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Is One of Us Supposed to be a Dog in This Scenario?

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The best thing about watching a film they both have seen dozens of times is that Aziraphale isn’t interrupting every few minutes to ask questions like “Who is that?” and “Why is he angry?” and “Where on earth does he keep all those knives?” (The answers to which, in this case, would be: Meg Ryan, because he just ran into his ex-wife and her new lover while singing Oklahoma! in a Sharper Image, and fuck, did the channel start playing Desperado by itself again?). It leaves Crowley alone with his thoughts, and they tend to wander.

He picks up a fried dumpling from the takeaway container in his lap and places it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “How often do you have to pop on the old secondary gender hat?”

Aziraphale hums and taps his thumb on Crowley’s ankle where it rests on his thighs. “Not often. It’s been necessary a few times on assignment, but most of the time I’m very happy to just pretend I’m a beta. It’s simple. No mess, no expectation of my schedule being interrupted by a days-long sex marathon.”

“Would you like your schedule to be interrupted by a days-long sex marathon?”

Aziraphale smirks, making no inclination of diverting his attention from the television in front of them. “Pay attention. You were the one who picked the film for tonight.”

“Yeah, ‘s why I’m asking. The whole thing’s about secondary gender roles. I know you like being seen as a man, just didn’t know if you cared about any of the other stuff.”

“Not particularly.”

Crowley tosses another dumpling into his mouth. “What do you think you’d be, alpha or omega?”

The angel glares at him out of the corner of his eye. “Whichever one recognises how rude it is to talk with one’s mouth full.”

“You literally have crumbs on you right now. It’s the same amount of gross.”

Aziraphale looks down at his waistcoat, licks his thumb and presses it to the crumbs. He looks pensive as he sucks the pad of his thumb back into his mouth. “I really haven’t thought about it much. I suppose either would be fine.”

“I always fancied myself an alpha.”

Aziraphale scoffs, and then immediately raises his hand to cover his mouth, pretending to cough. Crowley jabs him with his toe.

“Ow!”

“And what’s wrong with me being an alpha, hm?” He keeps poking until Aziraphale grabs his foot and holds it firmly in his lap, pinching the offending toe in question.

“Well.” Aziraphale glances down the demon’s body and then fixes him with a knowing look. “I mean.” He does it again and looks at Crowley harder. Crowley just sits there, eyebrows raised expectantly, waiting for Aziraphale to say whatever he clearly thinks is an obvious observation out loud.

“Yes? Please enlighten me, Aziraphale.”

“You do like to be manhandled quite a bit in bed.”

“So do you!”

“Yes, but I do it with authority.”

Consonants catch offensively at the back of Crowley’s throat as he sputters half-sentences. He sets the takeaway container and chopsticks down so his wild gesticulating doesn’t send food halfway across the room.

“Being an alpha isn’t all about–about dominating, you know. Look–” He points at the movie still playing in the background. “Look at Harry. Alpha man, but eschews a lot of the rugged posturing that comes with the post. And then Sally - omega woman. Assertive, more dominant. Knows what she wants in her relationships and on her salads and doesn’t compromise on it! None of it means anything! And Nora Ephron knew this, and it’s why she’s a modern genius and why this is a perfect movie.”

He takes a quick breath and settles his hands back on his knees. “It’s about taking care of someone,” he says plainly, and Aziraphale’s eyes soften at that. He places his hand on top of Crowley’s and squeezes.

“You do take very good care of me.”

“Yeah, I do! See, good alpha.”

The thing is, he would be a good alpha. He’s constantly in-tune with Aziraphale and loves indulging in his needs (or wants, let’s be honest, most of them are wants) whenever possible. Sometimes those wants are being railed six ways to Sunday, which Crowley understands is pretty essential to the whole alpha thing. He’s wondered a few times if he and Aziraphale would have come together sooner than they did if either of them had been given any form of a second gender. The Arrangement was all about lending a friendly, trusted hand. Of course it would have included biologically-driven sex romps. It wouldn’t have to be complicated, like it currently was for Harry and Sally on their screen.

Nora Ephron had to be an alpha. She wrote too many complicated alpha women to be anything else. Although no, only a beta could see all of the gender dynamics at play to write as many iconic rom coms as she did. Christ, the woman was a genius. He’d have to remember to Google her secondary gender later when his phone wasn’t three whole feet away at the far edge of the coffee table.

