Aziraphale sidles to Crowley without him even noticing. "So, you're leaving then?"
There's a second when Crowley thinks maybe he can run away, sprint past the door and sink into the night. It's cowardly, he knows, but the perspective of staying and facing this conversation has sweat breaking on his palms.
And in the big scheme of things, he is fucking running away, anyway, that's what the transfer is for. Running away from a feeling that's starting to become a physical ache that Crowley can't hide, a secret that pulses, shivering in the space where their breaths touch. Crowley's throat is pulp raw by the words unspoken, by the exertion of holding them down.
It's close to midnight and Crowley's not drunk enough to talk about this.
Aziraphale is standing so close, Crowley can feel the warmth of his body through his white button-up, through his own mesh top. It alights his skin, his heart trying to break free from his chest, makes him remember how much he wants, how much he desperately needs him.
Crowley takes a step back until he hits the wall behind him.
"Yeah," he takes a sip of his beer, thanks the room isn't as bright so he can hide the creeping blush up his cheeks. "Next weekend."
Aziraphale hums, frowns, gorgeous profile etched against the strobing, colorful lights. He's going to say something. Crowley can feel it looming between them. Aziraphale's going to say something gentle and deep about the silence Crowley has kept to avoid dealing with this exact situation.
"I thought-" Aziraphale bites his lip, which is a thing Crowley shouldn't be as distracted by as he is. The way the teeth sink into the give of it- he really thought he was way past that. "Why didn't you tell me?" Aziraphale turns to face him, a reproachful gleam in his blue eyes. "I thought we were friends. If I hadn't bumped into Anathema-"
"'s not a big deal, I was gonna tell you, eventually," Crowley cuts him off with a shrug. He pointedly ignores the way his stomach knots and burns when Aziraphale eases closer, traps him there. "Don't make a fuss about it. The other uni has a better biology program, 's all."
Aziraphale's throat rolls on a swallow, as if he was pushing down words, before he clenches his jaw, curls his fingers around the ball of Crowley's shoulder, a rueful smile on his lips. "Will you write to me, at least?"
It's too much, too fucking much. Too fucking close to what Crowley actually wants.
He scoffs, viciously stamping down the need to sink into the warmth of Aziraphale. To reach a hand and touch the curve of his cheek, thread fingers into his unruly blond curls as he's always wanted and never dared. Once, just once. His own skin burns under Aziraphale's palm which is much more contact that they've had in the two years they've known each other.
"Will you keep up with this century, at least? Text back?" Crowley smirks, plasters tease in his voice and hopes it doesn't waver. "You could finally install Snapchat, we’d have a grand old time of keeping streaks."
"I'd do it for you," Aziraphale says, as if it's nothing, as if the words wouldn't shake a rasped breath out of Crowley. Skewer his heart. Before Aziraphale adds, "I wouldn't like to lose your friendship."
Crowley laughs into the noise past the bundle of glass in his chest. "'course."
Aziraphale's grasp on him goes slack, yet he doesn't let him go.
This was supposed to be fun .
Booze, music, people. This New Year's Eve party had been his very own idea to try and take his mind off things. Find someone to fuck him, as is his habit, and drown out the feeling of being head over heels in love with his best friend, bury it all in sweat and a stranger's closeness.
The thing is, Crowley hadn't expected to fall as hard for someone as unattainable. A little bit more with each dinner, with each late night movie and quiet breakfast. With each glance, and barely-there graze that was never a touch.
As part of the rugby team Aziraphale can have his pick of choice of whoever bed and date. Crowley isn't lying to himself about the fact he would have had to fight for his attention with maybe half his cohort, even though Aziraphale has never shown any particular interest in anyone whatsoever. No matter how many blokes and girls have thrown at his feet.
In all the time they'd known each other, Crowley has seen him date a handful of people, but for nothing longer than a couple of months. Not that he's been keeping tabs or anything- and who he's really trying to lie to, anyway?
Crowley had tried to escape from that feeling in silly little trysts. In meaningless fucks that at least had filled in his nights, instead of spending them wondering what would have happened if he had made a move on Aziraphale. How he could've handled the rejection had he said no.
