Aziraphale and Crowley were walking side by side, their arms brushing together every now and then as they navigated the tightly packed crowd of the Pride parade.
Around them, the hum of music, cheers and chatter filled the air. Crowley didn't pay much attention to the chaos as he was too busy pretending not to notice how Aziraphale's arm kept bumping into his. Aziraphale, on the other hand, despite being the one who preferred calmer activities, seemed utterly charmed by his surroundings, his face glowing with silent delight. It was an expression that made Crowley's heart flutter.
After all, Aziraphale had been the one who convinced Crowley to come to Pride. They knew they weren't exactly a gay couple, though they looked like one, and they were certainly treated like one. It wasn't for the celebration they were here, but for what it entailed—to be allowed to be themselves, to be free of the restraints of societal norms, and to be able to love who you loved.
If the humans could publicly declare love in all its messy, wonderful forms, maybe he and Aziraphale could too. Someday.
Suddenly, Aziraphale stopped, taking Crowley out of his thoughts.
The crowd swirled around them, forcing Crowley to stop as well. He opened his mouth to complain, but the words caught in his throat as Aziraphale's hand, caught mid-gesture, swung downward and bumped against something firm.
Somethingveryfirm.
Crowley froze, his face flushing with a mix of shock and embarrassment. It wasn't like he had been thinking about anything inappropriate, his body had simply decided to betray him, as it occasionally did. The simple occasional brushes with Aziraphale had triggered something completely uninvited, and now he had to deal with it like he was a damn teenager.
At least the darkness of the evening and the blackness of his jeans helped to conceal his little problem, despite how tight they were and how the fabric seemed to tease him with every step he took.
Aziraphale, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to what had happened, his gaze and mind somewhere else entirely.
"Look at those hats," Aziraphale exclaimed, pointing to the right, where a man was selling beanies in every imaginable colour of the LGBTQ flags.
"They're calledbeanies, angel," Crowley explained. "You want one?"
"Yes, please."
Please, Aziraphale had said. That meant that Crowley was going to be the one who footed the bill. Fair enough, Aziraphale always did insist on treating him at restaurants.
They approached the vendor, weaving through the cheerful crowd. Aziraphale selected a rainbow striped beanie with enthusiasm, while Crowley handed over the cash with a dramatic sigh.
Once the transaction was complete, they retreated to a nearby bench, taking a break from the chaos of being in the crowd. The slight humiliation of Crowley's unintended reaction lingered, though he had now regained his composure.
"What are you carrying?" Aziraphale said suddenly, his voice curious.
"Sorry?" Crowley blinked, caught off guard.
"In your pockets," Aziraphale clarified.
"Nothing," Crowley replied, frowning at the odd question.
"I felt something hard."
Oh.
Oh.
So hedidnotice.
Crowley stiffened, heat rushing to his face.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You are hiding something," Aziraphale insisted, his expression turning suspicious.
"I'm not hiding anything! You are welcome to check," Crowley said, raising his arms in mock surrender, as though he were being frisked by the police.
Aziraphale, taking the challenge quite literally, leaned forward and began patting down the side of Crowley's pockets. He found nothing, but then his hand drifted a little forward and…Oh.
Aziraphale furrowed his brow, his fingers brushing against the mysterious object before giving it a gentle squeeze.
Crowley bit back a gasp.
"What is this?" Aziraphale asked, his brow creasing further as he gave it another experimental squeeze, this time a little firmer.
"Angel," Crowley hissed, his voice strangled, "that's my penis."
Aziraphale froze, his hand retracting as though he'd touched a branding iron. His face turned pink, looking away.
"Oh, my… I—I am terribly sorry, dear," he stammered, clasping his hands in his lap as if to keep them in check.
He kept silent for a few moments, and Crowley just stared at him.
"Did you think I was carrying a bloodygun?" Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused despite his initial embarrassment.
"Well, I didn't know what it was!" Aziraphale replied in a scandalised whisper. "I wasn't thinking anything in particular," he muttered, avoiding his gaze.
"So your first instinct was tograbit? Bold move, angel," he smirked.
"I wasn'tgrabbingit, I was… investigating."
"Investigating?Really?" Crowley arched an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider.
"I just—well, it was very… prominent and… firm," Aziraphale admitted, flustered.
"Prominent?" Crowley repeated, his smirk downright devilish now.
"It wasn't a compliment!" Aziraphale insisted.
"Of course not," Crowley drawled, his smugness fully restored.
Then, as if he couldn't help himself, Aziraphale's eyes flickered back to the front of Crowley's jeans.
"But, um… if that's the case…" he moved a hand discreetly to Crowley's lap once more, the touch bolder than before.
Crowley's breath hitched. "Angel, what are you doing?"
Aziraphale smiled innocently. "Helping."
"What? Angel, I don't need—this isn't—"
"Oh, but you do," Aziraphale cut in, his fingers still pressing against the undeniable evidence in Crowley's jeans. "You don't fool me, dear,"
"Seriously? Just after making a complete fool of yourself?" Crowley said with sarcasm, but it didn't sound as convincing as he would've wanted it.
