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The two Aziraphales had left some time ago. Rather, the newly-arrived Aziraphale, who was remarkably forthright about what he wanted, had taken charge of Crowley’s own fretful principality and bundled him off to the bookshop to figure things out. Crowley couldn’t help feeling a little apprehensive. This Aziraphale might be a bit sharper around the edges, but he wouldn’t hurt his counterpart, he wasn’t that different. But he might get impatient with him. Or upset him, without meaning to. Or with meaning to. Or --
“They’ll be fine, you ridiculous thing, relax,” the other Crowley said, loosening his tie with a smirk. “I don’t suppose you have anything drinkable in this mausoleum.”
“I’m not the one dressed like a funeral director,” Crowley groused. “Next room, wine rack and liquor cabinet. And if you’re bringing things, find me something strong.” He flopped onto the sofa, which looked like a brutalist power plant and felt like a cloud, with a long low groan. Maybe if he got drunk enough, the problem would just go away by itself; it had never worked any of the other times he’d tried it, but every day’s a new adventure.
“So tell me,” the other demon said, returning with a fifth of stupidly overpowered American whiskey, “how long’s it been since you two got together?”
“We met on the wall, of course,” Crowley said, downing an overly generous pour and trying not to cough. “Finalized the Arrangement in about 1020 CE. You?”
“No, I meant together.” He raised his left hand and twiddled his fingers, and how on earth had Crowley missed that great gaudy thing on his ring finger? Exactly the sort of thing a budget Patrick Bateman like him would wear, but varying aesthetics aside, a Crowley could only be wearing that ring for one reason. For one person.
“You married him?!” Crowley choked. The other Crowley laughed, a rich rumble that made Crowley’s hair stand on end in a way he didn’t want to examine.
“You didn’t? What are you waiting for, the end of the world?”
“Shut up! It’s not, I mean, we’re not...” What had always seemed so obvious -- they were an angel and a demon, they couldn’t -- was impossible to explain to someone who so clearly had. “We’re not like that,” he finished, weakly.
“Really? Haven’t even kissed? Gosh.” The other Crowley -- oh damn, he had to find something different to call him -- Black Crowley stroked his chin, his wedding ring flashing entirely too much for the level of ambient light.
“No, I haven’t -- would you stop that.” Crowley swatted at Black Crowley’s hand. “I get it, I get it. I never could’ve talked him into it, okay? Not my fault I haven’t got a voice like drowning in ganache.”
“Hmmmm.” Black Crowley settled into the unoccupied half of the sofa and leaned in just a little too close for good manners. “You like the sound of my voice, then?”
Crowley felt all the muscles along his spine go uncommonly rigid. “Ugh, stop that. It’s weird.”
“Listen,” Black Crowley murmured. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“I am not listening to this.” Crowley squirmed in his seat. “I thought we were brainstorming ways to get me in Aziraphale's trousers, not you into mine.”
“Well, I’d hardly fit.” Black Crowley laid his arm across the back of the sofa, his fingers hanging just close enough to Crowley’s neck for their movement to disturb the tiny hairs there. “But then who said I had to touch you?”
“I can’t --” He pulled at the front of his jeans, trying and failing for a subtle adjustment as his cock started to harden. “Fuck, this is so wrong.”
“It’s just me,” Black Crowley said, his breath in Crowley’s ear now, making him shiver. “Which is just you. Think of it as… talking to yourself.”
“Oh, that’s all very well for the angels, don’t you chop logic with me --”
“Crowley.”
“Oh fuck,” Crowley whimpered. In that deep, dark voice, that rolled over the vowels like oil and flicked the l off the tip of the tongue, his own name was the filthiest word he had ever heard.
“Mm, yes, I think you’d like that.” Black Crowley licked his lips. “You should have seen my Aziraphale when I first had him, in the garden,” he said, his voice falling into a low, mesmeric cadence. “He didn’t know the first thing about it. Didn’t know why he felt so strange when I spoke to him. Didn’t know better than to listen to me. Just the way you’re listening to me now… oh, I pinned him against the Tree and got my hands up under those white robes, hmm, he wanted me so badly he didn’t know what to do with himself. I didn’t even get a chance to suck his pretty cock before he rubbed off on my thigh. And then he apologized for making a mess.”
“God,” Crowley whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut. “We’re not doing this, I’m not letting you do this.”
