternal sweet agony.

“Alright, if you insist.”

“I insist, I insist, and please tell me you have lube in your pocket because my knees will give out if you’ll put me down now.”

Aziraphale sniffed prissily.

“Well, of course I do! Why don’t you?”

“Because these trousers are from the women’s section and all the pockets are fake, Aziraphale, please, focus on the matter at hand. Literally in your hands right now.”

Aziraphale snorted.

“I suppose you want me to get rid of my trousers too then? Or do you want to try yourself as a contortionist.”

Crowley whined.

“I swear, I swear I love you so much, but there is such a thing as being too much of a bastard, and you’re coming close. And don’t make the joke, you’re making me suffer enough right now.”

Aziraphale’s lips twitched, and Crowley thought they could hear something like ‘only care if I’m too much of a bastard towards you’ but their mind couldn’t focus on words over the telltale sound of a packet being opened.

Crowley could feel Aziraphale pull their underwear down, felt a slightly cool, slick finger circle them and they closed their eyes, shivering.

Only to snap them wide open again right away because something very cool had been placed on the bend of their stomach.

“Oh, I apologize. Only I do need both hands for stability.”

“S’fine,” Crowley grunted, ending with a moan as the finger that had been circling them slowly started pressing inside.

It didn’t find much resistance. Sexual intimacy was a regular occurrence with the two of them, and Crowley preferred to have something inside more often than not, even if they were topping that day. The cool feeling of the lube was the most discomfort and it quickly dissipated as Aziraphale started to move his finger and spread it around.

Crowley was tempted to wriggle a bit, move into it, but they were still being held up mostly just by Aziraphale’s arms and the wall behind them, so they decided not to. They weren’t sure how long they could hold back however.

“Aziraphale, come on. Or rather come in.”

Aziraphale tutted.

“You are so impatient today, dear. What has you so worked up?”

Crowley laughed, tinged with desperation.

“Oh, whatever could have me so worked up? Gee whizz, Aziraphale, I don’t know maybe it was all of those dirty jokes? The looks you have been shooting me the entire play? Or maybe the fact that you literally have me held up against a wall, as nude as I could get in this position while I still barely managed to open your shirt and you are just so completely unruffled it’s honestly unfair-”

Crowley’s rambling was cut off when they heard the sound of Aziraphale’s trousers falling to the floor. His underwear had followed suit, they could feel it, feel him hot against them, especially as he moved to step out of his clothing. He grabbed for the lube.

“You do make a compelling argument, my dear, so I’ll indulge you. Although I will maintain that the looks were mostly on your part during the play, because some of us know how to act civilized.”

“Yeah, act civilized alright, but only as long as people don’t know you. I can tell when you’re being naughty, you prim and proper fuuuuuuuuuuck!”

The last word of that sentence came out of Crowley quite different than intended because during the time of their argument Aziraphale had finished lubing up and had now started to slowly push inside them.

“Thank you!” Crowley gasped, and it came out a lot more honest than they had intended. Ah, well. Their brain would be scrambled too much to think about stuff like that in a few minuted anyway.

Aziraphale slowly, slowly pushed deeper, adjusting the angle ever so slightly as he went. The hand resting on Crowley’s dick started moving again, barely even touching, and it still drew a whimper from them. Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed them, languid and sensuous and adoring as he bottomed out. They stayed connected like this, panting, adjusting, until Aziraphale started to move again. Soon he found a rhythm, every thrust jolting Crowley upwards a bit, making them break the kiss with their moans.

It wasn’t what Crowley had imagined. It somehow was even better. Aziraphale just knew how to do things both rough and unspeakably, almost distressingly tender and loving. And this contrast, no this balance, was the thing Crowley adored.

The soft kisses against their lips were as much a constant as the hard thrusts inside them, and both made the pleasure stir, coalesce into something that had Crowley’s head weak and their toes curling. Aziraphale kept the pace slow, maddeningly so in how good it was and how much more Crowley wanted, and he knew, they knew he knew. And still, Crowley could barely stop the constant noises spilling from their lips enough to complain, especially since Aziraphale was still kissing them, kissing them in a way Crowley would never dream of breaking if it wasn’t necessary.

Another particularly deep thrust made them moan appreciatively, and apparently Aziraphale was also a lot more affected than he’d let on, because he kept it up, the deep hard thrusts jolting Crowley against the wall, again and again and it was perfect. Except for the part of their back that violently protested to being dragged against a very rough surface. Again and again.

