* * * * * * * * * * *

Crowley stared across the rim of his wineglass, currently filled with a quite acceptable 1978 Chateau Lafitte Bordeaux, at the angel seated across from him. Aziraphale was staring into his wineglass as well, apparently lost in thought. Their conversation had hit a comfortable lull, and both men were well-buzzed enough to let the silence stretch for a while.

They were sat in the back room of the angel's book shop. Aziraphale often complained that this shop wasn't nearly as good as it used to be, though Crowley, never a big bibliophile, couldn't tell the difference. Same musty books, same towering bookshelves, same dusty back room with two armchairs around a rickety table and a dilapidated couch along the wall. They had wine, and each other's companionship, and that was all he cared about. They'd spent a pleasant afternoon lunching at Brown's, and had wandered, as was their wont, back to Aziraphale's shop to drink more. Things were quiet since Armageddon had been averted, and both the angel and the demon were content to take advantage of that calm. They went on with their business as usual, generally canceling each other out, and that suited them just fine.

Crowley studied Aziraphale. The angel, of course, didn't age; they both looked just the same as when they had both assumed human form so many thousands of years ago. Aziraphale's clothing hadn't really changed much, either; though Crowley's attire tended to change with the times, always on the cutting edge of cool of course, the angel seemed to be perpetually attired in light colored suits that seemed to have been tailored in some past century. Crowley frowned; try as he might, he couldn't remember Aziraphale wearing anything else.

"What?" demanded the angel, who, unbeknownst to Crowley, had been watching the demon watch him. "Do I have wine down my front or something?"

"Huh?" replied the demon intelligently.

"You've been staring at me for some time," Aziraphale answered. He looked down at his immaculate white suit, searching in vain for a stain. "What's wrong?"

"I have?" Crowley said. "I guess I was wondering if you have any other clothes."

"Other clothes? Whatever do you mean?" Aziraphale asked. "I have loads of suits."

"S'my point," Crowley answered, after draining his wineglass and refilling it. "They're all the same."

"They certainly are not!" the angel replied indignantly, or as indignantly as possible when he was half pissed. He would have stood indignantly as well, but didn't trust his legs at this point. "They're all different."

"What, different shades of white?" snorted the demon, sliding further down in his chair. He thought he was being rather witty, but Aziraphale didn't seem to appreciate his humor.

"I'll have you know my suits are the height of fashion," huffed Aziraphale.

"Of what century?" replied Crowley, sniggering.

"Just because I don't choose to slouch about in disreputable, trendy clothes doesn't mean I can't be innovative in my attire," sniffed the angel.

"Disreputable?" snickered the demon. He struggled to his feet, against the best advice of his legs, and looked down at himself. Black Armani suit, black silk shirt, black leather boots. All excruciatingly expensive. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" he demanded.

"Nothing at all," Aziraphale answered, then added triumphantly, "If you're a demon."

"I'm wounded," Crowley murmured without much conviction. He continued to stand, wavering, as his mind wrapped itself around the kernel of a revolutionary idea, trying to make it grow to coherency.

"Do sit down," Aziraphale said, watching the swaying demon with trepidation. "You're about to fall over."

"No, m'not," protested Crowley, secretly annoyed that no matter how drunk the angel got, he never slurred. Aziraphale really did have a quite nice voice. "I've got an idea."

"It must be awfully lonely in there," Aziraphale snickered.

"Huh?" the demon said, so distracted that he didn't even realize he'd been insulted.

"The thought. In your head. Which is empty. Therefore it's lonely," Aziraphale explained patiently. "Oh forget it," he snapped when realization failed to dawn on Crowley's face.

Crowley ignored him. "A makeover!"

"I beg your pardon?" Aziraphale said, confused.

"I read about them, in those women's magazines," Crowley replied. When Aziraphale gave him a strange look, he added hastily, "It's all there is to read in Beelzebub's waiting room. He thinks it quite witty."

The angel frowned up at Crowley. "So what was your point again?"

The demon thought hard for a long moment. "Bugger. I lost it." Then he brightened. "Yes! That was it! Makeovers!" He gave up on the idea of being upright, slouching back into the chair as he went on. "They take some pathetic slob and show them how to dress themselves. Sort of thing."