Which was the reason why he'd kept his mouth shut, and his hands tucked away. He doesn't think he would've been able to take it.
Crowley loosens the thoughts from his mind with a gulp of cheap beer. Aziraphale hasn't budged an inch from his side which is stirring all sorts of pathetic little spikes of sensation blazing across his skin. Suddenly, staying here with him in the heat of this tucked-away space, with dim lights and alcohol in his blood seems like the less sensible choice. Crowley's terribly scared that the ugly mass of tangled feelings will pick up momentum with each of Aziraphale's small smiles and the steady presence of his touch, and he'll end up spilling them true all over.
"Think I might leave soon," Crowley chokes out. "Packing ‘n everything. Plus, this cheap shit isn’t getting me as drunk as I want so…."
He doesn't even care how lame the lie sounds.
"Oh." There's a sharp sigh coming from Aziraphale, before he lets his hand fall from Crowley. "Perhaps… perhaps you can stay, just to see out the new year? It's close to midnight already, after all."
His voice is quiet and slow, words a gentle request that Crowley thinks holds a film of warm hopefulness underneath. As if he really cared if Crowley left or not.
"I really should-"
"At least let me spend the beginning of the new year with you," Aziraphale whispers, voice raw with an emotion Crowley can't pinpoint but burns at the back of his neck, on his cheeks all the same. It steals Crowley's breath when he thinks how perfect it would be if he wasn't fucking alone in this, reading always too much in the crumbs of Aziraphale's gestures. A strand of hair pushed off Crowley's forehead, a lingering hug on each birthday. Crowley's lips tip up in a smile, defeated almost, before Aziraphale presses on, "If I have to see you go, then-"
The moment flips upside down when Aziraphale leans in, wraps a hand around the sharp cliff of Crowley's hipbone, the other finding the arch of his neck and draws closer.
"At least, let me have this," Aziraphale breathes, before sliding soft lips against Crowley's.
Crowley shivers, breath breaking on a gasp at the feeling of Aziraphale's soft, red mouth against his own, at the sure grip of his hands on him. It has to be a fucking dream. It's impossible. It's- Crowley can't even find the words for it, and yet his body reacts out of its own accord. He moans openly, shamelessly, throws his arms around Aziraphale's neck, not worrying for a second about being too transparent in what he's carrying inside.
Aziraphale tastes like whisky, like cinnamon, and Crowley's intoxicated by the discovery. He can't do anything but pull Aziraphale closer, but surrender all the air in his lungs, all his breaths into this fantastic, exquisite moment. In the inviting, barely-open promise of Aziraphale's mouth. It's a sweet, slow kiss, with the way Aziraphale cradles the back of his head and gives a hot sweep of tongue, so very gently against Crowley's bottom lip. As if asking permission to go further.
Crowley's heart races, throbs painfully, because in the nick of a second he realizes that, for all his tender, careful advances, Aziraphale must be probably doing this as a way to sear a memory with a friend he might have fancied for a fuck.
Crowley knows how he looks. It's what keeps his bed warm most nights.
But he doesn't know if he can trod along pretending this is nothing but a frenzied shag. An alcohol-soaked exchange that Aziraphale will regret later.
"Wait, wait." He pushes Aziraphale like an absolute idiot, effectively stops that beautiful mouth from kissing him as he's dreamt so many times. And yet- "Are you sure about this?"
Aziraphale pulls back, deliciously flushed, lips red-stung from their kiss. "Oh, yes, most certainly." With a hand now on Crowley's waist, he pins him to the wall, kissing the angle of his neck, warm and insistent. "I've been wanting to do this for a long time."
Crowley moans, something pained underpinned, when Aziraphale pushes fingers into his hair, nails perfectly blunt dragging along his scalp. Aziraphale has wanted him. Him . And knowing it should make Crowley deliriously blissful, but that starving thing that wants more gnaws and tears at his heart.
There's nothing more. There's just this and Crowley knows he's useless to deny himself this experience. He isn't that strong.
But this is still just a moment of heat and unbridled, hot-stained lust and he won't allow himself to turn it into something that's not.