Crowley’s face scrunched up on reflex and Aziraphale stopped immediately.

“Is everything alright, dearest?”

“Oh, fuck, angel, don’t stop, everything is peachy, just fine, come on-”

Crowley was levelled with one of Aziraphale’s patented looks of concern. They sighed.

“It’s only my back, really, nothing too bad.”

“Oh! Oh dear me, I didn’t even consider that. Well, we can’t go on like this then.”

“Yes, we can! It’s only a bit of chafing!”

“Crowley, my love, please remember the time you got rug burn and insisted on the same thing.”

Crowley pouted. Pouting had the best success rate when they didn’t have good arguments, and Aziraphale’s face softened.

“I’m sorry, my dear, but you know I don’t like hurting you.”

“Except with the paddle.”

“Except with the paddle and pre-negotiated consent,” Aziraphale agreed, eyes twinkling.

How was it that this man could get Crowley flustered even when he was fucking them against a wall. Entirely unfair.

“Aziraphale, I swear to fucking anyone-”

“But this isn’t about fucking anyone, my dear. It’s about fucking you.”

It was said so earnestly that Crowley couldn’t even protest. They snorted despite themselves.

Aziraphale started to move away and Crowley flailed.

“BLANKET!”

Aziraphale stopped and cocked his head in question.

“We can just grab the blanket from the couch and put it behind me. That should work and it’s only like two steps away.”

Aziraphale looked at them, considering, and then his expression brightened.

“That sounds reasonable. Hold on, my dear!”

Crowley barely had the time to squeak and tighten their legs around Aziraphale’s middle before he stepped away from the wall. And carried them over to the couch. All while still buried inside Crowley. Crowley felt as if they could explode any minute.

“Would you mind grabbing it? Only I don’t want to let go of your back,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley decided it was high time for some payback.

They leant back and twisted, reaching for the blanket while also very much aware of the new angle and what that new angle was doing to Aziraphale. Not to mention that he loved seeing them spread out. There was a sharp inhale of air and Crowley grinned smugly, coming back up and taking the blanket with them.

“Got it,” they said with a wink, draping the blanket over their shoulders.

They would have said something else, teased a bit more, but they were stopped from doing so by Aziraphale’s mouth crushing onto theirs, holding their bodies together tightly.

Crowley moaned and decided this was much better than teasing for now and then they hit the wall again. And Aziraphale, not messing around, continued exactly where they had left off.

The sudden movement and stimulation after their pause made Crowley gasp and Aziraphale kissed those gasps away too with the same hunger, the same greed, the same need and desperation with which he was taking them, touching them, fucking them. Every movement of his hands, his lips, his body against theirs spelled out how much he wanted them, a black hole of need to consume them if Crowley’s weren’t made to match.

Crowley kissed him back, with the same mixture of desperation and adoration, lust and love, deep and messy and tender and glorious. Their hands wandered over Aziraphale’s body, petting, grabbing, delicate and possessive, giving and taking. The meat, the roll of his stomach was theirs, the pink of his nipples, the soft white hair on his chest, his broad shoulders, the curve of his smile against them, it was all theirs to touch, take, love, and love it they did.

They broke the kiss only to shower him in thousands more, wherever they could reach, desperate to write it onto his skin the way he was writing it onto theirs. Where their lips couldn’t reach their fingers trailed, touching, teasing, in the way they knew drove Aziraphale to madness, to distraction, the way he loved to be touched by them.

They were so feverishly focused on giving that their orgasm hit them almost by surprise. One moment they were teasing Aziraphale’s nipples with their tongue, the next the coil of pleasure inside them tightened improbably more and all they could focus on was the spread of the feeling through their entire body. They were very glad Aziraphale had enough power to hold them up by himself, because they were pretty sure no muscle inside their body was under their control anymore. Just like their mouth that could only repeat Aziraphale’s name, more and more desperately.

Their orgasm hit them like cold water, shocking and soothing against the heat that seemed to be everywhere. Wave after wave crashed through their body, big ones and then aftershocks, and they were torn between holding on and letting themselves get carried away. It was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. And then the pleasure ebbed off, leaving a relaxed, loose kind of warmth, similar to the kind experienced after a sauna and an ice cold shower. They sighed into Aziraphale’s neck.