It wouldn’t be all that different than any of the other weird sex shit or alternative genitalia they’ve given themselves over the years just to cure the curiosity and boredom of yet another Friday evening in. Aziraphale was usually down for any mild depravity with only a minimal amount of performative persuasion.

“Right.” He slaps his hands on his knees, and Aziraphale starts. “That’s settled then.”

Aziraphale blinks at him. “You were having another conversation only in your head, darling.”

“Yes. Sorry. We should pretend. Give ourselves the rest of the bits and the hormones and just see what it’s all about.”

“See what it’s all about.”

“Yeah, the whole–” He waves with his hand towards the television. “The kit and caboodle of gender. We don’t have to do a full heat or anything, just thought it might be fun. Just get a couple extra bits and bobs up in there. Scent glands. You know.”

Aziraphale sighs, but by the way he’s dragging his thumb along the jutting bone of Crowley’s ankle, he knows he’s reeling him in.

“I’m not entirely opposed,” Aziraphale says, chewing at his lip. Crowley knows that this is the crucial moment - he’s either going to be able to assuage whatever doubt is stopping Aziraphale from throwing himself into this with reckless abandon, or it’s going to be an insurmountable issue and they’ll have to call the whole thing off as a bad job.

“Well, come on then,” Crowley tries to flash him a reassuring smile, one that says it’s only me, nothing to be afraid of. “Out with it. What’s got you hesitating?”

“There’s just a part of it that always seemed a bit… undignified to me.”

Crowley gracefully decides not to bring up the thing with the ricotta and the squeegee they tried last week, even though he doesn’t believe anything could be less dignified than that. He gestures magnanimously for Aziraphale to continue.

“I just can’t imagine it’s very pleasant to suddenly find yourself in possession of a spontaneously lubricated arsehole,” Aziraphale says, in the hushed tones of a horrified maiden aunt.

In Crowley’s defense, he was fully prepared to respond in kind. To treat Aziraphale’s concerns with the proper care and attention he imagines an alpha would afford their omega. He doesn’t mean to let out a bark of laughter, slapping his hands over his mouth too late to contain it, causing Aziraphale to bristle in the way that radiates displeasure from every angelic pore. In danger of losing out on what promises to be a very fun evening, Crowley quickly goes into damage control mode.

“Sweetheart, just think for a second or two about what you just said.”

Aziraphale opens his mouth, presumably to start ranting, then closes it with a little frown. Crowley can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he adds one and one and gets a number nowhere even remotely near to two. He tries to keep his laughter to a minimum as Aziraphale looks to him for help. Crowley raises his eyebrows and mimes snapping, then gestures down. He watches as his eyes narrow, darting from Crowley’s fingers to his crotch, before suddenly they widen in horror.

“That’s not the same thing at all!”

“If I see a miraculously lubricated spade, I call it a miraculously lubricated spade,” Crowley cackles.

“I hate you.”

“You don’t.”

“I do, I promise. You’re horrid.”

“Sometimes. But see, they clearly know the best way to go about things. If you really don’t want to, we don’t have to.”

“No, I didn’t say that.”

Crowley studies Aziraphale’s microexpressions - the slight purse of his lips, a twitch of his eyebrow, the barely there tilt of his head. It’s when the angel scrunches his nose that he knows they’re going to be in for a good time.

“Okay. So the bits–”

“And bobs.”

“Yes, mustn’t forget the bobs. Anything we… shouldn’t explore, or?”

Crowley shakes his head. “Nah, I figure we can go whole hog and then play it by ear.”

Aziraphale nods and swings his fist in an encouraging gesture. “Right then. Tally ho!”

Crowley closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to confront how endearing that was, and also so he can focus on his corporation.

On his end, there isn’t much to change. Very little of the reproductive organs he’s currently sporting needs adjusting, no uterus or any sort of flaps to add, but he breathes through his nose as he adds scent glands on either side of his neck and allows alpha hormones to start pumping through his endocrine system. A pleasant thrum settles under his skin, anticipatory and heady, and when he takes another deep breath, his eyes fly open at the overwhelming scent of lavender.