The angel tried to decide whether or not to be insulted, but settled for saying, "And you think I need one of these," he continued with distaste, "Makeovers? Sounds dreadfully American."

"Not need, exactly," Crowley said slowly, reaching too late for diplomacy, "but it might be fun."

"Fun?" winced Aziraphale.

"Well, maybe fun isn't exactly the right word," admitted Crowley. "Um, not boring? Interesting?"

"Am I boring you, then?" asked the angel.

"No, not at all..." began Crowley, but Aziraphale interrupted.

"Because I can see you getting tired of me, it has after all been over six thousand years of thwarting each other, that could bore anyone I suppose," the angel went on, "And a sophisticated demon such as yourself must miss the company of other demons after a while..."

Aziraphale finally paused long enough for Crowley to get a word in edgewise. "Not at all, actually," he said, honestly. "Bloody boring lot, demons. Take themselves much too seriously."

"Don't I know it. Angels I mean. Same way," replied Aziraphale.

They shared a moment of silent contemplation, both happy in their current situations, before realizing they were gazing at each other. They both sat back abruptly, and Crowley shook his head to clear the sentimental thoughts. He must be getting old. "So how about it?"

Aziraphale looked blankly back at the demon for a long moment. "How about what?"

"The makeover," repeated Crowley patiently. "It's not as if we have anything better to do at the moment."

"Right now? Here?" Aziraphale said incredulously, looking around them.

"Why not?" the demon said reasonably. "No time like the present, no place like home and all that."

"Why is it that you manage to make even the most ludicrous things seem palatable?" grumbled the angel, but Crowley could read his old friend like a, well, book, and he knew the angel had all but given in. He beamed appreciatively.

"It's my job, and I'm damn good at it," he said proudly. "I'm a demon. I tempt."

"Damn being the operative word," replied Aziraphale.

"Oh, come on, we're not breaking any rules, divine or otherwise, and you know it," the demon concluded. "No rules against makeovers I know of."

The angel sighed. "Oh well, why not. But if you breathe a word of this to anyone..."

"Like they'd believe me?" laughed Crowley. He was already thinking of the perfect ensemble to outfit the angel in. Strangely, it looked a lot like his own.

"So what are you going to do to me, then?" Aziraphale asked, and Crowley bit back an inappropriate response. He'd been around humans too long. This was an angel he was dealing with.

"Hmm..." the demon mused, to cover the fact that he had lost his train of thought. Aziraphale really was adorable. Did he just think that about the angel? He was drunker than he thought. He willed some of the alcohol out of his system, not all but enough so he could think straight. He snickered at his own pun, then realized that though he was nearly sober he was still thinking that way about Aziraphale. He forced himself to think of the angel's clothes, not what was in them. "A change of color, maybe?" He snapped his fingers and suddenly Aziraphale was wearing black leather trousers and a gray silk shirt that incidentally brought out the angel's eyes. The effect was impressive, and the demon just stared for a long moment.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," winced Aziraphale, looking annoyed as he stood up.

"What?" Crowley asked, mystified. "Don't you like the clothes?"

"It's not the clothes," the angel began, "It's the way you did it. I prefer to change clothes the old fashioned way."

"You do everything the old-fashioned way," replied Crowley, unable to resist.

"No, I mean," the angel trailed off, looking uncomfortable. "it's just..." he looked at the demon, as if willing him to understand. When Crowley just stared back uncomprehendingly, he went on, "I feel violated."

"Violated?" said the demon incredulously. "I don't understand."

"It's so, intimate," the angel tried faintly. "You know. Changing someone's clothes. Undergarments and everything." He finished weakly.

"Underwear? I didn't change that, did I?" Crowley tried hard not to picture the angel in his underwear, and therefore immediately got a very clear, mental image.

"Um. Yes. You did," the angel replied uncomfortable. "I can tell."

"Oh," said Crowley, all sorts of inappropriate images running through his mind. "How?"

Aziraphale gave the demon a look that said, don't ask.

Crowley brightened. "It must have been because of the pants. Because, you know, the, um, ones you were wearing would have, well, shown. Sort of thing." He realized he was very close to blushing.

Now the angel gave him a withering look and said, "I cannot believe I am discussing my undergarments with you."

