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Chapter Text

"I'm thinking of growing it out again," Crowley said softly, eyes half-lidded at the gentle scratch of Aziraphale's fingernails against his scalp.

Aziraphale smiled down at him, admiring the gold and copper strands glinting between his fingers, caught by the fading evening sunlight filtering in through the bookshop windows. "I've always thought you look so lovely with long hair," he replied, face suffusing with delight when Crowley blushed and squirmed a little at the compliment.

It hadn't been too long since Crowley would have responded to a statement like that with a grumble or a snarl. It was always a defence mechanism, filled with a fear that, should he ever say anything that couldn't be written off as a casual conversation at least tangential to their Arrangement, it would bring the wrath of Heaven and Hell down on their heads. It was a habit that had been ground into him over millennia, and would take a long time to truly cast off. But already, just a few years after the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't, Crowley's protests were more and more often of a good-natured sort.

So, instead of snapping off some acerbic reply designed to protect them both, the corner of Crowley's mouth curved up in a poorly suppressed smile as he asked, "Yeah? You prefer it long?"

"I like it any length," Aziraphale assured him as he continued to stroke it. "I'm sure I'd like it even if you shaved it all off." He paused a moment, considering. "Only, please don't actually shave it all off. I'm sure I'd miss it terribly."

Crowley scoffed out a small huff of laughter. "No worries on that, angel, haven't got the head-shape for it."

Aziraphale hummed and moved to scratch at a spot just behind Crowley's ear, the demon's eyes fluttering shut with a small, pleased sound. "I have no doubt you could make it work."

"'Course I could," Crowley murmured. "This is me we're talking about, here." He let out a contented sigh. "This is nice."

Another smile tugged at Aziraphale's lips. "I thought you didn't like that word."

A sleepy, serpentine eye rolled open, pupil wide and relaxed as it regarded him. "Satan's not the boss of me anymore," he sniffed. "I'm allowed to like it."

"I like it too," Aziraphale said, fingertips swirling up to where Crowley's hair parted and back down again. Crowley let out a pleased sound, eyes closing again as he settled himself more snugly against Aziraphale's thigh.

Aziraphale itched, just a little, to let his fingers drift down from Crowley's hair to stroke his face instead; to run his thumb along the razor's edge of Crowley's cheekbone, to glide along the curve of his jaw. He wondered, if he were to trace the pad of his finger over the shape of Crowley's lips, would the demon press them against it? Would he topple over the edge of platonic into something else entirely, or hesitate, unready, leaving Aziraphale to fall on his own?

He was well aware of the irony in needing to give Crowley time to adjust, but turnabout was more than fair play, in his opinion. He was perfectly content to wait. Particularly when doing so had already gifted him Crowley like this, gentle and relaxed under his touch, soaking in Aziraphale's warmth like it was a ray of summer sunshine. Such open affection was already more than he could have ever hoped for.

Before long, Crowley's breathing slowed, growing deeper, with a soft whuffle at the end of every breath. Aziraphale felt his heart swell to bursting with fondness as the sharp angles of the demon's face softened in sleep. It was already clear that Crowley was settling in for the evening, body going fully lax the way a body does when its owner intends to rest it for a good long while.

Of course, Aziraphale knew in all likelihood that, come morning, Crowley would spit and hiss as he decried his gentle actions as nothing more than the product of a long day. Aziraphale would have been lying if he'd said the thought didn't cause him a pang of sadness. But Crowley had spent so long having to look over his shoulder, always fearful that any sign of kindness from him would be grounds for punishment. At least for Aziraphale, kindness itself had been expected of him, if not directed towards the enemy. Of the two of them, Aziraphale was admittedly more resistant to change, but in this instance, he had a far smaller philosophical gap to close than Crowley did. After all, if an angel's charge was to love all of God's creations, didn't it stand to reason that he would love Crowley?

Still, he told himself as he miracled a book off one of the shelves and lit the tableside lamp with a flick of the wrist, there was nothing to be gained by rushing headlong into something if they weren't both ready for it. These things took time, after all.

And, well…

They had all the time in the world, now.

Crowley was well worth the wait.

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Crowley woke by degrees, body wrapped in warm sunshine and head pillowed on the softest of clouds. He blinked a few times, and reality revealed itself to be something more mundane – he was laid out on a couch, a thick cushion under his head and a distressingly tartan blanket draped over him. He slowly pushed away from the former and shrugged off the latter, spine arching in a languid stretch as he nudged his mental faculties into action.

There was no crick in his back – his corporation wouldn't dare subject him to the discomfort – just a mild befuddlement at his circumstances. It took him several seconds of squinting at the motes of dust dancing in the slanted beams of morning sunlight before it clicked that it was morning, that he must have passed out the night before, when…

When he'd been letting Aziraphale pat his hair like he was a bloody domesticated cat, sweet Satan, what was wrong with him? He'd been stone cold sober, too, he couldn't even blame his actions on alcohol.

He'd be lying to himself if he said that he didn't enjoy it, though. That he couldn't still feel the phantom of Aziraphale's fingers stroking that one spot behind his ear.

That he craved so much more touch and physical affection than Aziraphale had already granted him, no matter how much the thought of asking for it made him want to shrivel with mortification.

This growing intimacy between them, creeping along by inches, was slowly driving him mad. It still wasn't enough to tell, definitively, whether Aziraphale wanted anything but friendship from him. It itched, like a freshly scabbed wound, and Crowley couldn't help but pick at the festering edges, never quite having the fortitude to just tear it off and leave the bleeding truth of him on display. He would never want to risk the friendship he already had; he just didn't know whether Aziraphale's love for him had grown into a similar shape to the love he had for Aziraphale. It would be better not knowing than finding out that Aziraphale's desires didn't align with his own.

He didn't want to risk it, not when Aziraphale would undoubtedly feel guilty about it if he didn't requite Crowley's romantic interests. If there was even a chance that Aziraphale would mistakenly think that the friendship he offered Crowley was a mere consolation prize–

"Oh, you're awake!"

Crowley looked over to see the angel in question, emerging from the small kitchen he'd managed to squeeze into the shop's geometry since the failed Apocalypse. Aziraphale had gone on something of a baking tear a while back, and had conjured the kitchen for the purpose. Now, even after the spirit of culinary frenzy had subsided somewhat from creation back to appreciation, he hadn't quite been able to bear getting rid of it. At any rate, it gave him the excuse to more easily make himself a mug of real hot cocoa, instead of being lazy and miracling one up.

Aziraphale cradled such a mug close to his chest now, steam curling gently from its surface, a slightly bashful look on his face. "I hope I didn't disturb you," he said. "I wouldn't have gotten up at all, truly, it was only that I'd been reading all night and I'd gotten rather parched, and–"

"Angel. 'S fine," Crowley assured, peeling himself from the couch. "I've abused your hospitality long enough, you hardly need to excuse yourself. I would've left sooner if I'd realised how tired I was, I didn't mean to impose…"

"It's no trouble, really," Aziraphale said, with a smile that did unfair things to Crowley's heart. "You know you're welcome here whenever you'd like."

He said it like Crowley keeping him pinned to the sofa for who knew how many hours had been a privilege rather than a hardship. Like having a demon snoring and drooling on his leg whilst he tried to read had been a delight worth repeating.

Then, of course, his brain took an abrupt left turn and began fantasising about far less innocent reasons for having Aziraphale pinned to the sofa beneath him.

Nope, he told himself sternly. You're not allowed to imagine that when you're trying to hold a conversation with him in real life. Not when you don't know for sure if that's something he'd ever want from you.

He squared his shoulders, wanting to give his excuses so that he could go and lose his dignity in the privacy of his flat. Still, he couldn't leave without apologising for his behaviour first, that would just be rude.

"Listen, angel, I'm sorry about how I was acting yesterday."

Aziraphale's smile dimmed. "Whatever do you mean?"

Crowley made an expansive gesture with his hands before quickly trying to stuff his fingers into his pockets, only managing to fit a forefinger in each. "Y'know," he said lamely. "I was being–" Pathetic? Clingy? Some other sad adjective that will make you tell me that I'm still going too fast for you? "–Look, 's not important, I just– it won't happen again."

"Oh," Aziraphale said, smile fading further. Then, he seemed to make up his mind on something, shoulders set stubbornly. "That's a shame," he said, voice carefully even like he was trying to keep it from wavering. "Because I rather enjoyed it."

"Ngh," Crowley replied, while his heart either started racing so fast that each beat blended into the next, or it just stopped beating entirely – it was difficult to tell which. It wasn't like either option would kill him; he didn't need a heart, or any other internal organs at all, really. He just enjoyed the sensation of having a pulse, and having lungs made it easier to remember that humans tended to get weirded out if they noticed he wasn't breathing. "Why," he said stupidly, because his other immediate instinct was to offer to let Aziraphale to play with his hair whenever he liked, which was so mortifyingly sappy of him that he almost combusted from embarrassment just thinking about it.

Aziraphale's expression turned affectionate. "Because, Crowley, I like showing affection for the people I care about. It isn't something I'm able to exercise often."

Crowley let out another strangled non-word, then managed, "Well, s'pose if. If it's something you enjoy, I can indulge you." Bless it all. There went that plan immediately. "Not because I like it," he added hastily, which somehow made it worse.

Aziraphale gave him another fond look. "Of course not, my dear."

"Right. Glad we've got that straight," he said, miracling his sunglasses from wherever he'd discarded them the night before and putting them on. "I'll be out of your hair, then. Let you get back to your book in peace."

Disappointment settled into the creases of Aziraphale's face. "So soon?"

Crowley was immediately glad he'd already covered his eyes, swallowing. "Yeah. 'M feeling a bit tired, still, think I'll go have another kip at home, save you having to explain to customers why you've got a degenerate napping on your sofa."

"I rather think that would work in my favour," Aziraphale murmured.

A smile tugged at the corner of Crowley's mouth. "You might be right there. Still, if I'm going to be lounging about your shop all day, I should at least have the courtesy to be conscious for it. 'Sides, probably better that I sleep in a bed than on a couch."

Aziraphale sagged a little, looking down into the still-steaming depths of his cocoa. "Of course, it would be rude of me to keep you from your bed," he said, then looked up again, gaze soft. "Sleep well, Crowley."

Crowley barely stopped himself from saying you too, like an idiot, and instead offered a mangled and inelegant, "You– yeah, thanks," before turning towards the door.

He indulged himself in a look over his shoulder as he waved goodbye, and held the soft smile on Aziraphale's lips close to his chest as the shop bell chimed over his head.

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Unbeknownst to Crowley, and purely down to unfortunate timing, a letter printed on snow white cardstock posted itself through the bookshop's mail slot a mere few hours after he had left. The letter seemed to almost glow from within, a faint scent of ozone lingering in the opalescent wax seal holding it closed.

Aziraphale noticed its appearance immediately. There was no mistaking its origin.

He set down the book he'd been in the middle of reading, walking to the door on unsteady legs to pick it up, sinking down into his desk chair after like an anchor.

With trembling fingers, he picked up the letter and broke the seal, flattening the paper against his desk. The message within was short, to the point, and did not indicate that anything but prompt compliance would be considered acceptable. Aziraphale carefully folded the letter back up, stared down at it, and said, for what might have only been the second time in his long life:

"Oh, fuck."

Chapter Text

"You're an idiot," Crowley muttered at his reflection in the Bentley's rear-view mirror. "You saw the look on his face, it wasn't pity. It wasn't. He wanted you to stay, you utter pillock."

His hands gripped the steering wheel harder, but he didn't turn around.

He couldn't just go back mere minutes after leaving, not after making such a fool of himself. Even knowing, with unwavering certainty, that if he returned to the bookshop right now, Aziraphale's whole face would light up with a smile, and he would welcome Crowley back inside with open arms. Aziraphale would happily wile away the hours together with him, gracing him with all the casual touch he could possibly ask for.

The prospect rather terrified him.

He'd spent so long with Aziraphale being safely unattainable that he was somewhat at a loss, now that the angel was potentially within his reach. He still didn't quite dare let himself hope that Aziraphale felt the same way he did.

Crowley parked in his usual spot outside his flat in Mayfair, taking a few seconds to press his head against the top of the steering wheel to collect himself. He took a few steadying breaths before getting out, making his way up to his flat. It was silent and austere, as always. The only warmth to be found in it was from the ducted heating system, which always turned itself on an hour before Crowley arrived, regardless of whether he'd set a timer for it or not.

He stalked through the flat, the only sound the inquisitive rustling of his houseplants.

"Shut it," Crowley muttered half-heartedly, making a beeline for his bedroom. He'd sleep for a few days, he decided. A week, at the most. That was more than enough time for a proper, sulky nap.

Mind made up, Crowley miracled himself into a pair of black silk pyjamas, burrowed himself under the covers, and within seconds, was out like a light.

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"You've reached Anthony J. Crowley. You know what to do, do it with style."

Aziraphale bit his lip nervously. "Ah, yes, Crowley, it's me. I do hope you're there. I've had… something's come up rather suddenly, and, well, I was hoping, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, if you wouldn't mind popping back around the shop? It's rather something I think we should discuss in person. Do please hurry."

He waited for a response for several seconds before accepting that he was genuinely speaking to Crowley's ansaphone, and no one else.

"Blast!" Aziraphale said, face creased with uncertainty as he set the receiver back down in its cradle. "Blast and damn."

He began to pace back and forth. Aziraphale was rather good at pacing; it came from his capacity to experience anxiety at a level that would make any human brain simply shut down from the stress of it all.

He was going to have to answer Heaven's summons, alone.

What else could he do? Break into Crowley's flat and shake him until he woke up? Absurd. There was every chance that startling him like that might cause the demon to conjure hellfire on pure instinct to defend himself, which would end rather unpleasantly for Aziraphale.

Not that he was entirely sure that that was how such things worked, mind, but if it was, that certainly wouldn't be how he'd like to find out. Crowley would never forgive himself, for starters.

Aziraphale sighed and continued pacing, trying to decide how to best approach the matter.

Gabriel, I received your invitation. I have done you the courtesy of attending, but I would like to remind you that I am no longer in Heaven's employ, as it were.

No, that wouldn't do. Not nearly forceful enough.

Gabriel, I know that Heaven was informed in no uncertain terms that Crowley and I were both to be left alone. This is a gross invasion of our privacy, and I will not stand for it.

No, now that was too forceful. Aziraphale didn't want to be rude, he just wanted to be able to enjoy Earth and gently woo Crowley in peace.

Aziraphale got in a few more minutes of unproductive handwringing and pacing, before realising that his dithering wasn't getting him anywhere. Not to mention, showing up late certainly wasn't going to put Gabriel in a charitable mood.

He sighed. He'd just have to take a page out of Crowley's book, and be a little more spontaneous.

He picked up Gabriel's missive, carefully folded it, and put it in the pocket of his waistcoat. In the event that anyone tried to stop him, then he'd at least have proof that he was actually meant to be there. Although, from what Crowley had told him, Heaven had been rather frightened of how 'he' had sprayed hellfire at them, he supposed that it was fairly likely that they'd all be quite terrified of him still.

Whilst the general idea of being perceived of as terrifying didn't sit particularly well with him, he couldn't deny feeling just a bit of vindictive satisfaction knowing that the Archangels had had a good fright when Crowley had been impersonating him.

Aziraphale took a cab to the earthly entrance to Heaven and Hell, striding to the escalator with purpose, like there wasn't a bundle of nervous energy twisting up his insides.

This would all be fine, he told himself, folding his hands together as he stepped onto the escalator. Heaven was still under the impression that he was immune to hellfire, and that he might well have other, yet-to-be-tested, capabilities that he'd developed without their knowledge. He was a wildcard, and the fact that Gabriel wanted to meet him in Heaven, rather than on Earth, meant that Heaven still very much feared him. So long as he made this quick, and sternly reminded Gabriel of the non-interference agreement, there was no reason to think this was all about to go sideways.

He was absorbed in his thoughts enough that he very nearly stumbled as he reached the top, and felt the breath in his lungs leave him all at once. It hit him that he was physically present in Heaven, a place he'd never thought he'd be able to set foot again. A small part – and only a small part – felt a measure of peace, of oneness, of coming home. The rest of him felt incredibly out of place, and wanted nothing more than to promptly carry him right back down to Earth, where he belonged.

The sooner this is over with, the sooner you can leave, he told himself. Better to address whatever Gabriel's issue was, nip it in the bud, rather than allow it to grow into a continuing annoyance that intruded upon his life.

Heaven's halls were about as empty as they usually were, members of the Host stationed deeper within Heaven attending to administrative tasks, or otherwise out on assignment. Aziraphale couldn't help but feel relieved – he could only imagine the widespread panic that might start once word got around that he was back in Heaven.

Aziraphale made his way to the reception area, mercifully without running into anyone. The lone angel at the front desk – only a young thing, barely a few centuries old, if that – blanched visibly at the sight of Aziraphale, skin turning ashy beneath the lustrous tan of their skin. Aziraphale tried to stem his own queasiness at instilling such raw fear in someone, offering what he hoped came across as a friendly smile. "Hello," he greeted congenially. "I believe you'll find I have a meeting scheduled with Gabriel?"

"I– I–" the angel at the desk stammered, only seeming to grow more terrified. They kept staring at Aziraphale, fingers only seeming to move across the glowing screen by muscle memory alone. Their gaze darted to the screen, unwilling to take their eyes off the looming threat that Aziraphale apparently presented. Their expression turned baffled as they looked over Gabriel's shared calendar. "I... can see the meeting scheduled in here, he'll be in his office."

"Marvellous," Aziraphale said. "I presume his office hasn't changed locations since I, ah, left."

The other angel, still unhealthily pale, merely nodded.

"Thank you… oh, my goodness, I'm so terribly sorry, I didn't even ask your name."

"I'm called Bethuel," squeaked the poor angel, looking they were about to either throw up or cry (possibly both).

"Thank you, Bethuel," Aziraphale said, and decided it best he left before he tormented Bethuel any further. Besides, he had an appointment to keep.

The path to Gabriel's office was one he'd walked often. Aziraphale kept his back straight, not allowing his shoulders to fold in on themselves. He needed to project confidence if he wanted Gabriel to listen to him. He'd faced down actual Lords of Hell, he could handle a quick chat with his ex-boss.

He reached Gabriel's door and knocked.

"Come in," Gabriel's voice called out.

Aziraphale double checked that his posture was still upright before entering.

It looked just as Aziraphale remembered it, except for a new door to the right of Gabriel's desk. He frowned at it, wondering where it led to. And he wondered where Gabriel was, for that matter; he would have expected the Archangel to be seated at his desk–

Cold metal closed around one of Aziraphale's wrists. He stared down in utter stupefaction at the manacle that had been locked around his wrist, and instinctively pulled back. Gabriel was already grabbing his other arm, though, wrestling it into the other manacle before Aziraphale could properly come to terms with what was happening.

"Gabriel, what's the meaning of this?" he cried out. To his horror, when he tried to miracle himself out of the chains, they didn't budge, his access to his angelic powers apparently cut off.

He was an idiot. Of course it was a trap. Hadn't he learnt by now that Heaven could be underhanded when it suited their purposes?

"Neat, aren't they? Blocks the powers of all ethereal and occult beings, which includes whatever you are now," Gabriel explained. "Uriel cooked them up, you know she loves her sigil work."

"Why are you doing this? You've seen already, hellfire doesn't work," Aziraphale protested, trying not to stutter over the lie in his panic.

"Oh, no, don't worry, this isn't a punishment," Gabriel reassured. Aziraphale remained firmly unassured. "Here, I'll show you."
 

He made a motion for Aziraphale to approach the door he'd noticed earlier, and there wasn't much for Aziraphale to do but obey. Gabriel opened the door and ushered him through. Aziraphale went reluctantly, and blinked a little in confusion when he found himself on the pavement outside of a large 70s-style suburban house, complete with a white picket fence surrounding a tidy front lawn. Aziraphale tried to look at what were presumably other houses on either side, but his eyes slid away before he could pin down any details.

He jumped a little at the press of Gabriel's hand against his lower back, but with nowhere else to go, Aziraphale allowed himself to be steered towards the front door. Gabriel opened that for him, too, beaming expectantly at him as he urged him inside.

The click of the door lock sliding into place behind him made Aziraphale flinch as he took in his new surroundings. In contrast to the exterior, the interior of the house seemed straight out of a contemporary interior design magazine, all muted colours and geometric designs.

Aziraphale found himself turning to Gabriel for an explanation, because this still didn't make any sense. Why create a fake home attached to his office? Why bring Aziraphale there?

"I'm really sorry about the chains," Gabriel told him. "Necessary precaution, you know, I didn't think you'd understand right away."

"I don't understand," Aziraphale said desperately, barely keeping himself from flinching when Gabriel reached out to undo the manacles. As soon as he was free, Aziraphale clicked his fingers as subtly as he could, trying to miracle himself back home. He wasn't surprised when it didn't work, but it still sent a bolt of panic through him. "What do you want?"

"I want you to love me," Gabriel said, like it was the most reasonable request in the world. He miracled away the manacles and folded his hands, an expectant look on his face.

"What?" Aziraphale's voice came out high and strangled. He must have misheard. There was no possibility that the Archangel Gabriel could be suggesting–

"I said I want you to love me." Gabriel smiled benignly. "Obviously, you loving the Serpent of Eden was sanctioned by God, that's why She made you immune to hellfire. Why wouldn't I want that for myself?"

Aziraphale felt his eyes begin to well up with tears. He hadn't even plucked up the courage yet to tell Crowley how he really felt. He'd been telling himself that he'd been waiting for a sign that Crowley was ready to hear him say it, but truthfully, it was just as much because he hadn't known how. It wasn't like he could just come out and say it, not after six thousand years of denying that he even enjoyed the demon's company. Crowley deserved more from him than that. He'd been slowly constructing the perfect apology in the years since the failed Armageddon, so sure that he had all the time in the world now to do it right, to make sure he could prove himself worthy of Crowley's love.

He'd been a fool. Of course Heaven would want to capitalise on his apparent ability to make himself immune to hellfire. Why wouldn't they want such a powerful defence for the armies of Heaven? Aziraphale was suddenly sure that the only reason Hell hadn't tried the same thing with Crowley was because they didn't much care for love. Most of them had lost the capacity for it.

Crowley was a rare, beautiful outlier, and now Aziraphale might never have the chance to tell him just how wholeheartedly that love was reciprocated.

"Oh, before I forget, since you've returned to Heaven now, you really should update your outfit. Here, let me." Gabriel clicked his fingers, and Aziraphale's clothes vanished, instantly replaced with a suit of Gabriel's design.

The suit was perfectly tailored to his body – Gabriel would hardly conjure up something ill-fitting – but the snugness just made his skin crawl, the artificial nature of it rubbing against his skin in all the wrong ways. His hair felt weighted down, flattened out into a carbon copy of Gabriel's swept-back style. Aziraphale didn't need a mirror to know that he looked like a shorter, stockier version of the Archangel.

Gabriel beamed at him. "What do you think?"

Aziraphale looked down at the lilac tie fastened around his neck, the shade a perfect match to Gabriel's eyes. It felt like a noose in a way his bowties never had, and the feeling didn't dissipate when he loosened it. He tried ineffectually to swallow past the sensation, and asked, "Where have you put my clothes?"

Gabriel waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about those, you don't need them anymore."

Aziraphale looked down and made a pretence of fiddling with his tie some more, struggling to blink back tears. Just like that, decades and centuries of painstaking care, creases and lines settling in until the clothes were just as much a part of his physical presence as his corporation, gone. Destroyed.

"So? Do you like it?" Gabriel pressed, his face expectant, like he couldn't even conceive of the possibility that Aziraphale would say no.

"It's... certainly an update," Aziraphale said as diplomatically as possible. He ran a distressed hand through his hair, and it instantly reverted to its usual fluffy style. Not because his powers had returned in any shape or form, but because Gabriel's were outmatched by the riotous strength of Aziraphale's curls.

"Great, I knew you'd like it." Gabriel rubbed his hands together, grinning. "So. What do you want to do?"

"I'd like to be returned to Earth, if you don't mind," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "I don't want to be here."

"Don't be ridiculous," Gabriel said, waving a dismissive hand. "You don't mean that, you just need to get settled in. I could give you a tour of the place, if you want? I made it especially for you, you know."

"I want to go home," Aziraphale insisted plaintively.

Gabriel let out a fond sigh, an indulgent expression on his face. "Aziraphale. You are home." He spread his arms out. "This is Heaven. I know I've made it look a lot like one of those human dwellings you like so much on Earth, but we're still very much within Her halls. You know how I feel about most human things, but I'm willing to make a few compromises."

Tears pricked at Aziraphale's eyes. His voice thickened, but he refused to let it wobble. "I want to go home to Crowley."

Gabriel's expression fell. "Oh. I'm being an idiot, aren't I? Of course you don't want to stay here with me on your own."

Aziraphale allowed himself to relax just a little, giving Gabriel a cautious nod. He didn't seem angry, which was a good sign, surely, he was merely realising that keeping Aziraphale captive when he didn't want to be here wouldn't–

"I better go bring him up here, too, huh?"

No.

Nonono, that wasn't what I meant–

"You won't find him," Aziraphale said quickly. "He's– he's a wily one, he knows how to hide, you won't–"

"Oh, don't worry, finding him won't be an issue." Gabriel smiled again. "I'll leave a note at your bookshop, let him know where you are, I'm sure he'll come right up to see you. That's what love is, right?"

Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth, but nothing came out. A tear rolled down each cheek instead. Gabriel tutted, tenderly wiping them away.

"Hey, now, none of that. You'll like it here. You both will," Gabriel promised, with an earnest sincerity that was downright sinister. "I'll make sure of it. You'll see."

Then, with a click of his fingers and a crackle of lightning, he was gone.

Chapter Text

"Thank you for calling A. Z. Fell & Co, Antiquarian and Unusual Books. I am currently far too busy to take your call – if you are calling to discuss the sale of a book, please leave your contact details with the understanding that I do not take kindly to timewasters. If you are calling to discuss the purchase of a book, please go away."

"Aziraphale, answer your bloody phone, so help me–" Crowley shouted at the microphone clipped to the passenger-side sun visor of the Bentley, tearing through the streets of London at an even greater speed than he normally did.

Stupid, stupid. Why hadn't he seen this coming? Had he really been naïve enough to think that Heaven and Hell would leave them alone for long?

It served him right for sulking off and taking a four-day nap after Aziraphale had dared to do something as dastardly as treat him with affection.

There was no doubt in his mind that Aziraphale's message, with its vague reference to 'something' having come up, had everything to do with the angel's former employers. Crowley swore helplessly; Aziraphale had spent so long under Heaven's thumb, it was more than possible his old instincts to obey their instructions – and his fear of what might happen if he didn't – would have kicked in. Particularly if he'd thought doing so would protect Crowley.

He pulled up outside the bookshop in record time, which was really saying something. He charged for the door, heedless of the odd looks he was getting from passers-by. Eddies of dust swirled around his feet as he barged inside.

"Angel!" he shouted, only to be greeted with silence, confirming what he already knew – Aziraphale wasn't there.

The silence of the stacks closed in on him, leaving him feeling more and more like the shelves were about to erupt in flames around him again. Fear made jelly of his legs, steps wobbly as he moved further into the shop, looking for some kind of clue, some kind of indication of what Heaven wanted with Aziraphale.

Crowley didn't dare let himself dwell on the most obvious answer.