Aziraphale’s looking at him with a frown on his face, touching his neck where a slightly darker patch has appeared on his skin. “I might’ve gone overboard on the scent.”

Crowley swings his feet out of Aziraphale’s lap and sits back on his heels. He gently touches Aziraphale’s knees, and the angel pulls his feet up to turn and lie back on the sofa, head resting on a chintz throw pillow against the armrest.

“Mm, a bit. I don’t know if it’s really you, but let me–” He maneuvers between Aziraphale’s legs and lowers his head to nose under Aziraphale’s chin. Aziraphale tilts his neck to the side, exposing the gland, and a hot flare of possessiveness rushes through him. He kisses the pudge of skin under his chin, trails his lips down his exposed Adam’s apple, and then drags his nose along Aziraphale’s scent gland. The heavy floral smell fills his nostrils and he feels like he’s about to sneeze, but there’s still something in it that’s comforting, something that smells like home.

“You smell like a launderette,” he says, and can’t help but tilt his own head where Aziraphale has started nuzzling at his neck. “Not terrible, not great.”

“You smell like a forest,” Aziraphale says. The angel’s hands skim along his sides, dipping barely under his t-shirt, and Crowley just wants to bury his head further into the angel, maybe bite him a bit. Just to show everyone that he has an alpha who loves him, someone who gets to take care of him.

“It’s just what I’ve usually gone with when it’s been necessary for a job. Bit of cedar, bit of pine. Seemed neutral enough, better than the sheer amount of peppermint and leather. There was even an alpha bloke I had to spend time around who smelled like gasoline.”

Aziraphale moves his head back and giggles. “Freshly cut grass. Or vanilla! Everyone says they smell a bit like vanilla.” He spreads his legs wider to allow Crowley to rest more of his weight on him, and Crowley sinks down into his warmth gladly. “I don’t know if it’s really you, either. Besides, the scents don’t quite match. I’ve always heard–they’re supposed to match. Be compatible.”

Crowley inhales the combined aroma wafting through the air and wrinkles his nose as it hits him. “Yeah, it smells like you’re walking within a mile radius of a Lush. Let’s both change, then.”

He racks his brain for something more suited to him, something he thinks Aziraphale would like to smell, but he’s distracted when the angel gets there first. He hums in pleasure and opens his mouth to lick at Aziraphale’s neck, inhaling as much of the scent as he can, his mind going a little dizzy with it.

“Chocolate?”

“Hot cocoa, technically. A bit richer with the–the cream and a bit of marshmallow.”

Aziraphale’s breath hitches when Crowley threads his fingers through his hair and tilts his neck further back, exposing his throat fully. His legs start rubbing against Crowley’s own, his hands moving wide, expansive paths over the demon’s back and sides and down to his buttocks. Crowley grinds his hips down leisurely, feeling the drag of denim over Aziraphale’s trousers, his slowly filling hardness matching Crowley’s own.

It’s… a lot. Being this close to Aziraphale is always a lot, but the way Aziraphale is rocking his hips up and the way Crowley’s own body is responding to him is nearly overwhelming. Aziraphale looks spread out and ready and submissive and it’s nothing Crowley hasn’t seen before, but his thoughts latch onto it with a fierceness he hasn’t experienced. The ever-ready desire to take care of Aziraphale through any means necessary ramped up to an eleven.

He doesn’t even think about the change in his own scent, just thinks about sugar and chocolate and fire, and then Aziraphale moans softly, nuzzling the gland at Crowley’s neck again.

“Oh, I like this one,” he sighs. “It’s almost like–you know that moment right when you brûlée sugar? Just that brief snap of smoke and caramelization. That’s what you smell like. Just that one little ephemeral moment.”

Crowley tilts Aziraphale’s head back with two fingers under his chin and kisses him, and they both moan into it. His hips are still moving in languid rolls, matching the pace of Aziraphale’s tongue brushing against his in his mouth. Aziraphale’s hands thread through his hair, and Crowley breaks the kiss, rubbing their noses together as they take in the joined scents.

“We do smell a bit like a patisserie.”

Aziraphale laughs and kisses him again. “It is rather sweet, isn’t it? I like yours so much, though. Let me think.”