“And yet you're not leaving, are you, darling.” He chuckled, a sound like old, dark wine being poured. “I know I’m not telling you anything you haven’t thought before. What do you imagine when you touch yourself, Crowley? Do you want him to master you? To hold you down and fuck you, fill you with Heaven’s might until you’re dripping with it? Or would you put him on his knees and make him take your Communion? Or do you want --”
Crowley gripped the sofa cushions desperately as Black Crowley kept on, low and insistent, his voice seeming to vibrate through the air and along Crowley’s flushed skin. His cock was red-hot and aching and his heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that all he could hear was that terrible, irresistible voice, which would explain why he didn’t notice the door to his flat opening, or the shocked intake of breath as Aziraphale took in the scene before him: his demon rigid and trembling, visibly hard in his trousers, and that other demon looming over him, looking every inch the predator.
“It’s all right,” the other Aziraphale murmured, holding up a restraining hand. His smile was as near to wicked as an angel’s smile could be. “Ah, he’s doing that. It’s quite lovely -- you should watch.”
“He’s not -- not harming him?” Aziraphale whispered.
“Not a hair on his pretty head.”
Black Crowley looked up for a moment and grinned like a shark. “He’s sweet, your little angel,” he said in the other demon’s ear, light and conversational for a moment. “If I were you I’d like to see what sort of sounds he’d make with just my fingers up his tight little arse. I’d like to hold him close and let him gasp and shiver and sob into my neck as I fingered him open, ever so gently. I’d like to hear him say my name, our name, all undone and desperate, begging me for more. Please, Crowley, please, and I’d give him my cock nice and slow and so, so deep…”
Crowley made a soft, pleading sound. Aziraphale fought to stay upright, knees weak and head spinning with the sudden force of his arousal. He should stop this, he had to end this -- this humiliation -- this wicked exposure of himself and his Crowley both. But that fiendish voice seemed to resonate all through his body, the vibrations making him so warm, so deliciously weak, and he wanted… God help him, he wanted to hear what came next.
“You’ll make it so good for him, won’t you,” the demon crooned, still not touching Crowley, holding him there with words alone. “He’ll feel you in places he never knew existed, so hot and tight and aching for it, you’ll fill him up until he’s sure there can’t be any more and then you’ll keep going, yesss, you’re going to fuck him harder, deeper, drive so deep inside him the only word he’ll remember is your name --”
“Please,” Crowley sobbed, trembling, his head bowed and shoulders tensed with the struggle to control himself. The other Aziraphale radiated pride in his own demon, who met his eyes for just a moment, basking in his angel’s silent praise.
“And then, just at the right moment, just when you’re about to come, you’ll open your eyes and see how much your angel is enjoying this, oh, he’s ready for it, and so are you, aren’t you?” Black Crowley’s voice rose, a sudden clap of thunder. “Open your eyes, Crowley.”
Stunned, Crowley opened his eyes and saw his angel: blue eyes wide, mouth open, cock hard in his trousers, staring at him, watching him. He couldn’t hide himself, couldn’t stop, could only stare back as his fingers punched holes in the sofa cushions and he came, helplessly, hips lifting off the seat with desperate thrusts at nothing.
Black Crowley smiled, slow and triumphant. “Aziraphale,” he purred, black velvet, sweet venom, and Aziraphale cried out in shock as his own climax came on him without warning, called out of him by that diabolical voice and by his own Crowley’s ecstasy. He fell to his knees, gasping, gripping his legs as a great shudder ran through him.
“Well,” said the sharp Aziraphale, with a briskness that belied his own visible arousal, “I’m glad to see this has worked out for everyone.” He stepped forward smartly and took his demon by the tie, pulling him to his feet with seemingly no exertion at all. Black Crowley, temporarily out of words, made a sound that might be transcribed as ngk. “Well done, my dear. Now come along and tell me all about it.”
They disappeared, the bedroom door closed and locked somewhere far away, and the two beings left in the living room still hadn’t looked at each other.
“Well,” the remaining Crowley said at last, “we’ve made a mess of ourselves, haven’t we.”
It was only his ordinary voice, nothing like as seductive as the other Crowley’s, but Aziraphale still couldn’t suppress a broken sound of need -- because this was his Crowley. Who had just seen Aziraphale come in his trousers at the merest thought of Crowley’s touch.
“Oh, interesting,” Crowley said, taking off his sunglasses. Some of his snakey grace had returned to him in his loose-limbed relief, and he slithered down from the sofa, pushing his angel down on his back and covering him with his own body, pressing him into the floor with a deep, languid kiss. His hand drifted up Aziraphale’s thigh to cup his arse, fingertips just barely pressing against the fabric covering his cleft, and the angel moaned, arching his back and pulling Crowley down hard against him. “I think we have some ideas to explore.”