The other had slowed his thrusts and now stopped entirely.

“Was that what you wanted?” he asked and they could hear his smile.

“Mhm,” they replied, mouth still not fully under their control again. “What about you?”

“Everything I hoped for it to be,” he answered and well, if he kept this up Crowley might melt even more.

Then a thought, a realization made it into their almost fucked out brain and they furrowed their brows.

“You didn’t finish, did you? Should I-”

“Ah, well, actually…” Aziraphale trailed off. He was using the tone he always used when he wanted something, but didn’t want to ask for something.

Crowley grinned up at him, though it might have turned into less of a grin and more of a soppy smile.

“Tell me. Let me indulge you.”

“Ah, well. I would like to finish between your thighs, if you are amenable. And still capable of standing upright.”

Crowley hadn’t thought their knees could get any weaker, but here they were. Aziraphale just kept cheerily talking on.

“I am also open to other suggestions if it’s too much for now! Only it was wonderful when you did it the other day. Very sensual.”

“Yeah, that sounds-” Crowley croaked. They cleared their throat. “Sounds great to me. Terrific.”

Their voice might have been a bit higher than usual, judging by Aziraphale’s soft, fond smile. But who cared. Not like they hadn’t bared themself to Aziraphale multiple times before, both physically and emotionally. He knew them.

“Alright then. I’ll try to set you down gently.” Aziraphale said, and cautiously did just that.

Crowley moved their legs a bit to get them back to feeling right.

“Might have to hold me up a bit, angel. Not sure how well I’ll stand. You still got lube left over or do we need to get some more?”

“Not left over, but-” Aziraphale bent down and pulled a second package out of his pocket, grabbing the blanket too from where it had fallen down.

Crowley raised an eyebrow, grinning.

“Hmm, did we have any expectations as to how the evening might have gone? Should I have seduced you in a broom closet, angel?”

Aziraphale flushed, but his expression was thoughtful.

“Maybe next time, dear.”

“Ngk.”

Aziraphale had the gall to wink up at them from his crouched position. And then, even worse, he got up and kissed them again. Sometimes Crowley wished they didn’t have to take breaks in between orgasms, some kind of miraculously non-existent refractory period. Would be nice just about now.

“Would you be a dear and turn for me, there’s a love,” he whispered into their ear, and Crowley shivered and obeyed.

There was the telltale sound of the lube being opened and spread between Aziraphale’s fingers.

“Alright, if you would please cross your legs slightly? And then I will lube you up.”

Crowley shivered as Aziraphale’s cool hands touched their thighs and perineum brushing against their balls and hole. They were still sensitive from their orgasm and the gentle touches toed the line between good and too much wonderfully. Which meant that the rest of this would be gloriously overstimulating and Crowley couldn’t wait. Aziraphale’s hands moved away, presumably to slick himself.

“Arms up, please.”

Crowley complied and Aziraphale’s arms came around their middle, holding them securely, the blanket bunched up to act as a pillow.

“Now, if you are experiencing any discomfort, I want you to tell me immediately,” Aziraphale said sternly.

“Alright, angel. And what if it’s the opposite?” Crowley teased.

“Well, my dear,” Aziraphale whispered into their ear from behind them, so close they could feel his breath on their neck. “Speaking from experience, in that case there are only few things can keep you from letting me know. Now, please brace your arms against the cushion and then we can get started.”

It took a few careful manoeuvrers to get Aziraphale situated properly, but then it was glorious. Their bodies were almost entirely flush, skin on skin, and Aziraphale’s secure hold was just tight enough so Crowley felt pinned, completely unable to control the pace. Which had probably been the plan.

Aziraphale did like to take his time, to enjoy things to the fullest extent in every situation and sex was not an exception. His pace usually started languid, indulgent, allowing himself to fully experience the build-up of pleasure. It paired well with Crowley’s greedy kind of impatience, and even more so with how much they liked being denied things for a bit, pushed around for someone else.

Crowley also may have admitted to having a thing for overstimulation in the past and they were torn between regretting this and praising that decision when Aziraphale changed his angle just right and suddenly there was pressure again where Crowley was still sensitive. They hissed lowly, but the cool lube kept it from hurting, leaving only the blissful kind of displeasure that came from being stimulated too much. Crowley’s body tried to move, lurch away, surprised at the contact, but Aziraphale’s secure hold kept them exactly where they were. It made Crowley’s head swim a bit.

