Notes:
***WARNING: NSFW CHAPTER AHEAD. LIME!***
Thank you for all the beta work, Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink!
Aziraphale has had many a rendezvous in the past. Specifically and thoroughly fucked his way through the nineteenth century after a certain spat with a certain someone–not that it had anything to do with that incident... at all.
It was quite the experience. He enjoyed most of his lovers, but only for one night and never more than that. After a while, though, the novelty of it wore off. It just felt empty, and he didn't like himself very much after the deed was done.
Aziraphale has abstained since then. Not because he's trying to be celibate mind you. Chasteness has nothing to do with it. He just hasn't felt the need to be a right tart after he finally realised there was only one being in the universe he'd want to share such intimacies with.
But now...
He realises how much he's missed physical affection. A sweet caress, a lewd pinch, fiery desire raking down his back. A hug. A kiss. Even a gentle hand in his own. Aziraphale had given up on those things. The angel had been willing to snuff out any hope of that kind of intimacy, but now that he has to witness Crowley have all those things and more, well, it's had an effect, to put it mildly… very mildly. Aziraphale is touch starved and it's making him yearn and ache for things he can't have or shouldn't want.
And he muses and thinks and imagines all sorts of things that he immediately shoves in that dark corner of his mind. But it's tangled up in there now. Like a mess of Christmas lights that no one, not even he can unravel. That dark corner where Aziraphale hides all his unthinkable thoughts is starting to spill into the light at an alarming rate. He can no longer ignore specific vile images that invade his waking hours, intent on destroying him from the inside out.
Sometimes he daydreams about going to Crowley, confessing his love for him, and making Crowley choose between him and Angelique. He no longer cares whether Crowley can love or not. The demon seems to love the human or is at least doing a fabulous job pretending and Aziraphale was a fool to think it would not suffice for him.
He wants whatever Crowley was offering before Angelique came into the picture. Aziraphale has enough love for the both of them if need be because now he can see what it would be like to be with Crowley in that way. Now he can imagine accurately what Crowley would be like as a romantic partner and it's killing him knowing he has to wait. He doesn't have to wait very long, but it feels dire nonetheless.
Aziraphale only gets a reprieve from those thoughts when Angelique is around, but only because her presence warps his shameful dreams into something else entirely. Angelique and Crowley are so entangled that Aziraphale has a hard time separating them in his mind and heart. He wishes he can forget that kiss on the dance floor. He wishes he can just stop feeling her constantly evolving love for him. He wishes his hands didn't itch to touch her whenever she's around.
And he wants to touch her! It's a frightening truth. He figures he can't touch Crowley and Crowley won't touch him, so, maybe he can feed the black hole within by grasping onto Angelique's kind and gentle and platonic physical affection. Thank Someone he doesn't need to initiate any of it. She supplies kisses, embraces, and even a smooth hand in his readily and enthusiastically, which only makes things worse in the long run.
Lord, why is she so kind? Why couldn't she have been some stupid, shallow human that he could readily despise? Why is there an aura around her that insists on pulling him in? An aura full of love. It's so warm. It's so welcoming. He's never met another human who could love so purely.
When Aziraphale is alone with her, they have deep conversations about all the wonders of the world. Angelique is never empty-handed when she comes to visit him at the shop. Or take him out to eat, or when she scoops him up spontaneously because she just heard about a certain orchestra come to town, or an exhibit that she absolutely must have him beside her so he can tell her what really happened. She brings him sweets, rare teas, expensive wine, bowties and battered books that could use his tender care.
She is as considerate as Crowley and has become a dear friend. Angelique is his friend . Like Crowley is his friend .
Aziraphale has caught them kissing. They kiss all the time, but that one incident was different. It wasn't cute and cuddly like he's used to seeing. It was heady and full of want, with Crowley crowding Angelique into a dark corner. Lust was so heavy in the air that Aziraphale could almost taste it. He is pretty sure he at least smelled it; a musky, thick scent, mixed with the aroma of whiskey and burning matches.