He squeezes his eyes shut and kisses Aziraphale back, turns it filthy. Crowley let's his mouth fall open, asks for more with an exquisitely bright nip of teeth on Aziraphale's lip, with a hot slide of tongue that speaks of sex and sweat and desperate want. It's everything. It's more. The way Aziraphale groans, how he presses Crowley against the wall, all heat and delicious weight, fingers catching on the mesh of Crowley's top before sliding underneath, tips skimming hot along the skin, the brazen nudge of a thick thigh between Crowley's long legs.
Aziraphale moans in Crowley's mouth, hand sliding under Crowley's mesh top to the base of his spine, tugging him closer. " Crowley ."
It's outrageously forward.
It's unspeakably good.
Crowley had always wondered, idly, how good a kisser Aziraphale would be and the answer is very . There's a small, shrouded moment of bitter jealousy, when he imagines the many times Aziraphale might have kissed other people.
The many times Aziraphale might have fucked other people.
This is the final bout of the year, the final bout of their friendship, Crowley isn't lying to himself, and if this is all he's allowed to have, all he's allowed to preserve for a bleak future that holds no promises, then he'll make it count.
Unable to make himself a reality, a focal point in Aziraphale's life, he'll make himself a memory that Aziraphale won't ever forget. Which is another way of saying Crowley will make sure to give him a night to remember.
He slides his lips to Aziraphale's jaw, pushes damp and eager against the skin, pressing the bulge in his jeans against the front of Aziraphale's trousers. Where Crowley can feel him hard, slotting against his own stiff cock.
"Wanna go back to my dorm?" Crowley licks the shell of Aziraphale's ear, relishing the stuttered breath that comes out of him. "Bet I can give you better entertainment than this trite party."
There's a flash of shock in Aziraphale's eyes that Crowley doesn't understand, a disorienting second of a curtain moving over Aziraphale's features that shows a sliver of uncertainty that terrifies Crowley.
Maybe Aziraphale's going to pull back. Maybe he won't allow Crowley to even have the pleasure of seeing the beautiful, generous curves of his body, of feeling the shifting roll of muscles under his palms. Of knowing how satisfyingly perfect he would feel buried inside Crowley.
But Aziraphale smiles, shy, breaking the inertia of the moment.
"Yes, I'd quite like that," Aziraphale answers. He ruts their cocks together like a statement, burying his face in Crowley's neck. "In fact, there's nothing I want more. There's nothing more I've desired greatly."
Laughing and sweating and aching , Crowley presses a final, open-mouthed kiss on Aziraphale's pulse spot, bruises the collarbone, before carrying him out of the party by the hand.
It's a whole other level of fucked up, because Crowley knows this lightning-bright smile Aziraphale gives him when he looks back, shouldn't fucking hurt as much as it does. That it shouldn't fucking hurt as much as it does to know he's a suitable body for Aziraphale to fuck. Isn't that the end game of this?
When they reach Crowley's bedroom, he doesn't lose time, kissing Aziraphale against the door when it closes, guiding those big, broad hands to his arse, coaxing him to squeeze and grope him.
"You can touch me anywhere you want, Aziraphale," Crowley breathes hot in the small space between their lips. "All of me."
"It barely feels real," Aziraphale says back, touch still so gentle, kisses still controlled. "You've no idea how much I've wanted-"
"To fuck me?" Crowley says the words viciously, bites on Aziraphale's lip hearing him whimper. "To split me open? To see how much of you I can fit in my mouth? To feel how tight I am around your cock?"
A cry catches on Crowley's ribs, trapped there.
Sex. It’s just sex, nothing more than a friendly romp in the sheets.
Aziraphale seems stunned into silence before a quivery rush of air bursts out of him. Disbelieving.
"C'mon Aziraphale. Tell me you haven't thought about it. Go on." In a swift twirl of movement, he breaks free from his mesh top, pushing his bare torso against Aziraphale's shirt. "I know I have."
"I have," Aziraphale echoes, blushes at the confession. His head falls on Crowley's shoulder, kissing the bare skin, the grasp of his hands tightening on Crowley's arse. "Oh, god, you've no idea how many times I have but I-"
"Nothing. Nothing more to say, 's alright."
