Aziraphale had a particular way that he liked things…especially when it came to the bookshop. And between Jim's incessant urge to rearrange the books by the first letter of the first word on the first page, and whatever it was that Muriel had been doing while he was away in Heaven, things were decidedly not how Aziraphlae liked them.
Yesterday, the focus had been the backroom and the kitchen. Unfortunately, Aziraphale only really got to the backroom as he soon discovered that Muriel had taken the last six months to completely disrupt his precious record collection, leaving them in various states in various places around the shop. That plus the back room took all of his patience yesterday. Today, he would clean the kitchen and organize his desk. When the Metatron gave Muriel the assignment of "looking after" the shop, Aziraphlae assumed that meant that she would keep things as he left them. But he certainly hadn't left unpaid water bills or Maggie's rental agreement crumpled up in the bottom drawer of his desk. Everything needed to be sorted. This was going to take a long time.
He had been meticulously working on sorting papers (was that raspberry jam all over his certificate of insurance?) when it occurred to him just how quiet it was. The angel looked up and stared around the seemingly empty lobby. Not a sound. He couldn't tell if that was comforting or suspicious.
At one point, Crowley had been here, and in his determination to set his home right, Aziraphale had almost completely forgotten about his counterpart. It wasn't uncommon for the demon to just drop whatever he was doing and leave without a word; he did love to be needlessly mysterious. Perhaps he had just left to do whatever it was demons did. But Crowley also liked to get up to mischief, especially when he was bored, and, seeing as Aziraphale had been ignoring him for the better part of the day, the angel was suddenly nervous that perhaps Crowley was undoing any of the tidying he'd spent so long working on.
He tried calling out for him, but when no answer came, Aziraphle was left to assume that Crowley had, in fact, simply left. Whether or not he had left in a huff was unknown, but all signs pointed to his absence.
A twinge of guilt came over Aziraphale; since his return, he had had all kinds of plans to make up for lost time with Crowley, and they had (in many ways) made up for lost time. Even though Crowley insisted that all had been forgiven (the "I was wrong" dance had to be performed three times), the angel still found it difficult to completely let go of his mistake in leaving. He shook his head, stretched his back, and attempted to move forward, pushing any remorseful thoughts from his mind.
He's just stepped out, Aziraphale thought, He'll be back.
A good thirty minutes passed with the angel still hunched over his desk, sorting this and discarding that. This was beginning to get ridiculous. Yes, his homecoming had been sudden and yes, possibly, Muriel had meant to put things back in order, but no matter what her intentions had been, she hadn't done any cleaning. Aziraphale's mind ached; he rubbed his temples as his mind wandered to other, nicer thoughts…namely those of his long-lost demon.
As if on cue, Crowley chose that moment to present himself. He coughed and Aziraphle turned towards the door where the demon now stood. Aziraphle had no idea if Crowley had, indeed, left the shop during these last few hours and then snuck back in without him seeing, but he could see very clearly that the demon had been busy.
His hair was longer now: still the same devilish red with a twinge of curl to it, but now it hung just below his shoulders. Truthfully, however, the hair was the last thing Aziraphale noticed. The first thing was the legs…Crowley's legs had always been long and spindly, but they looked especially lengthy decked in black sheer thigh-high nylons and very tall platform heels. Just at the hem of the (very tight) pencil skirt he wore, one could see the lace tops of the nylons, held up by the straps of a garter belt. On top, Crowley wore a light blue button down that was too big on him. Upon closer inspection, Aziraphale realized why: the shirt was one of his own, tied at the waist to show off the demon's figure. And then there was the make up: lipstick that nearly matched his hair, rouge expertly helping to accentuate his cheekbones, and…were those fake eyelashes?
"Angel, I'm bored. Let's do something," Crowley said plainly.
The fact of the matter is that it took everything in Aziraphale not to jump up and grab Crowley right then and there, but that seemed just too easy. The pair liked to play so playing is what Aziraphale would do.
He swallowed any indecent thoughts he had and turned back to his desk, "Well, I'm sorry, dear, but I'm very busy right now. In a little bit. Dinner or something maybe." He shuffled some papers, attempting to look busy.
Crowley took the bait and sighed dramatically. He walked towards the desk and flung himself belly down across the angel's lap. His long legs hung off one side and his head dangled off the other, allowing Aziraphale the opportunity to gaze at his bottom.
"Be done now," Crowley whined, "You've been at this all day."
"It's very important that I put things right. I'm going mad looking at the state of this place," Despite the growing desire to touch him in any way, Aziraphale continued to play his part. He repositioned his glasses, grabbed whatever collection of papers was closet, and pretended with all his might to examine them as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. It was difficult, though. He was tired and sick of the whole business of cleaning. As soon as Crowley had shown up, looking beautiful as ever, all sensible or tidying thoughts left Aziraphale's mind, replaced with thoughts of unbuckling garters and running fingers through that hair. Still, he played his part. It was always fun when Crowley fought for it.
