for salutosinedelectat

[sauntered_downward]

Follows this.

They couldn't just teleport themselves there. Any miracles, demonic or otherwise, would attract too much attention. No, Crowley was actually going to have to sit there, plugging their information into an online search engine, and do it all manually. Fluctuating airline prices were demonic work, and right now a trip to Japan was over six thousand pounds more expensive than if he had bought it three days earlier, which was totally outrageous. Crowley didn't know a lot about money except what it made men do to each other, he'd never had to. But now, making money appear out of nothing could turn the wrong eye on them if he wasn't careful.

Luckily, he had quite a few credit cards that never needed paying or had a limit on them. They would work in a pinch for a moment like this. He didn't know if that sort of perk-of-being-a-demon could ever be taken away from him, but he hoped not.

The flight itself was a long one, and Crowley settled himself in for it by making sure they were flying at least first class. That way they could see everyone coming at them and have a few glasses of wine on the journey.

"I don't think they know about these passports," Crowley says. "They might, but I doubt it. I had them made back during the last World War, just kept them in good condition."

The second World War was something that Crowley took responsibility for, but he hated every moment of it, and what his side did to make it worse made him sick. He was more than prepared to hide away if he needed to when things went wrong back then. And, at the time, he had also created a passport for Aziraphale, in case he wanted to come along. No other reason for that, he told himself.

Comments

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley lets out a quiet moan at the feel of the angel's lips against his skin, at the sound of his words. He's waited so long to be able to say these words, to hear them, that it feels like he's dreaming, with only the feel of Aziraphale's breath and lips against his skin holding him into place in the real world.

He slides his two fingers in, curling them, moving them in and out. He wants to give sensation even as he prepares the angel's corporation. He wants what he's always wanted: to make Aziraphale feel good, to feel pleasure in everything he does. He's spent countless days just watching him in indulge in food or drink and felt nothing but pleasure at the sight of him. Now, he watches the angel's face as he touches him, moves for him.

[salutosinedelectat]

The angel pulls in his breath in a gasp, arching his shoulders and holding Crowley tighter, closer. For all that this is, he's still somewhat reserved in his movements, his sounds, biting his lip, shaking with the effort of trying to keep mostly still. But his mind moves differently, reaching and pulling and swimming, almost dancing, almost music, taking in all the emotions and wordless thoughts Crowley can give him.

A quiet, needy sound, and he pulls on him. Opens his eyes just barely, meeting Crowley's, beckoning him.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley's gaze meets the angel's and he gives him something that all demons know: a temptation. He tempts him with his gaze, with his body, with his fingers. He shares with him the sinful desire of lust and the want of touch. It probably isn't fair, sharing that with him right now, while they're in the middle of all of this, but he is so very tempted by the beckoning look in Aziraphale's eyes, he doesn't know what else to give him.

Want it. I'll give it to you. He croons to Aziraphale's mind.

He slips a third finger to join the first two in their movements.

[salutosinedelectat]

It isn't fair, no, when he is already in the verge of being overwhelmed, not by the act, but everything else that comes with it. A temptation is hardly necessary, but it piles up with all else, makes him shudder, makes his thoughts vibrate.

He does want, and it's almost too much. He beckons and reaches, and, clearly, is not about the push back against the temptation. Physically, he arches, and the mutters his name.

"Crowley--"

[sauntered_downward]

Oh Hell. Crowley hisses at the sound of his name on Aziraphale's lips. The angel is so incredibly fucking sexy right now, so overwhelmed and tempted and in pleasure. Crowley moves his fingers, spreads them, pumps them gently in and out of the angel to prepare him.

He can feel the angel reaching, and he can do nothing but reach back to him.

"I want you," he whispers back to him. He wants him, he loves him. There has never been anyone but Aziraphale in his heart. Never.

[salutosinedelectat]

For as much Love as there is in Aziraphale's heart, has been, by virtue of what he is, there's a special place in it reserved only, forever only, for Crowley. No one else can fit, no one else can claim it, and the angel keeps it dearly and close.

He lets his thoughts envelop the demon, wrap themselves around him, unclear and vibrant and colorful, mixing together, fading the edges. Stay here, with him, he offers, he asks.