His eyes fell on a neatly fell on a neatly folded note lying next to the cash register. The paper was so blindingly white that Crowley had to squint, even with his sunglasses. He regarded it with suspicion for several seconds before calling out again, futilely, "Angel?"

As he'd expected, there was still no answer.

Crowley let out a shaky breath and made his way over to the counter, reaching out with hesitant fingers in case the paper carried enough residual holiness to burn him. It was warm to the touch, but pleasantly so, like summer sunshine. The wax seal had a pearlescent sheen to it, tending towards lavender, and he felt a distinct sense of foreboding as he opened it, mouth going dry as he stared down at the blocky printed letters.

He knew exactly which of those righteous bastards had sent the note.

––––––––––––––––––––

The Bentley screeched to a halt out the front of the Earthly entrance to Heaven and Hell, in what had only just started being a kerbside parking space a few seconds prior. Crowley flung himself inelegantly out of the door, barely keeping himself from breaking out into a full-on sprint, settling instead for a hybrid between an aggressive power-walk and a nervous jog.

Once inside, he gave up the pretence, running for the escalator to Heaven. The floor sucked greedily at his feet, seeking to pull him down into Hell as it usually did, and he put in a desperate burst of speed.

He couldn't go to Hell, especially not now. Aziraphale needed him.

He flung his hand out, clamping around the handrail of Heaven's escalator. He dragged himself onto the moving steps, and the floor reluctantly let him go. Trembling, he stood, still gripping tight to the handrail as he tried to calm the frantic knocking of his heart.

Every self-preservation instinct he had screamed for him to run back down the escalator as it slowly drew him closer to Heaven.

This was objectively stupid of him. There was a next to zero chance that he'd be able to bluff his way back out of Heaven after travelling Up There willingly without them just handing him off to Hell, much less of getting back out with Aziraphale.

But there was absolutely zero chance that Crowley would leave Aziraphale trapped and at Gabriel's mercy. Anything would be better than the knowledge that he'd left his best friend out to dry without making even the slightest attempt to do something about it.

He drummed his fingers nervously against the handrail. It was different, going back up to Heaven without the protective shell of Aziraphale's corporation surrounding him. He felt naked and exposed in a way that his sunglasses couldn't shield him from. He didn't know if he was clever enough for this, to deceive Heaven twice over, make them think he was immune to anything they might throw at him–

Crowley stumbled as he reached the top of the escalator.

He was officially in Heaven. No turning back now.

Taking a slow breath, Crowley tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, affecting an unbothered loping pace as he wandered further into enemy territory.

Show no fear. Act like there's no one who could possibly stop you from being here even if they wanted to. You've bluffed your way out of Heaven before, you can do it again.

He decided that if he just pretended hard enough, he might start believing himself.

That belief, already tenuous to begin with, rapidly began to fray as he found himself quickly lost in a labyrinth of identical-looking corridors. At least in Hell, there were subtle differences that could be used to differentiate the different pathways – the specific demotivational posters on the walls, the pattern of the flickering overhead lights, the particular shapes in which the mould crept across the ceiling. Here, everything was scrupulously clean and utterly indistinguishable.

Grimly, he realised that there really would be no leaving Heaven without Aziraphale, even if he wanted to. There was no way for him to know which direction he'd come from.

Crowley felt irritation spiking through his mounting panic, rapidly blooming into anger. Why couldn't there just be an information kiosk with a little glowing 'you are here!' symbol and directions on where he needed to go? Was that really too much to ask?

He rounded a corner he could have sworn he'd taken before, but this time it opened out into a huge room with floor-to-ceiling windows, and a sleek, circular reception desk, staffed by a single angel.

The angel saw him immediately – would be rather hard not to, Crowley imagined, given the contrast between his colour palette and Heaven's – and their eyes widened, immediately trying to duck out of sight underneath the desk.

"Oi! You!" Crowley shouted, pointing at the angel as they tried to hide. They let out a terrified squeak at being spotted and froze in fear. Crowley abandoned his usual swaggering saunter and instead strode over to the quivering angel, taking off his sunglasses so that there would be no mistaking the barely contained fury blazing in his serpentine eyes. "Where in this sanitised corporate nightmare of a building can I find Gabriel?"

The angel quailed in the face of his anger. "W-what are you going to do to him?" they asked tremulously, clutching the sleek, glowing clipboard in their hands like a shield.

Crowley wanted to break out in hysterical laughter. The idea that he could do anything to an Archangel was so far off the mark he might as well have been aiming for a different target. "Less than what I'll do to you if you don't answer the question," he threatened, letting a hiss wrap menacingly around the words. The angel didn't need to know that it was out of panic.

"It's– it's–" The angel lifted a shaking finger to point at a corridor on the opposite side of the room. "Two rights, then the first door on the left, you can't– you can't miss it."

Crowley gave them a tight grin, all teeth. "There, was that so hard?" he asked, then pushed away from the desk and headed off without waiting for an answer.

As soon as he was out of the angel's line of sight, he picked up the pace, nearly overshooting his destination in his nervousness. He forced himself to calm down, momentarily shifting his sunglasses up to crush the palms of his hands against his eyelids before settling everything back in place.

He barged into the office without knocking. He felt foolish for a moment, wondering whether he might be dramatically bursting into an empty room, but the Archangel Gabriel was sat at an imposing desk, reading over a massive stack of reports. He looked up at Crowley's rude entrance, a dazzling smile breaking out across his face.

"You finally made it!" he exclaimed, standing excitedly. "This is great, I was beginning to think I didn't leave the note somewhere obvious enough."

Crowley balled his hands into fists to hide their shaking, knowing full well that Gabriel could reduce him to a smear of paste should he be so inclined. "Where's Aziraphale?"

Gabriel grinned in a manner that was probably meant to be disarming, but just set Crowley further on edge. "Of course, of course, that's why I had you come up here, right? Follow me."

He turned towards a door to the right of his desk, back partially turned to Crowley. Crowley had a wild moment where he entertained the thought of summoning something to whack Gabriel over the back of the head with, and finding Aziraphale on his own, but quickly dismissed the harebrained idea. It would only end badly for him, he knew that. That was why he hadn't burst in, hellfire blazing, to begin with. Better to play along until he had Aziraphale in his sights, then find a way to extract him safely.

He followed after Gabriel, and blinked, surprised to find himself standing on the pavement outside of a home that could have served as a postcard for 1970's American suburbia, white picket fence and all. Gabriel waved him eagerly down the path to the front door.

"Great, isn't it?" Gabriel enthused, already opening the door and gesturing inside.

"Sure," Crowley answered, feeling utterly bewildered and distinctly unsettled. What kind of too-perfect Stepford nonsense was going on here? Had Gabriel gone off the deep end? Was that even possible, for an angel to lose their grip on sanity?

The inside of the home was distinctly different from the outside, sleek and modern and uncomfortably reminiscent of the style of Crowley's flat in Mayfair.

Crowley pushed the thought aside, though, because there in the stylish living room was Aziraphale, looking uncomfortable in a suit the echo of the one Gabriel was currently wearing, but otherwise unharmed.

"Angel," he murmured, relieved, and couldn't help but cross the short distance between them, wrapping Aziraphale in a tight embrace.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale whispered, tears filling his eyes. "You shouldn't have come."

"Like I was just going to leave you up here," Crowley quietly hissed back. He squared his shoulders as he pulled away, lifting his chin defiantly and raising his voice. "C'mon, angel, we're leaving."

"I think you're confused," Gabriel informed him. "You're staying here."

"The bloody Heaven we're staying here," Crowley retorted, all hissing bravado as he took hold of Aziraphale's hand and marched towards the door. Aziraphale trailed behind him reluctantly, and Crowley soon realised why when the doorknob refused to shift in his grip. He went to throw a miracle at it to blast the hinges off, but when he reached for his infernal powers, he ran headlong into a wall, completely cut off from his demonic abilities.

How had he not noticed the absence of his powers earlier? It had to be something to do with the house they were in, but he hadn't felt anything change upon crossing the threshold, not even the slightest tingle to indicate he'd been rendered about as effective as the average human.

Aziraphale's utter devastation at seeing him suddenly made a lot more sense.

He whirled back to face Gabriel, hiding his sudden, icy terror behind a furious snarl. "Let us go, right now."

"No," Gabriel replied, entirely unperturbed. "I told you already, you live here now. This is God's will." He gave the demon an understanding smile. Crowley, who had seen all manner of unspeakable things perpetrated by people claiming to act under a mandate from God, was not reassured in the slightest. "Look, I know it's a lot to take in all at once, I get that you're a little confused."

"I'm not confused," Crowley said, as evenly as he could manage. "Unlock the door and let us go, Gabriel, it doesn't need to be like this."

The smile started to drop a little. "Yes, it does. You're staying here, just accept it already."

"No," Crowley spat. "You don't tell me, or Aziraphale for that matter, what to do. That was the deal once you realised hellfire and holy water don't work on us. Now let usss out." He glared with all the venom he could muster and went to rattle the doorknob again, only for it to begin glowing white hot, electricity crackling and arcing out to the hinges.

"I said you're staying here, why is that so difficult for you to understand?" Gabriel snapped, almost luminous in his aggravation, lightning dancing along his extremities like a barely contained storm. The light in the rest of the room seemed to dim, energy coalescing around Gabriel's form like electrons orbiting a nucleus, making the fine hairs on Crowley's body raise from both static electricity and fear.

Crowley did his best not to quail in the face of Gabriel's growing divine fury at not being obeyed without question, steadily creeping closer to a point where the Archangel's righteousness threatened to overflow.

Smiting wouldn't kill Crowley, at least not permanently. Still, he didn't think Hell would be particularly keen on providing him with a new body if he found himself discorporated. And even if he managed to bluff his way through convincing them it was in their best interests to provide him with a new corporation, that would still leave Aziraphale trapped in Heaven. Would leave Aziraphale alone with Gabriel, and whatever insanity the Archangel had convinced himself had been rubber-stamped by God.

Aziraphale's hand tightened on his, and suddenly pulled back, protectively placing himself between the demon and the Archangel. "Please," Aziraphale beseeched, "you haven't even explained anything to him yet, how is he supposed to understand if you haven't told him why you've brought him here?"

He gave Crowley's hand a brief squeeze, near painful, resolutely holding Gabriel's gaze, funnelling as much desperation as he could in the clench of his fingers. Crowley understood him as clearly as if he'd spoken aloud.

The light silhouetting Gabriel faded back into the general ambiance of the room as he calmed, his expression seemingly genuine in its contriteness. "You're right, I didn't really explain what's happening here, did I? I shouldn't have gotten mad like that, that wasn't fair to you." He gave them both a sunny smile, his burst of ill temper dispelled.

"No harm done, I'm sure," Aziraphale replied, managing a weak smile in response. "Perhaps you might elucidate for him?"

Gabriel glanced down at his watch and frowned. "I'm sorry, but he did actually catch me right in the middle of some important paperwork, deadlines, you know how it is. I'm sure you can explain everything to him while I'm gone, though, then we can get right into it once I'm done, how does that sound?" Without waiting for a reply, Gabriel beamed again, clapping his hands together. "Great! I'll be back before you know it." He winked, and, before Crowley had the chance to hope he'd somehow be able to shove past Gabriel when he opened the door, the Archangel disappeared in a bolt of lightning instead.

Chapter Text

Crowley stared grimly at the door, then turned back to Aziraphale, pulling him in close, lips nearly touching the angel's ear. "Is this place bugged?" he asked, words barely more than an exhale.

Aziraphale stiffened, like the possibility hadn't even occurred to him. "I don't know," he whispered.

"Best we assume that it is," Crowley replied, then, at normal volume once more as he pulled away, asked, "What the Heaven is going on here?"

Aziraphale shook his head, pressing his lips together in an effort to stop them trembling. "You shouldn't have come," he repeated, tears shimmering in his eyes.

Something cold and unpleasant slithered in Crowley's stomach. "Angel, has he hurt you?"

"No, no," Aziraphale assured, shaking his head. "His intention isn't to hurt me. Or you." Aziraphale looked away, flushing miserably. "He's come to the understanding that our love for each other is what granted us immunity to hellfire and holy water, and that... he would like that immunity for himself, as well."

Crowley's throat worked for a few seconds as he digested this information. "Right. We're immune because we… love each other, of course." He nodded vigorously several times, trying to clear the sudden lump in his throat without being too obvious about it. "Aziraphale," he said carefully. "I know you said that he doesn't intend to hurt us, but has he…"

"Nothing's happened," Aziraphale insisted, then his gaze dropped involuntarily to the grey suit he was wearing. "Nothing much, that is. He–" Aziraphale's voice cracked suddenly. "He said he wanted to wait until you got here, before he did anything."

Crowley moved in close again, voice dropping to a low murmur. "I won't let him touch you."

Tears filled Aziraphale's eyes. "You won't have a choice."

"I'll– I'll think of something."

"What, Crowley?" he whispered, voice thick. "We're both powerless here. We have no way to leave, we have no way to contact anyone outside of this house. How do you propose we fight against an Archangel who has only the loosest grasp on the emotional spectrum, and is convinced that forcing us to love him will give him immunity to the one thing that could destroy him?" A bitter expression crossed his face. "His name literally means 'best loved by God'. We haven't a hope of convincing him that there is a love in existence that he isn't deserving of."

"OK," Crowley said quietly, pressing their foreheads together. "OK, we're going to need some time to think. Does he leave like this often? How long is he usually gone for?"

"Oh, well, yes, he still has all his Archangel duties, even without Armageddon on the horizon. Lots of meetings, paperwork, that sort of thing. As best I can tell, he's generally gone for several hours, at the very least."

Crowley nodded slowly, looking around the room. "Right," he muttered. "There's got to be some flaw to this place, some little gap in whatever wards he's had set up to keep our powers locked away."

"I've already checked for that quite thoroughly," Aziraphale protested, but Crowley was already approaching the wall, pressing his fingers along the skirting board, the corners of the room, the seam of the door, searching for the slightest chink to sink his claws into, the slightest weakness that he could exploit to gain their freedom. Aziraphale moved to his side so that they could continue to speak in hushed whispers. "Crowley, even if you do find anything, it won't do any good! You heard him, he's still in his office, you can't possibly think we'd be able to sneak past without him noticing."

"'M just looking, for now," Crowley replied, undeterred, poking at the edge of the carpet.

Aziraphale slunk back to the couch and watched him with hopeless eyes, which Crowley studiously ignored. He expanded his search into the other rooms of the house – kitchen, dining room, bedroom, bathroom, all impeccably appointed and utterly devoid of personality – before circling back to the living room, drawn by the lure of the front door that represented the most direct exit.

He was still at it when the air began to hum with static electricity, presaging Gabriel's return. Aziraphale bolted anxiously upright on the sofa, and Crowley backed away from where he'd been futilely picking at the doorframe.

The air flashed and Gabriel appeared before them, smoothing down his suit jacket with a bright smile. "So?" he asked. "That was enough time to explain everything, wasn't it? You're all caught up now, aren't you, Crowley?"

"What, didn't overhear our conversation?" Crowley asked tightly, largely failing in his attempt to inject humour into his tone.

"How would I do that?" Gabriel frowned. "I wasn't here."

Crowley raised a mirthless eyebrow. "You're saying you haven't got any surveillance up in this place to listen in on us?"

Gabriel's frown deepened. "No? It's impossible for you to leave without my permission, why would I need to do that? And Aziraphale had more than enough time to explain everything to you. It's not like you really want to leave anymore, right?"

"…Right," Crowley replied tightly, mouth suddenly dry at the matter-of-fact way Gabriel had confirmed that they were thoroughly trapped here.

"That's great!" Gabriel said, frown vanishing. "See? Told you you'd settle in after a while. I'm glad you came around on this so quickly, it took Aziraphale a couple days, didn't it, champ?"

Aziraphale tried for a smile but it came out a grimace. Gabriel didn't seem to notice the difference, stepping forward with a grin to give Crowley a comradely clasp on the shoulder. He seemed to take pause at the stark contrast of his pale skin against the black of Crowley's jacket, a suddenly bashful expression on his face.

"I completely forgot, you can't be wearing something like this in Heaven."

Crowley bristled. "Now, hang on just a second–" he began, but Gabriel was already snapping his fingers.

Gone were the dark, tight jeans, the V-neck shirt, the sunglasses hiding his eyes. In their place, a pair of dove grey slacks, an even paler cashmere turtleneck clinging to his chest, his eyes left uncovered. The only thing that remained the same was his watch, because apparently pretentiousness was universal.

The possessive intent behind the wardrobe change made his skin crawl.

"There, much better," Gabriel told him, looking immensely satisfied with himself. He went and sat down in the middle of the sofa, patting the cushion beside him with a smile. "Join me, why don't you?"

Aziraphale struggled to suppress a flinch and wedged himself tighter against the arm of the couch, as far away from Gabriel as physically possible. Crowley stubbornly inserted himself between the two angels, feeling the heat of both of their thighs pressing up against his own. He could feel Aziraphale shrinking down next to him, trying to make himself as small as possible. Crowley gave his knee what he hoped came across as a comforting squeeze as Gabriel's arm looped over his narrow shoulders, the backs of his fingers brushing Aziraphale's bicep.

"So!" Gabriel began, beaming wide. He gave Crowley a friendly jostle, pulling him in a little closer. Crowley could almost feel the angelic power coursing underneath Gabriel's skin, throwing his own lack of the demonic equivalent into even sharper relief. "Tell me. What's being in love like?"

Crowley made a noise that might have been called a wheeze if he'd been able to part his lips for it. He looked helplessly over at Aziraphale, who stared, terrified, back. Silence began to stretch on between them, then snapped as Aziraphale gave a sharp nod, clasped his hands together painfully tight, and resolutely stared down at his own entwined fingers.

"It's different than the love of God," he said softly. "We love God because She is there to be loved. She is a part of us, and She is a part of everything. We love Her like we breathe, like we see or we hear. We were created as a manifestation of Her love, how could we do any less than love Her in return?" He took a shuddering breath. "Romantic love is more… visceral, I think is the best way to describe it. It's a relationship of equals, where you each give and take in turn. It's... sharing yourself with someone else, where you are each halves of a whole, which itself is greater than the sum of its parts. Then, if the one you love is taken from you..." He faltered for a moment before picking back up. "You feel as if the shared parts of you have gone with them, that you are no longer complete without them."

Aziraphale blinked several times and gave a slight shiver, seeming to come back to himself. His eyes darted to Crowley's for a brief second, an unreadable expression on his face, before dropping again.

"At least, that's been my experience."

Gabriel frowned. "I haven't felt anything like that. What do you do to make it work?" He looked to Crowley. "I've heard about kissing, I know that's a part of it. You two do that a lot, don't you? Kissing?"

Crowley swallowed, knowing how he had to answer.

Aziraphale loved him, he knew that much; he just didn't know if Aziraphale was in love with him. If the casual way they had started touching after the averted Apocalypse was a precursor to something else, or if it was purely platonic. The angel had told him once or twice, in hushed whispers, whilst very drunk, about the Discreet Gentleman's Club he'd frequented when Crowley had been snoring his way through a good part of the 19th century. Even with an overabundance of alcohol rounding off his consonants, though, the gentle, fond tones he took when speaking of the humans he'd found such companionship with made it clear that Aziraphale had been in love with a fair number of them.

When Aziraphale was in love with someone, it was with every aspect of his being. Knowing all that, Crowley could hardly pretend that Aziraphale didn't have any fleshly desires – he was far too much of a hedonist not to, at any rate.

But he'd never expressed outright that he had any desire to engage in such activities with Crowley. It was becoming increasingly clear, though, that what he actually wanted to do was irrelevant. Gabriel was going to get what he wanted if they knew what was good for them.

"Yeah," Crowley said, forcing his throat to unstick as he smiled lazily over at Gabriel. "Of course. We've– we've kissed loads."

Gabriel looked at them both expectantly.

"Show me."

Crowley helplessly turned back to Aziraphale with a silent apology in his gaze.

Aziraphale stared back at him, something unfathomable lurking amidst the fear in his eyes. Crowley swallowed dryly, shifting forward in increments. "C'mere, angel," he murmured gently, and Aziraphale jerked a little closer, like a puppet with tangled strings.

Crowley reached out tentatively, stroking his thumb over Aziraphale's cheek, cupping the side of his jaw and slowly drawing closer. Aziraphale locked eyes with him, scarcely looking like he was breathing, seemingly unwilling to be the one to close the final distance. With another small shuffle, Crowley edged a little nearer, thighs flush, his other hand turning towards Aziraphale's palm. He slid his fingers between Aziraphale's, and the angel gripped on tight, but otherwise didn't move.

Conscious of Gabriel watching their every move with laser-like focus, Crowley let his gaze drop to Aziraphale's mouth, telegraphing his movements so that the angel couldn't possibly be caught by surprise when Crowley pressed his lips to Aziraphale's own.

Still, Aziraphale didn't respond other than tightening his fingers around Crowley's, mouth slack as Crowley kissed him with increasing desperation. He pulled away briefly, trying to gauge the emotions in Aziraphale's eyes, but the angel was refusing to look at him now. He could see Gabriel frowning attentively at them from the corner of his eye, and he quickly returned to the kiss, lest the Archangel start wondering why they'd stopped, even going so far as to swipe his tongue along Aziraphale's bottom lip to encourage him to react. Aziraphale's mouth remained just as unresponsive as before, his entire body pressing back into the sofa, trying to move as far away from Crowley as he could get.

He was doing this right, wasn't he? Sure, Aziraphale had a far greater wealth of experience when it came to kissing, but Crowley couldn't be that awful at it, could he? He'd certainly seen the motions performed often enough in his existence, even if he'd never participated himself, beyond a friendly greeting. He couldn't possibly be doing such a poor job of translating his observations into action that Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to reciprocate.

Why wasn't Aziraphale responding? Despite how fraught their situation was, if he actually wanted to kiss Crowley back, surely he would have gotten over his initial shock and done it by now?

Fuck, fuck, Aziraphale didn't want this at all, he really did only love Crowley as a friend, he didn't want any affection from him that wasn't platonic, he–

Aziraphale let out a broken, shuddery little sound, somewhere between a sigh and a sob, and finally began kissing back, tongue questing exploratorily into Crowley's mouth.

His free hand rose to Crowley's cheek, manicured fingers sliding along the nape of his neck and burying themselves in auburn hair, thumb resting lightly against Crowley's ear. "Crowley," he whispered, the word barely more than a suggestion of movement on his lips.

Crowley felt his heart simultaneously soar and go plummeting through his shoes. The way Aziraphale had said his name, with such an aching longing, such a desperate need, instantly dispelled any doubt Crowley had ever had about Aziraphale loving Crowley how Crowley loved him.

It was almost worse than thinking his feelings weren't reciprocated. His utter elation at being proven wrong clashed with despair at their situation in a way that made his stomach churn. He tried to choke out Aziraphale's name in response, but it got caught in his throat. Instead, he tilted Aziraphale's head back to kiss him more deeply, letting his actions speak for him. Aziraphale made another soft sound, cheeks damp against Crowley's as tears clung to his lashes.

Their first kiss shouldn't have been like this.

It should have been a sunny day in the park, Aziraphale blushing softly at him from across a picnic blanket, the angel's lips tasting of cheese and wine and sunshine. It should have been on the bookshop's front step as Crowley dropped Aziraphale home after going to see a play, his summer-sky eyes cast in silver by the moonlight, the pink in his cheeks still somehow visible as he reached out and pulled Crowley in close. It should have been late at night in the bookshop's back room, Aziraphale's hair a golden halo in the rosy glow of the table lamps, pressing Crowley against a bookshelf as his teeth tugged gently at the demon's bottom lip.

Anything but being sat on a conjured couch in a glorified prison in Heaven, forced to kiss for the pleasure of their overly inquisitive captor.

Crowley tried to block it out; to pretend that the only angel around was the one shivering against him, that they were the only two creatures in existence. That this moment was something that they were experiencing in private, of their own volition, for no other reason than the fact that they were in love and could finally admit it.

One of Gabriel's hands slid over Crowley's shoulder, the touch light but the weight of it still oppressive, shattering the tenuous fantasy.

"Can I have a turn?" he asked hopefully.

Aziraphale's lips left Crowley's with a quiet gasp, eyes filled with terror as he stared helplessly up at him. He trembled against Crowley's skin, the hand he had locked around the demon's squeezing tighter than a vice.

Crowley stroked Aziraphale's cheek again, giving him a determined look before pulling away, turning to face Gabriel. "'Course," he said, forcing a smile.

Gabriel grinned eagerly back, both hands rising to cup Crowley's face as he swept in for a kiss. Crowley's fingers, still tangled in Aziraphale's, were crushed between the two of them as Gabriel pressed in. Crowley could feel Aziraphale tensing behind him, breath stuttering behind Crowley's ear. Gabriel's mouth was insistent against his, and Crowley found himself cracking open under the onslaught, Gabriel's tongue sliding between his lips.

Where Aziraphale had tasted like home, Gabriel tasted purely of Heaven – bright and sharp with an edge of ozone. It didn't take long for the flavour of Aziraphale's kiss to be obliterated entirely, and soon there was only Gabriel, pressing in and overpowering his senses.

"Mgmf," Crowley tried, his flailing free hand coming to rest on Gabriel's shoulder and pushing back. Gabriel didn't budge for a second, long enough for it to be obvious that no amount of force on Crowley's part would have moved him, then the Archangel pulled back, a confused look on his face.

"That didn't seem right," he said.

"No," Crowley agreed hoarsely, shifting so that he wasn't crushed up against Aziraphale. "It wasn't."

"Show me, then," Gabriel told him, shuffling back against the opposite arm of the sofa, one leg propped up on the cushions while the other dangled off the side. He patted his lap with what Crowley was sure was meant to be an inviting smile. "You kiss me."

Aziraphale was still close enough behind him that Crowley felt him tense. He gave Aziraphale's fingers a gentle squeeze, then reluctantly let go, forcing himself to crawl over to the Archangel.

Gabriel kept smiling at him, and Crowley did his best to mirror the expression.

"Like this," Crowley said, hands settling on Gabriel's shoulders for balance as he leant in close.

Their lips touched, and Gabriel mercifully showed some restraint this time around. The kiss was still uncoordinated to start, which Crowley wasn't particularly surprised by, given both their lack of experience with non-platonic kissing. After a fashion, though, he was able to navigate them towards something reasonable. Gabriel's hands curled around his waist and he tried not to tremble, acutely aware of just how fragile his corporation was in the Archangel's grip, how easy it would be for Gabriel to break him.

Gabriel sucked gently at Crowley's bottom lip. Surprised, Crowley let out a soft sound, mouth involuntarily opening wider. He felt his heartrate increase in panic, worried that Gabriel would take his reaction as a cue to press in overwhelmingly again, but instead, Gabriel pulled away altogether.

"Oh, you're right, that was much better." He eased Crowley back and beamed sunnily at Aziraphale. "OK, now it's your turn."

Aziraphale remained frozen where he was. "Oh, I-I don't know that I…"

Crowley quickly interjected, feeling Aziraphale's panic beginning to mount once more. "You have to go a bit slower with Aziraphale," he told Gabriel. "He doesn't like taking things too fast."

A complicated expression crossed Aziraphale's face. "Yes, I… that is to say, Crowley and I didn't even advance our relationship until after the Apocalypse, this is all very… sudden."

"Exactly," Crowley agreed, ignoring the lump in his throat. They had been moving towards that, to having a gentle, shy courtship filled with wondrous exploration and reshaping of their boundaries. Now, those boundaries were being casually torn asunder by someone who didn't even understand what he was destroying. "I felt the way I do about Aziraphale for millennia before he was able to admit he felt the same."