Aziraphale could barely read the paper right in front of him as he calmly said, "I have to get this done."
Crowley was silent for a second, and it seemed as though perhaps he was giving up (which would have been out of character for him). However, in a move that was entirely in character, the demon pulled himself back up, straddled the angel, grabbed the offensive papers, and tossed them across the room. Before Aziraphale could protest the mess, Crowley put his lips up against the angel's ear and purred, "The only thing you have to do is me."
He grabbed Aziraphale's face and began to kiss him. There was no more playing now. Even if Aziraphale had wanted to feign reluctance, all of that restraint was gone.
Despite the fact that this was far from the first time the two had explored each other physically, the angel still found some aspects of the dance confusing: namely what to do with his hands. One of Crowley's was gripping Aziraphale's hair and the other was running up and down his chest, meticulously ending on his bowtie and pulling it free. Sensing his lover's confusion, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's hands and placed them both on his stocking-clad thighs. This would work; as the demon worked to get the shirt open, the angel was pulling at the clasps on the garter belt.
Several buttons undone, Crowley pressed his face into Aziraphale's neck and began to playfully bite. The biting turned to sucking.
"No more love bites!" the angel protested, "You make me all black and blue!"
"You like it," Crowley went on biting and sucking and Aziraphale didn't protest much more after that.
With his mouth (and teeth) on the angel's neck, Crowley's hands went to work on his lover's belt. Once it was unclasped, the hands found their way inside the pants and any prudent thoughts (if there were any left) were gone from Aziraphale's head.
With one swift movement and strength that surprised the demon, Aziraphlae grabbed Crowley under the bottom and lifted him into the air before setting him back down again on the desk. Pushing the skirt up, he finally managed to get Crowley's garter belt and black silky underwear off. Aziraphale was pulling off the nylons when Crowley barked, "Wait! Keep the shoes on! I like the shoes!"
Aziraphale knelt down, picked up the platform slingbacks, and like something out of Cinderella, gingerly placed both shoes back on Crowley's feet. As he rose again, he gave soft kisses along the demon's legs before finally finding his way back to Crowley's mouth, kissing him deeply and running his hand up the length of Crowley's bare thigh.
The demon would have been perfectly happy to let things continue in this direction, but the same thought Aziraphale had before suddenly came to him: this was too easy.
In one more defiant move, Crowley pushed Aziraphale away from him, slid off the desk, turned around, and threw his hands across the work surface, sending the remaining books, documents, pens, mugs, and all the rest everywhere. The movement was so violent that the antique clock that perched on top of the desk's shelving tipped over and fell to the floor, smashing the face and breaking into several pieces.
Both angel and demon were very still in the wake of the destruction.
"You are quite literally the worst," Aziraphale finally said.
Crowley looked over his shoulder and grinned, "Aren't I just?" He craned his neck to kiss Aziraphale, bent over the desk, and there was very little talking after that.
:::
For a few moments following the respective climaxes, the two were simply frozen in place; Crowley still bent over the desk and Aziraphale pressed up against his backside. They held that position, scared to move should the fantastic feelings coursing through their bodies dissipate too quickly. Crowley snapped his finger and any mess between them was gone. With that, Aziraphale collapsed into his chair and pulled his trousers back up. Crowley adjusted his skirt and then once again draped across the angel's lap with his arms wrapped around his neck. They simply breathed in each other's scent for a long while, spent and satisfied.
Crowley ran his fingers across Aziraphale's face and couldn't help but laugh upon seeing the smudged lipstick spread over his cheeks and lips.
"Oh, Angel," he cooed, "Red is not your color," he attempted in vain to rub the lipstick off but gave up, rather enjoying the sight of the angel marked as his own. He held Aziraphale's face, taking in the beauty of this creature.
"I needed that," the angel sighed, his mind now feeling warm and silky.
"Yes, you did."
A moment passed and then Crowley spoke again, "You never said…" he trailed off playfully, waiting for the angel to ask.
Aziraphle obliged, "Never said what?"
"You never said that I looked pretty. Don't I look pretty?"
Now it was Aziraphale's turn to laugh as he looked over the exquisite being sitting on his lap.
"You are so very pretty," he put a hand confidently on Crowley's thigh and ran the other through his hair, "I love every look you've ever had. Every single one."
Raising an eyebrow, Crowley asked, "Even Bildad the Shuite?"
"Oh, yes," Aziraphale smirked, "Especially Bildad the Shuite."
The demon nuzzled his face into the angel's neck again, "Alright. I'll remember that for next time."