And the movements didn’t cease. The pressure was constant, insistent and ruthlessly gentle, hot wherever it touched them, and they felt a lazy sort of heat stir in their belly. No, not lazy, sluggish, uncoiling and spreading out like a snake after a nap in the sun. A want, not a need, all urgency dispelled.

They felt like they could stay like this for hours. Aziraphale would probably enjoy that, but Crowley didn’t think he had quite enough stamina left. Or self-control. He did however manage to keep the pace for a fair bit, long enough for Crowley’s head to go a little fuzzy with it all. Pleasure just this side of pain, or was it pain just this side of pleasure, zinged through them, lighting up every nerve in their body and it was hard to focus on much else.

Aziraphale’s skin on their skin, Aziraphale’s arms around them, Aziraphale’s breath in their ear, and if they concentrated they thought they could feel his heart beat against them, their own beating in sync.

Crowley was starting to drift off slightly, the continuous movement and the pleasure and probably that last bit of booze still in their system enough to make their thoughts mellow out. But then Aziraphale’s thrusts became faster, more desperate and their body called them back.

It was a lot, it was almost too much, and then it stopped, Aziraphale breathing hard into their neck and pulsing between their thighs, coating them and the blanket.

They closed their eyes and focused on his breathing, his heartbeat against them. It was peaceful, soothing.

“Crowley, love, are you alright?”

Aziraphale sounded worried, but that was alright. Crowley knew exactly what to say.

“Mhh, just peachy.”

“Oh, one of those times. Let’s get cleaned up so you can huddle up to me in bed, shall we?”

“Mmmnnh,” Crowley groaned.

They tried to move but their legs were about as wobbly as their thoughts.

“Oh dear, let me,” Aziraphale said, and in the next second Crowley was off the ground and being held in bridal carry. “I will take care of you.”

Crowley tried to wriggle out, but after some vaguely floppy notions of their legs they decided speaking was the better option.

“Dun need to.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. I do bear a certain responsibility to take care of you, especially when I’ve put you in such a state. But most importantly-” he stopped to drop a soft kiss into their hairline “-I do it because I want to.”

Crowley grumbled, but conceded. Mainly because doing things themselves right now sounded downright atrocious, and letting Aziraphale take care of them sounded admittedly rather nice. And they could rarely say no to something he wanted to do, because he always, genuinely wanted it.

So they let themself be deposited on the closed toilet seat, on a fluffy towel, while Aziraphale ran the water until it was warm enough for his liking and then wet a wash cloth. He gently ran it over their chest first to get the sweat off, and then moved on to clean the rest of them. The continuous slow motions with the warm cloth only furthered Crowley’s doziness, and by the time he was finished they had almost fallen asleep. He cleaned himself quickly and then picked them up again, moving towards the bedroom, depositing them on the bed and tucking them in.

“Nhhhh,” Crowley whined protestingly as he turned to leave.

“I’m only off to pick up our clothes and put them in the laundry, dear. I’ll be back before you can even begin to miss me.”

Crowley wanted to answer that they were always, always missing Aziraphale when he wasn’t with them, at least a bit, but that sounded entirely too schmaltzy. Also their mouth currently wasn’t doing too well with forming words, nevermind full-on sentences, so they decided to trust Aziraphale and wait.

They heard him moving in the hallway, his steps careful like they always were when he didn’t want to disturb them, and they smiled.

They must have spaced out for a little while, because then he was back, sliding into bed with them, the gentle noise of their washing machine running in the background.

“See? Now that wasn’t so bad, was it. And like this nothing will stain.”

Crowley made a grumpy noise and moved under the covers, pressing their face into his side. Aziraphale chuckled.

“I’m sorry, dear. Of course your ability to snuggle up to me close enough to suffocate yourself is much more important than the five minutes it takes me to clean things up,” he teased.

Crowley nodded, unwilling to move from their spot.

“Ah, but I must ask you to move for a bit at least. I don’t think you’ll be able to drink in this position,” he said, gently starting the process of untangling them and pulling them up.

Crowley grunted and sat up, swaying.

“There you are, thank you, dove,” Aziraphale praised, and held a glass of water to their lips.

They gulped it down, only now realizing how dry their throat had been.