Crowley runs his hand absentmindedly up and down Aziraphale’s leg while he waits for his decision, the barely-there scratch of fabric against his fingertips teasing his senses and adding to his simmer of desire. And then he inhales deeply, a smile blooming over his face.

“Coffee?”

“A little milder than the cocoa. A little nutty, a little bit of caramel to match you.”

“Well, I’ve always said you’re a little nutty.” And then he kisses Aziraphale’s laughing face.

He knows they’ve landed on the right mix because the way their scents mingle around them is intoxicating. The coffee and burning sugar blends and transforms into something like honey and melted butter and toasted walnuts, and Crowley thinks he finally gets why the humans focus on this so much. He knows it’s hormones, but it soothes something in him, something he didn’t have before, and he wonders if there’s a way to bottle it all up so he can smell it whenever he wants. Put it on his pillows and blankets on the rare occasion he’s sleeping alone and–oh, for fuck’s sake. He wants to build a nest.

He lowers his head again to Aziraphale’s neck, trying to get as much of his scent on him as possible, and then grazes his teeth along the gland, bitter and intoxicating in its own right. Aziraphale gasps and tightens his legs around Crowley’s waist.

“This is–I really wasn’t–oh–expecting it to feel like this much,” Aziraphale says breathlessly, his face pink and flush. “Is this what these poor people have to go through all the time? No wonder they can’t get anything done half the time.”

“Search me. Feels good though, yeah?”

“Yes. Although, can we move to the bedroom? I don’t think the rest of the activities we have planned are conducive to the sofa.”

Crowley gives him one more lingering kiss before standing up and helping Aziraphale to his feet. “Go on.” He nods his head towards Aziraphale’s bedroom. “Let me put the food away.”

Aziraphale pads away and even though Crowley can still smell him, the need isn’t as immediate without the proximity. A few steadying breaths clear out the rest of the fog in his brain so he can concentrate on the task at hand. He cleans up the takeaway boxes, depositing the empty ones into the bin and the leftovers into the kitchenette’s small fridge before taking the remote off the coffee table and pausing the movie. He doesn’t need to hear Billy Crystal’s nasal tones in the background while having sex.

When he walks into the bedroom, Aziraphale has his back towards the door as he adjusts and straightens the pillows and linens on the bed. He’s being fastidious, more so than any other time he’s made the bed by hand, minutely adjusting everything to his preference. Crowley’s heart swells as he feels a sense of overwhelming love and belonging flood through him. Seeing his omega–no, he reminds himself sternly, refusing to believe that only fifteen minutes of altered biology is enough to throw all reason out the window–tending to their room. To their nest.

He’s entirely content to watch until Aziraphale picks up a pillow and rubs it along his neck, and then he can’t help but let out a pleased sound from deep within his chest. The angel jumps at the intrusion, spins round to face him, seems to realise he’s holding the incriminating pillow still, and tosses it over his shoulder hastily.

“Crowley! How long have you been standing there?”

He grins, trying not to laugh at him. “Not long. I think I’m getting off on you tidying.”

“Because it’s so rare a sight?”

Crowley does laugh, then, now that Aziraphale is joining in on the joke. “Might be. But. It’s–’s like you’re building a home. For us. I mean, I know this is our home–one of them, got the flat as well–but–”

“Don’t tire yourself out, running around in all those circles,” Aziraphale teases. He takes the pillow back in his hands, clutching it tightly. “I have always thought the nesting part of it all was rather nice. It’s cozy.”

Crowley holds his hand out, and Aziraphale hands him the pillow. He rubs it against his own scent gland, breathing deep to smell the richness of Aziraphale’s coffee scent as he adds his own, and then hands it back.

Aziraphale smiles softly. “Thank you.” He places the pillow back into its proper place and then chuckles. “This seems ridiculous. I know very explicitly why I’m feeling like this, I feel in control of it, but I still wasn’t expecting the urges to actually feel so present. Thirty minutes ago the idea that the bed would have to look just so, or smell any particular way, wouldn’t have even crossed my mind, but…”

Crowley steps into his space and kisses him, his thumb coming up to rub gently at the edge of the angel’s scent gland, and Aziraphale whimpers. “We both just pumped ourselves full of hormones that have caused humans to do all sorts of biological nonsense in the past millennia. Hardly our fault that a stupid pillow with our neck juice rubbed all over it means more to me in this moment than anything else in the flat.”