Crowley felt the urge to giggle but repressed it. "Nor can I." He looked at Aziraphale a moment longer and said, "You look good though." He conjured a mirror in front of the angel.

"Do I?" Aziraphale said wonderingly, inspecting himself critically in the mirror. "I feel ridiculous." He made the mirror disappear.

"You don't look ridiculous," assured Crowley, perhaps a bit too earnestly as he struggled to his feet. The leather trousers hugged Aziraphale's hips nicely, and the shirt looked ever so soft. He gazed a moment longer, and had another thought that even he knew should go unsaid. But, being Crowley, he tempted even himself, and had to ask. "Why do you even wear underwear?"

"I beg your pardon," Aziraphale said, clearly affronted and amazed the demon had even asked such a thing.

"Well," Crowley began carefully, not sure how to put it delicately, "Angels and demons like us are," he paused again, then plunged in, "sexless. Unless we make an effort." He took a deep breath. "Why do you need underwear?"

The angel's immediate blush told Crowley there was something interesting here. But he didn't look inclined to speak.

"Well?" the demon demanded.

"Um. Well. The thing is," Aziraphale dithered, "I. Sort of. Like to," and the rest of what the angel said was too quiet and garbled for even Crowley to understand.

"Sorry?" the demon said. "I didn't catch that."

Aziraphale blushed even more. He looked miserable. "It's not important."

"Oh, come on, Aziraphale. You can tell me, go on," urged Crowley. "It can't be that bad. You're an angel."

The angel was now bright red. "Well. You won't tell anyone, right?"

Crowley leaned closer, fully intrigued now. "Of course not! Who would I tell? Hastur?"

Now Aziraphale paled. "No! Please don't!"

"I was kidding," soothed the demon. "I won't tell."

"I, um. Like to. Make an effort," Aziraphale said softly. "Sometimes."

Crowley's mouth hung open. He couldn't have been more surprised. He would never have dreamed. Well, he would have if he ever dreamed, but that was beside the point. He had to be sure he was understanding this correctly. "You mean you..." he couldn't say it. Not to Aziraphale. But he had to. "Do you have sex with humans?"

"No!" Aziraphale blurted immediately, mortified. "I just like to, you, know, um, have the equipment sometimes." The angel hung his head, and continued. "I tried it once, thinking it would help me understand humans a bit more..." then he mumbled something, too low to hear.

"What did you say?" asked the demon, suddenly very anxious to hear every word.

The angel sighed. He didn't look up as he said, still very softly, "I like to make an effort around you, sometimes."

Crowley was wrong. He could be more surprised. "You mean you..." he was becoming repetitious, but he couldn't help it.

Aziraphale nodded, once, still not meeting Crowley's eyes.

He had to ask. "Are you... now?" the demon felt this one was worthy of taking off his sunglasses, and set them carefully on the table next to the wine bottles.

"Yes," came the carefully whispered reply, and Crowley couldn't help it. All his will, his strength, his power, and he could no more keep his eyes from traveling down to stare at Aziraphale's crotch than he could become mortal. He looked, as if he could see through the leather trousers, and tried to make out...

"Crowley!" the angel's voice cut into his reverie, and he jerked his eyes up guiltily. "You're looking!"

"How could I not, after what you just told me?" demanded the demon. "You're walking around, with me, with..." he found he still couldn't vocalize what he wanted to. It was so far from anything they'd ever talked about before. He realized he was blushing too.

"Don't tell me you've never... made an effort..." Aziraphale was annoyed now, and took refuge in that.

"Not for a long time," admitted Crowley. "And I didn't think you..."

"I what?" demanded the angel.

Crowley didn't answer, just stared at Aziraphale for a long moment, admiring the angelic beauty of him. And suddenly, he wanted to make an effort too. For Aziraphale. He did.

+

Now, of course, he couldn't think of anything else. That was the problem with making an effort. Having sex organs necessitated having the accompanying hormones. His eyes raked hungrily over the angel in his black leather trousers, and his own trousers were suddenly getting quite tight. He finally answered the question, in a lowered, sultry voice. "I didn't know you cared, Aziraphale."