Crowley doesn't want to dive into how different their experiences might have been when imagining each other. Doesn't need to know he's been the only one wanking, fucking himself stupid with the ghost of Aziraphale's voice in his ears saying things the real Aziraphale never have. Never will. Never would.
He drops to his knees, looking up at Aziraphale with a sultry gaze, lips falling open, determined to make himself indeleble in Aziraphale's mind. Arched back, so Aziraphale can see the enticing bend of it, the curve of his arse. This is just sex, and Crowley's extremely good at it.
"Crowley?" Aziraphale's voice comes out feeble, his hands fisting the air at his sides. "What are you doing?"
He's clearly hanging by the threads of a restraint that's fraying.
"Gonna suck you off first," Crowley says, rolls those amber eyes of his up in a look that he hopes promises pleasure. Mischievous. "What does it look like?"
" Oh ."
Crowley tries to disregard the vise around his lungs, around his heart when he's faced with this version of Aziraphale he won't be able to keep. So different, so intimate. Lust-addled eyes, cheeks perfectly flushed, lip worried between white teeth. Staring down at Crowley with clear hunger and infinite tenderness.
It makes Crowley's blood bristle in frustrated longing.
"C'mon, no need to be all gentle with me," he almost snarls. "You can rough me up a bit. I like it that way."
A dark flash of an emotion flickers behind Aziraphale's pupils, the corners of his lips tensing. "And how did you find out? Did you let people use you? Rough you up?" The questions pop out hoarse, slightly tortured before Aziraphale draws a breath, the lines of his face smoothing out. "No, no. Forgive me, don't answer that. "
It's terribly easy to imagine Aziraphale's questions being born out of jealousy, to think Crowley hasn't been the only one burning while watching him with someone else, as scarce as the opportunities have been. But he knows better. Aziraphale is probably just repulsed by the idea of hurting Crowley in any way, as gentle and sweet as he is.
"'S alright," Crowley breathes, tucking away his face against Aziraphale's soft stomach. "You can."
Ignoring the pulsing mess of his own emotions, Crowley mouths at Aziraphale's clothed cock, leaving a damp patch over the hardening bulge, feeling the prickle of the fabric rasp against his mouth.
"Oh, Crowley." Aziraphale moans, knuckles brushing against Crowley's cheek. "Oh, you're so lovely."
The words eat away at Crowley's heart but he pulls Aziraphale's cock out and gives it a slow pump.
"Don't come, not yet. I want you to fuck me," he says, before sweeping his tongue over the length of it, a press of wet warmth from root to tip that has Aziraphale already whining softly. "Think you can keep up? I know you must have the stamina for it."
"I'll… ah… I'll do my b-best."
Aziraphale's cock is long and thick, with a delicious curve. Crowley indulges in feeling the weight, the heat of it with a few measured pulls, body shivering at the idea of sitting on it, of fucking his own throat open with it. Crowley's craved for this, to feel him this close, to feel Aziraphale wanting him unrestrained for so long that having his hands on him is almost surreal.
Even if it's a replacement of what he really yearns for.
Crowley bides his time, taking Aziraphale's balls into his mouth, a cupping suck with lips tight over the delicate skin, touching the curve with the slick spread of his tongue, watching Aziraphale's beautiful mouth open on a cracked whimper. Both his hands thread through Crowley's hair, tugging at the strands, while Crowley encourages him to rest his whole cock on his face.
"Crowley… Crowley, I-"
It must be quite the sight because Aziraphale's eyes go hazy when Crowley looks up at him, giving slow licks at his balls, making a show of the way Aziraphale's cock rests heavy on his cheek, of the way Aziraphale's leaking wet on his skin.
"Never thought you'd taste this good," Crowley teases, trying to set this apart from anything remotely sweet. "Makes me want to make you come in my mouth."
"Oh, god , Crowley."
Crowley doesn't wait before taking Aziraphale's cock into his mouth, groaning at the sensation of the wet slide across his tongue, how the thick flare of the head bumps into his throat.
And if this had been a scenario like the ones Crowley had imagined many times, full of sweet words, of tender kisses and open hearts, he would have allowed himself to slow down.