"Millennia?" Aziraphale echoed faintly.

"Yeah," Crowley murmured, twisting around to face Aziraphale fully, threading their fingers together. He wished, for the umpteenth time, that the Archangel wasn't witnessing this. "Worth every second spent waiting for you to catch up."

Gabriel grimaced. "It'll be quicker with me, though, right? I don't want to wait that long for you to start loving me."

Aziraphale somehow managed to go a shade paler.

"I mean," Gabriel continued, oblivious, "I'm an angel, too, surely that's gotta count for something."

"I'm sure it will," Crowley replied, voice somehow normal despite the knot of loathing lodged in his throat. "Maybe we just try some cuddling, for now?" he suggested, hoping he could get away with that in favour of some of the other, more horrifyingly intimate, options that Gabriel might come up with if left to think for himself.

"How does that work?"

"You just sort of… snuggle in, like this." Crowley nestled himself against Gabriel despite not wanting to even touch him, resting his head on the Archangel's shoulder. He gently tugged Aziraphale against his own side, and the angel went stiffly, burying his face against Crowley's jumper as he clutched tight at the fabric.

"…And that's it?" Gabriel asked.

"That's about it, yeah," Crowley replied. "Just enjoying each other's company."

"This is… nice," Gabriel said dubiously. Crowley felt his stomach sink through his feet, all the way down past the bowels of Hell, as he realised that it wasn't going to be long at all before Gabriel wanted more.

Chapter Text

Mercifully, Gabriel didn't grow so bored of cuddling that he insisted on doing something else before he had to leave again to attend to his duties.

Crowley let out a shaky breath once he was gone, but didn't feel any steadier. "We need to figure out how to get out of here. He's even dumber than he looks if he thinks we'll ever actually fall in love with him like this."

Aziraphale cast an alarmed look around the room, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Didn't you say he might have bugged the house?"

He shook his head, feel desolate and hollow. "No, angel. He wasn't lying when he said he didn't need to. We're not getting out of here unless he lets us go, and somehow I don't see that happening anytime soon."

"But..." Aziraphale's voice wavered. "Surely we can reason with him, we just haven't been able to explain properly. Once he understands that he can't force us to love him–"

"No, Aziraphale," Crowley said, as gently as he could. "He's got himself convinced that this will all go the way he wants it to, he isn't going to listen to any dissenting opinions we've got on the subject. You've been up here with him for a few days, now, you're telling me you didn't try to tell him this wouldn't work? That he didn't immediately dismiss the possibility that he was making a mistake?"

"He... he said I was just being ridiculous," Aziraphale whispered. "That I just needed time, then I'd see that he was right all along." His voice trembled and cracked, face crumpling in despair. "I told him I wanted to go home, to you, and he took that to mean that he should bring you here. It's my fault you're here."

"Oi, give me some credit," Crowley chided. "The minute I'd realised Heaven had taken you, I would've charged in to find you, even without Gabriel telling me where you were."

"That doesn't change the fact that you wouldn't even have needed to come, if I hadn't been so foolish as to get myself trapped by him to start."

"He would've found some other way to get you here," Crowley said, quiet but firm. "D'you really think, if you'd just ignored his message, that he'd have just gone, 'oh well, too bad, guess that's my whole plan thwarted'? He's an Archangel, Aziraphale. There isn't anything we could have done, he would've caught up to us eventually even if we'd run." He forced a smile. "Hardly like pulling another swap would've done much."

"I would never send you Up Here in my stead for something like this," Aziraphale replied vehemently.

Crowley's smile softened, became genuine. He gently brushed an errant curl away from Aziraphale's forehead, hands settling on the angel's shoulders. "I know you wouldn't, angel. You'd be at a loss if you didn't have me around to bother you."

Aziraphale nodded tightly in agreement, then, apropos of nothing, said, "I love you," and burst into tears.

"…Oh, Aziraphale, come here, no need for tears, now," Crowley murmured, heart doing all sorts of complicated acrobatics inside his chest as he drew Aziraphale into an embrace. Aziraphale clung to him and sobbed.

"I should have told you sooner," Aziraphale whispered into Crowley's jumper, a damp patch wicking through the fabric. "I was just so… I was so terrified that I wouldn't be enough, after all I've said and done to you over the millennia, and I wanted to apologise, I wanted it to be perfect, and now it's all ruined–"

"Listen to me," Crowley said firmly, cutting through Aziraphale's spiralling panic. "First of all–" He swallowed, fighting against several thousands of years' worth of instincts to shove his softer feelings deep down into the depths of him. "First of all, I love you too, so you can stop that utter nonsense about not being enough for me. Second of all, no such thing as perfection. That was one of ours, actually, getting humans to drive themselves to despair in the pursuit of something that isn't even real– look, point is, you haven't ruined anything. I'm just happy you told me, doesn't matter that you weren't ready to before."

Aziraphale sniffed, not lifting his head. "And what's third?"

The ghost of a smile quirked Crowley's lips. "What makes you think there's a third?"

"Don't these sorts of things usually come in threes?"

"All right, thirdly, then." He spoke softly, arms tightening a fraction as he cradled Aziraphale to his chest, unable to help but revel in the fact that contact like this was now permitted to him. "We're going to get out of here. We'll play along with this new flavour of self-importance of Gabriel's, keep ourselves safe. We'll get him to trust us, have him think that we're on his side. He'll let his guard down eventually. We just need to wait until he gives us back enough freedom for us to escape."

"What then?" Aziraphale mumbled against his jumper. "You said it yourself, even if we manage to run off, he'll still think he's in the right, and track us down."

"Plan's a bit murky on that part at the moment," Crowley admitted. "We can worry about that a bit closer to, though. Besides, with any luck, the other Archangels will be too embarrassed that we outsmarted them, again, that they'll all take the hint and leave us alone properly this time."

"I don't think that's particularly likely," Aziraphale said.

"No, s'pose we wouldn't be that lucky, would we?" Crowley murmured, fingers tangling gently in Aziraphale's curls. "We'll just have to work at it as we go." He huffed out a laugh. "Who would've thought that a millennium of actively trying to get away with doing the bare minimum would catch up to us, eh?"

Aziraphale's voice was small. "You don't regret it, do you?"

"What, the Arrangement? No, of course not. Skiving off work was only half the reason I even suggested it in the first place." He kept stroking Aziraphale's hair. "The other half was because it gave me an excuse to spend more time with you."

"Only half?" Aziraphale joked weakly into his chest. Crowley smiled against his blond curls, relieved beyond measure that the angel had calmed enough to speak with some levity.

"A very big half," Crowley assured.

The moment of light-heartedness faded as soon as it had come, Aziraphale pulling back from his embrace. "What you're suggesting we do… Crowley, I don't know that I have the stomach for it. I worry that I'd not be able to stand it, and end up giving the game away, and put you in danger. I know how inadequately I reacted to him wanting to… to kiss me, I'm not sure I could…"

"Then you don't have to," Crowley told him, even as he felt his throat swell with fear. "I'll do it."

Aziraphale looked stricken. "Absolutely not, I won't have you… subjugating yourself on my behalf, whilst I just sit back and let it happen!"

"But wouldn't it be better, for only one of us to go through it?" Crowley urged. "If it only takes one of us to keep him satisfied, to begin with, why give him more than that?" He shrugged uncomfortably. "Just saying. 'M a demon, after all, bit more my wheelhouse than yours."

Aziraphale's face went very pale. "Are you saying you've been…"

"No, no, been lucky enough to avoid any of that." He swallowed. "'Til now, that is. Bit ironic, isn't it?" He summoned a mirthless smile. "Managed to avoid any demons taking advantage all these years, and it's going to be an angel that gets me."

"I'm so sorry," Aziraphale whispered, gaze dropping to the floor. "I never should have let you be put in this position."

"I really don't think there's much you could've done to stop it, angel. It's not your fault he's more powerful than you are." He reached out, putting a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder. "Besides, it's more dangerous for me to make him angry, rather than you. You saw how he got when we tried to leave. If he smites me, even if it's just by accident, then it's straight back to Hell for me. You'd be stuck up here, alone with him, and I wouldn't be able to reach you." His hand moved to Aziraphale's jaw, gently tilting his head up. "I don't want to leave you, Aziraphale. This way gives us the best chance of at least getting through this, together."

"I despise this," Aziraphale said vehemently, eyes glistening. "Discussing the best way for us to– good lord, Crowley, how is he just allowed to take what he wants, with no real regard or understanding of what the consequences of his actions are? In what world is that just or fair?"

"World isn't just or fair, a lot of the time," Crowley pointed out. "Sometimes there's nothing you can do, except make the best of whatever situation you're stuck in."

"I really can't see that there's a bright side to all this."

"Well," Crowley said, casting about for a silver lining. "At least he's more likely to be gentle about it, than if all this was happening Down There."

Aziraphale's expression didn't shift. Crowley pressed his lips together in a thin line, then spoke again. "This is still the best way."

Tears fell from Aziraphale's eyes as he shook his head. "I can't ask this of you."

"You're not the one asking," Crowley replied. "I am."

"Then my answer is no!" Aziraphale retorted.

"You're not the one I'm asking," Crowley told him gently. "I promised you I wasn't going to let him touch you, and I'm going to keep that promise as long as I can. You aren't going to be able to stop me."

"I can't let you do this, Crowley."

He shrugged. "You don't have a choice," he said matter-of-factly. "We've already told him that he's going to need to go slower with you than with me, anyway. It's really out of both our hands."

"Oh, God," Aziraphale whispered, face crumpling as he realised he wasn't going to win this argument. He reached out and pulled Crowley into a tight embrace.

"I know. I'm sorry," Crowley whispered back, returning the hug with equal ferocity.

––––––––––––––––––––––

The days blurred into weeks at an alarming rate. Aziraphale was startled one day to realise that they'd been held captive in Heaven for almost a month.

He really couldn't bring himself to call their prison a home, no matter what Gabriel had intended it to be. It was like it was a display house for a new development, or perhaps something plucked straight out of an interior decorating magazine. It wasn't somewhere someone actually lived, made a life for themselves, formed lifelong happy memories.

But they were trapped inside it all the same, like insects imprisoned in a jar by a young child yet to comprehend the concept of death.

The only real mercy to be found was that Gabriel was out of the house more often than not, attending to his work, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley to their own devices. Whilst Aziraphale longed for something more to do than sit around without even a book to read, the tense boredom was still infinitely preferable than when Gabriel was present. Gabriel had apparently accepted, for now, that Aziraphale wasn't going to develop romantic inclinations towards him overnight. The knowledge didn't really put Aziraphale at ease, though, given that it would only be a matter of time before Gabriel's patience began to wear thin. Already, the Archangel would give him anticipatory looks now and again; he wasn't going to wait for Aziraphale to take the initiative forever.

Crowley occupied his spare time analysing the rooms over and over, looking for some kind of weakness that they could exploit. Aziraphale let him, knowing that it was better for him to have something to do, even if it was pointless. Uriel's sigil work had always been impeccable, Aziraphale doubted Crowley's ability to crack it, even if he'd had access to his powers. Aziraphale half-heartedly trailed after him on occasion as he explored, Crowley yanking open cupboards as if there would be a convenient tunnel leading to freedom hidden inside.

There wasn't, of course. The shelves were largely empty, except for some areas where Gabriel had seemed to realise that cupboards were meant to store things: a bible in the bedroom nightstand, a first aid kit and an assortment of hygiene products under the sink in the bathroom, several different sleek appliances in the kitchen pantry. No actual food to speak of – although Aziraphale, for once, didn't have much of an appetite – further cementing the fact that this place was only a facsimile of somewhere that was actually lived in, rather than just happening to be the space they were currently occupying.

Gabriel insisted on acting as if it was the real thing, though, loudly proclaiming that he was home whenever he returned. He'd looked at them both expectantly the first time, prompting Aziraphale to offer him a feeble, "Welcome home," and, when that didn't seem to satisfy him, for Crowley to give him a smile and a kiss on the cheek. Gabriel hadn't demanded the same of him, yet, nor had he demanded more of Crowley, but it would only be a matter of time for both.

When it did finally happen, Aziraphale still wasn't ready for it.

Crowley had given Gabriel his now-customary kiss on the cheek. Gabriel had smiled in return, turning to the demon to kiss him fully on the mouth, as had become his habit. The sight never failed to make Aziraphale's stomach curdle.

This time, however, Gabriel turned to Aziraphale afterwards, and beckoned for him to come closer. "Come on, Aziraphale. Don't you think it's about time you welcome me home with a kiss, too?"

Aziraphale froze, throat closing over in fear.

He knew that silence wasn't a response that was going to get him far, though. It would only make Gabriel angry before long, and then the choice would be taken away from him, regardless. Wouldn't it be better, to acquiesce? To not risk Gabriel's wrath, to better lull the Archangel into a false sense of security?

Gabriel's smile dimmed. "Aziraphale, I asked you nicely. I've been very patient with you. Why aren't you doing what I asked?"

"I-I can't," Aziraphale managed to whisper.

"You mean you don't want to," Gabriel said, his smile slipping away entirely as he stepped away from Crowley, instead moving towards Aziraphale with purpose. "You're supposed to love me, Aziraphale. Why don't you want to kiss me?" he demanded, grabbing Aziraphale by the shoulders. Crowley started forward like he was barely keeping himself from shouting in protest, the anxiety in his eyes ratcheting right up alongside Aziraphale's.

Aziraphale blanched, trembling in Gabriel's grip. "I-It isn't that I don't– I-I'm not, it isn't," he stuttered, well aware that he was babbling but too terrified to stop himself.

"Crowley's fine with it, why aren't you?"

Tears welled in Aziraphale's eyes as he tried to stammer an adequate response.

"Gabriel, wait," Crowley cut in as Gabriel's grip tightened. "Aziraphale needs to take things slower than I do, remember? You can't compare the two of us like that. Trying to rush him isn't going to get you anywhere."

Gabriel's hands tightened a fraction further before he finally relaxed, letting Aziraphale go. Aziraphale sagged a bit, but managed to keep himself upright.

"I'm sorry, you're right, Crowley. I shouldn't have yelled," Gabriel said, reaching out and smoothing down where he'd rumpled Aziraphale's suit. "But I still think you're being a little unreasonable about all this, Aziraphale. You should probably take some time to calm down, then you'll see that all I want is to show you that I love you."

Aziraphale shrank down, eyes darting to Crowley for a brief moment before returning, terrified, to Gabriel. Much as the thought of giving Gabriel a kiss – or more – made him feel lightheaded with nausea, leaving Crowley to deal with him alone was even worse.

"I'm, I'm fine, really, I can stay–" Aziraphale tried, voice wobbling perilously. Gabriel cut him off.

"I can see that it's frustrating for you, too, we both want the same thing," he said soothingly. "It's not your fault you're not ready for more yet, I promise I don't blame you." He spun Aziraphale by the shoulders, steering him towards the bedroom. "Besides, I've got Crowley to keep me company until you're ready for more, too."

The tears spilt over as Aziraphale cast a helpless look in Crowley's direction. "I don't–"

"I get that you want to be ready for more, I do," Gabriel said, cutting off his wavering protest. "But I think pushing you now'll just make you more upset, I don't want that." He opened the bedroom door and nudged Aziraphale inside. "You get yourself calmed down, and we can try again later, OK?"

So saying, Gabriel shut the door in Aziraphale's tearstained face, and locked him inside.

Chapter Text

Gabriel gave vent to a sigh, leaning his weight against the door for a few seconds before turning back towards Crowley, face smoothing back out. "Sorry about that," he said, all broad grin as he approached. Crowley dragged his gaze away from the bedroom door, fighting the instinct to scramble away from Gabriel's advancing form.

"'S fine," Crowley managed, voice barely cracking. Gabriel took a seat on the sofa, unbuttoning his suit jacket. He fairly sprawled against the cushions, legs spread, one arm hooked over the back of the couch, the other laid across the armrest. Crowley hovered awkwardly, wanting to put off having to sit next to Gabriel for as long as possible.

"Really, I should've expected it, from him. I was hoping that we'd all be able to start getting intimate with each other today, have you both start sharing your love with me properly, but if he's still not ready for something as small as a kiss, I think it's going to be a while for him." Gabriel waved a hand dismissively, then beckoned Crowley over with a tilt of his lips. "You, you're a demon, though. You've done it a lot."

He had not.

Ever, in fact.

Crowley had only ever tempted humans with the world, not with himself. That was the whole point. Besides, they lived such fleeting lives, it had never seemed entirely fair to get too entangled with them, particularly when it was his job to try and get them consigned to Hell. It tended to kill the mood, just a little.

His own kind didn't really offer many appealing prospects, either – even once you'd set aside the generally repulsive location options for a bit of slap and tickle down in Hell, letting his guard down around another demon enough for something like that would have just been asking for trouble. He'd been lucky enough, there, to be able to avoid it entirely.

Angels, well… he'd been working on that part, until Gabriel had so rudely upended everything.

But he'd seen it done, countless times. Had helped orchestrate it on a number of occasions, in fact – nothing like the lure of sexual gratification for getting humans to make stupid decisions, after all. And he'd taken himself in hand more than his fair share of times over the millennia – having quite thoroughly enjoyed himself in doing so – so he couldn't be completely inept.

Crowley smiled at Gabriel even as his stomach clenched. "'Course. I've got all kinds of tricks I bet you'll enjoy."

Gabriel frowned, something dangerously like suspicion tightening his eyes. "Tricks?"

"Talents," Crowley amended hastily, clumsy with fear as he stumbled to his knees before Gabriel. Better to let the Archangel feel dominant, without the need for Crowley to be pinned beneath him. At least it would leave Crowley some small measure of control. He shuffled in close between Gabriel's spread legs, skin prickling uncomfortably through the thin weave of his own clothes as he brushed against Gabriel's trouser leg. He rested a tentative hand against the Archangel's knee, fear sliding down a notch or two at Gabriel's soft inhalation. "I can show you, if you like." He trailed his fingers gingerly along the inseam of Gabriel's trousers, ready to pull back in an instant if the Archangel reacted negatively. "That's why you had me stay out here, isn't it?"

"I guess you're right," Gabriel replied begrudgingly, legs spreading a little wider as he settled in. Crowley cautiously splayed his palms against Gabriel's thighs, thumbs kneading gently into flesh as he inched upwards. He couldn't help but notice, trepidation filling him, that the bulge in Gabriel's trousers was slowly beginning to swell to a rather alarming size.

"Mm," Gabriel murmured, gazing down at Crowley with half-lidded eyes. "That feels nice."

"I can do a lot more than that," Crowley told him, fingers creeping for Gabriel's belt. "May I?"

Gabriel waved him on imperiously, and Crowley bit back a snarl at the arrogant gesture. He somehow kept his fingers from shaking as he undid the buckle, soon working down the fly beneath.

Gabriel's cock jumped under his fingers, and Crowley swallowed down his nervousness, hoping that Gabriel would just read it as him being eager. His hand slipped down under Gabriel's waistband, gently coaxing the fabric down to expose the Archangel's cock.

Crowley almost let out a cry of despair at the sight of it. It was even bigger than he'd feared, and there was no chance that asking Gabriel to reduce its size would go over well.

Swallowing to force down his trepidation, as well as to try and bring some moisture back to his suddenly dry mouth, Crowley pulled Gabriel's trousers and underwear down to his ankles to allow for easier access. Gabriel watched him, inquisitive, and Crowley swallowed desperately again.

He reached up and circled his hand around Gabriel's cock. Or tried to, at least, as apparently it was thick enough around that Crowley's fingers barely touched.

"Oh," Gabriel sighed softly, settling into the sensation.

All right. OK. This was manageable. Gabriel seemed quite content to gently roll his hips up into the circle of Crowley's fist as the demon slowly pumped his cock, maybe Crowley could get away with only doing that much, at least for the first time around. After all, Gabriel hadn't done any of this before, either, wouldn't it make sense for him to defer to Crowley's supposed expertise? It wasn't like Gabriel would be able to tell the difference. 

Crowley began to build a proper rhythm, adding in a twist of the wrist at the peak of the upstroke so that his fingers swirled along the head of Gabriel's cock, making the Archangel tip his head back against the couch with a groan.

Crowley shuffled in a little closer so that he could get a better grip. That ended up being a bad idea, apparently, because Gabriel's eyes dropped to Crowley's lips, and the next words he said were, "Can you use your mouth, too?"

"'Course. Just working my way up to it," Crowley assured him, voice somehow remaining steady. Bleakly, he realised that not having his voice shake was about to be a moot point. He licked his lips reflexively, desperately trying to summon any moisture at all into his dry mouth. It was clear he'd have to make do with what he had.

He fought to keep his upper lip from curling in distaste as he ran his tongue over the head of Gabriel's cock. He almost recoiled at the bitter taste of precum, shuddering instead and letting it wet his tongue, before dragging it back down Gabriel's length. Crowley's salivary glands finally seemed to get the message, and Crowley was able to suck the head of Gabriel's cock into his mouth without any dry skin catching anywhere.

At least Crowley's lack of a gag reflex was simply something inherent to him, instead of something that required an active miracle. He almost wished that he did have just that extra bit of control over his corporation, to allow his tongue to fork so that he could do more interesting things with it, but quickly dismissed the thought. No reason to give Gabriel any more pleasure than was necessary – just enough that he'd see fit to keep Crowley around, rather than smiting him.

"This is all right for you, isn't it?" Gabriel asked. "It feels like it's a lot for you to take in one go, even though it does feel very nice for me." His fingers carded through Crowley's hair, blunt nails scratching gently at his scalp. "You'll tell me if it's too much, right?"

Crowley hummed vaguely and sank a little further down, hoping that he'd be able to distract the Archangel enough with the dexterity of his tongue to make him shut up already.

Gabriel let out a pleased sound, tipping his head back. "Oh, Crowley," he groaned. "Your mouth, you feel so–"

His fingers tightened in Crowley's hair suddenly, pinning him with Gabriel's cock jammed all the way down his throat. "You are doing this out of love, aren't you?" he asked quietly. "This isn't all one big temptation, is it, Crowley? You haven't been lying to me, to Aziraphale, this whole time? I'd be very upset with you if that was the case."

Crowley froze, doing his best to not so much as gurgle around the cock in his throat as his pulse thundered in his ears. The air hummed with static electricity, the hairs on Crowley's arms standing to terrified attention as the lilac of Gabriel's eyes took on a stormy edge.

Just as quickly, Gabriel's expression cleared, hand relaxing so that it was resting against the back of Crowley's head, rather than holding him down, smiling at the demon once more. Crowley didn't dare move even without the restriction, still reeling from the sudden mood change.

"Of course it's not that," Gabriel said, stroking his hair. "God wouldn't have blessed you with the ability to withstand holy water if you were just pretending to be in love, would She? That you can love at all despite being Fallen is clearly Her doing."

Crowley let out a small, choked sound despite himself. If God was actually paying attention to him, let alone caring about what happened to him, he wouldn't be in this situation.

Gabriel smiled, oblivious to his fear. "Sorry, I interrupted you. You can keep going."

Crowley shook slightly as he pulled back, and it took a concerted effort to push himself back down again. Gabriel's cock was still hard as steel against his tongue, not flagging at all despite the burst of anger. Crowley didn't want to think too long on what that might indicate about Gabriel's sexual appetites. The appreciative groan that fell from Gabriel's lips, the fingers twining possessively in his hair once more, told Crowley that this wasn't all just a passing fancy. Gabriel was going to want to do this again.

At some point, he was going to want to do it to Aziraphale.

But maybe, Crowley thought desperately as he swallowed Gabriel down to the root, hand rising to gently knead the Archangel's balls, if he did a good enough job, Gabriel would always turn to Crowley for this, and leave Aziraphale alone. He was a demon, after all, wasn't he, wasn't this what he was good for? At least Crowley would be able to spare Aziraphale this, seeing how any opportunity to escape had yet to present itself. Better, after all, to only have one of them subjected to this, rather than both, and Crowley was here on his knees already.

Gabriel moaned happily, letting his head fall back against the couch once more. Crowley pressed in closer, swallowing Gabriel down over and over, struggling not to get so impatient that he inadvertently made this ordeal drag out longer than it needed to.

It took a distressingly long time for Gabriel to begin to lose his composure, his breathing growing heavier as his hips started to jump up towards Crowley's mouth. The little jumps soon became uncoordinated thrusts. Crowley tried to swallow Gabriel all the way down, not wanting to taste it when he came, but Gabriel's motions as he reached his end proved too unpredictable. Salty cum flooded over Crowley's palate and he almost choked, leaving him with no real option other than swallowing it. Gabriel thrust into his mouth again at the sensation, groaning in pleasure.

Once he was sure Gabriel was done, Crowley cautiously pulled back, letting Gabriel's cock fall from his mouth. He finally closed his swollen lips, his throat sore, his jaw aching, the smell of sex inescapable when he closed his eyes.

"Wow," Gabriel said, a blissful smile on his face. He snapped his fingers to set himself to rights, rather than bothering with doing up his trousers manually. "I can see why you'd enjoy that so much, that felt fantastic."

"Always been skilled with my tongue, me," Crowley managed hoarsely, wobbling to his feet. Gabriel grabbed hold of his waist once he was close enough, spinning him around and pulling him down. Helplessly, Crowley went with the motion, back pressed to Gabriel's chest, doing his best not to rest his weight against Gabriel's crotch for fear of exciting him enough for a second round.

"Oh, I definitely agree," Gabriel enthused, smiling against Crowley's ear. His hand slid up the inside of Crowley's thigh, making him fight the urge to snap them shut defensively, and pressed against the crux of Crowley's trousers. Horrifyingly, Crowley realised that he wasn't entirely soft, and the way Gabriel was gently palming at his cock was putting it on the fast track to full hardness.

He wished for his normal tight clothing anew, anything to impede Gabriel's progress as he undid the fly on Crowley's trousers and thumbed at the waistband of his underwear.

He didn't want this, didn't want Gabriel touching him, didn't want his body to arch up into Gabriel's hand the way it was–

"This is how you did it, right?" Gabriel asked, fingers curling around Crowley's cock and squeezing.

"N– ah! Not so tight!" Crowley yelped reflexively, hands seizing at the couch cushions, barely keeping himself from yanking against Gabriel's grip and making things worse.

"Oh, sorry," Gabriel said, immediately slackening his grip to something more comfortable. Crowley's heart kept slamming itself desperately against his ribcage, even as Gabriel took great care, now, to keep his grip gentle as he inexpertly stroked it along Crowley's length, clumsily mimicking the motions Crowley had performed on him earlier. Crowley trembled and turned his face away, which almost made it worse, letting out an involuntary gasp and gaze snapping back down whenever Gabriel changed his pattern.

Slowly, Gabriel got a handle on what he was meant to be doing, motions growing more assured. Crowley began to whimper and moan without meaning to, the sounds only seeming to bolster Gabriel's confidence.

It quickly became clear to Crowley that there was only one conclusion to this – Gabriel was going to make him cum.

He tried to resist it, baulking at the prospect of Gabriel wringing pleasure from him. Crowley twisted his head away again, scalp still throbbing from where Gabriel had tightened his grip in anger earlier. His hands clutched at the couch cushions in an attempt to anchor himself, but there was no escape, Gabriel's hold around his cock persistent and inexorable. It became inevitable, and Crowley finally gave up, not wanting to let it drag out any longer than it had already, just wanting it to be over. He closed his eyes, bit down hard on his bottom lip to stifle any sounds he might otherwise make. He was achingly conscious of Aziraphale locked up in the next room over.