"Fuck," Aziraphale rasps as the memory takes over in full.
Crowley is pressing against her, murmuring, sounding like he's begging. Aziraphale catches something like, "please, love, don't leave us like this. I need you," and Angelique is whimpering, pawing at Crowley's chest and dipping her fingers past the hem of his trousers.
Aziraphale thinks they didn't notice him and he definitely knows for sure that they are unaware of his heinous actions. What he's doing now is despicable but he can't stop. His eyes roll under his eyelids, and his breathing is erratic as he fucks his own fist, the memory on repeat until he spills in his hand.
Now the worst of it comes. Aziraphale cleans himself up with a thought then buries his face in his hands and sobs. He's corrupt. He's wicked. He has no idea how he hasn't Fallen yet in all these years.
On days like these, Aziraphale tries to shut himself up and mope, but the lovely couple make it almost impossible. They see each other every day. The three of them are thick as thieves, just like Angelique had predicted. They only separate at night. Crowley and Angelique leave him in his bookshop, leaving him to writhe in his chair or his mattress that he hardly used before this mess started.
And Aziraphale can't stop. He can't say no to them. He can't stand being without them. For a while, Aziraphale had convinced himself that it was because he couldn't stand being away from Crowley any longer. He'd gotten used to seeing him so often, and he can't go back to how things were. Then one day, the horrifying truth of it could not be pushed aside. Angelique blew into his shop like an East wind, and his heart nearly exploded at the sight of her.
"No," Aziraphale shakes his head. "Ridiculous, you're ridiculous. It's nothing."
Looks like he's still grappling with that one. Maybe we should let him be.
"Aziraphale?" Her sweet voice carries over to him, and Aziraphale nearly jumps out of his seat to greet his dear, human friend .
Seeing her dispels the hunger-like sensation in his middle. She lunges at him with a blinding smile, and he catches her with an amateur dancer's grace. He's been going to class every week for nearly half a year now. It's the only time he dares to touch either of them, and Aziraphale does touch. He touches Crowley. He knows the feel of his hand in his, knows his warmth on his back, his breath on his neck, knows his thigh between his legs.
It's all driving him fucking mad with desire, and no amount of wanking has been able to dispel the need that only grows as more time goes by.
"Ready to go shopping?" She asks innocently.
Angelique gives him a light peck just off the corner of his mouth. She does this now. Crowley doesn't seem to mind. Any accidental falter or turn of his head would catch her lips with his own. Those lovely pink lips that have kissed Crowley's lips, and that have undoubtedly stretched around his–
"Yes, dear, ready as ever!" Aziraphale replies enthusiastically, already feeling a tightness in his trousers again.
His imagination is starting to scare him.
"We don't have to go right away," she could say with a purr.
"Oh?" He could reply with a suggestive arch of his brow.
"Crowley just fucked me in the Bentley. If you hurry, you could– "
And that's all the invitation he would need. Aziraphale would hold onto her waist and hoist her up next to the till. He'd snap away her undergarments, if she's wearing any, and lap away at her folds like a parched animal to taste them both in one go.
"Aziraphale? You alright? Looking a bit flushed," Angelique says with a concerned furrow of her brow.
"Yes," he replies quickly and then tugs at his bowtie. "Ticketyboo. Let's go, shall we?"
For the first time, he initiates outside of the classroom. He offers his arm, and she takes it without hesitation. She doesn't comment on his choice not to don his trusty coat. He's sure she doesn't realise it's because he wants as little layers between them as possible.
And that's bad.
He's confused, and he has no idea what to do about any of it and the more he ignores it all, the worse it gets.
Aziraphale is worried. Aziraphale is beyond randy. Aziraphale is utterly and colossally fucked.
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Read my other Good Omens fanfic here: Ineffable Timing & Bless the Fallen