"Of course I care about you, Crowley, after all we've known each other for six thousand years," the angel answered, deliberately missing the point.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," growled the demon, taking a step closer to the angel. He looked down at Aziraphale's crotch again and this time he was certain he could see a bulge. He brought his eyes back up to the angel's face and realized Aziraphale was looking to the side, his face red, acutely embarrassed. He thought Crowley was disgusted with his weakness. He had to reassure him that the situation was quite the opposite. That he found his friend very attractive, and if there was anyone in the universe he wanted to make an effort for, it was him. "Aziraphale."

He waited until the angel met his eyes, and he took one more step closer. "Look at me." He swept his hands out, indicating his whole body, and almost reverently the angel let his eyes wander over Crowley. The demon shivered as the angel looked at him, and he wondered how he could have ever missed it before. He watched Aziraphale's face carefully as the angel's eyes reached his own crotch, and saw as they widened with realization. Those eyes shot up to meet his own, questioningly. He smirked and nodded in answer to the unspoken question. The angel's mouth fell open, and Crowley got harder with the sudden urge to make use of that gorgeous mouth.

"Crowley," the angel began, then stopped, unsure. "You're not mocking me, are you?"

"No," the demon answered, his voice rough with desire, as he stepped closer yet, stopping just inches from Aziraphale. "I'm very serious." He took the angel's hand, almost moaning at the contact, and pressed it against his arousal. "Feel how serious."

Aziraphale closed his eyes and licked his lips, and Crowley's eyes were fixed on that mouth once again. "Crowley," he whispered, almost moaning the name, his own voice even deeper than usual.

"Open your eyes, angel," Crowley whispered. "Look at me." He didn't let go of Aziraphale's hand, kept it pressed against his hardness so there would be no doubt of his veracity. He waited until the angel's eyes had met his once again, and he said, "I want you."

He could hear Aziraphale's breath hitch as he rocked his hips against the angel's hand. His voice, when it came, was shaky. "I've never..."

"But you want to?" Crowley had to have confirmation, had to be sure. The angel nodded. "Say it, please, Aziraphale. I want to hear it."

"I... I want you. I want to touch you, want you to touch me," admitted the angel.

Now the demon did moan, and he brought Aziraphale's hand up to his lips gently, and kissed it softly, licking up the length of one finger before saying, "I can show you everything, angel. If you'll let me."

Aziraphale shivered as he watched the demon suck on his fingers, and he said shakily, "Please." With that one word they gave in.

Crowley let go of Aziraphale's hand and closed the distance between them. He pressed his mouth gently to the angel's, kissing softly at first, pressing his body against Aziraphale's. Slowly, he slid his arms around the angel's back, his hands sliding easily against the silk, caressing the skin beneath. He could feel the angel moan against his mouth, and he opened his lips, letting his tongue play upon Aziraphale's lips, teasing for entrance, as he let his hands splay and move slowly down the angel's back, just feeling.

Aziraphale opened his mouth, and Crowley slid his tongue in gently, exploring. The angel tasted like heaven; everything he had imagined. He tried to go slow, to not scare the angel, but it felt so good, so right, so perfect to hold Aziraphale in his arms; he lost a bit more control every second he touched him. He dropped his hands to Aziraphale's lower back, pulling him closer, pressing their hips together at long last. They moaned together as their arousals came into sweet contact, hardness against hardness, perfect. Crowley could no more resist rocking his hips against the angel's erection than he could resist sliding his hands even lower, cupping Aziraphale's ass gently, pulling them into even closer contact.

The angel finally broke the kiss, gasping for unnecessary breath as friction built up between them. But somehow, breathing and imitating human functions seemed appropriate right now, as they were about to indulge in the most human of activities. Angels and demons didn't have sex, but they could in human bodies. It was tacitly forbidden to engage in sex with humans; but there was no such stricture for contact between angels and between demons. It was rare, especially for angels and demons to mix; but not expressly forbidden. Both Aziraphale and Crowley knew this well.

"Crowley," panted Aziraphale, pulling back enough to look into the demon's eyes. But he didn't pull his hips away.

"My angel," breathed Crowley, and suddenly he knew how true those words were. "This is perfect," he murmured, before giving into temptation and bending his head for another taste of those lips. The angel responded, more aggressively, and suddenly it was Aziraphale who was exploring, his hands running through the demon's hair and down his chest.