But it's not, and Crowley's chest seizes with the realisation, trying to break free from the seared need in his veins that craves for something Aziraphale will never give him.
It's easier to drown the feeling in what he has right this moment.
Crowley wraps his fingers around the base, pulling out, tracing his own lips with the blunt, fat cockhead, smearing them with precome before bobbing his head along Aziraphale's slick shaft, swallowing down and squeezing his balls, feeling them tight, ready to spill. He can hear Aziraphale's panted breaths, can see the vicious bite at his lip and thinks that maybe he's made an awful mistake. Because there's no way these images won't come back to haunt him, that they'll forever overlap those of Aziraphale giving him a chaste forehead kiss while taking care of him when he'd been sick as a dog, or the time they'd fallen asleep with their hands intertwined after midterms.
It's too late to regret it.
There's a startled, hotly aroused noise coming from Aziraphale while he thumbs at the abused shape of Crowley's lips. "Beautiful thing. How are you so perfect?"
No, no, none of that .
A furious sentiment swells in Crowley, and he opens his mouth, letting Aziraphale push inside, into the loosened stretch of his throat, showing him the whole thing. The obscene display of drool gathering at the corners of his lips, the way Aziraphale's thick cock rests wet and pulsing on Crowley's tongue.
"Dear, oh, darling." Aziraphale keens, nails scraping Crowley's scalp when he pulls at Crowley's shock of red hair a bit hard. He drives deeper with a nudge of hips, as if he couldn't control himself any longer, making Crowley bury his nose in soft, blond curls.
He knows the lewd picture he must present, letting Aziraphale fuck his mouth, enjoying the aching stretch of his jaw while he swallows, moaning like a whore. He knows there's no way Aziraphale will remember this like nothing but fodder for a rough, filthy wank, that Crowley won't be a sweet memory of his.
And that’s fine. It is.
His own arousal is a desperate, aching thing that leaks in his tight jeans. Crowley pushes closer, pulls his lips tight, up and down, feeling his own throat squeezing Aziraphale's cock every time he rolls his hips. Aziraphale is hot and hard in his mouth and for a second there's nothing else in Crowley's mind but the need to taste his spend and roll it on his tongue.
"Crowley." Aziraphale stills, voice a breathy quiver of air. "Crowley, you're going to make me come ."
It's what pulls him out of his daze.
Crowley draws back, letting go of Aziraphale's cock with a wet sound. " No, not yet . 'M not done with you. I need you to fuck me."
Swiftly, he slides up, kissing Aziraphale roughly, pushing him against his own unmade bed. They fall on a tangle of limbs, undressing in a riot. Crowley makes quick work of his own jeans, and boots before fumbling with Aziraphale's button up, letting it fall open. There's a dust of thick, blond hair over the curve of Aziraphale's chest, over his stomach, muscle layered with pillow-soft flesh.
Crowley bites back a whine at the sight, straddling Aziraphale. "Oh, Christ, angel. You're stunning."
He can admit this, at least, it would have been impossible not to say anything. Crowley wants nothing but to spend hours upon hours exploring the slopes and planes of him, but this isn't the deal he's made with himself.
Aziraphale doesn't seem to listen, heavy-lidded eyes fixed on Crowley with some sort of reverential awe that leaves him shaking, inebriated. "You should see yourself." Aziraphale lifts a hand, traces the line of Crowley's chest, up to his jaw, thumbing at the bruised swell of his bottom lip. "You're so beautiful," he says softly. "I never thought I would get to see you like this, to have you all for me-" Aziraphale's voice trails on a sigh while Crowley feels his throat shutter closed on a cry he won't let out. "I know it's presumptuous of me, but I don't know how to thank you."
It should be enough. Just enough. The desperate, intense relief at being wanted.
"'S fine. You could've told me sooner," Crowley answers, smiles through the hurt. "I always wanna get laid."
The gleam in Aziraphale's eyes dies down, like the smothered fuel in a distant star, but the grip on Crowley's hips becomes bruising. "Perhaps I should have."
Crowley presses down, feeling Aziraphale's hard cock against his arse, reminds himself why he's here. He flips, facing away, pushing Aziraphale's trousers to his thighs. It's better like this. There's no way his treacherous gaze won't betray his feelings, because there's no way that when he sees Aziraphale's face open in pleasure found in his body, he will be able to keep his mouth shut.