Another quiet sound, a groan, his hands gripping on the back of Crowley's shoulders. If he could pull him any closer, he would. He's almost afraid he can't let go.

[sauntered_downward]

If Crowley had it his way, they would never let go. They would be forever entwined, holding each other, kissing each other, touching each other. There would be no end to this night, to what they've discovered. He's greedy that way, he wants Aziraphale entirely to himself.

Aziraphale groans and grips onto him. If he were any closer, he would be inside of Aziraphale. Then again, this is an option, and one not far away from them.

He moves his hands smoothly, carefully, and then shifts his hips as he feels Aziraphale is prepared for him.

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale shudders when Crowley pulls his hand away, shifting and smoothly moving along with the demon, pulling his legs up against his sides.

His head is spinning, racing as it is, holding onto their shared thoughts, the emotions, a dance no one else can see. No one else gets to see. A little bit of selfishness they're more than deserving to hold onto, just between them.

Breathless, he still ducks his head to press his lips on the crook of Crowley's neck. Once, twice, brushing them against his skin. I love you, I've loved you, I trust you, I want you is as much as he can make clear, as much as he wants to let him know.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley positions himself and slowly begins to slide himself in, letting out a moan at the sensation against Aziraphale's neck.

He feels him, he feels him all around him as he enters him, and he feels him in his arms, against his neck, surrounding his soul. He can't think of a time in his entire life that he has ever been happier.

The whole of Heaven and Hell can't take this from them. They have this, they have this moment together, in each other's arms. They have their love that fear and strife can't take from them. They have it together.

Fwoosh

[salutosinedelectat]

They'll always have this. No matter what happens, if anything happens, they'll have this, they will have had each other, they will pfrwvwr have the love they share. Nobody, not even God Herself, can take that away from them.

The angel arches up against against him, head tilted back in a moan he doesn't get to silence, feeling Crowley push inside him. Bodies entertained, souls dancing, the sheer love and joy and want from the demon so pure all the same, and this is where Aziraphale forgets. This is where the world ceases to be anything but this. And he has no intention of letting go.

Love, pure love, and he wants Crowley to feel it. Passion, longing, all the things he held back because he was afraid. Because he didn't think they could be. How much he loves him, how much he trusts him, how much he needs him. How much Crowley does truly mean to him.

And with a gentle rustle against the bed they're on, the angel's pristine white wings spread out from his back, at first stretching out, before flexing into a half curl.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley sees the angel's wings, sees him for himself. An angel. Pure and perfect, lying beneath him in a moment of pure passion and love. He can feel the angel's love and passion riding through him, in his veins. He can feel his body beneath him, feel him around him as he moves to fill him, and it's altogether so much.

So much, and Crowley wants all of it.

He slides out of Aziraphale, and then slowly back in, before working himself to a careful pace. Careful thrusts, but each one shooting pure pleasure throughout his entire body. The feeling of Aziraphale around him, the sight of him spread beneath him, it's so beautiful to behold.

His own wings spread out on his back, arching over them. Black and sleek, curling out so that the tips of them touch the edge of Aziraphale's half-curled wings. Two ethereal beings, embraced together.

ah, the typos/misspellings of a phone tag at 2 in the morning, I'm so classy

[salutosinedelectat]

He sees the wings, Crowley's wings, as black as night, beautiful even in the dim light. But maybe he's biased, because everything about the demon feels beautiful, worthy of every bit of love, appreciation, adoration.

Feathers brushing together, bodies warm and pressed close, the feeling of Crowley inside him, and he closes his eyes again, tilts his head back, lets whatever tension and ideas of air to keep just gradually crumble, letting himself freely fall into the pleasure and passion they share.

He moans and curls his wings inward, solely around Crowley, like a protective barrier, a soft selfish shield, but free enough to move in. He curls his toes, thighs pressed against the demon's sides, hands on his back, keeping him close, keeping him his.

Love it!

[sauntered_downward]

There is nothing Crowley wouldn't do for Aziraphale. He would do anything to protect him, to love him, to keep him close. He knew this before, back before they even started on this adventure running from Heaven and Hell. But now, holding him in his arms, his wings wrapped around him, their bodies entwined, he knows he'd do anything to feel this with him forever.