Then he was gone, hips fucking up into Gabriel's fist of their own accord. For a few brief seconds, his brain was just a white shock, leaving him unable to actually think or process anything, his toes curling inside his shoes. All too soon, though, reality reasserted itself, leaving him with the sickening realisation of what had just been done to him.

"There you go, wasn't that nice?" Gabriel murmured as Crowley panted harshly in his lap. The Archangel looked down at the stickiness coating his fingers, splattered across Crowley's stomach, and made a displeased sound. "I really wish it wasn't this messy, though."

Before Crowley even had the chance to properly catch his breath, Gabriel clicked his fingers, and he found himself clad in an entirely new set of clothing, clean and smelling faintly of lavender. Instead of the soft jumper he'd been wearing previously, Gabriel had now dressed him in a suit barely a few shades darker than his own, a pale tie tightened around his throat like a noose. Crowley swallowed reflexively, feeling like Gabriel's claim over him had just been laid down anew.

"Much better," Gabriel said, curling a possessive arm around Crowley's midsection, more securely holding the demon in his lap. He let out a self-satisfied sound into Crowley's hair. "Y'know, after all that, I think I'm starting to come around on this whole cuddling thing, I like it like this."

Crowley said nothing as Gabriel settled in with a happy sigh.

Even with the fresh set of unsullied clothes, Crowley doubted that he'd ever be able to completely cover up his shame.

Chapter Text

Gabriel eventually let out a discontented sigh, signalling to Crowley that he wanted to get up. Crowley managed not to move too eagerly, feeling a cool rush of relief against his back where he'd been pressed up against Gabriel.

The Archangel smiled ruefully at him. "Guess you know what I'm about to say, huh?"

"'S all right, you're a busy angel," he assured. "Can't get mad at you for having to go. Duty calls, all that."

"I'm glad you understand," Gabriel told him warmly, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "You know I wish I could spend more time with you, you're teaching me so much already and I'm excited to learn more. But, like you said." He shrugged regretfully. "Duty calls."

He did up the buttons of his suit jacket and straightened out the cuffs, making out like he was about to leave.

Crowley's throat went suddenly dry.

"Aren't you going to–" He swallowed thickly, still tasting salt and musk. At least the stink of it hadn't lingered after Gabriel had changed his clothes for him. "What about Aziraphale? Wouldn't want to leave him locked up in there still if he's already calmed down, or if he gets there while you're out, hardly seems fair to him.”

"Oh, right, of course," Gabriel replied, like the other angel's presence in the next room over had completely slipped his mind, and clicked his fingers. Crowley fought the urge to run over to the bedroom door to see whether Gabriel had actually unlocked it, only barely holding himself back. The instant Gabriel had vanished in his customary flash of lightning, Crowley raced for the door, already pressing down on the handle before he realised how Aziraphale might react to someone just bursting into the room unannounced.

He forced himself to settle and knocked on the door. "Angel? It's just me, he's left for the moment," he called out.

There was a hesitant response from the other side of the door, the muffled syllables indistinct but vaguely in the shape of Crowley's name, a trembling, questioning lilt at the end.

Swallowing, Crowley told him, louder this time, "Aziraphale, I'm going to open the door, all right?"

No sound came from inside, the thick door likely smothering any potential sound Aziraphale's feet would have made on the soft carpet. Crowley inched the door open a fraction, and called out again, "Angel, 's just me, he's gone for now."

"Crowley?" Came the response, clearer now that the door was cracked. Crowley eased it open just far enough to slip into the room, and Aziraphale was immediately by his side. His hands fluttered anxiously, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to touch, like he wasn't sure if that was something Crowley would want.

"Are you all right?" he asked tremulously. "I couldn't really hear what was going on, but I thought I heard you shout at one point, did he hurt you, I swear if he hurt you–"

"He didn't hurt me, I'm fine," Crowley assured, the tender spot on his scalp throbbing with the lie. It wasn't as if there was anything Aziraphale could really do about it, anyway. He took Aziraphale's fluttering hands between his own and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

Aziraphale didn't seem to entirely buy it, anxiety pressing into the cracks and crevasses of his face, making him look each of his six thousand years.

Crowley sighed. "Look, it is what it is, all we can do is make the best of our situation, right?"

"Right," Aziraphale agreed shakily, nodding too many times. His hands twitched against Crowley's, so clearly wanting to draw Crowley close to his chest but so clearly worried that further touch would be unwelcome. Crowley's body seemed to move of its own will to put Aziraphale's concerns to rest, driven by the overwhelming urge to be held by someone that actually loved him, rather than seeing him as a means to an end. He stepped in close, head dropping down into the crook of Aziraphale's neck, breathing deep of the angel's scent to rid his nostrils of the lingering aroma of lavender.

Aziraphale drew him in without question. For all his earlier trembling, Aziraphale's arms around him were so steady and fierce that for a few moments, at least, Crowley could almost pretend that the sense of safety the embrace instilled in him wasn't something ephemeral and fleeting.

This was something they shared now, after all, seeking the solace of each other's arms when Gabriel wasn't around to try and insert himself into the embrace. The whispered affirmations of adoration, the brief stolen kisses, the love measured out in furtive scraps. Crowley still wasn't used to being able to see Aziraphale's eyes up so close, to being able to visually document all the different shades of colour they held without fear of being caught staring.

He ached to see them even now, to see his own love reflected back at him there, even tinged with sadness as it was. He pulled back slightly, and Aziraphale's eyes locked onto his own, just as perfect and filled to the brim with love as he remembered.

"I love you," he murmured, stroking Aziraphale's cheek.

"You know I love you, too," Aziraphale whispered back, tilting his face up towards Crowley's.

Crowley's gaze fell to Aziraphale's lips, and he leant into the angel with all the inevitability of a tree being felled, only to jerk away at the last second as he realised that Aziraphale might still be able to taste Gabriel on his tongue.

Aziraphale flinched at his reaction. "I'm sorry, I thought–"

"No, no, 's not you, never you, angel," Crowley assured, stepping close again and laying a hand on Aziraphale's arm. What was meant to be a soothing gesture ended up being Crowley clutching at the angel for support. "He..."

Aziraphale's gaze sharpened. "Crowley, what has he done?"

"It's nothing, it's, it's fine, I promise," Crowley said, pointedly ignoring where his scalp still ached from when Gabriel had held him down.

"Then why did you flinch away from kissing me?"

Bless it all, Crowley was a demon, he was supposed to be asking difficult questions, not answering them himself.

Aziraphale withdrew a little. "I'm sorry, you don't need to answer that if you don't wish to. It isn't fair of me to pry, especially not when you're…" He trailed off, looking away in shame.

"All I want is to keep you safe."

The angel's lip wobbled. "You shouldn't even be here, suffering for my sake. I should be able to protect you."

"It's all right, angel," Crowley soothed, cradling Aziraphale's cheek in one hand. Aziraphale leant into the touch with a troubled sigh. "I'm just a demon, after all, aren't I, something like this happening was always going to be easier for me than for you."

"Don't say that," Aziraphale rebuked, tone fierce for all that the words trembled. "You aren't just anything."

Crowley said nothing, just leant their foreheads together, closed his eyes, and wondered whether if he hoped hard enough, Aziraphale's words would start to feel true.

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It took no time at all for the new pattern to settle in.

Gabriel would spend time with them intermittently, the eternal daylight of Heaven meaning that it wasn't uncommon for the Archangels' meetings to run into the days in length, sometimes, although he was usually gone for stretches of time between six and twelve hours, sometimes as little as three. Whenever he was around, he'd slowly push to try and get Aziraphale to show him more affection. Aziraphale would fold like a tower of cards every time, and he'd be locked away, with Crowley being forced to hold Gabriel's attention alone.

Crowley would always pretend to Aziraphale that nothing much had happened, that he was fine, really, nothing for Aziraphale to be upset about. But Aziraphale wasn't stupid, or blind. He saw the way Crowley's lips would sometimes be swollen with use when Gabriel left. He could read the subtext behind the fact that more often than not, Gabriel had changed Crowley into a different outfit between locking Aziraphale up and letting him out again.

Whenever Gabriel locked Aziraphale up in the bedroom, he'd torture himself by pressing his ear to the door, swallowing down the sobs that tried to form in his throat as he strained to hear anything from the next room. It was only ever the occasional appreciative groan from Gabriel, muffled into indistinction by the door; he never heard Crowley yelp in panic like he had the first time. If Crowley made any noise at all, it was too quiet to be heard through the door. Whilst Aziraphale could only hope that it at least meant that Gabriel was being gentle, a secret, shameful part of him was glad that he wasn't also hearing Crowley cry out in pleasure.

It was a despicable thing to think, he knew, but there wasn't a whole lot he could do to stop the intrusive thought from worming its way into his brain. He simply had to ignore it as best he could, and keep his vigil by the door.

Things always ended the same way – Gabriel would let out a loud, satisfied moan before lapsing into silence, or at least quiet enough thereafter that Aziraphale couldn't hear through the door. Aziraphale would be left on tenterhooks for hours on end, before the familiar rap of Crowley's knuckles on the door let him know the Archangel was gone. Aziraphale would open the door, and Crowley would slip inside, clearly eager to put as much physical distance between himself and whatever had just happened with Gabriel. He would keep his gaze averted from Aziraphale's, but he could still tell that Crowley's eyes were golden from side to side, no matter how quickly he buried his head into Aziraphale's chest, desperate to be embraced.

Aziraphale knew Crowley's eyes only went fully serpentine when his emotions were running high, or if he was under a lot of stress.

He hadn't seen the whites of Crowley's eyes in months.

––––––––––––––––––––––––

The pattern broke one day without warning.

Aziraphale had been sequestered to the bedroom, as per usual. It had been quiet outside for a good long while, and he kept himself plastered to the door, straining to hear the sound of Crowley's footsteps approaching, despite the fact that the first sign he got that Gabriel had left was always Crowley knocking on the door.

The knock finally came, and Aziraphale stumbled to his feet, eager to gently wrap Crowley in his arms, to offer whatever small measure of comfort he could before Gabriel inevitably returned. When he tried to press down on the handle, however, it stopped abruptly in his hand. A heavy, nauseating weight settled in the bottom of his stomach as he rattled the handle a few times, just to be sure, but it was all too apparent that the door was still locked.

After a beat, Crowley began to knock again, a deliberate pattern that only took Aziraphale a few seconds to realise was Morse code.

He left. Too quick. I'm sorry.

Aziraphale stifled a distressed sob, trying not to let himself dwell on the fact that he was going to remain stuck for several hours more, at best. That at worst, it could be days.

It's OK, he tapped out quickly, even as his hands trembled. I love you.

Love you too, came the painstaking response. Aziraphale rested his spare hand against the door, imagining to himself that Crowley was doing the same on the other side, that the only thing presently keeping them from being palm to palm was a few inches of solid oak.

Talk to me still? He knocked out slowly.

Of course, Crowley responded.

Aziraphale abruptly realised he'd been wallowing so much in how he was trapped in here without Crowley, that he'd all but overlooked that Crowley was also trapped alone on the other side of the door, albeit with more space to move around in. Not that that even mattered, really, Aziraphale knew that Crowley wouldn't leave the door until Gabriel came back. He would surely be beating himself up for not being able to stop Gabriel in time, never mind that he most definitely would have done everything he could to avoid this situation.

And that was without taking into consideration whatever Gabriel had been doing to Crowley before he'd left. Even though Crowley still refused to give Aziraphale any sort of indication of what Gabriel was getting up to, Aziraphale knew it wasn't nothing. Whenever Gabriel was gone, Crowley always asked Aziraphale to hold him tighter, some serpentine part of him settling at least a little under the compression. Aziraphale always complied, of course, embracing him fiercely, telling him how sorry he was, and how brave Crowley had been, and selfless, and how much Aziraphale loved him.

Are you OK? Aziraphale tapped out before Crowley could add anything else.

There was just the slightest pause, and Aziraphale felt his heart ache. All fine.

That was evidently a lie, but Aziraphale didn't think calling him out on it would help anything. Glad, he responded instead.

Knock knock, Crowley spelled out.

Aziraphale huffed out a laugh despite himself.  Who's there?

It was obviously a diversionary tactic, but there was something so inherently absurd about Crowley telling him a knock-knock joke exclusively through knocking. Perhaps it was Aziraphale's standards of humour slipping after having been held captive for more than three months, but he dissolved into a fit of giggles and couldn't focus enough to parse out the punchline.

Ha ha, he knocked back anyway once he'd gotten himself back under control. The punchline had likely been abysmal, anyway, Crowley delighted in telling terrible jokes.

Got more, Crowley told him, and Aziraphale could just picture the crooked little grin on his face.

Aziraphale ached with fondness, and the desire to be holding Crowley in his arms. My turn, he insisted, not wanting to burden Crowley with carrying the conversation when he'd already been burdened with so much else.

They traded knocks back and forth for hours, knuckles growing sore and red but not slowing them down in the slightest. The laborious pace of the conversation, and the mere fact that they were still able to indirectly keep each other company, made the time pass quickly. When Crowley abruptly stopped knocking mid-sentence, Aziraphale had a flash of panic, then realised with a jolt just how long it had been. Crowley suddenly stopping must have meant that Gabriel had finally returned, and Aziraphale clenched his hands tightly at his sides to keep himself from loosing a series of panicked knocks on the door asking what was going on.

Sure enough, mere moments later, the door was being opened.

"Ah, Aziraphale, there you are!" Gabriel stood in the doorway, his expression one of contrition as he extended a hand in Aziraphale's direction. "So sorry that you got left in here so long, crazy schedule, you completely slipped off the radar."

Aziraphale tried to determine whether there was any hint of a lie in his tone.

It didn't seem particularly likely, given that Gabriel wasn't exactly known for his duplicity, but, well… he had tried to have Aziraphale executed before, or at least who he thought was Aziraphale. Aziraphale couldn't completely discount the possibility that Gabriel had 'forgotten' to unlock the door to punish Aziraphale for taking so long to return his affections, or perhaps for the possibility that Aziraphale would be so grateful at being let out again that he'd kiss the Archangel of his own volition.

The more plausible scenario, however, was still that Gabriel truly had forgotten that he had still been locked in the bedroom.

If that was the case, wouldn't it be best if he did somehow push past his utter terror, and begin reciprocating Gabriel's advances? The other option risked Aziraphale being locked away and forgotten about entirely, with Crowley subjected to Gabriel's attention utterly alone, purely as a matter of convenience.

Crowley had already suffered so much for his sake, he had to do something.

"It's all right, just a simple lapse, could have happened to anyone," Aziraphale said, forcing a wobbly smile, taking Gabriel's hand and allowing himself to be led out into the living room. "All is forgiven."

Before his shrieking nerves could lock him in place completely, he pressed a hasty kiss to Gabriel's cheek and pulled away.

Gabriel's face lit up with a delighted grin.

Aziraphale felt a rush of relief, which then triggered a wave of shame. It shouldn't have had any positive emotions attached to it at all, given the circumstances, not to mention how much more Crowley had already sacrificed by comparison. No part of this should have felt like a triumph.

"Does this mean you're ready for more now?" Gabriel asked eagerly, giving his hand a squeeze.

"Still working up to it," Aziraphale replied hastily, carefully extricating his hand from Gabriel's grip. "Patience is a virtue, after all."

"Well, I can hardly want to stop you feeling virtuous, now, can I?" Gabriel said with a smile. "Y'know what we can do instead – we can have Crowley sitting between us, and we'll take turns kissing him, you liked that when we did it before, right?"

Crowley moved himself protectively between the two angels. "I don't think–"
 

"That sounds… lovely," Aziraphale said over the top of him, clenching his hands tight enough that his nails dug into his palms. He couldn't bear to be sent off to the bedroom again, not so soon after being let out. He would just have to muscle through, and hope that Crowley's presence would be enough to keep him grounded.

"Great! I'll start," Gabriel enthused, taking Crowley's hand and leading him to the sofa, already reaching up with his other hand to cup Crowley's jaw and pull him into a kiss.

Aziraphale hated how practiced the motion was, how much Gabriel must have subjected Crowley to this already. Crowley made a good show of enjoying himself, one hand looped lazily around Gabriel's neck, but there was a tension in his shoulders that belied his true feelings about the entire situation.

The kiss seemed to go on and on and on, and Aziraphale suddenly realised that's because it was – Gabriel wasn't going to relinquish control of the kiss unless Aziraphale insisted upon it.

"I believe I'm due a turn?" he hazarded, hating how hesitant he sounded. Gabriel did pull back, though, allowing Crowley to turn towards Aziraphale.

Crowley slowly nudged their lips together, trying to be gentle with him as much as he could despite the circumstances. Aziraphale did his best to ignore the ozone-bright taste of Gabriel's tongue lingering on Crowley's lips, instead directing his focus to the smoke-and-spice flavour of the demon beneath. One hand settled on Crowley's shoulder, the other on his waist, and Crowley arched up into the touch, both of them forgetting for a moment that they weren't alone.

Their bubble fractured when Gabriel began nosing at the back of Crowley's neck, making a discontent sound as he encountered the collar of his shirt before snapping his fingers.

Aziraphale's hands were suddenly on bare skin, so shocking and abrupt that he and Crowley both froze.

"That's better," Gabriel said approvingly, pressing a kiss to the nape of Crowley's neck. Crowley's lips stilled against Aziraphale's, trembling slightly as Gabriel pressed a multitude of kisses along Crowley's shoulders and spine. Crowley's skin was so startlingly warm under Aziraphale's touch, and he had to fight the urge to let his hands roam. He didn't want the first time he explored Crowley's body to be like this, with Gabriel as an audience.

Never mind that before too long, they might not have a choice. 

Aziraphale felt the sofa dip as Gabriel shifted, and he looked down just in time to see the Archangel's hand slide down Crowley's side and begin to curl around the front of his hip.

Crowley jumped at the touch. "Just– just kissing this time, remember?" he said quickly, voice slightly higher than normal.

Gabriel grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, got a bit carried away."

"Maybe we stop there, then?" Crowley suggested quickly, getting himself back under control. "Wouldn't want you getting too excited, that wouldn't be fair to Aziraphale."

The Archangel let out a regretful sigh. "You've got a good point," he conceded begrudgingly, clicking to resummon Crowley's shirt. He then spread his arms wide as he leant back against the arm of the couch, beckoning Crowley in. "Why don't we do that cuddling thing again, huh? You both like that."

Crowley obligingly scooted closer, back flush to Gabriel's chest and pressed against the side of Gabriel's hip. He propped one leg up against the back of the sofa, bracketing Gabriel's arm, and laced his fingers between Gabriel's, before looking over to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale felt his heart swell anew with love for Crowley. The demon had carefully orchestrated the way he was sitting to minimise the physical contact that Aziraphale would have to have with Gabriel, even at the cost of putting himself in that position instead.

After all, that was pretty much what everything Crowley had done during their captivity so far had been designed to do – to keep Aziraphale safe from Gabriel's touch.

Aziraphale gave him a small, appreciative smile to let him know the sentiment had not gone unnoticed, then settled himself into Crowley's lap, closed his eyes, and did his best to pretend it was just the two of them back in the bookshop, alone.

Chapter Text

Gabriel still snuck in a few more kisses that Crowley had no real choice but to reciprocate. Aziraphale did his best not to watch. It was an easier task than to try and tune out the sound of lips moving slowly against one another, of the pleased little hums and groans Gabriel insisted on making.

Crowley kept his fingers tangled with Gabriel's, keeping the Archangel's hands from wandering over his body, or from creeping down to where Aziraphale was curled up in Crowley's lap. Aziraphale was indescribably grateful, and made sure not to move an inch from where he was. The way he was currently positioned meant that he was blocking Gabriel's access to Crowley's more intimate areas, even if the Archangel pulled free of Crowley's grip. Simultaneously, it kept Aziraphale far enough away himself that Gabriel couldn't comfortably reach him, either.

Aziraphale had to swallow down a sigh of relief when Gabriel regretfully announced it was time for him to go. Aziraphale shifted gladly to the other side of the sofa as Crowley disentangled himself and joined him, giving Gabriel a glancing kiss to the cheek as he went.

"I don't get another from you?" Gabriel asked Aziraphale.

"Perhaps next time," Aziraphale prevaricated, trying to keep the tremor from his tone. "Patience makes for a sweeter reward, after all."

"I'll hold you to that," Gabriel promised, and disappeared in a flash of lightning.

Tears pricked at Aziraphale's eyes.

I don't doubt that you will.

"You didn't need to do all that," Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale stared down at his lap, too weary to even sigh in relief now that Gabriel was gone. "I rather think I did, actually. I was only ever going to be able to put off reciprocating his affections for so long before he decided I was more trouble than I was worth." He let out a hollow laugh, entirely devoid of cheer. "It's almost funny, you know," he said. "I spent so long trying to prove that I deserved the love of Heaven. But now, with Gabriel freely expressing love – or, at least, what he's convinced himself is love – I'd much rather do without." He felt his face begin to crumple a bit. "I don't know if I'll be able to stomach giving him more than I already have," he confessed, his body flooding with self-loathing, knowing that Crowley had already given up so much more, for his sake. What right did he have to complain, when Crowley was already being subjected to the things he was fearing? How dare he go to pieces at the mere thought of Gabriel kissing him on the lips, when Crowley had already suffered far worse without complaint?

"We've got to keep him convinced that it's the real thing," Crowley replied, not entirely able to mask the anxiety in his tone. "That's our only way out that doesn't end with me being a puddle of goo and you a pile of ashes. We don't have any other choice but to play along until he lets his guard down enough for us to escape."

Aziraphale still couldn't bear to meet his eyes. "He's going to keep wanting more," he said softly. "He isn't going to stay satisfied long, he's going to take more soon."

"…Yeah, I know," Crowley told him. "We already agreed, remember? I'm going to take charge of things, there."

"But…" Aziraphale took a deep breath, suddenly shaky. "I thought we'd have more time before he wanted to… That perhaps we might have escaped already by the time he wanted to… I don't..." He swallowed thickly, and moved in closer, laying a hand on Crowley's arm, determination in his gaze. "Crowley, I don't want our first time together to be when we're with him. He's going to push for more than just kissing before long, you can't pretend he won't. And he's going to want it from both of us, eventually, regardless of how much you give him." He took a shuddering breath. "He's already taken our first kiss from us, I don't want him taking anything else that we should have been able to have for ourselves."

Shame flashed through Crowley's eyes in the split second before he dropped his head down. "He's already taken more," he whispered.

Aziraphale reached up and gently lifted his chin. "I don't care what you've done with him," he assured, gaze clear and bright, "or anyone else. None of that would ever make me love you less, I promise you. I care about us."

"You deserve more than this," Crowley muttered, still not quite able to meet Aziraphale's gaze.

"And so do you," Aziraphale told him. "And once we're free of this place, we will have that, I swear it. I know that for now, it won't be quite how either of us had imagined," he admitted, "but I do mean it, Crowley. The only thing that matters here to me, is you. And I would only ever ask this of you, never demand it. You are always well within your rights to say no if this isn't something you'd like to do."

Crowley took a shaky breath that seemed to rattle through the very core of him. "No, you're right," he said. "I'd much rather we do it now, instead of..." A visible shiver ran through him and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Instead of after he's done more than he has already."

Aziraphale reached out to give his knee a reassuring squeeze as he shuffled closer, entwining their fingers, feeling the brush of Crowley's skin against his palm.

He'd always admired Crowley's hands, the long, elegant shape of them. They were like an artist's, meant for steady, precise movements. Aziraphale had often wondered whether Crowley had been in one of the creative divisions before his Fall. Throughout his history on Earth, Aziraphale had often watched the scuttle of soft clouds backlit by sunset, or the first bright green shoots unfurling from loamy soil in spring, or the everchanging slow spiral of stars overhead. He'd often wondered whether if he'd looked close enough, he'd find some evidence of Crowley's hand in their design, a thumbprint smeared through paint on a canvas.

Now, they swirled in delicate patterns over the back of Aziraphale's hands, smoothing into the creases in a distracted way that spoke of hesitance, of being too nervous to be the one to take the first step.

Aziraphale might have found the irony amusing, if not for the pang of shame that his own hesitance over the millennia was likely what was making Crowley uncertain now.

"Might I kiss you?" Aziraphale asked gently.

Crowley startled a little, then settled and lifted his gaze to meet Aziraphale's, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You might," he replied, and Aziraphale took the cue, one hand slowly rising to cup Crowley's jaw as they each drew near enough to one another for their lips to meet.

It was tender, as all their kisses had been. There was a heat, now, though, one that they hadn't dared let themselves feel before. Aziraphale could feel it radiating through the thin cotton of Crowley's shirt, pooling in the little space left between them, his own limbs loosening and heartbeat quickening in response. He hadn't always had a heart, physically at least. After reading so many human texts describing the depth of feeling they attributed to the life-sustaining organ, however, Aziraphale hadn't been able to help but grant himself one of his own. It was a decision he often delighted in; there truly was something to be said about having emotions manifest physically the way they did when he had a heart, the pang in his chest making whatever had elicited the response all the more poignant.

Even after all this time, the mere fact of Crowley's closeness made it flutter so fiercely that he was surprised his wings hadn't popped out.

Crowley nibbled cautiously at Aziraphale's bottom lip, far too gentle to risk breaking skin. Aziraphale gasped nonetheless, opening eagerly for the press of Crowley's tongue into his mouth and responding in kind.

"Angel…" Crowley sighed the endearment into his mouth, for that was what it had always been. They both knew what Crowley using that word to refer to him by would mean to any human onlookers. Even if Heaven and Hell had overheard, they would only ever assume that Crowley was being literal – notwithstanding that what Crowley called Aziraphale would have been the least of their worries if their bosses had caught them associating – and wouldn't realise that the term wasn't purely descriptive. Crowley and Aziraphale were the only two that knew it meant both.

"Crowley," Aziraphale groaned back, deepening the kiss, hands tugging Crowley closer and holding him tight. He felt a frisson of delight when Crowley squeezed him back just as firmly, arms winding around Aziraphale's shoulders like the coils of the serpent he was.

Crowley was close enough now that the tell-tale bulge in his trousers grazed against Aziraphale's thigh. Crowley moaned brokenly, rocking himself against the angel's thigh, riding higher and higher. Aziraphale was slower to stir but equally as eager, a modest swell forming at the crux of his trousers by the time Crowley was close enough to roll his hips against it. Crowley's mouth shifted away from Aziraphale's, and instead began tracing kisses up along his jaw. Aziraphale arched his neck, exposing a narrow strip of skin above his collar to Crowley's explorations. Crowley's thigh pressed a little more firmly between Aziraphale's legs, making them spread wider.

Aziraphale gasped and bucked up into the sensation, fingers tightening in the back of Crowley's jacket.

"My dear…" he murmured, and Crowley was instantly alert, pulling back to assess Aziraphale's expression, a concerned furrow pressed into his own brow.

"What is it? We can stop if this isn't what you wanted–"

"It isn't that," Aziraphale assured. "Quite the opposite, in fact. I was merely thinking that, for propriety's sake, we might, ah, progress things to the bedroom?"

He didn't add that he knew the sofa was generally where Gabriel did what he'd done to Crowley, and that, so far, the bedroom had been a place for Aziraphale to be secluded in, the place where Crowley sought for him for comfort once Gabriel had left. For all that it was a prison within a prison, it was also where Crowley held him most fiercely, and given the rather limited options they had, Aziraphale would much rather the bed over the sofa.