"Pass me the lube," he says. "Nightstand, two down, towards the front."
There's a clicking shut of a drawer and Aziraphale is placing the pump bottle in Crowley's hand. "Condoms? I'm afraid I don't-"
It's a rule Crowley has never broken. But this time, he wants nothing more than to coax Aziraphale into orgasm, he wants nothing else than to feel the liquid rush of Aziraphale's spend inside him, leaving him wet and dripping, his rim pulsing slick with come, hot and stretched around skin.
"'M okay to go without it if you are," Crowley says, tries to hide the eager dip in his voice.
"I…" Aziraphale's throat clicks wet. "Yes. I would like that very much."
Crowley shucks off his boxers, maneuvering, hearing an airy, wobbly moan coming from Aziraphale when Crowley finally pushes the round shape of his buttocks against Aziraphale's spit-slick cock.
Everything is catching momentum. The thrum of his heart, the thud of his thoughts, the rush of his love for Aziraphale screaming loudly until the room melts away in what they're about to do.
Crowley lubes Aziraphale up and raises on his knees, teasing himself with the hot press of the fat cockhead, leaning slightly forward to give Aziraphale a good view of the way his furled hole gives in to the stretch, the way it pinches shut tight around his tip when Crowley feels the burn of penetration.
It rips a whine out of him. "Fuck, so good . You feel so good."
"Oh, god ." Aziraphale moans loud, clearly overwhelmed. "Crowley- Crowley slow down . Don't we need to prepare you?"
"Nah. Don't need anything." He pulls Aziraphale's cock out of him, rubbing it along his crease, before bearing down on him again, arsehole sucking in the whole head with a satisfyingly wet glide.
Aziraphale groans beneath him, thighs tensing, legs pulling but he doesn't rock upwards, a sign of ironclad restraint. Crowley realises Aziraphale's hands are groping the disaster of the bed linens and he flexes to grasp them and guide them to the dip of his waist.
"C'mon, touch me, feels better that way."
Aziraphale's grip tightens when Crowley rolls his hips slow and lazy, sinking down even further on the thick breach of cock. It's delicious, the hot sting of the drag, the exquisite sensation of Aziraphale easing inside his body, the width of him a challenge and Crowley tries not to ruin the moment thinking about how close they're together.
He repeats himself this is far from special.
There's a sobbing whimper squeezing loose from Aziraphale when Crowley gives a dirty little rock and drops down in a slick sway, until Aziraphale is buried fully inside him. Crowley sobs, gone on pleasure, spine bending into the push, feeling the shivery tremors on Aziraphale's skin.
"All good back there, angel?" He tries to make it sound playful. Detached and fun. Aziraphale didn't sign up for sentimental shit.
Crowley spreads his own arse open. Shows it to him and moans pointedly.
Aziraphale groans thick with want, cock jerking inside Crowley. "Wicked thing. It's too much. You must know what this does to me… what you do to me."
You, you, you. The feel of the word sinks into him, scarring around his heart.
"Teasing is half the fun," Crowley breathes, trying to spread his legs open wider to shift, rise and fall on Aziraphale's hard length.
He starts to move quicker, hips working in rolling circles.
"Darling, oh darling, you're taking all of me," Aziraphale says, thready, voice losing all heft, hips moving, thrusting up. "It's- Crowley, it's-"
The words are elated, tender in a way they shouldn't be. Crowley sets himself into riding Aziraphale hard, to make him shut up , to have this as unpolluted as possible by the ache that seeps unaware and unfiltered at every turn.
He pushes down into the wide spread of cock, the rock of his hips impatient to reach the blissful edge of completion. He can feel the increasingly desperate way in which Aziraphale presses up and drives deep into his arse, fucking him open until Crowley's bouncing helpless on the wet breach, giving noisy sounds of breathless bliss.
He isn't expecting it when Aziraphale moves, large body flexing, pushing Crowley on all fours while he kneels behind him, finally pulling Crowley back on his lap, thrusting into him.