“Shall I leave you and the pillow to it, then?” Aziraphale asks, a warning tease in his voice.

By way of answer, Crowley tilts his head down to kiss him again, this one firmer than the other. Aziraphale opens his mouth against him immediately, and the feel of the angel’s soft, wet lips brushing against his own stokes the fire radiating through him. He slips his tongue in, pushing his fingers through Aziraphale’s curls and scratching gently along his scalp, causing the angel to give a full-body shiver in his arms and to grip his waist tightly.

Aziraphale groans, tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth and pulling him by the belt loops until they’re flush against each other, and Crowley’s cock takes a much renewed interest in the events at hand. Aziraphale’s arousal seems to correlate directly to the rich strength of his scent, like a freshly ground dark roast, and Crowley shoves the housecoat off the angel’s shoulders, dropping it on the armchair near the bed.

Aziraphale sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls Crowley again between his legs, pressing kisses to his stomach through his t-shirt and unbuckling his belt efficiently with practised fingers. He unzips Crowley’s jeans, tugs them down around his upper thighs, and presses himself against Crowley’s clothed erection, dragging his face along it like he’s trying to scent Crowley here, too.

He cups the back of Aziraphale’s neck, playing with the short hair there, as he slowly moves his cock against Aziraphale’s face. The angel hums deep in his throat and presses further, opening his mouth to suck at the head through Crowley’s pants, getting the fabric wet and dark. Crowley’s grip tightens in his hair, and Aziraphale freezes, so he releases him immediately.

“Are you okay?”

Aziraphale heaves a long, exasperated sigh and throws his head back to give Crowley a resigned stare.

“Yes. It just seems that my bottom is suddenly very wet.”

It takes a second for what Aziraphale said to register, but then Crowley bursts out laughing, cupping Aziraphale’s cheeks in his hands as he doubles over. His forehead comes to rest against Aziraphale’s, who is trying his hardest to look grumpy, but the corner of his mouth is twitching.

“Oh, poor darling,” Crowley giggles. “You’ve never had a soggy bottom in your life! Every pastry, pristine and crisp.”

Aziraphale stands up and tries to twist his upper body to observe any damage on his trousers. “What if it leaves a stain!”

“Then you’ll get it dry cleaned.”

Aziraphale twists back around with a look of horror on his face. “Peter can’t see my clothes like this! I’m going to have to find an entirely different dry cleaner. Perhaps on the other side of the river.” He shifts uncomfortably. “Goodness, why is there so much of it?”

Crowley has never been fonder of anybody in his life.

“I love you.”

“Yes, I love you, too,” Aziraphale responds distractedly, but with no less feeling for it, looking down at where he’s tugging ineffectually at his trousers.

“There’s so much of it because of the knot.”

Aziraphale suddenly seems to forget the plight of his corduroys, gaze snapping back up to Crowley. “Oh,” he breathes. His skin flushes a deep pink, and Crowley gets hit with another wave of Aziraphale’s darker aroused scent. “I had nearly forgotten about that part of it.”

Crowley laughs again and pushes Aziraphale back onto the bed.

“Oh yes, nearly forgot, I’m sure you did. You old cockslut. Come on, get up.”

Aziraphale scoots back towards the pillows, divesting himself of his trousers and waistcoat as he goes. Crowley pushes his jeans down the rest of the way, kicking his feet to free his ankles from their denim prison, and crawls up on the bed. He settles himself between Aziraphale’s legs and runs his hands up the middle of the angel’s shirt, intending to take his time undoing the buttons and kissing the exposed skin as it appears. But Aziraphale tilts his head back, probably just to give Crowley better access to the collar, and essentially presents his throat, causing Crowley’s brain to go off like an alarm bell just like it had back on the sofa.

He snaps his fingers to remove the angel’s open shirt and vest instantly, and nips his teeth precariously close to the scent gland on Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale gasps and spreads his legs wider, and Crowley can smell his slick mixing with their scents. It makes him want to take and take care of and it’s hard to think clearly at the best of times when he’s in bed with Aziraphale but the extra hormones don’t help. He wants to bite, but he doesn’t know what will happen if he claims Aziraphale while they’re like this, if any scarring or intangible bond will want to stick around after they’ve rid themselves of the biology of it.