Crowley nodded so rapidly that it was something of a shock that his head didn't pop off of his shoulders. "You– yeah, sounds. Good, sounds like a plan."

Aziraphale smiled fondly. "We'll want to collect some supplies from the bathroom, but, yes, I rather thought a change in scenery would be beneficial."

He was met with a blank stare, the blood in Crowley's body clearly diverted to areas that weren't his brain.

"I wouldn't have thought there would be any lubricant stashed in the bedside table," Aziraphale expounded.

"Ah. Fair point," Crowley conceded, then lowered his lashes. "I'll go get myself ready in the bedroom and wait for you, then, shall I?"

Aziraphale swallowed. "Yes, I'll join you shortly," he managed, still not quite sure how he'd been bold enough to suggest this in the first place.

He carried himself over to the bathroom as Crowley disappeared into the bedroom behind him, and headed for the sink. He'd seen a collection of tubes and bottles of various descriptions tucked into the cupboard beneath it, earlier on in their captivity, back when Crowley had still been manically searching every nook and cranny for a physical exit from their prison. Aziraphale hadn't exactly seen anything that might be useful to them now, but he hadn't gotten the best look at the collection of creams and liquids before Crowley had frustratedly slammed the cupboard doors shut. Whilst finding an actual lubricant designed for the purpose seemed incredibly unlikely, Aziraphale was hopeful that he'd find a reasonable substitute.

Kneeling down, he opened the cupboard and began to inspect its contents. Gabriel clearly only had a loose grasp on the fact that humans tended to fill such cupboards with medicines and personal care products – the items inside the cupboard spanned across several eras of human medicine and skincare, some of them not being used for such purposes in centuries.

Aziraphale sifted through the face creams and outdated medicines, before finally his hands closed around a tube of pure aloe vera gel. Pleased with his find, he stood, gathered one of the fluffy towels hanging on the rack on the wall, and bustled out of the bathroom.

His paced slowed as he approached the bedroom door, suddenly unsure.

Did Crowley actually want this? Was Aziraphale just being presumptuous, in assuming Crowley wanted to do this as much as he did? Did the demon actually think that this was the only value he had to offer, a mere thing to be bedded, not worthy of the love nestled deep in the heart of him?

Or did Crowley perhaps simply pity Aziraphale, and had wanted to offer him something kinder before Gabriel eventually took it for himself? Was it an expression of compassion, rather than passion?

But no. Aziraphale had tasted Crowley's gentle sighs, had felt how he melted completely at Aziraphale's touch. Even with his angelic abilities severely muted, Aziraphale had been able to sense the veritable waves of love rolling off of Crowley. He hadn't been lying when he'd granted Aziraphale permission to kiss him, and had moved in with none of the tension he'd held when Gabriel had demanded the same of him.

Still, better for Aziraphale to offer himself to Crowley, gift him with some control over the situation when he'd spent so much time already having it taken from him.

It wasn't as if Aziraphale hadn't dreamt of offering such things for centuries, it was the farthest thing from a hardship.

Mind made up, Aziraphale shuffled his burden into one arm, took a steadying breath, and pressed into the room.

He honestly shouldn't have been surprised that, instead of having spread himself alluringly atop the bed or something to that effect, Crowley was instead agonising over the arrangement of pillows, glaring at the bedspread like it had personally offended him.

Crowley startled at his approach, turning with one of the pillows clutched in a stranglehold, like he'd been trying to throttle it into submission.

"That was quick," Crowley said, still choking the pillow. "I didn't…"

"It's all right," Aziraphale assured, moving to the side of the bed and depositing the tube of aloe vera there. He then turned and laid out the towel on the bed with a flourish, taking a seat next to it once it had settled. With a little wiggle, Aziraphale looked at Crowley from under his lashes and smiled. "I want you, my dearest," he said softly, eyes tracing the way Crowley's throat bobbed. "You can have me as you wish, if you wish to have me."

Chapter Text

For all that Crowley hadn't engaged in sexual activities involving other people before all this, he was more than familiar with the art of autoeroticism. He'd experimented with a vast array of toys over the years, as well as with his own hands. More often than he cared to admit, he'd imagined it had been Aziraphale touching him instead. He knew how to most quickly and efficiently open himself up, so he doubted it would be much different with Aziraphale.

Never mind that he didn't want to have to be quick with this. Never mind how often he'd dreamt of languorously stretching Aziraphale open with fingers and tongue, of spending days in bed and giving the angel nothing but pleasure. They didn't have the time for that, not now.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said gently. "I can practically hear you thinking."

"Right. Sorry." He took hold of Aziraphale's proffered hand and allowed himself to be guided to sit on the edge of the bed.

Aziraphale smiled, expression unbearably fond. "No need to apologise, my dear."

"I just…" Crowley ducked his head, not wanting to admit how thoroughly uncharted these waters were for him. "This isn't how I'd have... I don't want this to be disappointing for you."

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale murmured, reaching up to cradle Crowley's face. "Time spent with you could never be a disappointment for me, surely you know that."

Embarrassed, Crowley pressed a kiss to the palm of Aziraphale's hand, futilely trying to hide his reddened cheeks.

"Please, Crowley," he said quietly. "I'd like to share myself with you, if you'd like the same."

"You know that's all I've ever wanted," Crowley whispered, and leant in closer to kiss him.

Their lips met, and the heat between them roared back to life, Crowley's hands immediately restless and starting to roam. Aziraphale kicked off his shoes and climbed further onto the bed, Crowley moving with him like the tide, settling into the space between his thighs.

Aziraphale's tongue swept along Crowley's bottom lip in a question, and Crowley opened eagerly for him. He licked his way into Aziraphale's mouth and felt his head buzz giddily, like he'd be able to get drunk off of the angel's taste alone. Aziraphale cradled his face and kissed him deeply. Crowley was sure that Aziraphale must have been able to feel the flaming rush of blood to his cheeks, radiating heat all the way out to his ears, cascading down his throat, his chest, coating his wildly beating heart.

Crowley's hands seemed to move of their own accord, smoothing down over Aziraphale's shoulders. Aziraphale pulled him closer, his own hands sliding around Crowley's waist, cradling him like he was something precious. He tipped slowly backwards onto the bed, easing Crowley down on top of him. His legs spread a little wider, the growing bulge in his trousers pressing up against Crowley's own.

"D'you want me to–"

"Yes," Aziraphale breathed, barely breaking away from the kiss to speak. "I want you to have me, I want you to have all of me–"

Crowley groaned helplessly against his lips. He reached up to undo Aziraphale's necktie and had a moment of cognitive dissonance when he found that the fabric wasn't shaped into a bow, like his mind had expected. He pushed past the feeling, removing the offending piece of fabric and tossing it over his shoulder to be forgotten, fumbling at the buttons beneath. Aziraphale worked at Crowley's shirt and tie with equal eagerness, both of them groaning when the flurry of movement made them both grind against one another.

He felt himself flag a little when he realised they would need to remove their trousers very soon to avoid leaving noticeable stains.

He hated having to think like that, to have Gabriel intruding on their time together without even actually being there.

Hoping that the thought hadn't occurred to Aziraphale yet, he dropped his hands to Aziraphale's belt, pausing on the buckle to see if Aziraphale was ready, before undoing it with shaking hands. Aziraphale moaned in anticipation against his tongue, and, encouraged, Crowley tugged down his fly, breath catching as his knuckles grazed over the burgeoning swell of the angel's erection. Aziraphale's hips jolted up into the touch, giving an eager little wriggle to help Crowley ease the trousers down over furred thighs, over thick, strong calves, then tossed haphazardly over the end of the bed where they hopefully wouldn't become noticeably crumpled. Aziraphale's hands were steadier on Crowley's belt, feeding the tongue through the buckle and helping him shuck the garment entirely.

Their already-unbuttoned shirts went next, joining the tangle of trousers on the end of the bed, leaving them both in nothing but their underwear.

Crowley flushed, suddenly, absurdly shy. But Aziraphale just smiled understandingly, and slowly slid himself out of his underwear, quite suddenly naked as the day he was created. Crowley couldn't tear his eyes away.

"Might I see you as well?" Aziraphale asked, somehow demure despite his state of undress.

"You– yeah," Crowley mumbled, transfixed by the delicate blush lighting Aziraphale's cheeks, soft and lovely, just like the rest of him. He made no move to finish undressing himself, too enraptured to divert any attention towards the operation of his limbs.

"Would you like me to do it?" Aziraphale ventured after a few moments of inaction.

"Yeah," Crowley breathed, hoping that the twitch of his cock at the thought wasn't too obvious. The gentle smile on Aziraphale's face certainly didn't help Crowley in getting his brain to be less of a useless puddle of goo about the situation, nor did the featherlight press of Aziraphale's lips against his own, or the slow, steady caress of Aziraphale's hands trailing down over his chest. Crowley's breath stuttered beneath Aziraphale's palms as they travelled down, and down, until they finally met Crowley's waistband.

"Are you all right?" Aziraphale asked, whispering the question into Crowley's mouth, filling him with love.

"Yes, terrific, angel, please," Crowley mumbled back, letting out a quiet gasp when Aziraphale's fingers hooked under the waistband and gently drew it down. There was some fairly desperate and incredibly undignified wriggling on Crowley's part, and then he was freed, shuddering and moaning into Aziraphale's mouth, as a manicured hand encircled his cock and gave it a light squeeze. "Oh, fuck," he whimpered, dropping away from the kiss to instead lean his head on Aziraphale's shoulder and mouth at his collarbone. Aziraphale gave him a slow stroke, drawing his thumb over the head of Crowley's cock and smearing through the precum that was beginning to gather there. Crowley's hips swayed into the sensation, and Aziraphale let out a little hum of pleasure, warming Crowley all the way down to his toes as the angel's free hand curled around his waist.

Even already this close to him, Crowley ached with longing, to hold Aziraphale closer still, and protect him from the harm that would eventually come for them both.

He tried to push the knowledge of Gabriel's inevitable return to the back of his mind, and instead directed his attention at sweeping his hands up along Aziraphale's generous thighs, cock hanging thick between them and perking up in interest. Crowley felt his mouth begin to water a bit at the sight.

Then his mind rather brutally reminded him of just how many times he'd been in that position already with Gabriel, jaw aching, a firm hand to the back of his head, holding him down–

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked, breaking through the fog descending on Crowley's brain, voice tinged with concern. "We can stop if you need to, I promise I won't be upset."

Crowley shook himself. He didn't want to associate what Gabriel had done to him already with the time he was spending with Aziraphale.

It was OK. There were plenty of other things they could do instead.

"''M fine," he assured, offering a smile, fingertips tracing a line along the bottom curve of Aziraphale's stomach. "I want this. Want you."

"You have me," Aziraphale replied softly, cupping the side of Crowley's jaw, drawing a thumb over his cheekbone.

Crowley caressed Aziraphale's wrist, fingers tracing over his pulse, and pressed a kiss to the heel of his palm. Aziraphale smiled, relaxing into the touch, and he reached out across the bed with his free hand, grabbing hold of the tube of aloe vera and passing it to Crowley.

He stared at it for a moment before his brain caught up and reminded him what its purpose was. His hands trembled slightly as he unscrewed the cap, dropping it as it came off, bouncing slightly against the covers.

He squeezed some aloe out onto his fingers, but pressed a little too hard in his nervousness and it spilt over, dripping down onto Aziraphale's stomach. Aziraphale jumped a little at the cool splash of the aloe onto his skin, and Crowley winced in sympathy. "Sorry."

"No matter," Aziraphale assured him. "I've read that it's rather beneficial for the skin."

Crowley couldn't help but chuckle, his fraught nerves somewhat soothed. "That might be the case, but I did have other plans for the stuff."

Aziraphale nodded sagely. "But of course," he said with an irrepressible grin. "We'll just have to attend to my skincare routine some other time, won't we?"

A matching grin tugged at Crowley's lips. "Oh, so I'm going to be involved in your skincare routine, now, am I?" he asked. "Bet you'll have me rubbing all sorts of lotions on you, have you soft and smelling like my own personal garden."

"Mm, that does sound quite delightful," Aziraphale agreed.

"We'll have that, then," Crowley promised. "Later."

Aziraphale's smile softened. "Later," he confirmed. "But for now, you mentioned having other plans…?" He canted his hips hopefully, the delicate pink whorl of his entrance exposed, cock flushed with colour where it lay between his thighs.

"Impatient," Crowley teased fondly, even though he was still keenly aware that they were operating on a limited timeframe. The aloe was warm and slick on his fingers, and he curled one hand around Aziraphale's cock. The skin was velvet-soft, the weight of it warm and heavy in the palm of his hand. Aziraphale let out a quiet sigh of contentment as Crowley gave him the gentlest of squeezes, hand gliding upwards, thumb brushing over the fold where the head of Aziraphale's cock was beginning to emerge from the foreskin. Aziraphale moaned softly and rolled his hips up into Crowley's fist, hardening rapidly under his touch, his eyelids fluttering shut. Sure that he must be on the right track with all of this, Crowley let his other hand wander lower, slicked fingers drawing a steady circle around the tight ring of muscle between his cheeks, over and over, until Aziraphale's thighs began to quake.

Crowley pressed a kiss against the inside of one of Aziraphale's quivering thighs, making him crack his eyes back open to watch what Crowley was doing. Crowley smiled, gave his cock a long stroke, and sank his forefinger into Aziraphale's hole.

He only pressed in to the second knuckle, but it was enough to set Aziraphale's lashes fluttering again, mouth falling open with a soft sound. Crowley maintained unblinking eye contact as he slowly pulsed his finger in and out. He was keenly aware that he couldn't use a miracle to ease things along if needed, and instead made a study of Aziraphale's expression for any signs of discomfort, doing his best to mimic what he himself liked and adjust as necessary for Aziraphale's preferences.

The laser-like attention might not have even been necessary – there was no pain to be found on Aziraphale's face, only eager pleasure, even when Crowley pressed all the way in, even when he added a second finger.

Crowley swiped the fingers of his other hand through the aloe that had dripped onto Aziraphale's stomach earlier, then wrapped his re-slicked fingers around Aziraphale's cock once more. The sound Aziraphale made had Crowley grinding fruitlessly against the bed, and he ached again to wrap his lips around the angel's length instead.

He managed to refrain, instead stroking steadily and adding a third finger to Aziraphale's hole.

Aziraphale bit his lip around a pleased sound, pushing himself back against Crowley's fingers, taking them in like he'd been made for it. "Crowley," he murmured. "I'm ready, please, my dear."

Crowley stilled, swallowed, fingers buried deep. "You sure?"

Aziraphale nodded. "I know I've made you wait for me for so long. Now you have me."

Crowley nodded back vigorously, trying to hide the slight shake to his fingers as he gently withdrew them from Aziraphale's body.

Even without having touched himself, his own cock was hard and on the verge of leaking. He spread some more aloe down his own length before wiping his hand as best he could on the towel beneath them.

Aziraphale reached between them to help guide Crowley into place, making the demon let out a cracked little sound at the touch as he pressed up against Aziraphale's entrance. Aziraphale's hands withdrew to instead fist tightly in the covers, lips parted with desire.

Crowley pushed a little more, then suddenly overcame the resistance of Aziraphale's body and breached him, slowly sinking in.

"Oh, oh, Crowley," Aziraphale moaned, eyes closed, head tipping back in pleasure. His hands rose once more to curl around Crowley's shoulder and his hip, keeping him close. Crowley could have almost wept at the glorious sight. No matter what else happened, he knew he'd always have this, this perfect image of Aziraphale in pure bliss.

"Let me know when you're ready," he murmured, and Aziraphale immediately gave his hip a tug, legs wrapping around Crowley's waist, pulling him closer, pressing him in even deeper.

"Yes," he replied, breath hot against the shell of Crowley's ear.

"Fuck," Crowley said succinctly, giving an experimental roll of his hips. Aziraphale moaned again and pressed back into the sensation, encouraging Crowley to build up a gentle, rocking rhythm, Aziraphale's arms and legs wrapped securely around him, their mouths seeking one another like ships searching for a port in a storm.

Aziraphale gasped and writhed against him, pushing himself down into Crowley's thrusts. The look on his face was near-rapturous, and utterly spellbinding. Never in all his daydreams would Crowley have thought he would have been able to put such an expression on the angel's face; that Aziraphale would actually surrender his inhibitions as completely as this, revelling so wholeheartedly in Crowley's touch.

Crowley stroked the length of Aziraphale's cock, thick and lovely between his fingers, and pulled back to watch the shifting expressions of Aziraphale's face, drinking in the serene pleasure that almost seemed to make the angel glow from within.

In that moment, the tension of their reality slipped from Crowley's mind completely, so perfect was the visage spread out before him. Crowley had never before felt so content, so adored, so free of self-doubt. "I love you," he murmured, the words spoken like they were a fundamental, universal truth.

"I love you," Aziraphale said with a rush, like he'd forgotten all words in all languages bar those three.

Impossibly, Crowley felt his heart swell further, and laughed with the sheer joy of it, Aziraphale letting out a giggle beneath him in response. They loved one another, and could finally show it, and nothing that happened now would ever be able to change that, as incontrovertible as the laws of gravity– 

There was a muffled sound outside the bedroom door, and they both froze.

It had sounded an awful lot like the cadence with which Gabriel would announce that he'd come home.

Crowley looked down at Aziraphale, stricken. "That can't have been–"

Aziraphale stared back up at him, suddenly terrified, as the door handle turned and the door promptly swung open, leaving them no time whatsoever to try and obfuscate what they'd been up to.

"There you are!" Gabriel said brightly from the doorway, then took in their naked, entwined forms with a slight frown. "You started without me?"

Chapter Text

"There you are!" Gabriel said brightly from the doorway, then took in their naked, entwined forms with a slight frown. "You started without me?"

Of course the one time Gabriel came home early would be now. Crowley cursed the universe at large for inflicting such bad luck on him; it seemed particularly unwise to curse God Herself for his misfortunes at present, given he was being held prisoner in Heaven.

"You're back sooner than expected," Crowley managed, unsticking his throat. Aziraphale had locked up beneath him, it was doubtful he'd be able to muster a defence on their behalf. "We're only half ready," he continued, thinking at lightspeed. "We… we wanted to surprise you when you got home."

"Half ready?" Gabriel asked, stepping into the room, leaving the door open behind him. At least the furrow in his brow now appeared to be out of confusion rather than anger.

Crowley wanted to cry. This was supposed to have been something that he and Aziraphale shared without Gabriel intruding on them, and now Crowley had no option but to invite him to join in.

"Yeah, I've got Aziraphale ready for me, and…" He swallowed, sneaking an apologetic look down to the angel beneath him before returning his focus back to Gabriel. "…I was going to get myself ready for you."

This would be fine. Gabriel still wasn't going to get to touch Aziraphale, Crowley could still protect him, could still act as a buffer for him.

This would be fine.

Gabriel smiled broadly. "That does sound like a nice surprise," he enthused. "I'm happy to see both of you taking the initiative on something like this. I don't see why we can't still do that. I can just watch you getting ready, I'm sure I'll find it informative."

He looked at them both expectantly.

Crowley gave a tight nod, turning back to Aziraphale. He tried to tug the angel closer to the edge of the mattress, to make it easier for himself. Aziraphale, however, gave his head a tiny, frantic shake in the negative, leaning back in a way that made him impossible to shift.

"I can come to you, if that's easier," Gabriel offered.

"No, no, this is fine," Crowley was quick to assure, fumbling for the tube of aloe vera. He had to try three times before he could open the cap with his shaking hands, aloe spilling haphazardly across his fingers.

He looked down at the aloe coating his palm, took an unsteady breath, then reached behind himself, slicked fingers settling against the cleft of his arse.

He could do this. There was no reason he couldn't do this. Hadn't he fingered himself open a thousand times before, almost invariably to the thought of Aziraphale? He just needed to pretend now as he had then – that his own fingers were Aziraphale's instead, that he was even doing it in the first place for Aziraphale's pleasure, rather than Gabriel's.

His fingers slipped lower, index stroking over the tight whorl of his entrance. His breath rattled in his lungs, tinny and panicked, not at all helped by the abject terror on Aziraphale's face below him.

At least Gabriel wouldn't be able to see Aziraphale's face from the angle he was standing at. Even Gabriel would have trouble rationalising away the level of fear in Aziraphale's expression.

Crowley dipped his forefinger into himself, trying to relax enough to allow himself entrance. He arched his back a little more in an attempt to give himself better access, and the motion inadvertently drove his cock a little deeper into Aziraphale. Aziraphale let out a soft little moan, clenching around Crowley's cock, and Crowley's forefinger abruptly slipped past the resistance of his hole. He choked on his next breath, recovered, then shakily began to open himself up, finger pulsing in and out of him in a slow rhythm.

One gradually became two, Gabriel's attentive gaze burning against his back and ruining any fantasy he tried to conjure that didn't involve the Archangel.

Gabriel moved closer in anticipation for soon being able to join. Before long, he'd sat himself at the end of the bed, watching avidly as Crowley's fingers disappeared into himself, over and over. The thrust of his own fingers would, on occasion, accidentally cause him to thrust into Aziraphale. A little hitch of breath was the only sound Aziraphale made in response, and Crowley cast an apologetic look down at him. Aziraphale seemed to gather himself just enough to offer Crowley a feeble, frozen smile, and to squeeze tight at Crowley's shoulders.

Crowley leant down, kissed his ear, and murmured, so quietly that Gabriel couldn't possibly make out the words, "Just close your eyes, angel. Pretend it's just you and me."

Gabriel shifted behind him. "What was that?" he asked curiously.

"Just saying how lovely his eyes are," Crowley replied as he glanced back over his shoulder, thinking quickly. "Compliments are always nice."

Gabriel nodded, accepting the explanation. His eyes raked down Crowley's body. "I do like how slim you are," he offered. "I like the contrast. Although, it does mean I have to be extra careful not to break you."

Crowley did his best not to tense, knowing that Gabriel likely hadn't intended the words to sound threatening.

"Do you want me to take over, there?" Gabriel asked, fingertips grazing Crowley's wrist, making Crowley realise that he'd stopped pumping his fingers into himself.

"Yeah, sure, if you don't mind," Crowley replied, suddenly sick of the idea of having to open himself up for Gabriel. If Gabriel was the one doing it, it might feel less like it was something Crowley was offering, and more like something that was being taken from him against his will.

Crowley pulled his fingers out of himself and waved his lube-covered hand vaguely. "Mind cleaning this off for me?"

He could sense Gabriel's hesitance behind him even as he clicked his fingers. "What's that shiny stuff?"

"Lubricant," Crowley told him, putting his hand down, trying to angle his arm to help shield Aziraphale's face from Gabriel's line of sight. "The, er… y'need it to make sure everything glides smoothly, the whole process is a lot less comfortable without it."

"It looks… squishy," Gabriel said, sounding dubious.

"I promise you'll definitely want lubrication," Crowley replied hastily, not wanting to chance Gabriel getting it into his head that miracling the aloe away entirely would be a good idea. "Definitely want to keep stretching me, too, I didn't do nearly enough on my own yet." He tried to smile but wasn't sure if he'd managed it. "There's a lot of you for me to take, after all."

There was a despairing, broken little sound from Aziraphale, that Crowley could only hope Gabriel hadn't heard. His own throat ached, eyes burning, wishing desperately that he could offer Aziraphale the comfort he needed right now.

"Hm," Gabriel said, then snapped his fingers. Instead of leaving Crowley completely dry, as he'd feared, the aloe's consistency became slicker and warmed his skin, and his hole itself was suddenly fully stretched and prepped. Crowley gasped involuntarily, elbows buckling, and he narrowly avoided bashing foreheads with Aziraphale.

Gabriel put a hand on Crowley's waist. "Oh, sorry, that wasn't too much, was it? I can undo it and do things the… squishier way, I guess, if I have to."

"Nope, all good here," Crowley wheezed. "Already ready, might as well take advantage instead of starting over." He tried to remember how his lungs were supposed to work as he struggled to take a breath. He wished he'd never gotten into the habit of using them in the first place. "Just… just give me a second to adjust, that was… sudden."

"Of course," Gabriel said magnanimously, stroking his hands along Crowley's back in a way that he probably thought was helping. Gabriel paused for a moment, then asked, "Was that long enough?"

"Sure," Crowley bit out, even though it was a lie. No stretch of time would have been long enough to prepare himself mentally for what was about to happen to him, so there was no point in delaying it.

"Perfect," Gabriel said, then promptly miracled his clothes away, lined himself up and began to press in.

It didn't hurt at all – the intent behind Gabriel's miracle hadn't been to cause him any physical pain – but the pressure was still intense, his lungs ceasing to function once more.

Crowley distantly wondered whether he might have actually preferred if it hurt.

"Oh," Gabriel sighed softly, hands settling on Crowley's hips as he nudged himself inside.

Even with the miracle, Gabriel still felt huge. Crowley didn't dare look down, not wanting to know whether there would be a grotesque bulge to the slim lines of his abdomen as Gabriel filled him. He still curled his spine up away from Aziraphale, just in case, not wanting to risk the possibility that he might be able to feel the pressure of Gabriel's cock through Crowley's skin.

The movement shifted Gabriel's cock and Crowley trembled, trying to adjust to the feeling of Gabriel seated inside him.

Then Gabriel kept pressing into him, and Crowley realised he wasn't even all the way in yet. Crowley's stomach would have swooped low in panic had Gabriel not already begun occupying the space inside him, forcing his way into spaces where he didn't belong, where he'd stretched Crowley beyond normal physical capacity to make room for himself instead. Crowley almost choked, managing to smother the sound at the last second, lungs seizing, arms locking in place. He could feel Aziraphale growing impossibly more tense beneath him, and couldn't do anything to comfort him, too focussed on holding himself together and maintaining the charade that he wanted all of this.

"Oh, Crowley," Gabriel groaned behind him, resting his forehead against Crowley's shoulder blade as he settled in deep. "You feel incredible, I can't believe you didn't tell me about this earlier."

Crowley trembled and said nothing, gripping so tightly at the bedsheets that he was faintly worried he'd end up ripping them.

"What do I do next?" Gabriel murmured against the shell of his ear. "Or is it like with your mouth, do you do all the moving?"

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut to blind himself to the shifting horror in Aziraphale's expression. It did nothing to block out the images conjured by his mind, though – of Gabriel demanding Crowley fuck himself on the Archangel's cock, each movement simultaneously forcing him to fuck into Aziraphale as the angel whimpered below him.

"No," he managed, his own traitorous cock still hard as iron where it was buried deep in Aziraphale. "You have to... Y'need to thrust."

He felt Gabriel frown against his throat. "Can you show me? I want to make sure I'm doing it right."

Crowley barely managed to catch the sob that fought to leave his throat in time. "'Course," he whispered, his fears coming to pass seemingly as soon as he thought them. He swallowed hard, trying in vain to clear the fear-induced dryness of his throat. "Can you pull out a bit, so I've got some room to move?"

Gabriel immediately obliged, pulling halfway out. Crowley still felt achingly full, making him bite down on a whine as he slowly forced himself back, stuffing himself to the brim once more. Aziraphale clenched tightly around him as he retreated, seemingly reluctant to release him even partway, and Crowley trembled, knowing that he was going to have to fuck Aziraphale with Gabriel buried in his arse, regardless of how he or Aziraphale felt about it.