There's so much skin touching skin, Aziraphale's chest flushed to Crowley's back while Crowley moans in every breath at the deliciously deep angle, arse throbbing around the hard fucking. This isn't- this isn't- "Az- Aziraphale, what are you doing?"
"I'll miss you," Aziraphale kisses his neck, his cheek, surprisingly chaste. Arms hot around Crowley's waist, the shape of the words on Crowley's skin. "I'll miss you. I'll miss you."
There's a spark in Crowley's chest that kindles, that fucking burns and he can feel his own lashes damp and heavy. Clomped together horribly, his own heart bursting apart.
But life is like that sometimes. Relentless and unfair. Not giving in when you expect it, fate playing off-kilter to whatever wishes you might harbor. A train wreck of hopes that take into account no hurts.
Crowley knows this, he knows this and yet in some deep pocket of his mind he'd still thought this rough, dirty fuck could've forced love between them like a chemical reaction.
How stupid. How fucking stupid.
His body, though, feels the pleasure of Aziraphale inside him all the same and he comes with a shout, untouched, cock spilling all over the sheets.
Aziraphale pulls him back by the hips, groans loudly, grinding against Crowley's buttocks, until there's the distinctive stuttering movements of being there, so close, the hard rutting in his arse.
"Fill me up. Fuck me ," he whines, hearing the answering moan.
Crowley can feel the wet mess of semen, warm and too much , filling his arse, trickling down his thighs while Aziraphale works his way tight and deep, fingers digging into Crowley's skin.
Eventually, Aziraphale stills, the hot closeness of his body receding when he pulls back falling on the bedspread. Crowley hadn't expected to feel as empty as he feels right now, the lights casting on the ruined bed making it all seem so tacky.
He wants to be alone. Drink until he's three sheets to the wind, unable to think of what he has just done.
But he soldiers on.
He turns around, facing Aziraphale with a smirk. "You won't forget me as easily now, will you, angel?"
A flush spreads over Aziraphale's cheeks. Crowley can see the way he fists at the sheets, gaze lost on the white of the fabric, before he fixes Crowley with that unfathomable focus.
"I don't think I'll ever forget such a wonderful first time," he says, quietly.
The words hit Crowley in the solar plexus with the strength of a gale force wind. "What."
"Well, I've never done this before. I hope I wasn’t—"
"But I saw you date people," Crowley stammers. "I thought-"
"Never the one I wanted to. Or the one I truly cared about." With startling determination, he takes Crowley's hand in his. "Never the one I loved."
Loud and messy, the rush of blood in Crowley's ears. "I… Aziraphale, I-"
"You don't have to say anything. I always knew you didn't want a steady thing, and forgive me for ambushing you like this." Aziraphale eases closer, kisses the corner of Crowley's mouth, eyes closed in a pained expression. "Please, believe me. I'm not expecting for you to change your mind."
And there's a chemical reaction, after all, the ache tensing Crowley's spine, digging into his heart, morphs into exquisitely bright joy, while he cups Aziraphale's face in his hands until their noses are almost touching.
"Oh, you bastard, how someone so clever can be so stupid?" Crowley kisses the shocked exhale Aziraphale lets out, fingers threading into his hair, learning him by proximity as he hasn't been able before. The smell of him, the rasp of his stubble, the blessed shape of him pushing against Crowley's body. "Fuck, Aziraphale, there's no one else but you."
With a care he hasn't shown ever in his life before, Crowley undresses Aziraphale, crowding him against the mattress, brushing lips against the line of his nose, over his lashes. Kisses his knuckles one by one. And in the middle of the heat, of the sweat and swaths of bare skin, he soaks in the realisation that this is real.
Last bout of hope fulfilled in the heels of the old year.
And when morning comes, when Aziraphale has finally fallen asleep in his arms after whispering a string of I love you s while fucking him into the mattress with such an infinite, unbearable tenderness, Crowley thinks the dean is going to be pretty fucking annoyed when he pulls back his request for transfer.
But a smile has taken over his face, crooked and a little stupid. He doesn't know what's coming, what to do now, how things will be spun in the future between them, but he loves Aziraphale fiercely, and that, he knows, will be enough.
They'll be enough.