Take These Broken Wings And Learn To Fly

Chapter Seven

Aziraphale presses a kiss to his jaw, the corner of his mouth.

"I wanted to have you right there on the floor of my shop", he breathes into Crowley's skin, nose grazing the demon's cheek. "I wanted to spread you out in all your serpentine beauty. I wanted to consecrate the carpet with the drops of your release."

Crowley whimpers helplessly, straining against the angel's hands holding him in place, revelling in the fact he couldn't escape this if he tried. The words hurt, but there's something twisted and festering inside him that needs to hear them, soaking up every word hungrily, only to grow even more ravenous.

"Is that what you would have wanted?" Aziraphale's hips shift against Crowley's, sending a tingle down between his legs. "For me to have you right then and there, on my precious carpet in broad daylight, where anyone could have walked by and seen?"

Where the Metatron could have returned any second and- oh fuck-

"And what if I did?" Crowley's breath is panting, his voice a punched-out whisper.

What if I didn't care who saw, what if I didn't care what you did as long as it was you?

What if I wanted them to see? What if I wanted them to know that you're not theirs to take away, not anymore, that you couldn't be theirs because you're m-

The blue of Aziraphale's eyes burns into him, and Crowley doesn't look away, lets it singe and brand him, lets it fan the fire already raging inside him.

Seconds tick by, he's forgotten to breathe, there's nothing but the thumping of his pulse in his ears and Aziraphale's heat against his body and the tension in the air between them.

Then it snaps, Aziraphale moves, fingers tightening and hips pushing and mouth latching onto Crowley's jaw, all wet and desperate, lips and teeth. It punches a surprised moan from the demon and he clings back, soft pyjama shirt crinkling under his forceful grip.

"Aziraphale."

"Tell me to stop."

Aziraphale presses him against the wall, cold in his back, the angel hot and solid against his front, caging him in.

"Tell me to stop", Aziraphale says again, leaving frantic kisses along Crowley's collarbone, up his neck. The demon groans, tilting his head helplessly to give those hungry lips better access to his touch-starved skin.

"Crowley." Aziraphale sounds just on the edge between frenzied and controlled, just a word from Crowley away from tipping over into one or the other. "You have to tell me to stop. Please, if you want me to stop, I will."

Aziraphale draws back, stormy blue eyes boring into gold as he circles the demon's wrists with his fingers, just holding on gently where they hang at Crowley's sides. They're so close, so close Crowley can feel the angel's breath on his lips, the heaving of his chest against his own. He shakes his head, but the look on Aziraphale's face tells him that it isn't enough.

"Don't stop", he manages, and maybe it's stupid of him, maybe it's reckless, maybe he'll live to regret it later, letting it come to this here, right now, like this, for the first time- but he doesn't care. All he wants right now is to have this moment, this moment when Aziraphale wants him just as badly as he has wanted the angel for centuries.

"Don't stop", he says, and means it. "Don't ever stop", he says again, and he needs...he needs-

"I don't want to hurt you", Aziraphale says, and there's genuine fear in his eyes, and they both know it's justified, Crowley knows the angel is talking about so much more than his physical strength, more than the raging rivers of grace in his being that could smite Crowley on the spot if he wanted to. No, this is about more than Crowley's body, and he should be scared, but he doesn't care, he doesn't care, his heart is in splinters as it is, who cares-