One of Aziraphale's hands found his, gripping onto it like a vice, in what Crowley could only hope was intended as a reassuring gesture. Crowley squeezed back, took an unsteady breath, and slowly rocked his hips forward. His cock vanished into Aziraphale's trembling body, simultaneously drawing himself down off of Gabriel's cock, trading one form of pressure for another.

Gradually, he felt himself adjust to the dual sensations, building up a steady rhythm. Aziraphale clutched at him tightly, keeping his face hidden in the crook of Crowley's neck, tears dampening the demon's collarbone. Crowley tried to soothe him as best he could, but there was precious little he could without arousing Gabriel's suspicions. Not to mention the heady cocktail of endorphins that swirled through his brain with every roll of his hips left very little room for rational thought. He could feel Aziraphale's cock steadily flagging against the curve of his stomach, but his own cock was harder than ever, his body rebelling against him in the pursuit of mindless pleasure.

He didn't want it to feel good. It wasn't fair that it felt so good, it wasn't fair.

"OK, I think this looks straightforward enough," Gabriel said behind him. "Let me just…" He began to gently thrust as a counterpoint to Crowley's movements, burying himself deep right as Crowley pushed back into him. Crowley let out a startled groan as the motion made the head of Gabriel's cock graze over his prostate, Gabriel groaning in kind as Crowley tightened around him. "Oh," Gabriel sighed softly, and steadily built his own rhythm. "Oh, I really like this, this is very good."

Oh, I'm so thrilled that you're enjoying yourself, Crowley thought sarcastically. I'm so glad you're enjoying the sort of thing you've spent six thousand years shaming Aziraphale for.

Except, of course, that Aziraphale was very much not enjoying himself at present. Crowley wrapped his fingers back around Aziraphale's cock, but it lay entirely limp in his hand, even when he began to gently pump it. Honestly, Crowley couldn't blame him – but he didn't want Gabriel to look down and see Aziraphale's cock lying flaccid against his stomach, and this way, at least, he could obscure the fact that Aziraphale was not at all aroused by Gabriel's intrusion into time they'd wanted for themselves.

Aziraphale gave him an anguished look, and, distressed, Crowley attempted to soothingly stroke the angel's cheek with his trembling free hand. "It's OK," he mouthed. Tears welled in Aziraphale's eyes, and Crowley dropped his hand to the mattress by Aziraphale's head to keep himself from overbalancing.

Gabriel proved himself an unfairly quick study, repeatedly striking Crowley's prostate now that he'd found it. The way Crowley stroked Aziraphale's cock was uncoordinated to say the least, but he somehow doubted that it would have made a difference, either way. Aziraphale hid his face against Crowley's chest again, trembling with silent tears.

Try as he might, Crowley couldn't completely keep the ragged moans building in his ribcage contained, and they escaped him one by one. Gabriel, enthused, took hold of him by the hips, using the added leverage to thrust in faster and deeper. Crowley fell forward, elbow going out from under him, his other hand now trapped between Aziraphale's stomach and his own. He could feel the thrust of Gabriel's cock against his knuckles where they rubbed up against his abdomen, and had an awful sense of relief that at least Aziraphale wasn't having to feel it instead.

Crowley lost any ability to maintain control over his rhythm, and Gabriel took over entirely. Tears welled in Crowley's eyes as he realised that by dictating the pace, Gabriel was now effectively using Crowley's body to fuck Aziraphale with. Crowley gasped desperately with each thrust of Gabriel's cock into him, his own corresponding move into Aziraphale, but there was no relief, no reprieve – just the steady press of an angel above and below him.

Despite all his efforts to stave it off, to ignore the fact that it was even happening at all, Crowley could feel his end approaching. His entire focus narrowed in on the hot, tight squeeze of Aziraphale's body around him, the ceaseless press of Gabriel into his own hole. In the moments before the unwanted pleasure overtook him entirely, Crowley had a moment of panicked realisation – might Gabriel not find it strange, if he and Crowley both came, but Aziraphale didn't? Gabriel's breathing was rough in Crowley's ear, indicating he wasn't far off, either, but Aziraphale was still entirely flaccid within the curl of Crowley's fist. There was no foreseeable way that Aziraphale would be getting off anytime soon, which might well spell disaster.

In the moment before he came, Crowley let go of Aziraphale's cock and pulled out, hands fisted tight in the bedsheets above Aziraphale's head. Aziraphale flinched as Crowley's release splattered across his stomach. Crowley's elbows buckled again, and he collapsed down onto Aziraphale's chest, their skin meeting with an undignified squelch, making a mess of both of them but effectively hiding Aziraphale's lack of arousal. Gabriel kept fucking into Crowley's arse, and Aziraphale's arms wrapped tightly around Crowley's shoulders, their faces buried against each other's necks as Gabriel finally lost rhythm, spilling himself deep into Crowley with a satisfied groan.

Gabriel's weight bore down against his back, compressing his lungs and making it near impossible to breathe. Given that his corporation didn't need oxygen to survive, it was probably for the better – the choked sob that wanted to rattle out of him had nowhere to go, leaving him only with thin, hoarse little gasps of air as Gabriel shuddered through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

What felt like an eternity later, Gabriel rolled off of Crowley's back with a groan. A low sound clawed out of Crowley's throat as Gabriel's cock slipped out of him, and Gabriel, misinterpreting the sound as one of mourning loss, peppered Crowley's shoulders with soothing kisses, before flopping down onto the mattress beside him. Crowley's skin prickled with goosebumps at the slow, wet slide of Gabriel's cum out of his arse and down his thigh.

"Wow," Gabriel said, grinning broadly. "That really was something, huh?"

Still struggling to compose himself, Crowley hummed vaguely in the affirmative, pressing a shaky kiss to Aziraphale's forehead. He carefully tipped them both onto their side, placing his body once more between Aziraphale and Gabriel, pre-empting any attempt the Archangel might have made to try and coax Aziraphale out from underneath Crowley. Aziraphale went with the motion and kept his head burrowed against Crowley's chest, shoulders hunched in, trying to make himself as small as possible.

"It really is messy, though," Gabriel said with distaste. He snapped his fingers, cleaning and dressing them all in what he clearly viewed as casual clothing – cashmere sweaters in various shades of purple-hued grey, and business trousers formfitting enough that they didn't require belts.

"Still worth it, I hope?" Crowley managed, finding his voice again.

"Oh, definitely," Gabriel enthused, kissing at the nape of Crowley's neck, then cupping Crowley's jaw with one hand, gently encouraging him to turn towards the Archangel. Crowley turned his head towards the kiss he knew was coming, but kept as much of himself facing Aziraphale as he could, wanting to shield him still. "There you are," Gabriel murmured with a smile, and kissed Crowley slow and deep, tongue grazing teeth.

"Here I am," Crowley agreed, somehow able to keep any bleakness out of his tone.

Gabriel kissed him again, then withdrew. "I'm going to have to get back to work," he sighed, a rueful look on his face. "I only got out of the meeting so early because I agreed to take on some extra paperwork. I really only meant to check in on you both for a little bit, then you offered me such a wonderful gift…" He smiled, stroking Crowley's cheek. "I really do need to get started on it. Can't have you making a liar of me, after all!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Crowley replied faintly as Gabriel got up and walked out through the still-open door.

Only once he was sure that Gabriel had truly left, the air pressure changing in a way that signified that the Archangel had travelled himself via lightning, did Crowley finally loose the tension coiled around his spine.

He clutched Aziraphale close, buried his face in the angel's curls, and wept until his eyes ran dry.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale didn't breathe.

Normally, he would – he'd gotten into the habit of it long ago, and usually rather enjoyed it. The rush of air within him, his chest expanding to give it space, all the scents of the Earth filling his nose and lungs, made him feel alive, connected to the world rather than merely occupying space within it.

Those scents were currently lost to him, trapped in the sterility of Heaven. Even when he held Crowley close and tried to breathe him in, the familiar smell of burnt spices and stones left to bake in the sun seemed muted somehow. Like it had been laid over with ozone and refrigerated air, like Heaven was laying claim over the totality of him. Gabriel was already dressing him to suit angelic aesthetics, after all, it stood to reason that he'd want to encroach on his other senses, until he was moulded completely into the shape that Gabriel wanted him.

Aziraphale wondered whether his own scent had changed, whether the panting puffs of breath Crowley was currently drawing next to Aziraphale's collarbone tasted the same as they would have back on Earth. He had never quite so keenly been aware of the fact that he was only wearing his corporation – that the flesh and bone of him was not something that had been his from the start. This body had belonged to Heaven, first, issued to him for use in his Earthside duties, but ultimately remaining the property of Heaven. That had never been quite as clear as it was now.

Over the millennia, he'd allowed himself to grow comfortable, to build a physical sense of identity around his corporation. He'd worn the same one since Eden, after all, and barring those few days of incorporeal existence just before the failed Apocalypse, nothing had changed about it since it had been issued to him.

Now, he once again felt like he'd been unceremoniously shunted out of his corporation, watching the current events unfolding as if he was standing beside the bed, rather than being pinned beneath Crowley and Gabriel's combined weight.

He almost welcomed the press of bodies against him, almost wished that the pressure was greater, giving him a further, physical incentive to not breathe.

If there wasn't any air left in his lungs, then he'd have nothing left to sob with. The few devastated sounds he'd made already could have easily given everything away, could have led Gabriel to realise their deception in this most vulnerable of moments. He felt a horrible sense of relief that Gabriel was currently too busy chasing his own pleasure using Crowley's body, and hadn't noticed the noises Aziraphale had been making.

The disgraceful thought made his throat close over in a paroxysm of shame, and he buried his face a little further into the hollow of Crowley's throat. He did his best to ignore the gormless questions that Gabriel kept asking Crowley, kept revealing new fractions of the indignities he'd already subjected the demon to before this.

He tried desperately to convince himself that it was only himself and Crowley, that the way Crowley's hand was curled around his cock was from desire, rather than to hide Aziraphale's complete lack of an erection. It stubbornly refused his silent pleas to respond to Crowley's touch, reminding him yet again that his body ultimately wasn't his to control.

Gabriel continued to pound rhythmically into Crowley, forcing the demon to fuck into Aziraphale, as well, the echo of it reverberating up through Aziraphale's core. There was no sanctity to be found here, not even in the secret corners of his own mind. He belonged to Heaven, and woe betide him if he ever tried to forget it.

He didn't breathe.

He held onto Crowley as tightly as he dared, very much conscious of the fact that the tightening of his limbs seemed to only be one-way. Whenever he clutched Crowley tighter, his body refused to unwind again, and the last thing he wanted to do was make this any more difficult for Crowley than it already was.

Bad enough that Aziraphale was basically useless to him already.

Oh, but he wanted to do more, to be more than an unresponsive pile of meat and bone. But how could he, when even after hurling every obscenity he'd learnt in his six thousand years on Earth at it, his body barely even refused to accept that he was meant to be the one piloting it?

Crowley shifted within his grasp, and it took everything Aziraphale had not to tighten his arms desperately around him, his mind shrieking with the irrational fear that the demon was trying to abandon him.

Instead, Crowley eased himself out of Aziraphale's body, and Aziraphale flinched involuntarily at the hot splatter of Crowley's release against his chest. Crowley collapsed against him almost instantly, Gabriel still pounding away at him from behind. Aziraphale held Crowley as tightly as he dared, one hand cradling the back of the demon's head, as he tried to will his hopes into being that it was almost over.

But it wouldn't really be over, would it? Gabriel was going to try this again at some point, and again, and again, always demanding a little more, chipping away at them both a little more, ceaseless in his quest for something that they couldn't actually give him. And now, whenever he locked Aziraphale up in the bedroom rather than have to deal with his tears, Aziraphale wouldn't be able to think of anything but what the Archangel was doing to them now. He wouldn't be able to so much as look at the bed without being reminded of Gabriel pressing them both down into the mattress.

Despite all his instincts begging him to beseech God to end this injustice, he refused to allow himself to pray. He didn't know what he'd do with himself if he received no response.

An interminable amount of time later, Gabriel loudly came to his own satisfaction, then draped himself, leaden-limbed and possessive, over Crowley's back.

Crowley kept letting out these awful, choked-off little gasps, like they were being squeezed out of him by the pressure of Gabriel against him, like there was some greater, utterly soul-rending sound trapped within him that was trying to escape. Aziraphale could say nothing, could do nothing but cling to him, and hope that Crowley might find some small measure of comfort from the strength of his embrace.

Even if his strength had otherwise proved useless in the face of Gabriel's conviction in his own righteousness. Even if Aziraphale currently felt so powerless and small that it wouldn't take much for him to stop existing.

Another eternity passed, and Gabriel eased himself out of Crowley, settling down onto the bed beside them. The sound trapped in Crowley's chest broke free, even as he suppressed it the best he could, trembling within the circle of Aziraphale's arms. Gabriel leant over and smattered kisses along Crowley's shoulders, several landing on Aziraphale's forearms and the backs of his hands. At this point, Aziraphale felt too numb to even react, which was honestly probably for the best. He didn't know if he could scramble together the wherewithal to speak, let alone formulate a plausible explanation, if he jerked away from Gabriel's touch like he wanted to.

He didn't breathe.

Gabriel said something that Aziraphale couldn't parse, mind refusing to interpret the sound into something comprehensible. He felt Crowley's lips trembling as they pressed a kiss against his forehead. He tried to focus on it, let it ground him, let the world make sense again instead of feeling like it was slipping away from him at the edges.

Crowley tipped them both onto their side, once again creating a physical barrier between Aziraphale and Gabriel. Aziraphale curled in closer to the naked press of Crowley's body despite the sticky discomfort of it, needing something to hold onto, to stop the stomach-churning sensation of his entire existence crumbling out from under him.

It was almost a relief to feel the flash of a miracle, to be cleaned and clothed once more, if not for the fact that it was emblematic of Gabriel restaking his claim over them both.

Gabriel left, the air faintly crackling with ozone as he departed, and finally, finally, Aziraphale could breathe. Shuddering, ragged gulps of air entered his lungs, his face buried deeply enough into Crowley's trembling chest that the demon's scent, muted as it still was, was all he could smell, nothing of the aggressive sterility of Heaven pervading his senses. He tried to shift, to draw Crowley more securely into the circle of his arms, offer him the comfort Aziraphale had been far too petrified earlier to give.

But Crowley just clung to him harder, his own shaky exhalations ruffling Aziraphale's curls as he kept the angel clasped to his chest.

Aziraphale felt his scalp grow damp, and only then realised that Crowley was silently sobbing into his hair. Somehow feeling even more helpless than before, Aziraphale did his best to trace soothing lines over Crowley's shoulders, hoping desperately that it would feel to Crowley that the sensation was overwriting Gabriel's touch, rather than reminding him of it.

Crowley pressed another trembling kiss to the crown of Aziraphale's head, and Aziraphale cautiously read it as a confirmation of his hope, the tremors rippling through the demon's body abating with an agonising slowness.

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale said quietly once he was reasonably certain that Crowley would be able to manage a response, if he wanted to give one. He was well aware that Crowley was under no obligation to accept his feeble apology, or even acknowledge it.

"'M sorry, too," Crowley mumbled, still holding him, even as the trembling finally ceased. "I know that you wanted– that we both wanted– well." His voice grew thick. "Would've been nice if we could've just had this one thing, without Gabriel barging in on it."

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale murmured, squeezing him tightly in response. Crowley let out a ragged sigh and pressed yet another kiss to his forehead. "Of course, that, believe me, but that… that wasn't what I was apologising for."

Crowley stirred against him, pulling back enough so that he could give Aziraphale a puzzled look. "….What are you apologising for, then?"

Aziraphale sat up, drawing himself away, arms hugged tight around himself. "You were–" He swallowed, tears already clogging his throat again. "And I didn't–"

"Hey, hey, none of that, now," Crowley replied instantly, sitting up and resting a concerned hand on Aziraphale's shoulder. "We agreed, remember? It's not your fault that this is harder for you to do than it is for me."

"But I should do more," Aziraphale whispered. "I should be able to do more, you're doing so much of this by yourself and it isn't fair–"

"Aziraphale, listen," Crowley urged, gathering Aziraphale's hands in his own. "Listen to me, all right?" His eyes blazed with intensity. "You need to keep going as slow with him as he'll let you. You've got to remember, he's only even doing this because he's convinced that if we fall in love with him, he'll become immune to hellfire. Each time we give him something, and it doesn't work, he's going to want a little more. If you try and jump in and try to do things, too, he's just going to ask for more, sooner."

"It still isn't fair, surely there's something…"

Crowley grimaced, seemingly reluctant to say whatever words were forming on his tongue. "Angel…" he said as gently as he could. "You're not… you don't… react the same way I do to what Gabriel's doing. I know it's not at all your fault, but… you realise what would happen, if you locked up on him the way you just did?"

Tears sprang to Aziraphale's eyes and immediately spilt over, Crowley's visage blurring into a smear of red and gold and cream.

"It's all right, angel," Crowley said tenderly, wiping at Aziraphale's cheeks.

"It isn't," Aziraphale sniffled.

"…No, it isn't, is it?" Crowley paused a moment, then stroked Aziraphale's cheek one more time before dropping his hands. "Look, there isn't a whole lot else we can do about the situation, not until he trusts us enough to give us a bit more leeway on things."

"And in the meantime?"

Crowley shrugged a little helplessly. "Keep ourselves entertained somehow, I suppose."

Aziraphale laughed wetly. "With what? This house is little more than a cardboard cut-out, there is precious little entertainment value to be found here." He felt himself falter for a moment. "Oh, how I miss my books," he whispered, summoning a wan smile. "Isn't that silly?"

"Of course it's not silly," Crowley told him. "The bookshop's your home, of course you miss it."

"All my lovely first editions," Aziraphale agreed, despondent. "My collection of regency snuff boxes. The wine cabinet. You know, I had a lovely '38 Chateau Latour saved for you and I, for a special occasion, and now we might never–" He cut himself abruptly, choking on his words.

"We will," Crowley promised, taking one of Aziraphale's hands and squeezing. "I swear to you, both of us are going to get out of here, all right? We've just got to play the long game."

"I know," Aziraphale sighed, scrubbing the heel of his palm against his eyes.

"Tell you what," Crowley said after a beat of silence, getting to his feet. "I'm sure you've got loads of poems memorised. Why don't you recite a couple for me, pass the time a bit? I know you like reading them out to me, normally, but I can't imagine it'd be that much different an experience without a book." He scratched the back of his neck with one hand, embarrassed, even as he offered the other to Aziraphale. "I've missed it a bit, actually, if I'm being honest."

Aziraphale looked up at him shyly, taking his hand and standing, allowing Crowley to lead him out of the room. "You know, I always rather thought you were merely tolerating it when I read to you aloud, indulging me by being my audience. I hadn't realised…"

Despite everything, Crowley blushed. "You've got a nice cadence, all right? Melodious tone of voice, all that." He flushed a little harder. "Shut up."

Something close to an actual laugh huffed over Aziraphale's lips. "Is that a no to the poetry, then?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Get on with it," he mock-growled, flinging himself down onto the couch with his arms folded. When Aziraphale took a seat to join him, however, it took barely any time before Crowley had shimmied down from his seated position, instead laying his head against Aziraphale's thigh, an echo of the night before that fateful day, now months past, before their entire existence had been upended. Crowley looked almost as at ease with him now as he had then, the crook of his neck moulded against Aziraphale's thigh like it had been made for it.

A smile quirked at Aziraphale's lips, small but genuine. Truth be told, he'd long had a collection of poems memorised that he'd hoped one day to share with Crowley, but had had to keep close to his chest, lest he reveal too much of his true feelings.

But Crowley knew now. There was nothing to be lost in sharing those long-treasured words now, only gained.

He stroked a thumb hesitantly across Crowley's cheek, and, when Crowley shifted up into the touch with a smile, played gently with the demon's hair as he began to speak.

"Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine…"

Chapter Text

Hours after a human would have lost their voice, Aziraphale faltered mid-recitation of a poem. A split second later, he felt the air shimmer and hum, presaging Gabriel's return. His words abandoned him completely. Crowley's hand slipped into his and squeezed, a warm, steady weight that kept him anchored.

Gabriel blinked into view, thousand-megawatt smile at the ready. "I'm home!" he proclaimed, as he always did. Dimly, Aziraphale wondered whether Gabriel so enthusiastically declared his presence because it had been so very long since he'd actually been tasked by God to announce anything.

"Welcome back," Aziraphale said, keeping most of the tremor from his voice as Crowley's fingers tightened reassuringly around his own.

He knew well that Crowley had been right the day before – that the way Aziraphale had completely locked up yesterday made him a liability whenever Gabriel decided to get amorous, which seemed to be more and more frequently. It had been more than a fortnight, now, since Gabriel had come to their gilded cage and left again without first exacting his satisfaction on Crowley's body. And, if the things Gabriel had said the day before were any indication, the Archangel had a whole new bag of tricks, now, that he was eager to delve into at Crowley's expense.

It was inevitable that Gabriel was going to demand more from Aziraphale too, though, sooner or later. If he wasn't able to somehow force himself to respond, at least enough that Gabriel wouldn't realise that Aziraphale was actively terrified of him, then it would all unravel.

At least Gabriel had never not known Aziraphale to be nervous around him, he thought bleakly. Having that as a baseline certainly didn't hurt things.

But still...

He'd have to be able to build up to doing more eventually. There was a limit to Gabriel's patience with him. Perhaps he'd be able to manage something as small as a kiss on the lips? He'd screwed up the fortitude to offer Gabriel a kiss on cheek once or twice as he headed off to attend to his duties, and he hadn't completely gone to pieces over that, surely he could escalate a little further than that by now? If he could only ease into it, have some sort of assurance that it wouldn't go any further than what he could manage, then maybe it wouldn't–

Gabriel looked down at where Crowley was still lounging with his head in Aziraphale's lap, and somehow managed to smile even brighter. "Were you both planning on getting another surprise ready for me?"

"Sorry, no," Crowley said, immediately sitting up as close to ramrod straight as he ever got, but thankfully still keeping hold of Aziraphale's hand.

"Oh," Gabriel said, sounding disappointed. "Are you sure? I was sort of hoping we'd be able to do something like that again soon, I really enjoyed it."

"I think Aziraphale might still be a little worn out from last time," Crowley said, obviously feeling Aziraphale trying very hard – and still largely failing – to not tense up beside him. "Isn't that right, angel?"

"Yes," Aziraphale said shakily, forcing himself to not cower completely. "But I… I think I should be able manage something… smaller, at present."

"Aziraphale–" Crowley said warningly, but Gabriel had already lit up again, crossing over to the couch and taking a seat next to the other angel. His weight sank into the cushions and Aziraphale involuntarily spilt into him, hand splayed against Gabriel's chest to catch himself.

Before he could pull away, Gabriel overlaid his hand atop Aziraphale's, allowing him to feel the fact that Gabriel hadn't bothered to equip his corporation with a functional heart.

"Something smaller, huh?" Gabriel asked, face startlingly close to Aziraphale's. "I suppose it has been baby steps with you. I'd hoped you'd be OK with picking up the pace a little more, after we all already shared a bed together, but…" He smiled encouragingly. "You and I also haven't kissed properly yet, we should probably start there, anyway."

Before Aziraphale had the chance to react, to steel himself for what was coming, Gabriel had already cupped both sides of his jaw and drawn him into a kiss. He let out a startled noise, and Gabriel immediately took advantage of the parting of his lips and pressed his tongue into Aziraphale's mouth.

Aziraphale didn't so much lock up this time as go limp, his body still just as unresponsive to his silent pleas to do something, to have some sort of response rather than just allowing Gabriel to delve deeper and deeper into him. But every time he could almost feel himself adjust, for the possibility of a response to even introduce itself, Gabriel pressed in more intensely, sending Aziraphale's thoughts spiralling and forcing him to build back up from the bottom.

He couldn't taste anything but Heaven, could barely even feel the grip Crowley still had on his hand. Squeezing back in reassurance was far beyond him. There was just Gabriel, pressing in and in, searching for something that he wasn't going to find because it didn't exist. And what would happen once the Archangel realised that? Once Aziraphale and Crowley had outlived their usefulness, he was hardly going to just let them be on their merry way, with no other repercussions. Even if they did eventually escape, Aziraphale could see no way that Gabriel wouldn't hunt them down again. He wouldn't be able to stand the bruise to his ego.

This had been a bad idea. It had been a catastrophically bad idea, what was he thinking? Crowley was right. He should have listened, he could feel himself careening towards the point of everything going wrong, and when it inevitably did he would only have himself to blame–

"Let us have a go too, huh, Gabriel?" Crowley said, hand sliding across Aziraphale's chest and gently turning him. Aziraphale gladly allowed himself to be moved. Gabriel was more reluctant to release him, which Aziraphale couldn't quite understand given his own lack of responsiveness – or had Gabriel been enjoying it because of the total lack of resistance, how it established Gabriel as more dominant, more powerful?

Crowley brushed an errant curl away from Aziraphale's forehead, serpentine eyes enquiring. "All right, angel?" he murmured, shifting closer in increments as his hand curved just below Aziraphale's jawline.

And it wasn't, really, but the alternative was far worse.

Aziraphale eked out a tight nod, and Crowley slowly closed the distance between them.

At first, Aziraphale could still only taste Heaven. A shuddering sound left him, tears stinging at his eyes. Then the flavour of Crowley's kiss slowly established itself, muted as it still was, and Aziraphale felt himself relax enough to begin to kiss him back.

Crowley smiled encouragingly against his lips and pressed him up against Gabriel's chest, hands resting on the Archangel's biceps. Aziraphale had a moment of sheer terror where he thought Crowley had misread him somehow, but quickly realised that this, like everything Crowley did, was to protect him. After all, Gabriel wouldn't be able to undress him and kiss along his shoulders if they were made inaccessible to him.

But cutting off avenues for Gabriel to access Aziraphale's body only seemed to make him impatient. Before long, Gabriel was shifting in place, reaching around Aziraphale's head to cradle Crowley's jaw instead, drawing the demon away from Aziraphale's mouth and towards his own. Aziraphale was left sandwiched between them, which, whilst not exactly ideal, at least meant nothing was being demanded of him.

Gabriel shifted again, pressing forward. The movement jostled Aziraphale in turn, and his hand shot out to keep himself from tipping over.

As he moved, Aziraphale's hand brushed up against the now-obvious tent growing at the front of Gabriel's trousers.

"Oh!" Aziraphale said, almost too startled to even begin processing, instead just jerking his hand away.

"It's OK," Gabriel soothed, voice gravelly. He took hold of Aziraphale's hand and pressed it against the growing swell at the front of his trousers once more, and Aziraphale felt himself freeze in place, his stomach dropping out from under itself.

No, no, please, no, I can't–

"Does this mean you changed your mind?" Gabriel murmured against the shell of his ear, rocking up against Aziraphale's palm, his own hand still circled around Aziraphale's wrist, keeping him trapped.

"N–" Aziraphale tried, but his lips refused to move, his entire body refused to move, he needed to do more than this, he couldn't let Crowley–

"I think that'll be enough for Aziraphale," Crowley said, voice cutting through the fog descending over Aziraphale's mind. "Why don't we let him go off to the bedroom now, and you and I keep going?"

Aziraphale nodded jerkily, jolting upright like a marionette on a broken string, before realising that Gabriel had yet to let go of his wrist, or even respond at all. Crowley was quick to slide his hand up the inside of Gabriel's thigh, fingers slipping beneath Aziraphale's palm and nudging him out of the way.

Gabriel let out a soft groan and finally relinquished his grip on Aziraphale. It took everything Aziraphale had to not just snatch his hand away for fear of Gabriel deciding that he was going to push the issue.