He moves his body, sliding into and out of him, increasing his pace. He lets out a low groan against Aziraphale's neck, and then moves his mouth to reclaim the angel's.

He lets his hands slide up Aziraphale's sides, before moving up to catch his hands, to twine his fingers with his.

[salutosinedelectat]

He knows Crowley would do anything. Crowley has always done everything, even when the angel didn't expect it. Even when, by all accounts, he shouldn't have. When he should have stayed away, when they were enemies, when the angel pushed him away. Always, he always came back. He was always there when the angel allowed him to be, kept his distance when the angel asked or demanded it. Always helped. Always listened. Always came back. Always understood. Always cared.

The angel groans quietly in their kiss, oh, he wants more, more of those, so many chances, to much time to make up for, and, hopefully, so much time ahead to enjoy.

He moves his hands away from Crowley's back, moving his arms along with his touch, intertwining their fingers, thighs pressing against Crowley's sides, feeling their bodies move together, wings brushing against Crowley's body and his dark wings, and he's lost, he's lost and he never wants to find the way back.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley has never felt this way. Not as an angel, not when things were supposed to be pure and love and all the good things in the world. He'd never felt so protected, so connected. He'd never felt this loved by Heaven. Maybe he would never have Fallen had he met Aziraphale as an angel. Maybe they could have been lovers then---but then again, would they have ever indulged? Would something like this have ever crossed their minds?

He is completely surrounded by Aziraphale. He feels him in his mouth, around his body, curled up against his wings. He feels his love, entwining his soul. The whole works. And still, he greedily wants him closer, wants to feel him like this always, wants to hold him like this forever.

"Forever," he murmurs into the groan against his mouth. "I want you forever."

[salutosinedelectat]

Would have they have been lovers? Would they have been friends? Would they have been close, or would they have never even met? Billions and billions of angels, it would be naive to believe they all knew each other, specially those lower in the castes. But to question what never was and can never come to be is as foolish as asking questions of silent mouths, though natural as it might be. Even for two creatures who've wrapped themselves in them, one that has lived with them for almost as long as they have existed, and another one that always tried their hardest to ignore their blatant presence.

He feels the honest truth in Crowley's words, pure devotion made simple, more of what the angel had always pretended wasn't there, but now free, and it breathes life into him in a way he didn't know was possible.

Another movement of Crowley's hips and he arches under him, shuddering and gripping the demon's hands tightly, pulling in a gasp, hearing the music swell in his mind. Can Crowley hear it? It's not a song, but he shares it all the same.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley can feel it, the music in his soul that Aziraphale shares. He doesn't know what it is, he doesn't know where it comes from, but it's theirs, like a strum against heartstrings. Oh, and Crowley is far from a romantic being (or so he tells himself), but he can believe that it's theirs, and he holds onto it, pulls it against himself. Amplifies it. Their music.

Aziraphale arches under him and Crowley lets out another moan as waves of pleasure move against him, crashing into him like the waves against the beach. Every movement, every touch, everything like a current moving through them, connecting them to each other.

It's a wonder they've been able to be apart this long, if such an experience was waiting for them.

[salutosinedelectat]

Too many things stood between them, too many lies from their respective origins, along with the ones the angel told himself. Not that he ever dreamed about something like this. How could he have ever suspected this was a possibility? So it caught him by surprise, entirely, yes, but he has quite made the decision that it won't be the last time it happens.

With bated breaths, he tilts his head to the side and pulls one of Crowley's hands closer to him, pressing his lips softly against the back of his fingers. So many gestures at their disposal. So many ways to confess time and time again. So many ways to show that he's finally here.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley watches Aziraphale's gesture with something akin to wonder. Wonder at being loved by Aziraphale----or perhaps being loved at all---so entirely, so sweetly and with no alternatives behind it. Aziraphale is so genuine, and has always done things because they are the right thing to do. He must believe loving Crowley is the right thing to do.

It's a rather impressive responsibility, having to prove you're worthy of such a pure love. But Crowley will. He's always tried to prove he's worthy of Aziraphale in the past, he can do it now, now that they're here.

He leans down to press a kiss to the angel's neck, then to his collarbone, with the same sort of softness that he gets from Aziraphale's lips. He wants to know him everywhere.