Crowley broke the kiss this time, almost going mad already from the angel's soft hands on him. He threw back his head and moaned as Aziraphale unbuttoned a few buttons and dipped one hand into Crowley's shirt. Soft, fleeting touches, teases of things to come; his eyes rolled back in his head as tentative fingers brushed a nipple. "Yessssss," he hissed, forgetting himself.

But if the demon's voice put the angel off at all, it didn't show; suddenly his shirt was hanging completely open and those hands were running down his sculpted chest, his flat stomach. "You like that?" Aziraphale asked unnecessarily, toying with a nipple gently. Even with his eyes closed, Crowley could hear the smile in the other's voice, and he had to open his eyes to see his beautiful angel.

Aziraphale was smiling in an entirely unangelic manner as he ran his hands over Crowley. The demon didn't bother to answer; he just waved his hand and the angel's shirt just disappeared. "Showoff," the angel murmured. The word turned into a moan as the demon returned the favor, tracing the angel's muscles as he admired the alabaster skin. Aziraphale truly looked like a work of art, and Crowley was sure the angel he held in his arms had inspired many a work of fine art in the past.

"You haven't seen anything yet," promised the demon, and suddenly the furniture was pushed aside, and a large bed occupied most of the room. Crowley pushed Aziraphale gently back with his body, guiding the angel toward the bed, until the back of Aziraphale's legs hit the edge.

The angel smiled at him just before gracefully falling back on the bed. Aziraphale scooted back, then lay back, arms over his head, and looked up at Crowley. "Now you have me where you want me, demon. Whatever will you do with me?"

The demon took a long moment just to look at the angel. Naked from the waist up, chest hairless and perfect, black leather trousers clearly showing a large erection, legs spread slightly, hair pillowed around him, piercing eyes gazing up at him; his need magnified a thousandfold as he contemplated the perfection that was Aziraphale. "I'm going to ravish you, angel," Crowley breathed.

"I certainly hope so," said Aziraphale, licking his lips as Crowley's eyes traveled over him.

It was time to stop talking, and stop thinking. The angel wanted him, the angel lay on the bed, the angel awaited him. Crowley put one knee on the bed, then the other, and then fell forward onto his hands and knees. Somehow, he still looked snakelike as he moved ever so slowly forward toward Aziraphale.

The anticipation grew as the demon made his way up the bed, in between the angel's legs. Crowley paused when his head was level with Aziraphale's chest, and he dipped his head down to lick at one nipple and then the other. At the first touch, the angel arched up against him, straining toward Crowley, eager for more.

The demon went slowly, licking and kissing a trail between the two nipples then back up to the angel's neck. Aziraphale wordlessly urged him on, moaning softly in a way that made it hard for Crowley to go slowly. In his heart, he always knew the angel would sound like this; he found he couldn't wait to hear and see Aziraphale at the height of passion. He knew already that he would never be able to get enough.

He had to taste that mouth again; he moved higher and supported himself on his hands as he crushed his mouth to Aziraphale's. The angel learned fast; he opened his mouth immediately to Crowley's tongue. As he kissed Aziraphale, Crowley let one hand stray lower, to toy with the angel's waistband. He didn't want to move too quickly. But Aziraphale surprised him once again; the angel moaned into his mouth, arching so that their erections lined up once again, and the demon felt the buttons open under his fingers. His angel was eager.

Crowley let one finger, just one, slide into the top of the bikini briefs that had replaced whatever undergarments Aziraphale had been wearing. He could feel the heat of the angel, radiating from the hard cock he hadn't even touched yet. He pulled back from the kiss, soothing the angel's disappointment with another kiss to his neck.

He couldn't wait any more; he made his way down as slowly as he could manage, lavishing each bit of Aziraphale's flesh with kisses and gentle bites. By the time he reached the angel's navel (a singularly useless feature, but their bodies were mostly human), Aziraphale was gasping and arching again, trying to urge Crowley on. "Patience," he murmured into the soft flesh, swiping at the top of the briefs with his tongue. Aziraphale whimpered.

"I don't want to be patient," the angel pouted. "This feels too good."

"I can make you feel much, much better," promised the demon, and to prove it he dipped his fingers into the top of the briefs, brushing against the tip of the angel's arousal. He was rewarded by a quick intake of breath and the angel's hips thrusting up beneath him.