"Guess this works too," Gabriel sighed, eyes drifting shut, rolling his hips up into the pressure of Crowley's hand.

In what had become a well-worn, shameful pattern, Aziraphale made a faltering retreat to the bedroom, the sound of shifting fabric and soft murmurs at his back.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Crowley went through the motions. He stroked Gabriel through his trousers until the Archangel got impatient and vanished them, leaving Crowley to shimmy down the sofa and wrap his lips around Gabriel's cock, negating any expectation that he would need to talk for the next little while. Gabriel's hand wound into his hair, and Crowley moved easily with the push and pull of it, trying to minimise the strength with which Gabriel could tug at his scalp.

He was thrown for a loop briefly when Gabriel dismissed Crowley's clothing with a lazy snap of his fingers, the lavender of his eyes dark with lust as they trailed over Crowley's now-bare back and arse. Gabriel undid his tie and yanked it free, tossing it off to the side before working the buttons of his shirt loose. His chest now bared, he settled more comfortably into the sofa, hand returning to grip at Crowley's hair and pulling it taut, pushing him down.

The tip of Crowley's cock, already wet with precum, slid freely against the leather of the couch, making his hips shudder as he swallowed Gabriel all the way down.

"Oh, Crowley," Gabriel groaned. "I love how you do that. You were right, you're very talented at this."

Crowley didn't make a sound, just sucked and swirled his tongue in a way he knew Gabriel liked.

He hated that that was something that he knew. Hated that he was becoming an expert in how to bring Gabriel pleasure, that the longer this all went on, the more benefit Gabriel got out of it.

But most of all, he hated the way Gabriel's praise made his own cock twitch.

Gabriel eventually lost his composure, groaning aloud as he held Crowley flush against him, spilling down the back of his throat. Crowley dutifully swallowed, and Gabriel shuddered beneath him with another groan. Once he'd recovered enough, Gabriel drew Crowley up into his lap, and Crowley knew better than to resist. Gabriel made a pleased sound as he wrapped a hand around Crowley's fully erect cock.

"You liked that too, huh?" Gabriel murmured, giving him a slow stroke. His thumb rolled pensively against the junction between Crowley's cock and balls. "Do you always wear this one?"

It figured that Gabriel would be prudish about terminology, even with Crowley's cock literally in the palm of his hand. Crowley resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Pretty much, yeah," he lied. He'd enjoyed all manner of genital configurations throughout his life, including some decidedly nonhuman options, but he had a sinking feeling he knew where Gabriel was going with this, and was not at all here for it.

Just as he'd suspected, Gabriel's next question was, "Would you like to try the other one?"

Crowley bit back his automatic response that there was far more than one other option, and that Gabriel needed to be more specific. There was no real benefit to be had from disabusing Gabriel of his archaic notions as to the value of sex, after all, or from giving him even more ideas to play with. Instead, Crowley shook his head. "Nah, 'm good. I prefer this one."

A lie, again; Crowley's personal preferences changed as often as the wind, but the prospect of Gabriel's power reaching in and reshaping his corporation, of finding a new way to violate Crowley's body and autonomy simultaneously, was something he couldn't quite bring himself to stomach.

"Oh," Gabriel said, not hiding his disappointment. Crowley said nothing. If Gabriel thought he could guilt trip Crowley into this, then he had another thing coming.

If he decided to actually start getting upset about it, however... then Crowley might not have much of a choice.

"Well," Gabriel said eventually, giving Crowley another long stroke. "There's still fun to be had with this one, I guess."

Crowley did his best not to buck up into Gabriel's touch, but wasn't particularly successful. "Exactly," he replied, gasping a little as Gabriel encircled him more firmly, pumping his fist over Crowley's cock.

He tried to keep his weight off Gabriel, as he usually did, not wanting to reignite Gabriel's own desires. But Gabriel evidently had other plans, his free hand gripping firmly at Crowley's hip, keeping their bodies flush against one another. Before long, Crowley could feel Gabriel already stirring back to attention beneath him, rolling his hips up against Crowley's arse in a slow grind.

His breath hitched, and Gabriel pressed his lips to the side of Crowley's throat, gently biting and sucking at the skin in a way that Crowley feared would leave marks. Wasn't it enough that the press of Gabriel's hands already felt like it was branding him? Was it really necessary to have visual evidence of the control the Archangel currently had over his life?

And bless it all, why did it have to feel good? Why did Crowley automatically arch his neck to give Gabriel better access, and only realise what he was doing after it was too late for him to stop himself?

Gabriel squeezed his hip and rocked up against the cleft of his arse again. His cock slipped between the spare curves of Crowley's cheeks, hard and velvet-soft as he gently thrust between them. Crowley's hands shot down to grab at the sides of Gabriel's thighs, but instead of pushing away from the Archangel like he wanted to, Crowley pulled himself harder against Gabriel, making them both groan. Crowley closed his eyes to the feeling of Gabriel's teeth scraping the curve of his shoulder.

"Oh, Crowley," Gabriel moaned, rocking up against him again. "You always feel so incredible, I love how your body feels." His hand strayed briefly from Crowley's hip, tracing up along his ribs with a featherlight touch, goosebumps springing up in its wake before returning. He gripped Crowley a little tighter, pulling him down even more firmly. The head of Gabriel's cock, wet with precum, grazed briefly against Crowley's hole, making his breath stutter in his throat. Gabriel gave Crowley's cock a squeeze, and repeated the motion, catching briefly on the tight whorl of Crowley's rim before glancing off. "I don't want to wait," Gabriel murmured against Crowley's shoulder. "Is that OK?"

Crowley could only nod, knowing at least that would mean it would be over quicker. Without hesitation, Gabriel snapped his fingers and Crowley was instantly stretched and prepped, allowing the tip of Gabriel's cock to easily slide inside him.

Gabriel held himself there for a moment, and it took a concerted effort on Crowley's part to not just shove himself down, impatient to have it over with already.

"I want to see your face when it happens," Gabriel decided, lifting Crowley out of his lap and clambering to his knees, hands insistent as they coaxed Crowley down onto his back. "I haven't gotten to see that yet, I want to see what you look like when I take you."

Gabriel's fingers grazed the side of Crowley's sack, then drifted down his thighs, easing between his knees and prying them apart. "There you are, gorgeous," he said, an appreciative smile curving his lips as he settled one hand in the bend of Crowley's knee. The other slid up the length of his own cock, ensuring it was adequately slicked before he pressed it against Crowley's miracle-loosened rim.

Then he was pressing in, and in, shoving out all the air in Crowley's body with a ragged gasp. Helpless, Crowley's eyes fluttered shut, head twisting to the side, attempting to hide his face against the seat of the sofa.

There was the flash of another miracle, and Gabriel's now-slick-free hand curled around Crowley's jaw, gently but firmly making him look at the Archangel. "I said I wanted to watch you, Crowley," he reminded softly, sinking in another inch. Crowley could feel the sickening pleasure of it contorting his expression, couldn't help but moan as he nodded, far beyond giving an intelligible verbal response. He let his lids flicker shut once more, given that Gabriel hadn't demanded that Crowley actually watch him in return.

Gabriel pressed in ever deeper, and Crowley's mouth fell open around another moan. He didn't turn his face towards Gabriel's hand, and the Archangel seemed to take that as a sign that Crowley wouldn't try to hide from him again. His hand moved away from Crowley's cheek, and instead slipped into the crook of his other knee, pressing both his legs further back and allowing Gabriel to sink all the way into him.

A low groan punched itself out of Crowley's throat. Gabriel responded in kind, then surged down towards him, leaving him all but folded in half as Gabriel's mouth swallowed the sounds coming out of him. Gabriel's hands abandoned Crowley's legs, the press of his torso enough to keep Crowley's legs spread for him, and instead moved down to support his own weight as he began to slowly fuck Crowley into the sofa.

Crowley scrambled to draw breath each time Gabriel pulled back, only for it to be shoved back out as a gasp when Gabriel filled him again. His arms rose, curling around Gabriel's shoulders and holding him close, in a bid to limit the forcefulness of his thrusts. Gabriel's mouth still moved insistently against his own, and Crowley let him, knowing that the alternative was listening to the Archangel praise his body. Somehow, it seemed a little less egregious if Crowley found himself stimulated by Gabriel's touch, rather than his words.

Gabriel kept moving into him, inexorable, hitting Crowley's prostate with almost every stroke just by dint of his size, and Crowley whined, feeling himself approaching the edge, ready to topple over and be done with it.

"Hold on for me for a little longer, sweetheart," Gabriel murmured against his lips, reaching between them to cinch his fingers tightly around the base of Crowley's cock. "Can you do that for me?"

Crowley nodded, whimpering, hips shuddering against Gabriel's. The Archangel's other hand curled around his waist, holding him in place, thrusts impossibly deepening. Crowley cried out, head flung back against the couch and tears stinging his eyes as a flood of praise surged from Gabriel's lips.

After what felt like an eternity, Gabriel's pace began to stutter. He let go of Crowley's cock in favour of getting a firmer grip on the demon's hips, and Crowley was instantly gone, painting white stripes across his own chest. He bit his lip hard enough that he tasted iron in a bid to smother his own moan of satisfaction.

Gabriel kept driving into him through his orgasm, until finally he tipped over the edge, too, groaning loud enough for the two of them as he spilt hot and bright into Crowley's arse. His arms gave out and he groaned again, broad chest bearing down against Crowley as sweat and cum pooled between them.

"I really do like that one," Gabriel sighed happily into his ear, miracling away the mess but not moving, cock still buried deep in Crowley. "I want to do that one a lot more."

Crowley kept his arms wound around Gabriel's shoulders, eyes stinging again with the certainty that Gabriel was going to get what he wanted.

Chapter Text

"Angel?"

There was a hesitant knock on the door, several minutes after the subtle atmospheric shift that indicated Gabriel had left.

Aziraphale, curled up in the space between the far side of the bed and the wall, didn't answer, just pressed himself closer to the bedframe. Tear tracks stained his cheeks, eyes red and puffy from weeping, and he hugged his legs tightly to his chest, keeping his eyes downcast as the door slowly opened. Crowley called out his name again, gently assuring that Gabriel was gone.

He wanted to answer, he really did. It wasn't fair to Crowley to greet him with silence, on top of whatever fresh atrocity Gabriel had just put him through. Couldn't Aziraphale buck up, put on a brave face, and start offering Crowley comfort, rather than the other way around? Where was his stiff upper lip, his steadfast reassurances that this would all work out just fine if they kept their heads down?

But his mouth felt like a desert, parched and starved, any words he might have spoken wilted and died on his tongue.

The sound of soft footfalls edged closer and closer, followed by a soft sigh as Crowley found him curled up in a pathetic little ball.

Crowley eased himself down next to Aziraphale, moving stiffly and not quite able to smother a wince. Aziraphale felt his eyes sting anew with the knowledge that Gabriel had left him with an enduring physical ache, alongside the repeated psychological wounds the demon was no doubt already carrying.

"I'm going to tell him." Aziraphale's voice was thick like quicksand, like the words were nearly trapped and drowning in his throat.

Crowley's response was soft and cautious. "…Tell him what?"

A tear dripped down Aziraphale's cheek, splashing quietly on his tightly clasped hands. "That I don't love him," he whispered. "That I cannot love him." He took an uneven breath and held it. "I'll explain to him that it was because it was love between an angel and a demon that we were granted our immunities, that I'm… surplus to requirements, and he'll– he'll… get rid of me, I suppose, but that just means there wouldn't be any risk anymore of me giving the game away by freezing up the way I keep doing. It would give you the time you needed to gain his trust further, and figure a way out of this mess for yourself. You are so wonderfully brilliant, I have no doubt you'd be able to best him, especially without my presence complicating things, and it would be easier for you to hide, after, if you only had to worry about yourself–" Several more tears fell down over his fingers as he let out a ragged sob. "You would have a far better chance of escaping all this if you didn't have to keep worrying about me, I can't ask you to remain constantly at higher risk for my sake."

"No," Crowley choked out. "No, I'm not– I'm not letting you do that, you're not allowed to just throw yourself away like that for me."

"This isn't something I'm suggesting lightly, Crowley." His voice wobbled as he looked pleadingly at the demon. "But I wouldn't be able to bear being the reason you weren't able to make it out of this mess that I got us into."

"D'you really think I'd feel any differently, if you went and sacrificed yourself like a big noble idiot just so that I could get out?" Crowley retorted fiercely. "I'm leaving here with you, or not at all. That is non-negotiable, so don't even try to continue with this– this bloody martyr complex you've convinced yourself is necessary, because it absolutely isn't."

Aziraphale just crumpled further in on himself. "But you'd have a far better chance of escape this way," he whispered. "Surely one of us making it out is better than neither?"

"Getting out only because I'd lost you in the process would destroy me, angel," Crowley said plainly, and the words landed like a blow to the gut. "It would hurt more than anything Gabriel could possibly think to do to me, so." He hunched his shoulders, looking down at his feet. "You can forget the idea ever even crossed your mind in the first place, because it isn't happening."

"...Crowley, I–"

"No. I mean it, non-negotiable." Crowley's tone was flat and deadly serious. "If you ignore me, and do it anyway, then I'll… I'll…"

A small sound caught in Aziraphale's throat. "I'm sorry," he said, barely audible even to his own ears, as he somehow managed to fold in on himself a little further.

"Angel," Crowley said gently, reaching out and lifting up Aziraphale's chin. Aziraphale's bottom lip wobbled, eyes still downcast. "I know you only suggested that because you wanted to keep me safe, I understand, really. But that isn't how this ends, all right? We can't have come this far, saved the world together, for it to end like that."

Aziraphale sniffed quietly in a bid to stifle his tears. "I don't know that we had altogether much to do with how that all went," he pointed out. "Not through any intentionality on our part, at any rate."

"Maybe not," Crowley conceded, "but, point is." He drew Aziraphale closer to himself, and even though the angel's expression was still troubled, he moved willingly. "We were still together, at the end."

Aziraphale's expression cracked and he looked away again, ashamed. "After I abandoned you," he whispered.

"You came back." Crowley lowered his hands to circle around Aziraphale's instead, brushing away the tears that had fallen there. "That's the important part, all right? Remember that part. You were there when I needed you to be, even when the whole bloody thing seemed hopeless, and then we made it through. Together. Can you remember that, for me?"

Aziraphale nodded, then curled himself in towards Crowley's chest, still trembling, but now wrapping his arms around the demon's midsection like he didn't ever intend on letting go. Crowley held him just as fiercely in return, and they stayed that way for the next few hours, both of them curled up tight in the space between the bed and the wall, offering them the illusion of seclusion and privacy.

Only they didn't have any real privacy left, did they? Any quiet moment they shared could easily be shattered by Gabriel's return, as it had the first time they'd tried to be sexually intimate with one another. Aziraphale was sure he'd be far too terrified of a repeat performance that he wouldn't at all be able to enjoy himself.

As if the mere thought had summoned him, Aziraphale felt the faint static buzz of Gabriel appearing in the next room over. His breath hitched and he scrubbed futilely at the heat welling in his eyes.

Crowley gave him a tight squeeze, then began to pull away.

"You stay here, I'll deal with him," he said.

Aziraphale twisted towards him, moving to rise. "No," he protested. "I won't– I won't say what I was planning to say, I swear to you, but you know I need to start–"

"I'll take this one." Crowley's throat worked, not quite meeting Aziraphale's eyes. "It's– I need a little more time to– I wanted to keep you safe for longer."

An ache settled just below Aziraphale's sternum. "You've done such a marvelous job of it, my dear," he assured, voice a whisper. "You've done everything you can for me, and I promise I'll never forget it."

"One more," Crowley begged, and Aziraphale felt his breath hitch again as he nodded.

Crowley got to his feet, and headed for the door, casting a single look back before stepping through to face whatever Gabriel had in store for him.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

"So, how was your day?" Crowley asked as he entered the living room, trying to make his tone casual.

Gabriel frowned at him. "You know I can't discuss operational matters with you."

Crowley backpedalled immediately. "No, no, not what I meant, promise," he assured, even though there was a possibility such information might have proved quite useful. "I was more asking in a general sense, y'know, how you're doing." He swallowed, stepping in closer and laying a hand on Gabriel's arm, despite his mind screaming at him to flee to safety. There wasn't anywhere safe to flee, after all. "'S what partners do, taking an interest in each other's wellbeing and all that."

The frown faded and Gabriel settled his hand on Crowley's lower back, steering him towards the couch. Crowley went, because he didn't really have much of an option, and when Gabriel sat and tugged on his hand, he obligingly climbed onto the Archangel's lap. A shiver rippled over his skin as Gabriel's hands drifted to his waist, thumbs stroking over the jut of Crowley's hipbones.

"It was a productive day today," Gabriel told him. "We had a lot of good synergy in the meeting, really moved the needle on a lot of things. I'm happy with the progress we're making."

Even that small amount of corporate jargon made Crowley's eyes want to roll out of the back of his head. He wondered whether Gabriel even knew what he was saying, or if he was just spouting off positive-sounding buzzwords. "That's nice," he said inanely, looping his arms over the Archangel's shoulders.

"What about you?" Gabriel asked, nosing under his chin, tipping Crowley's head back and kissing at his throat. "How're you feeling?"

I want you to stop touching me. I want you to let us go.

"Oh, you know me," Crowley replied breezily. "I'm grand."

Gabriel smiled, pleased. "And how's Aziraphale?" 

Crowley hesitated a moment before answering, trying to formulate the most diplomatic response. "He's still taking a bit of a break," he replied cautiously. "You know how he is. Takes him a little while to come 'round on things. You'll just need to give him a bit more time."

"Mm," Gabriel hummed against his neck, sounding discontent. "Any way we could speed that up, do you think?"

Crowley thought back on what Aziraphale had told him a few days prior, about missing his bookshop, and the contents therein. He knew it was hardly going to fix anything, but surely having some books at hand whenever Gabriel decided he needed some time alone would be better, rather than staring blankly at a wall, waiting to be let out?

"He probably misses the bookshop," Crowley suggested. "We could have a scaled-down version up here. Without customers, obviously. Just for Aziraphale." He gave a nonchalant shrug even as his heartrate kicked up, knowing that he might be pushing his luck with his next suggestion. "You could send me down, I'll grab a few things, it wouldn't be any trouble."

A deep furrow formed in Gabriel's brow as he pulled back, fingers tightening around Crowley's waist.

"Or you could nip down instead, that'd work too," Crowley quickly amended at the look on Gabriel's face, cursing himself for pushing too soon. He tried to make his tone flippant and offhand. Like the thought of using the excursion as a tool to further gain Gabriel's trust when he returned as promised hadn't even occurred to him. It wasn't as if he'd actually have tried to escape, anyway, not when it would have meant leaving Aziraphale behind. "Just figured I'd offer, seeing how I know which ones he likes best, but I could give you a list instead."

Gabriel's expression settled into something doubtful rather than outright suspicious, fingers trailing absent patterns along Crowley's thighs. "I don't know, all those material objects? That sounds awfully... human." He said the word like he was describing something stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

"Ah, humans aren't all bad. Sort of the point, isn't it? 'S how Aziraphale and I learnt to love the way we do, at any rate, that has to count for something." He ran his fingers lightly through Gabriel's hair. "Besides, this place already looks pretty human, yeah? Got a fully kitted out bathroom and everything, when none of us even need to use it. What difference would a library make?" Gabriel's expression didn't shift, and Crowley tried a new tack. "You don't even have to take any of the ones from the bookshop, you can just miracle some new ones up for him, save yourself a trip to Earth," he said, also realising that Aziraphale would not appreciate Gabriel rummaging around in the bookshop, especially when he wasn't there.

The Archangel still didn't seem convinced. Crowley swallowed the bile rising in his throat and played his trump card, reaching for one of Gabriel's hands and drawing it down between his legs.

He wished it hadn't come to this so soon. But he was too far in to give up now.

His voice dropped into something lower and smoother, more tempting. "How about this, you give Aziraphale a library, and I'll let you change me to the other default setting, if you like." He rocked his hips meaningfully against Gabriel's palm, knowing that it was something that the Archangel wanted from him, hating that he could feel himself getting hard already. "We can all do nice things for each other."

Just as he'd hoped and feared, Gabriel's pupils dilated and his breath hitched slightly. "You'd do that? For me?" he asked, voice sliding down the octave.

"If you give Aziraphale a library, yeah," Crowley told him, hips stuttering as Gabriel gently began to knead at him. He knew that Gabriel would have kept urging Crowley to acquiesce to his desires and force him to give in eventually. At least this way he'd actually get something out of it. "You want him to be happy here, right?"

"Of course."

"Then I reckon you go ahead and give him a library, it certainly can't hurt."

"OK," Gabriel agreed, still rolling his hand over Crowley's crotch. "And you know what would make me happy…?" he ventured, a hopeful look on his face.

Crowley swallowed and nodded. It wouldn't do to upset Gabriel now and have him reconsider the agreement. "Yeah, go ahead," he murmured, forcing a smile. "Said I would, didn't I?"

Gabriel's own smile grew, pressing down with a little more intention. It wasn't enough to cause him pain, or even feel uncomfortable on its own; not that that mattered, because the sensation of his corporation being changed by a will other than his own was such a foreign, invasive experience that Crowley would have rather it have been painful instead.

"There we go," Gabriel told him, fingers gently rubbing over his newly formed cunt through his trousers. Crowley shivered, hands tightening where they'd looped around Gabriel's neck, able to feel Gabriel's already burgeoning erection beginning to swell beneath him.

Better to just get it over with.

Crowley tugged at Gabriel's shoulders, falling back onto the couch and pulling the Archangel on top of him as he went. At least this way, it meant that Gabriel was grinding down onto him rather than the other way around, meant that it was easier to pretend that this was being forced onto him rather than something he'd offered of his own volition.

The growing damp patch in his underwear made the pretence feel tenuous at best.

Gabriel smiled down at him, clearly reading Crowley's actions as eagerness, and lifted a hand to stroke at Crowley's cheek. His lips parted slightly, looking ready to murmur some sweet sentiment that he'd expect Crowley to reciprocate. Crowley knew he didn't have the stomach for it right now – instead, he reached up and grabbed the knot of Gabriel's tie, pulling him down, lips catching the Archangel's before he could speak.

The couch cushions shifted beneath Crowley as Gabriel fell against him with a sound of surprise. Then he pressed down, mouth warm and insistent, solid chest pinning Crowley to the couch, the hardening length of his cock rocking against Crowley's thigh.

Satan, but did Crowley hate the fact that his moan wasn't entirely faked.

Gabriel's mouth meandered away from Crowley's, feathery kisses tracing their way up to his ear and down along his jawline. Crowley tipped his head back so that he wouldn't have to watch, and Gabriel just took it as an invitation for his mouth to trail down further. His lips caught on the pale merino wool he'd donned Crowley in, and he dismissed it with a thought, apparently unwilling to stop touching Crowley for even the mere few seconds it would have taken to remove the garment physically. Crowley's skin prickled for more reasons than one as Gabriel ran a large, warm hand over his bared ribs.

Crowley felt his breath stutter, heart knocking frantically against his ribcage, as Gabriel made his inevitable way downwards. When Gabriel's hand slipped between his thighs once more, only below the waistband this time, Crowley couldn't help the way his hips jumped into the touch.

His trousers vanished much as his jumper had, even the slight protection offered by his underwear disappearing, leaving him entirely naked. Crowley couldn't help but flinch and try futilely to snap his legs shut. All that achieved was to have his thighs clamp against Gabriel's waist, and for Gabriel to still with concern, hand resting against the thatch of rust-red curls between Crowley's thighs.

"Are you all right?"

"Just peachy," Crowley assured, trying to force the tension from his body. "It's just that I haven't worn one of these in a minute, it's a bit more sensitive than I remember."

"It's OK," Gabriel assured. "I'll be gentle."

Crowley wished he wouldn't. That those large hands would squeeze too hard, hold him down against his will. At least that way, Crowley wouldn't have to pretend that he didn't want to shove Gabriel away, wouldn't have to force down his instinctive reaction to flinch at the Archangel's touch. He'd be able to at least put up a fight, futile as the attempt would be, without putting himself and Aziraphale in immediate danger.

Instead, Gabriel's hands eased Crowley's thighs open as he shifted back. When they slid back down again, Crowley took the hint, keeping his legs splayed open and trembling. Gabriel trailed a curious thumb through the wetness gathering at Crowley's entrance, then dragged it up to swirl around his clit, already swollen and begging for attention. Crowley let out a soft whimper and let his head fall back against the couch, squeezing his eyes shut.

Which was why Crowley was completely thrown for a loop when the unmistakable wet heat of a mouth pressed itself gently between his legs.

His eyes flew open, hands shooting out to tangle in Gabriel's hair, holding the Archangel down against his cunt. He blinked, arms locking in shock – not that Gabriel even seemed to notice, licking at his clit like it was a font of nectar – as his conscious mind tried to reconcile what his subconscious had just done. How he'd reached out for the Archangel without even thinking about it, had willingly pulled him down harder against his body. As if he actually wanted this, as if Gabriel being so unexpectedly skilled with his tongue somehow excused the fact that he was holding Crowley and Aziraphale captive, and calling it love.

Apparently, Crowley was every bit the foul and depraved demon that he was sure was whispered about in the halls of Heaven, because he could feel his arousal rising along with his revulsion.

"You like that?" Gabriel murmured, hot breath washing over slicked skin, making Crowley tremble.

"Hgnh," Crowley replied, rather than admitting the shameful truth outright.

Gabriel chuckled. "Why don't you put your legs over my shoulders, champ? Seems like that'll be a bit more comfortable for you."

There wasn't much else Crowley could do but comply. He obediently repositioned himself, Gabriel's hands closing around the tops of his thighs, firmly anchoring him in place.

Keeping him trapped.

It wasn't like there had been anywhere he could run to begin with, anyway.

Gabriel's mouth moved against him with renewed vigour. Crowley couldn't control the soft whimpers catching in his throat. The fingers he still had buried in Gabriel's hair both held the Archangel against him, and kept Crowley from feeling completely untethered, an awful juxtaposition that threatened to make him unravel anyway. Gabriel slowly introduced his fingers into the equation, gently coaxing Crowley open enough to accept three fingers buried to the knuckle.

Before long, Crowley's thighs began to quake, heat and tension coiling low in his abdomen. His spine bowed and flexed, fingers tightening, toes curling. He pressed his head back hard against the couch cushions, twisting his face away, but there was no escape from the inevitable conclusion. The leather of the sofa grew sweat-slick beneath him, his panting breath condensing against the fabric.

The pressure within him built and built, then crashed through him like a dam bursting, making him howl.

He hoped Aziraphale wasn't listening.

Gabriel kept licking at him as he crested over his peak. Crowley's breath went ragged, cries of unwanted pleasure flowing from his lips of their own volition. His orgasm ricocheted through him in waves, leaving him lightheaded and dizzy. He wondered vaguely if he might pass out, found himself hoping he would. At least it would be a small mercy, to surrender to the oblivion of unconsciousness, even if only for a little while.

He only hovered on the precipice, though, not quite tipping over the edge. With the current state of his powers, there wasn't much he could do to nudge himself over, leaving him trapped in the grim reality of the situation.

When Gabriel finally pulled back, he untucked the pocket square in his suit jacket and wiped his face and fingers with it, before dismissing the soiled fabric entirely. "That was fun," he commented. "I could do without the mess, though. I would've thought this one involved less... fluid."