"And what if Iwasdoing it on purpose?" Aziraphale teased.
"Wh—?"
"What if Iwantit?"
Crowley's eyes widened. The damn thing had just happened, a random, inconvenient response to the crowd, to the heat, to whatever chaos was happening around them. It wasn't his fault, but Aziraphale's touch had him questioning everything, too aroused now to think of anything else.
"Angel, we're in public," he managed.
Aziraphale smiled, giving him another squeeze through his clothes, his touch firm and deliberate.
"So? You're already hard. Just admit it" he whispered, his breath brushing on Crowley's ear. "You're not fooling anyone."
"That's not the point!" he hissed.
"Isn't it?" Aziraphale said calmly.
Crowley kept silent, unable to say anything as the pleasure began to consume him.
Aziraphale's touch was slow as he began squeezing and rubbing his shaft discreetly through the denim with varying strength and speed. On a good day, his jeans were tight, but right now the pressure was maddening, and the weight of Aziraphale's hand on his crotch only served to make it worse.
Occasionally, Aziraphale would ease off completely, his hand drifting innocently to rest on Crowley's thigh. Each break of contact sent a jolt of need straight to Crowley's core, the tension pulling him closer to the edge.
"You're so hard, my dear. You've been like this for a while, haven't you? Poor thing," Aziraphale whispered, rubbing the swollen head under the clothing.
"Fuck, I'm close," Crowley muttered, struggling to keep it discrete.
Aziraphale removed his hand completely from him.
Crowley blinked in confusion.
"I think you're right," Aziraphale said, his tone perfectly casual. "It would be very inappropriate for you to cream your pants in public."
Crowley froze, his brain short-circuiting.
Cream my pants?
Did Aziraphale actually say that?
"Fucking hell, Aziraphale" Crowley groaned softly, frustration lacing his words. His own orgasm slipped away like water through his fingers. "You can't be serious now."
"I am," Aziraphale said, standing up with that damn look of innocence on his face. He patted Crowley's thigh, motioning for him to follow. "Come on, let's go."
"Really?" Crowley's voice dripped with disbelief. "So this is what you're playing now?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Aziraphale replied, his voice a perfect mimic of innocence, which only made Crowley even more annoyed.
Crowley stood up, understanding where this was going.
"No. Okay. Fine. I understand. Yes. Right."
He was painfully hard, his body aching for release, but Aziraphale wouldn't let him have it. Not here. Not now.
The plan, if there was one, seemed designed to keep him sexually frustrated until the march was over. That was, of course, if he was being hopeful. If not, it would mean Aziraphale wasn't going to give him any sort of release, so he'd have to take matters into his own hands, though it seemed like there would be no privacy anytime soon.
"You were the one who started this," Crowley muttered, more to himself than to Aziraphale, though the frustration was clear in his tone.
It was unfair, to just be teased and then be left hanging. What was the point of heating the food if you weren't going to eat it?
"No, I was not," Aziraphale replied simply.
"Yes, you were!" Crowley shot back, slightly offended. "I may have had a boner, but it was purely accidental! I hadn't even noticed until you touched it!"
"You want me to believe that?" Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.
"Yes!" Crowley insisted. He ripped off his sunglasses and looked at Aziraphale straight in the eye. "I wasn'taskingfor it, it just… happened."
It was then that Aziraphale knew he was telling the truth. Crowley's eyes revealed no teasing, no games. Crowley wasn't pretending. And suddenly, a wave of guilt hit Aziraphale.
He had misinterpreted Crowley's body language, mistaking it for something else entirely. He felt ashamed for having assumed…
"I—I'm so sorry, dear," Aziraphale stammered, his cheeks red with embarrassment. "I suppose that was very… inappropriate of me. I thought… that was what you wanted."
"Well…" he leaned in a little closer, his voice low. "I didn't before, but I do now."
Aziraphale regained his confidence as he felt the unmistakable press of Crowley's desire against his thigh. His own body responded, but he kept his composure, his smile curling at the edges.
"In that case, I'm afraid you'll have to wait until we get home," Aziraphale said, his tone almost sweet.
Crowley swallowed.
"Will you… reward me… if I wait?" his voice dropped lower, full with need.
"Maybe I will…" Aziraphale trailed off. "Maybe I won't. We'll see."
The words hung in the air like a challenge. Crowley's mind raced, but his body was still tied to Aziraphale's touch, or rather, the lack of it.
They continued walking side by side. Aziraphale's hand would sometimes brush against his own or his arm, but never quite touching him again.
They paused every now and then, stopping to browse at the vendors or simply to escape the press of the crowd. But Crowley's thoughts were somewhere else entirely. His mind filled with images of Aziraphale's perfectly manicured hands on him. Those perfect hands gripping, caressing, teasing, bringing him the relief he very much craved… But for now, he had to wait. He had to be good.
Just for now.