"Touch me," begged Aziraphale, in a voice that would have made any mortal his slave forever. It made the demon even harder, if that was possible, and suddenly the angel's pants were very much in the way. Crowley sent them back where they came from, and left the angel just in the very small silken briefs. Briefs that couldn't contain Aziraphale's erection; the tip of the divine arousal poked out, just begging to be licked. And Crowley was never one to resist temptation.

Crowley lowered his head and bit softly at the hard bulge through the undergarment. He was rewarded by the angel squirming and moaning softly below him. He rubbed his face against the angel's length, taking in the unique scent of Aziraphale. Finally, he made his way back up to the tempting bit of flesh that peeked out. The demon lapped at it, already tasting the angel's excitement, drowning in Aziraphale's moans.

Unsatisfied by the small taste he had, Crowley hooked a finger in the top of the briefs and pulled them down, slowly, revealing inch after inch of perfect hard cock. Aziraphale writhed as the demon exposed him, begging for his touch. Unhurrying, he held the black silk with a finger, letting the angel's length spring out, and carefully trailed his tongue up the arousal, starting at the thick base and licking all the way back to the sensitive tip. A few more drops of liquid welled out as Aziraphale let out a strangled moan. "Damn you, Crowley," whispered the angel, needing more of the maddening touch.

Once again the demon lapped at the angel's erection, swirling his tongue around the head, tracing the sensitive tip. He felt Aziraphale's hands tangle in his hair as he continued to tease him. Finally, he had mercy on the angel, and made the undergarment disappear completely, at the same moment wrapping his hand around the base of Aziraphale's arousal. The angel nearly screamed as Crowley pulled back on his cock, just enough to plunge it completely into the demon's talented mouth. The scream turned into a throaty moan as Crowley's free hand pushed at the now-naked angel's inner thigh, spreading his legs farther apart. He ran his hand up slowly as he pulled his head back, not quite releasing the hard length, before lowering his head once again, deep-throating Aziraphale effortlessly. The angel's fingers in his hair tightened, and Crowley smiled to himself. He continued to suckle the hot flesh, tracing every bit with his tongue, using all of his considerable talent to drive the angel insane with pleasure. He ignored his own aching erection, which pressed against his zipper, urgently. Aziraphale's cries of pleasure and pleading were all he needed right now.

"Crowley," panted Aziraphale, pulling at the demon's head. "I... I want to..."

"Shh, my angel, and let me show you heaven," the demon murmured. He wanted to taste Aziraphale's first release, wanted to take it within him. He spared a quick moment to admire the perfection of the angel, his angel; Aziraphale had moved his hands to grip the headboard, and his blue eyes stared down at the demon, his mouth open, chest heaving with desire. Then he returned to his task, moving his head up and down in a perfect rhythm, speeding up gradually, and he moved his free hand to trace the cleft of the angel's perfect ass, moving gently toward his entrance. Crowley could feel the angel's breath quicken, taste his impending climax on his tongue; he gently circled the small opening as he increased his speed, and it was over.

The demon's name spilled from the angel's lips as Crowley took him over the edge. Tensing, tightening, screaming, Aziraphale found his ecstasy, and Crowley milked every drop from him eagerly. Pulse after pulse, the angel's nectar flowed, and the demon lost his heart a bit more as he swallowed.

Crowley made his way quickly up the bed to hold the nearly sobbing angel in his arms. Aziraphale buried his face in the demon's neck as he caught his breath. "That was..." the angel began, then paused. "I never knew... I did, but I never understood..." Then he trailed off, body still reverberating from his climax. "Oh, Crowley..."

Crowley smiled as he held his angel close, caressing his back, smoothing his hair. Slowly, Aziraphale caught his breath, and raised his head to gaze at the demon. Crowley looked back, and suddenly the angel was smiling wickedly, and the demon's clothes had disappeared. "Much better," Aziraphale commented with satisfaction.

Crowley could only gasp as the newly aggressive angel rolled over on top of him, Aziraphale's renewed erection meeting his own as naked flesh met at last. "Aziraphale," he breathed, but then the angel was kissing him, exploring him with hands that set his pulse racing once again.