He moves down instead to the angel’s collarbones where he knows Aziraphale is sensitive and opens his mouth to bite down there.

“Mmm, alpha.”

His teeth have barely made pressure marks in the angel’s skin when his mouth falls open in shock, and he makes a bewildered noise somewhere in the back of his throat. Aziraphale’s shoulders shake underneath him, and Crowley sits up on his heels to see Aziraphale biting his lip to stifle his laughter.

Alpha?! What is this, Aziraphale? A cheap porno? ‘Ohhhh, alpha, fill me up with your huge cock and knot me. Fill me up and breed me, alpha.’”

Aziraphale looks delighted, pressing his fingers briefly to his lips. “I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t know if you would like it or not, so I thought I’d give it a go. But you hate it, which is even more satisfying, to be honest. Ah well, no harm done. Come on then, back to it.” He holds his arms out and tilts his neck in what he has clearly learned is a very effective angle, but Crowley just scowls at him.

“Oh, no, no. You don’t get to just flash your neck at me and all is forgiven. Shall I mount you now too, if you want to go the porn route?”

Aziraphale’s gaze darkens and Crowley can smell fresh slick, and he makes another bewildered noise, but this time it’s rounded out with amused fondness.

“Everything about you is an unending delight, angel, did you know that? Get these off, hands and knees, then.”

They both fully undress, and Aziraphale grabs the pillow they’d scented earlier to tuck under his head and arms as he gets in position. The way Aziraphale’s arse looks, slick glistening around his rim and across his cheeks, makes Crowley’s thoughts go to that swimmy, heady place again, and he can’t help but to reach out and touch, to smear his fingers through it.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.”

“Yes, I’ve been telling yo–ohh.”

He slides two fingers around the edge of Aziraphale’s rim, gliding easily with how wet he is, and dips just his fingertips inside before running his flat palm down to grasp at Aziraphale. He cradles the angel’s balls in his hand, massaging them gently, before sliding his hand back up again. The back and forth between Aziraphale’s cock and balls and hole is making a mess, smearing the slick over the angel’s arse and thighs. But Aziraphale gets wetter with every teasing touch, precome dripping from his tip and slick leaking out of him as the air becomes thick and muggy with his scent.

Crowley finds himself nearly dizzy from it all. He wants to grab onto Aziraphale’s hips and pull him back against his cock in one smooth motion, push him down between the shoulder blades and fuck into him hard. He wants to fill him up, with his cock, his come, his knot. He gets now why the humans need to do this for days sometimes. It’s a wild, possessive, nearly all-consuming want and it feels like he could get addicted to it.

He wipes the sweat beading at his upper lip and tastes Aziraphale’s slick on his fingers, somehow both bitter and sweet, then suddenly that same hand is grabbing firmly at one of Aziraphale’s cheeks, flesh pillowing between his narrow fingers. He spreads him wide to expose his hole further and leans in to lick into him, desperate to get to that taste at the source.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale whines, and he pushes back against Crowley’s face. Crowley traces his tongue around his rim, pressing wet, open kisses to his hole. He finally dips his tongue in where Aziraphale is already open, and he moans at how hot Aziraphale is inside. His cock is hard and aching, his mouth and chin covered with Aziraphale, and something is screaming at him to just fuck this deliriously aroused omega under his tongue, but the part of him that is firmly Crowley ignores all that. He wants to see how long Aziraphale will keep making slick and how long he can keep cleaning it up. For science, and all that.

Aziraphale’s chanting what sounds like please over and over again, his fist grasped in the pillow as he rocks his hips back and forth, but then he thumps his hand down against the mattress in frustration and Crowley realises he’s lost track of the time, rendering the experiment moot anyway.

“I am wet enough Crowley, please. I need you. I need you.”

The tremor in his voice through the annoyance makes Crowley pull away. He sits up on his knees and wipes the slick covering his face on the back of his hand. Aziraphale’s skin is flushed all down his back, and heat radiates off him like a furnace. Crowley runs a soothing hand down his spine, and Aziraphale arches up into the touch.