[salutosinedelectat]

He hasn't always done the right thing, he doesn't think. Nowadays, he finds himself in a position where such questions feel even more overwhelming to look into, but entirely more irrelevant. But he knows, without a doubt, that his past is riddled with mistakes, and his future might well be. Certainty is not a resource he finds he has in abundance, so he dedicates it sparingly. But what he is sure about, however, he is held tight and close to his chest.

One of those things is his affection for the demon. He held back from thinking about it too much, scared to face the end of a path he couldn't come back from. Fearing all the obstacles that would stand in his way. But now that he's reached it, he can breath deeply, admit to himself and to the demon just how much he sees in him, how much he wants from him, how much he wants to give. How much he means, and how much he deserves. Even if finding the words and the courage to say them might take a few more steps.

So, Crowley doesn't have to prove anything. But that doesn't mean the angel doesn't appreciate his efforts.

A settling down, a momentary pause. Aziraphale tilts his head back slightly, just enjoying the gentleness of Crowley's lips against his skin, a feeling so new, yet so immediately natural.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley's lips trace back up Aziraphale's throat. Aziraphale is hardly perfect, but Crowley holds him on a pedestal of goodness, one that no mistakes will ever knock him down from. Being with him like this, in his arms, under his lips, inside of him, is about as close to Heaven as Crowley will ever get again.

He'll take it.

He can feel that music between them, feel the shift as they pause together, before he moves his hips again. Hell talks a lot about carnal sins and lust and all that, but they've got nothing on the pleasure of making love to the person who matters most to you in the universe.

Crowley has officially beat Hell on pleasure.

[salutosinedelectat]

And beat Heaven on bliss, by that matter, as far as Aziraphale's concerned.

Crowley moves again and the angel moans, hands gripping Crowley's tightly again, thighs squeezing against his sides. His wings press softly against the Crowley's back, under the demon's dark ones, the music building, body begging, soul clinging and threatening to not let go.

It's divine, is what it is, in a way he hadn't imagined, pleasure he hadn't entirely considered, and he knows he could never share with anyone else. Not that he does or will ever want to.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley gasps against Aziraphale's neck at the feeling of him, at the feeling of them together. He gets the sensation of waves again, reaching up and cresting towards a beach, threatening to break. He can feel waves of pleasure, waves of bliss hit him with every sensation, every movement, threatening to spill over into something else entirely.

Not that Crowley is naive, of course. He knows how sex works, he knows how pleasure works, but it's never been like this. He's never been with anyone who has made his wings come out in pure ecstasy before. Never had anyone made him think about how he's beaten Hell.

There's never been music before.

No, Aziraphale is something entirely new. This is far too unique, far too special, to ever let go.

[salutosinedelectat]

What they have right now is, in several ways, and always will be, only theirs. In the more technical manner, it's quite obvious, as they are only themselves and with only each other, and not even God herself could change that - probably. But there's also something to say about two celestial creatures, formerly from opposite sides, rejected and having denounced their former peoples, after orbiting around each other for thousands of years, finally joined together in an honest sharing of feelings, and an intimate embrace, quite in the fashion of the mortal's they've been watching over, but with the added gifts of their own brand of non-humanity.

The feeling of Crowley's breath against his neck is one of the many details that Aziraphale will remember for a very long time. The feeling of his body against the angel's, and, well, other ways in which they are making use of their vessels in this moment, are something he'd love to feel again and again and again.

"Crowley--" The name escapes him, strained, with no control of his own. Those waves are getting stronger, getting closer. His wings twitch and unwrap from around him, but stay curled upwards.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley can swear the music is getting louder, the melody more distinct. Every movement his hips make, every thrust of pleasure makes everything seem sharper, clearer. His body is moving closer to the pinnacle, he can feel every movement push him closer to it, while his soul is still wrapped up in bliss with Aziraphale's.

He hears Aziraphale say his name and that causes him to let out an involuntary moan. Hearing his name spoken like this, feeling the angel in his arms like this---it's all he's ever fantasized about. It's all he's longed for. And now they have it, and they'll have it forever, for as long as they want.

He would certainly love to hold the angel like this every night if he'd have him.

"Aziraphale, I'm----"