“Thnks,” they mumbled and slid back down, far enough they could comfortably nuzzle into Aziraphale’s chest.

He brought his arm around them.

“There, now I shan’t object to you getting comfortable anymore. I brought a book, would you like me to read to you?”

“Mmh,” Crowley answered, their face buried into Aziraphale’s chest.

“If you move a bit I might also be able to pet your hair,” Aziraphale tempted, and Crowley moved further inwards towards his belly.

“Giving me a workout here,” they grumbled, and Aziraphale laughed.

“I’ll remind you of that next class,” he teased.

But he also did card his hand through Crowley’s hair and open his book, so they didn’t complain. There would be time for that later. Now they just wanted to lay here and let their thoughts drift until Aziraphale’s voice and the grounding feeling of his hand in their hair managed to fully anchor them in reality again.

They heard Aziraphale take a sip of water and clear his throat. He wriggled beneath them, getting himself comfortable. Crowley smiled against his skin. Fussy bastard.

Then Aziraphale started reading, and Crowley let themself drift off and think of nothing.

They came back to when they heard a soft thumping noise, and realized that Aziraphale wasn’t reading anymore. Opening their eyes, they saw the source of the noise had been him putting the book down. They blinked, yawned and stretched.

“Oh, did I wake you?”

“Mmhno. Wasn’t asleep. Just drifting.”

Aziraphale just smiled.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Crowley said, nonchalantly. Then they grinned up at him. “As I will probably be feeling all day tomorrow.”

Aziraphale blushed.

“Good heavens, Crowley.”

Crowley cackled, until their cackle decided to turn into a yawn instead.

“Nah, really, that was great. Thanks.”

“Well, I wasn’t simply indulging you,” Aziraphale stated.

“Glad to hear it. Wouldn’t have known you liked it without you telling me, you know. The way you moaned absolutely gave me no clue.”

Aziraphale huffed.

“You know I do like to have verbal confirmation-” Crowley grinned and wiggled their eyebrows, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes- “after.”

Crowley smiled, fondly.

“Yeah, I know. We should do it tomorrow though. I think we’re both pretty tired.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Aziraphale said and kissed Crowley’s eyebrow. “Although at this point I’m staying over so often that I am starting to question why I even pay for my own flat.”

“I mean, you could just move in if you want to,” Crowley said, nonchalantly, as if they hadn’t been waiting for the opportunity to say this for weeks, as if they weren’t baring their heart and putting it on a silver platter before Aziraphale. It wasn’t like this was a big deal, they would give Aziraphale their heart any time, so why not give him the keys along with it.

Aziraphale froze, looking at them wide-eyed. Uh-oh. Crowley tried to amend.

“I mean, you obviously don’t have to, I know you like your own space. No pressure, I mean, it was just a joke?” They hated the way their voice went up at the end, unsure.

And Aziraphale was still staring, shit. Crowley was desperately trying to find the right words to say, when he finally spoke up.

“You. You mean it.”

It was not a question, but instead a statement, filled with wonder.

“You want me to move in.”

“Well, yeah, of course I do. You’re here most of the time anyways and I’m pretty sure that there’s so much of your stuff already here that your own flat is mainly an extended library at this point.”

Aziraphale beamed at him.

“Do shut up,” he simply said and drew Crowley into his arms.

“So-”

“Yes, that is a yes, dove. And now be quiet and let me bask in this feeling.”

Crowley huffed into Aziraphale’s broad chest, but they, too were smiling, and not at all opposed to some basking in this feeling of contentment and security. They drifted off as soon as they closed their eyes.

In the weeks that followed, Aziraphale moved in, and the two of them discovered that spending even more time together was wonderful. There were evenings filled with cooking, and others when both of them quietly ate takeaway on the couch, too exhausted to do much more. There were mornings when Crowley had to get up before Aziraphale, and mornings when Aziraphale had to get up before Crowley, and mornings when the both of them got up together at the crack of dawn, too tired for words, and mornings where both of them slept in and enjoyed a long breakfast together. There were days when one of them had to wake the other up in the middle of the night so they would at least see each other once, and days spent together, going out or staying in, simply enjoying each other’s company. But most of all, there always was that feeling of contentment, happiness, belonging and home and love.

Because Crowley was in love with the delivery man.

And Aziraphale was in love with the coffee shop employee.

And together, they lived it.