“Ready, angel?”

Aziraphale throws an annoyed look over his shoulder before burying it back into the pillow. “I’ve been ready for what seems like ten hours.”

Crowley takes his cock in hand and slides the blunt head of it over Aziraphale’s hole, coating himself in slick. “Is being bad at judging the passage of time an omega trait?”

“No, is being absolutely insufferable an alpha one?”

“Nah, that’s just me.” He moves slowly, his head pushing past Aziraphale’s tight ring of muscle, and then he pushes further until he’s fully seated inside, and they take a moment to breathe. Aziraphale is absolutely burning up beneath him, around him, and he pulls his cock nearly all the way out before slamming back in again.

Aziraphale lets out a breathy whine and props himself further up on his elbows so he can match Crowley’s movements as he thrusts into him. Fucking himself into Aziraphale, keeping his cock buried in his tight, wet heat and driving himself deeper and deeper is an indulgence he’s happy to let consume him.

Crowley braces his hands on either side of Aziraphale’s head and drapes himself over the angel’s back to change the angle, and Aziraphale groans. This close, all Crowley can smell is how aroused Aziraphale is, a dark roast coffee permeating the air and mixing with his burnt sugar, and it’s bringing back in full force his earlier urge to bite and claim. He grazes his teeth along Aziraphale’s scent gland, causing the angel to let out a sharp gasp and clench around him.

“Do you want me to bite you?” He noses up his neck and behind his ear, darting his tongue out to taste the skin as he goes.

“I can’t–I can’t think, hold on. Stop just a second.”

Pulling away a scant few inches and stopping his hips feels Herculean, but he does, breathing in deep through his nose as he waits for Aziraphale’s answer.

“Yes,” Aziraphale says. “Hard. Right where you were. But don’t break the skin.”

He tucks his face back into the crux of Aziraphale’s shoulder, and inhales Aziraphale’s scent through his mouth. He parts his lips, placing his teeth around the angel’s scent gland, and a large part of his brain that he absolutely refuses to acknowledge or refer to as his inner alpha is singing with a need to sink in, to claim, to love, to bite. To mate.

He bites down, holding the flesh firmly between his teeth, but he stops before he can break the skin. He whines through his nose, keeping his hips steady so he doesn’t overwhelm Aziraphale, but then Aziraphale lets out a low keen and sinks back down to his chest, one arm wrapping around the pillow below him and the other sliding out across the sheets. Crowley lowers himself with him, keeping his teeth held securely.

“Oh my–go, keep going. Keep going, I’m okay. I’m alright. Please move.”

It’s barely out of Aziraphale’s mouth before he’s moving his hips again, thrusting forward in hard, thorough shoves. Aziraphale pants, broken and cut off little ah! noises escaping him with every thrust, and Crowley can feel him trying to move, but he’s completely pinned to the mattress by Crowley’s cock and body and teeth and fuck if that doesn’t make his gut twist with arousal.

He throws his arm out after Aziraphale’s, grabbing onto his hand, both of them sweaty and frenzied as they fumble to grasp at each other. His jaw aches where he’s clenched around Aziraphale’s neck, and he releases his grip to shift his hips. The imprint of his teeth are set deep into the angel’s skin, stark white where the pressure was greatest before flooding dark red to match the rest of his skin. The thought of the bruise that will form, mottling Aziraphale’s neck purple and blue and yellow and green for days is what pushes him close to the edge and triggers an unusual tingling at the base of his cock.

“Do you want my knot, omega?”

Aziraphale lets out a loud groan of frustration and throws Crowley’s hand off his. “Damn you, Crowley!”

Crowley snickers and presses a not-at-all-sincere apologetic kiss between his shoulder blades. And then he kisses him again, softer and smiling against his warm skin, just so grateful that he has someone to have fun with, to annoy and love in turn.

“Do you know how many times I’ve been about to come and then you say something that just instantly kills the mood, you absolute horror?”

“Probably as many times as I’ve said something that’s pushed you over the edge. Is that a yes?”

“I’m not saying it.”

“Poor thing. Let me make it up to you.”