Kissing was much more electrically charged when there was nothing to separate their aroused bodies, and Crowley had never been more aware of that. His angel writhed on top of him, and seemed determined to drive him mad with desire. It was working. They rocked together, flesh sliding against hot, hard flesh, and the angel's hands felt exquisite on his skin.

Finally, the demon could take no more, and quickly rolled them back over, pinning Aziraphale firmly to the bed beneath him, one leg to either side of the angel's hips. Crowley sat back, breathing hard, his voice a near growl. "I want you, angel. Completely."

The angelic lips parted, smiled, and spoke. "I am yours." Those eyes on him as the angel lay beneath him were too much. Crowley needed to take what was his.

Leaning down, he shifted his body so that suddenly his legs were between Aziraphale's, and he moved them, spreading the angel open to him. He sat back once again, pushing the angel's legs apart, and ran his hands up the milky thighs as he savored the moment. "I want to be inside you, Aziraphale. All the way. Deep inside. I want to feel you around me. Do you want that, angel?"

He watched Aziraphale shiver beneath him, opening his legs as wide apart as they would go, offering himself literally and symbolically. "I want that more than you will ever know, Crowley," breathed the angel.

"I think I do know," replied the demon, and he leaned forward, pressing the tip of his rock hard cock against the angel's entrance. He waited, though, not entering, and searched his angelic lover's face.

Aziraphale bit his lip as the pressure made his arousal weep for more; no sweeter sound had Crowley ever heard than the words his angel spoke, finally, tight with need. "Make love to me, my demon."

So Crowley did.

No preparation, no lubrication was necessary, for though they possessed human bodies they could still manipulate them at will. So the tightness of Aziraphale's body gripped Crowley as he slid in, but the angel felt no pain, only pleasure as he joined with the demon. In and in and in he slid, and Crowley thought surely not even the ascension to heaven could feel as good as this slide into nirvana.

Finally, he was as deep inside Aziraphale as he could possibly go. Even his control of his body was sorely tested, as the reality of what he was doing was nearly his undoing. He was making love to an angel, his friend and now his lover, and it felt so right, such perfection could never be wrong. Slowly, knowing he couldn't really hurt Aziraphale, but needing to be careful all the same, he pulled back a few inches and thrust back in, watching the angel's face.

Aziraphale's face was transfixed; his mouth opened and his eyes closed, but that wouldn't do.

"Open your eyes, Aziraphale," asked the demon. "Watch me. I'm inside you."

The angel complied, eyes looking down at their joining then back up to meet Crowley's. "Love you," moaned Aziraphale as the demon started to move inside him once again. The angel gripped Crowley's biceps as he braced himself over him.

"I love you too," replied Crowley, and no truer words had the demon ever spoken than those, right now. He thrust shallowly, building up speed, wanting his angel to enjoy every second to the fullest.

Aziraphale's body gripped his, caressing his cock agonizingly, exquisitely, and though Crowley knew he could control his body perfectly, he found he didn't want to. He wanted to give in, to succumb to this most human of pleasures, and he wanted to take his angel with him.

As he stroked the angel from inside, he moved one hand to Aziraphale's erection, and pumped it in time to his thrusts. The angel cried out with the added feeling, tightening more around the cock that filled him perfectly.

No more words were possible; nor were they necessary as the two moved as one. Faster, deeper, hotter, tighter; Crowley felt the angel release as he screamed the demon's name once again. He forced his eyes open, to watch Aziraphale climax for him, only for him. The angel's body was impossibly tight around him now, and he knew he could manage only a few more thrusts into that perfection before he too followed Aziraphale into completion.

He made sure Aziraphale had had his release, fully, before he too surrendered control; once, twice more he slammed into the angel before he was overcome.

Searing, hot, icy, blinding, no words could describe what it felt like to climax inside an angel, his angel. Crowley knew then that no matter how black, how eternal, how fiery the pits of hell were, one night in his angel's arms and he could withstand anything. He pumped Aziraphale full as the pleasure went on and on; he collapsed on top of the angel, still inside, and it was his lover's turn to hold him.

They lay like that, for what might have been an eternity, reluctant to disengage, waiting for the wrath of heaven and hell to fall upon them for stealing this ecstasy.

It didn't happen; they fell asleep in each other's arms, not because they needed to, but because they wanted to. And it was good.