He peels himself off of Aziraphale’s back, and starts moving his hips again as he reaches down and takes hold of the angel’s neglected cock. He’s nearly as wet here as he is inside, precome dripping steadily and pooling on the sheets below. Crowley rubs his palm along the angel’s head and then slides it down his shaft in a smooth glide. Aziraphale moans softly, and they find a rhythm to it, less hurried than their previous pace. Crowley pushes forward and Aziraphale pushes back, and Crowley’s hand grips firmly up and down until Aziraphale is spilling over with a low, pleased sound.

“Apology accepted,” Aziraphale says breathlessly. “Now come on, darling. Fill me up.”

It’s all the permission he needs, and he fucks into Aziraphale with renewed vigor, chasing his body’s need to stuff Aziraphale full of him. He watches as Aziraphale’s rim stretches around his partially inflated knot, and then he pushes all the way in, grinding his hips against Aziraphale’s arse. The muscles in his stomach tighten, and then release in a wave as he comes harder than he has in a while, deep inside Aziraphale. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes as a rush of endorphins and the sense of a job well done, a purpose fulfilled, wash through him, and then his knot swells until they’re completely locked together.

He miracles away the come on his hand and then smooths his palm along Aziraphale’s thigh.

“How does it feel?”

Aziraphale wiggles against him, testing the feeling. “Weird,” he admits. “But good. Full. How do you feel?”

Crowley looks down at where his knot is stretching Aziraphale’s still glistening rim.

“Well, it’s definitely locked in there. ‘S like–like a water balloon about to burst.”

Aziraphale shudders. “Oh, it doesn’t burst, does it? That can’t be right.”

“Nah, it just–just goes down, doesn’t it? At least it’s this and not like dragonflies. They got spines to yank out other dragonfly semen.”

“I thought that was otters.”

“No, otters have a bone. Literally. Think it’s called a baculum.”

“That’s the Quantum Leap fellow.”

“Well, he’s named after a penis bone,” Crowley mutters. His back is starting to ache with the position he’s forced into at the moment. “Want to lie down? It’ll be, what, thirty minutes-ish?”

“Yes, you know these knees. They aren’t what they used to be.”

Crowley scoffs and tries to formulate a plan of attack. “An angel gets a new corporation for the first time years ago, and proceeds to make the same joke at every opportunity. One day it’s going to get old.”

“No, I don’t think it will. Stop–your elbow’s digging into my shoulder.”

Crowley blows a piece of hair that’s flopped in front of his face out of the way. “I’m trying to turn us on our sides! My dick’s literally stuck inside you - you come up with a better way–”

Aziraphale flicks his finger, and Crowley lands gently on his side with an oof, dick still very much inside Aziraphale and the angel wrapped in his arms.

“Show off.”

“I would never, I’m an angel.”

“Notorious for restrained shows of power, angels.” Crowley rubs his nose at the nape of Aziraphale’s neck, and breathes deep, smelling coffee and caramel and smoke. It smells like everything he’s ever wanted.

“Are you comfortable?”

Crowley nods and closes his eyes, rubbing his hand absentmindedly through the hair on Aziraphale’s chest. Just when he starts to think he might have a kip, there’s an uncomfortable tug on his cock, and his eyes fly open.

Aziraphale is leaning forward, stretching his arm as he reaches for a book on the nightstand, and Crowley makes a stuttering noise of outrage.

“You can’t stand to just cuddle for thirty minutes! Can’t just enjoy the moment. Gotta bring books into it. Sorry if my love is too suffocating for you.” He wraps his arms and legs as tightly as he can around Aziraphale’s limbs given the current angle of his pelvis and holds on tight as Aziraphale squirms in his grasp. The angel laughs and taps on his hand when he realizes he won’t budge.

“I yield! You’re right. We can just have a nice snuggle, and then maybe go finish the picture and dinner.”

“Mm, sounds good.”

They arrange themselves in a looser embrace, and Aziraphale strokes Crowley’s arm where it’s wrapped around his middle.

“Actually, while I have you here, angel–”

Aziraphale freezes.

“I think it’s time for you to finally listen to my pitch for the third Sex and the City movie. I know what you’re thinking, it just won’t work without Kim. But don’t worry, I think a couple of well-placed bribes could get her back in the ol’ SJP saddle again.”

“Oh, good lord.”