"You kind of need the mess," Crowley managed. "Nowhere near as fun if everything's dry." He felt himself clench a little in fear at the prospect of Gabriel trying to fuck him without any form of lubrication to ease the way.

Gabriel pursed his lips. "Hm, I see your point. And I guess it is still less mess than the other one. Anyway, if you're wet and ready already..." He trailed off hopefully.

Crowley briefly entertained the thought of telling Gabriel that he was feeling too sensitive post-orgasm to offer him pleasure like that. But, undoubtedly, Gabriel would want satisfaction from him some other way, and at present, Crowley didn't think he had the mental energy for anything more than just lying there and taking it.

He flushed and spread his legs a little wider, looking away. "Yeah, sure, go ahead."

With a grin, Gabriel undid his belt and tugged down his fly, before dismissing all his clothing below the waist entirely. His cock hung full and ready between his legs, peeking out obscenely from under the hem of his shirt before he dismissed that, too, towering fully naked and hard over Crowley's vulnerable body.

At least he'd seemed to take Crowley's comments to heart, miracling his hand slick and rubbing it along the length of his cock to ease the slide. He shook the excess off his hand with another miracle, then lined up with Crowley's entrance and slid home with a single, drawn-out thrust.

All the breath left Crowley's body with a sharp gasp. He gulped desperately for air that didn't seem to want to enter his lungs, as if the volume had been displaced by the size of Gabriel's cock. How had he forgotten so soon, just how thoroughly Gabriel could fill him? Had he really expected it to feel any less intense this way? His arms clutched automatically at Gabriel's back, holding him close, but more importantly not allowing him to thrust with any real strength.

Mercifully, Gabriel seemed content for now to give him time to adjust, running fingertips over Crowley's shuddering ribs and only rocking into him with the slightest of motions. When Crowley regained some semblance of a regular breathing pattern, the rolling of Gabriel's hips steadily increased. Before long, he was fucking into Crowley with long, full pumps of his hips, filling Crowley completely at every peak, every part of him overwhelmed and overtaken by the Archangel's presence. It seemed that Gabriel had confused slow for gentle, because he was certainly thrusting far too deep for Crowley's body to comprehend what was happening to it. But, evidently, Gabriel had reshaped him with the expectation that Crowley would be able to accommodate all of him, so accommodate him he did, Gabriel sinking into him to the root over and over. Now well established in his rhythm, Gabriel shifted his weight to balance on one arm, the other drifting down between their bodies to stroke at Crowley's clit once more.

Crowley began to think he might start sobbing with how overwhelmed he was. The knowledge that Gabriel would no doubt believe Crowley was sobbing with ecstasy only brought him closer to the brink. The worst part was, Gabriel wouldn't have been entirely wrong to believe so, and the thought pushed Crowley over the edge. His tears spilt over as another orgasm slammed brutally through him, making him clench down hard on Gabriel's cock as his thighs spasmed with the force of it, the overstimulation sending him reeling.

"Fuck," Crowley wailed, knowing there was every chance Aziraphale could hear him, helpless to stop himself. "Fuck, oh fuck–"

"That good, huh?" Gabriel grinned, panting, predictable and oblivious.

Crowley said nothing, weeping still and clinging to Gabriel's back. The Archangel mercifully only lasted a few more thrusts before losing all rhythm and burying himself deep, weight bearing down, making Crowley shudder as he was filled further.

"Oh, Crowley," Gabriel groaned, taking Crowley's face in his hands and kissing him deeply. Crowley was helpless before the onslaught, giving way and allowing Gabriel entry, the meagre defences he had left crumbling as Gabriel devoured him, filled him to the brim, overwhelmed him so entirely that there was nothing of himself left.

A mournful sound escaped Crowley without his permission when Gabriel eventually pulled out, the space between his thighs wet and dripping. Gabriel made a displeased face at the sight of all the mess, and cleaned them both with the snap of a miracle.

It just made Crowley feel dirtier than ever.

"Here, let me change you back, I remember you saying you prefer wearing the other one," Gabriel offered. Crowley almost protested, not wanting to endure the violation of Gabriel manipulating his physical form again so soon, especially when he was still so sensitive. But, he quickly realised, it was still a better alternative than having Aziraphale realise exactly what had been done to him. What he'd allowed Gabriel to do. That he'd let Gabriel manipulate his physical form for his own gratification, as if Crowley were little more than a toy to be played with, customisable to the Archangel's preferences. There was every chance that Aziraphale would notice that Crowley wasn't filling out the line of his trousers quite the same way.

Gabriel's palm slid over his tender cunt, and Crowley made a quiet noise in the back of his throat. Gabriel made a soothing sound at him, causing Crowley to flush with humiliation as Gabriel gently coaxed his cock back into existence.

"There we go," Gabriel enthused as Crowley trembled beneath him. He clicked his fingers again, summoning a new set of clothes for the both of them. "I don't know about you, but I definitely liked that, I'd very much like to do it again soon." He shifted back so that he was sitting, pulling Crowley up into his lap as he went. "Would you like that, too?"

Crowley knew that he should bring up the library, make sure that Gabriel was going to hold up his end of the deal. That he hadn't volunteered himself up for nothing.

Instead, all he had the energy for was a meek nod.

"That's what I like to hear," Gabriel said, unperturbed by Crowley's subdued response. "Tell you what, I've got to head back to work soon, but I'll have a little time between meetings to have a think about what you asked, and I'll have something ready to go when I get back, how does that sound?"

Crowley nodded again, trying not to let his relief be too palpable. It was doubtful that Gabriel would have really noticed, either way.

"Great!" Gabriel beamed, leaning down to kiss Crowley deeply. "I'm looking forward to it," he murmured, then slid his hand suggestively down Crowley's side. "And having this again."

Then, with a crackle of ozone, he was gone.

Crowley let his head fall back against the couch, eyes closing with a shaky breath, and allowed a fresh set of tears to trickle down over his temples.

Chapter Text

It was several long, slow minutes after Gabriel's presence had vanished that the door to the bedroom opened.

Aziraphale dabbed quickly under his eyes with the inside of his sleeve, wiping up any remaining tears, and moved forward anxiously, determined that Crowley wouldn't have to find him cowering again.

Crowley clung to the door handle and hovered in the threshold, looking small and ashamed. He didn't meet Aziraphale's eyes.

It was achingly clear that he knew Aziraphale would have heard him crying out in ecstasy as Gabriel wrought unwanted pleasure on his body. That there might be a chance, however small, that Aziraphale would look down on him for it, as if anything about Crowley throwing his body into the firing line for Aziraphale's benefit would ever make him so ungrateful.

"Oh, Crowley," he murmured softly, opening his arms to Crowley but stopping short of wrapping them around him, always wanting to give Crowley the choice to reject his touch if he didn't want it.

Crowley all but flung himself into the embrace, narrow shoulders up around his ears as he buried himself in Aziraphale's chest.

"You are so very brave," Aziraphale whispered, arms curling around Crowley's back when the demon's cinched in tight around his waist. "That I had an ounce of your courage, my dear, I'm so thankful for all that you've done for me."

"'M not brave," Crowley mumbled. "'M a demon. It's…" His breath shuddered. "It's… easy."

Crowley might have been able to fool himself, but the tremor in his voice told Aziraphale a different story. It spoke of guilt, and shame, and an increasing sense of self-loathing.

"I won't have you selling yourself short," Aziraphale chastised gently. "You've done so very much to protect me; I will never not be grateful for that. You have given me so much, you have always given me so much, and my entire existence has been a far richer experience for having spent it beside you, particularly in these past few years." He pressed his lips chastely to Crowley's forehead, giving his shoulders a reassuring squeeze. He straightened, swallowed, and steeled his spine. "When... when Gabriel comes back, I will kiss him, and if he– if he presses for more..." He swallowed again, mouth terminally dry, a sandstorm roiling in his stomach. "I will give it to him."

Crowley's face was a patchwork of tension, eyes golden and luminous against the bloodless pallor of his skin. "I don't want you to."

Aziraphale took hold of his hands. "I know, dearest," he said softly.

"And I know you don't want to, either," Crowley choked out.

Aziraphale swallowed once more in vain. "No, I don't," he whispered. "But I must, if we're both to survive this."

"You don't have to," Crowley said, a touch desperate. "I can just– I'll keep doing what I've been doing, I'll give him what he wants, and you'll be safe, and– and he won't get to touch you–"

"Crowley," he said, feeling a note of finality entering his tone. "We've both known, for a while now, that Gabriel is going to take what he wants from me before he'll trust us enough to let his guard down. You've done absolutely everything you can to protect me, you must believe that this is in no way some sort of failing on your part. This isn't something you need to suffer through on your own."

Crowley crumpled and buried his face against Aziraphale's chest, shoulders silently shaking.

"I'm so sorry," Aziraphale whispered against Crowley's hair, and held the trembling demon in his arms until they both felt the rippling air pressure change of Gabriel's return.

Crowley pulled away from the embrace, scrubbing at his eyes as he recomposed himself. "All right," he said softly, words trembling and seemingly only half-directed at Aziraphale. "OK. OK."

"It will be all right," Aziraphale insisted, wishing he sounded the least bit confident.

Crowley said nothing further, just headed for the door, leaving Aziraphale to trail behind. Gabriel was waiting for them in the living room. Aziraphale couldn't help but feel like he seemed even more physically imposing than usual.

He smiled expectantly, and obligingly enough, Crowley walked over and gave him a peck on the cheek before pulling away.

Aziraphale held his breath, marched forward, and reached up to cradle the back of Gabriel's neck, pulling him down into a kiss. He'd moved quickly enough that his mind hadn't quite had the chance to catch up with what he was doing, but as Gabriel made a surprised, pleased sound and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale's waist, he froze again, brain coming to a screaming halt.

Gabriel didn't much seem to mind, though, pressing forward into Aziraphale's limp mouth, humming in pleasure when he didn't resist.

Aziraphale could all but feel the waves of distress rolling off Crowley as Gabriel kissed him, which did exactly nothing to ease his own panic, particularly when Gabriel's hands tightened on his waist.

Then, mercifully, Gabriel was pulling away, still holding him but no longer kissing him. Gabriel beamed down at him. "About time, hey, sunshine?" he enthused, then smiled impossibly wider. "Actually, I've got a surprise for you, do you want to see?"

A gnawing pit opened up in Aziraphale's stomach, but he forced himself to nod. Gabriel took his hand, and led him to the other side of the living room. Instead of the blank wall that had been there previously, there was now another door, and Gabriel gestured enthusiastically for him to open it.

Hesitantly, the pit in his stomach yawning wider, Aziraphale obeyed, the door swinging inward as he turned the handle without so much as a creak.

The room was a simple square, with sleek brushed metal shelves stretching from floor to ceiling, filled with books.

It was like the bookshop, only stripped of anything that made it feel like it actually belonged to Aziraphale. Instead, it was clearly a product of Heaven – sharp and clean and coldly beautiful. There was an armchair, but it was a stylistic twin to the sofa in the living room behind them, a far cry from the faded plushness of Aziraphale's own furniture. Each book on the shelf was brand new, not a single mote of dust to be seen, not even the comforting scent of wood and worn paper to soothe him. There was no reassuring chaos of his inscrutable organisational system, everything instead arranged with military precision. There were no hidden nooks or quiet crannies, no memorabilia of a life spent travelling the Earth, nothing that would ever allow Aziraphale to forget that none of this belonged to him.

Aziraphale glanced over at Crowley, who was very carefully not looking at him.

"You're grateful, aren't you, Aziraphale?" Gabriel asked, the weight of his hand on Aziraphale's shoulders making Aziraphale feel rather like Atlas.

He mustered a wobbly smile that he knew didn't come close to reaching his watery eyes. "Yes, of course," he whispered, also knowing that Gabriel wouldn't be able to tell the difference. "T–Thank you so much, Gabriel." He blinked back the tears. "Feels… just like home."

Gabriel grinned. "It should. This is your home, after all."

Aziraphale swallowed. "Yes. So you've said."

The Archangel gestured towards the shelves. "Go on," he said encouragingly. "Pick something out."

Vision blurred, Aziraphale gave a jerky nod and stumbled over to the shelves, choosing a book at random without even reading the spine. He cradled it to his chest, trying to take comfort from the familiar weight and shape, tried to imagine that he was back in the bookshop, about to curl up in his favourite armchair.

He realised he'd taken Anna Karenina from the shelf, and almost started crying.

Gabriel beamed at him. "Great! Let's go do whatever it is you do with that thing, huh?"

–––––––––––––––––

Aziraphale wasn't stupid. He might have been an angel, which tended to give one an expectation of a certain naivety, but he'd also spent six thousand years on Earth. He'd lived amongst humans long enough to know how favours like that worked, to know that Crowley must have offered Gabriel something in order to give Aziraphale a whole library. His mind refused to let the thought go, turning over and over around the myriad possibilities, of what indignities Crowley had subjected himself to for Aziraphale's benefit.

He tried in vain to read his book, to ignore the too-smooth texture of the paper that gave away the fact that it was miracle-made. Despite knowing the words by heart, however, their meaning kept slipping away from him. His eyes swam as he tried to focus on each letter one at a time, but they stubbornly refused to assemble into something cohesive in his head. All he could focus on was the warm bulk of the Archangel beside him, a possessive arm slung around Aziraphale's middle.

He hated this. He hated not being able to concentrate on something he so dearly loved.

His eyes slid over to Crowley, who was staring fixedly ahead, then back to the page before him.

"Are you enjoying your…" Gabriel stumbled as he grasped for the word, face lighting up once he'd found it. "Book?"

Aziraphale froze, not knowing how to answer. He hadn't actually been reading the book, not really, his eyes just running along the same sentence over and over for what had felt like hours, not absorbing a single word. How could he focus, how could he relax and enjoy himself, when he and Crowley were both prisoners here? When Gabriel insisted on running his fingers through Aziraphale's hair like the smaller angel wanted such a display of affection from him? When Aziraphale could feel every inch of Gabriel pressed to his side like a branding iron as the Archangel forced them all to snuggle on the couch, like a horrid mockery of the domesticity Crowley and Aziraphale had once taken for granted?

Still, it was hardly like Gabriel really understood how a book worked, in any case. Aziraphale should be able to muddle his way through a simple lie like that. "It's fine, thank you," he finally forced himself to say.

Gabriel frowned down at him. "Wait, you're supposed to turn the, the pages, right?" The Archangel's frown deepened. "Why haven't you been turning the pages?"

Drat. He felt his breathing pick up speed, hoping that Gabriel didn't notice the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "Quite right, how silly of me," Aziraphale said, his voice high and tremulous even to his own ears, as he quickly flicked the page over. He made a frantic pantomime of avidly reading each line, willing Gabriel to believe him and overlook the slipup. He finished scanning the page he was on and flipped to the next. Too late, he realised that Gabriel might be even more suspicious that he'd finished the page in under a minute when the first had supposedly taken him hours.

Even in his periphery, he could see the Archangel starting to get truly upset, could see Crowley giving him a warning glance from Gabriel's other side. "Why don't you like it?" Gabriel demanded, fists clenching as he turned his gaze to Crowley, the faint scent of ozone filling the room. "You said he'd like it."

Aziraphale tried not to gulp visibly, but it was difficult with the way his throat had gone dry and sticky, the air he didn't need apparently unable to decide whether it wanted to stay in or out of his body. He wasn't sure what sound would come out if he tried to speak now. All he could do was clutch wordlessly at Gabriel's sleeve, as if that would do absolutely anything to forestall any violence, should the Archangel decide he was going to cross over that line.

Crowley put a soothing hand to Gabriel's chest. "It's not that," he assured, giving Aziraphale a determined look. "Aziraphale just prefers to read on his own, isn't that right, angel?"

Aziraphale nodded, still not trusting his voice, and closed the book.

Gabriel's frown abated, but only slightly, hands moving to his thighs like he was about to get up. Crowley hurriedly pressed on. "He should go read in the library." He gave Aziraphale a pointed stare. "Nice and quiet there," he continued, and slipped from the couch to instead kneel at Gabriel's feet before Aziraphale could stop him. "I'm sure I can keep you company out here."

Aziraphale felt his heart swell with gratitude even as his gut shrivelled in horror at seeing Crowley on his knees before the enemy like this. He couldn't even be mad that Crowley had undermined their agreement for Aziraphale to allow Gabriel to touch him further, not when he'd crumbled so quickly in the face of Gabriel's unexpected anger. Oh, but Aziraphale should have been braver than this, shouldn't have to have Crowley swoop in and save him like this, offering up his body like a bargaining chip, it was just another unfair cruelty piled on top of abject misery–

"That sounds like a great idea," Gabriel said, finally beginning to calm down, already spreading his legs apart so Crowley could shuffle closer. The demon did so, hands sliding up along the Archangel's thighs with a smile that Aziraphale could barely tell was being faked.

Wide, serpentine eyes flicked over to Aziraphale, his smile smaller but more genuine. "Go on, Aziraphale," he said softly. "We'll be all right."

What he meant, of course, was I'll be all right. Crowley couldn't frame it like that, though, couldn't suggest, however obliquely, that Gabriel might be a threat to him, something that he feared rather than loved. There was no telling how the Archangel would react to that.

Aziraphale couldn't just leave Crowley out here, alone, at Gabriel's mercy, he couldn't. He'd insisted to Crowley that he would be present the next time Gabriel got amorous, what did it say about him if he backed out now?

But he'd made that decision under the assumption that Gabriel would be going into it with a good mood. With the Archangel's anger so recently close to the surface, it seemed infinitely more likely that Gabriel would push for more than he would have otherwise, demanding that Aziraphale make up for his poor showing of gratitude.

If he burst into tears in front of Gabriel now, the Archangel would lock him up in another room anyway, and only let him back out again when he was good and ready. Not to mention, having to deal with Aziraphale himself was just as likely to make Gabriel angry again, leaving him to work out his frustrations on the only other person left in the room with him. 

No, it was better if Aziraphale took this terrible gift Crowley had given him, and retreated to the library so that he could go to pieces like the coward he was.

He forced himself to his feet, ordered his jelly-like legs to support him as he wobbled unsteadily towards the door to the library. His hand trembled as he reached for the doorknob, grabbing hold just as his legs began to give out. Leaning against the door for support, he pushed it open and staggered inside, tension ratcheting up his shoulders at the sound of shifting fabric behind him.

He tortured himself with one last look before he closed the door. He saw the doting grin on Gabriel's face, his fingers sliding into Crowley's hair, Crowley's own fingers rising towards Gabriel's fly. Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut, using the threadbare remnants of his self-control to close the door quietly rather than slamming it like he wanted to. With the door shut, he was enshrined in seclusion, unable to hear a sound from the other side of the thick wooden panels separating him from Gabriel and Crowley. He still wasn't sure if that was worse or not.

Aziraphale cracked his eyes open again to look around at all the beautiful books Crowley had bought for him by selling his body, then sank to the floor and wept.

Chapter Text

"I do like it when you do this," Gabriel said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Crowley's ear. He'd been captive long enough now that it was starting to get noticeably longer.

Normally, it wouldn't have grown at all without his input. He'd decided, however, just before he and Aziraphale had been captured, that he'd try growing it out the human way, rather than miracling it into his desired style, and had instructed the hair on his head to begin growing at a natural rate. Apparently, the instructions held even when he no longer had access to his demonic powers. Which, he supposed, made a certain amount of sense – it was hardly as if he could now command his hair to stop growing, at present.

He was sure that, if he were still down on Earth, the novelty of growing his hair normally would have worn off before too long, and he'd just have miracled it anyway. Now, he was growing more and more concerned that Gabriel would notice the gradual lengthening of his hair, and decide to take over styling it for him, as he'd already done with Crowley's wardrobe.

He tried to push the fear to the back of his mind and focus on the task at hand, unzipping Gabriel's trousers and taking the tip of the Archangel's already-hard cock into his mouth. Gabriel's lashes fluttered, hips jumping forward slightly as Crowley swallowed him down.

"I wish Aziraphale was as open with his affection as you are," Gabriel said with a groan, then frowned at himself. "I shouldn't say that, it makes me sound ungrateful. I know it took you until after Armageddon to even get him to admit he loves you, this all has to be moving very fast, for him. He probably just needs a little more time, what do you think?"

Crowley let out a vague hum of agreement as he sank down all the way down to the root, wishing that Gabriel would just shut up already. That was always the problem with sucking him off – sure, it was less emotionally taxing than trying to hold a pleasant conversation with him, but it unfortunately left the Archangel's mouth rather unoccupied.

"Oh, that's good," Gabriel murmured, carding his fingers through Crowley's hair. "You really are very good at this."

He hummed again, tongue pressed flat against the underside of Gabriel's cock. Gabriel let out another groan, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

That's right, just lie back and enjoy yourself, you big celestial idiot, Crowley thought acidly. Don't you dare even think about getting your grubby hands all over my angel.

"That kiss was promising, though, right?" Gabriel asked after a few moments, curling one hand into Crowley's hair and fucking into his mouth a little deeper. Crowley tried very hard not to scowl. "Even if he didn't seem particularly grateful about the library itself." His hand tightened in Crowley's hair, briefly holding him down before releasing. "Well, no, that's not fair, you said he likes reading all alone for some reason, didn't you?" He paused, and Crowley did his best not to be vicious as he sucked at the head of Gabriel's cock. Gabriel tipped his head back, throat working, and his voice had a touch more gravel to it when he spoke again. "Still, I think he should be ready for a bit more by now. He can show me how grateful he is for the gift once he's had the chance to enjoy it a bit. We can have you in the middle again to ease him into it, he liked that the first time," he said, with the confidence of someone who believed they could do no wrong. He smiled down at Crowley. "And I'm sure you will too, won't you, champ?"

Crowley swallowed Gabriel back down, and tried not to choke on the certainty that there was part of him that would.

"Yeah," Gabriel murmured, looking immensely satisfied with himself. "I think that's going to be really good." He stroked his fingers through Crowley's hair before getting a firm grip on it near the base of his skull. "You're coming along so well with this," he groaned, pushing himself deeper down Crowley's throat. "It'll be even better when we can get Aziraphale to be more involved, don't you think? I want you both to love me, and show me that you love me, that's what this whole thing is all about, isn't it?"

Dimly, Crowley wondered whether Gabriel was reporting his 'successes' back to the other Archangels. He had to be, surely? Aziraphale had told him that the other Archangels were apparently not only aware of what Gabriel was doing, but had actively helped to set it up, if what Gabriel had told Aziraphale before Crowley had shown up was any indication. Crowley could just imagine Gabriel adding another stroke to a tally board set up in the Archangels' meeting room, a pleased little smile on his face as he informed the others how much headway he'd been making. A clinical, professional sheen laid over the top, progress laid out in informative little charts and milestones, the vulgar nature of what he was doing to them glossed over. The Archangels would nod pleasantly, congratulate Gabriel on his accomplishments. Crowley couldn't decide if he thought that the other Archangels were dense enough to believe this was all real, the way Gabriel did; or, if they were vindictive enough not to care, and were just happy to see Crowley and Aziraphale punished for their role in the failure of Armageddon. Either option seemed just as likely.

Whatever the case, Gabriel clearly thought it was the real thing, and Crowley had a vested interest in not disabusing him of that notion.

Gabriel's foot grazed along the inside of Crowley's thigh, slowly sliding high enough for the top of his shoe to press against the obvious swell at the front of Crowley's trousers. Crowley groaned helplessly, hips rolling forward into the pressure, and Gabriel made a pleased sound at the sensation. He pressed further, shin slipping between Crowley's legs. Without any real alternative, Crowley began to rock himself against Gabriel's shin, feeling himself grow harder as he continued to swallow Gabriel down.

"Oh, just look at you," Gabriel murmured appreciatively. "You really love this, don't you, I can tell." His grip tightened fractionally in Crowley's hair, slowly taking control over the pace of his movements. "Don't worry, I'll give you what you want." He began thrusting up into Crowley's mouth in tandem with the pressure of his hand, forcing himself deeper and deeper. Crowley choked, swallowing down, feeling the saliva pool at the edges of his lips as Gabriel pushed against the back of his throat. His own hips shuddered, the front of his trousers beginning to dampen with precum.

He tried to sink down on Gabriel's cock, but the Archangel's hand was firm in his hair, holding him back. Before he could stop himself, Crowley whined, and Gabriel chuckled before pulling him off completely. Crowley panted wetly, throat working and gasping, as Gabriel held him in place and admired the state of him.

"Why don't you come up here, Crowley?" he asked softly, using his grip to gently guide Crowley up into his lap, knees going either side of Gabriel's hips. Gabriel snapped the fingers of his free hand, and Crowley was instantly naked, splayed out for Gabriel's viewing pleasure, cock hard and leaking. Gabriel took hold of it and gave it a few long, slow tugs, smiling indulgently at the way Crowley arched into the touch. "You really are very pretty, you know that?"

"Thank you," Crowley whispered, not wanting to risk Gabriel's ire by not responding to the compliment, hands resting awkwardly on his thighs.

Gabriel smiled again. "Why don't you go ahead and touch me, no need to be so shy."

Crowley nodded, hips rolling involuntarily up into Gabriel's touch as Crowley reached for the lavender tie knotted at Gabriel's throat, undoing it with slightly shaking fingers. He carefully draped it over the arm of the sofa, then went to work on the buttons of his shirt, slowly popping them free of their eyelets one by one. He slipped his hands into the partially-formed opening, palms splayed against the bare skin of Gabriel's chest, before sliding back out and undoing the remainder of the buttons.

As he reached the bottom, the side of his palm brushed against the slightly leaking head of Gabriel's cock. Gabriel let out a pleased rumble, reaching up and curling his free hand around the back of Crowley's neck. He drew Crowley closer and pressed his lips against the side of Crowley's throat, still gently pumping Crowley's cock as his other hand drifted down and over the bared curve of his thigh. It inched its way around, settling warm and heavy against the small of Crowley's back and tugging him even closer. Crowley went, his breath hitching with the motion as it made him fuck into Gabriel's fist, then again when he felt himself graze against Gabriel's cock with his own. Gabriel groaned against Crowley's neck, kisses becoming more insistent.

Another snap of the Archangel's fingers, and Crowley's hole was suddenly slicked and stretched. Crowley whimpered and buckled into Gabriel's touch, legs trembling, and both of Gabriel's hands slid under Crowley's thighs, lifting him, shifting his own body down to better align himself.

"Let me know when you're ready," Gabriel murmured against his collarbone, giving his arse a squeeze and pressing a kiss against his shoulder.

Swallowing hard, Crowley reached behind himself to help guide Gabriel into place. It seemed better, marginally, than having to ask Gabriel to do it for him, to in any way instruct Gabriel on how to better extract pleasure from him. Gabriel was warm and thick in his hand, growing sticky with precum, and Crowley felt his throat convulse dryly as he positioned Gabriel between his spread cheeks.

The head of Gabriel's cock slipped into him with miracle-aided ease and Crowley gasped, abdomen quivering with the effort of not jerking his whole body at the sensation. Distantly, he wondered whether that initial breach, that slow slide into him, would ever stop feeling quite so invasive. Gabriel groaned again, his kisses growing teeth as he bit lightly at Crowley's shoulder. His hands shifted up onto Crowley's hips, tightening, pulling him down.

Crowley couldn't have resisted if he'd tried.

Gabriel bit down harder, bearing down on him from both ends. He sucked as he bit and kissed, and Crowley knew that this time, it would definitely be enough to leave bruises on his skin, marks of Gabriel's possession of him. He could only hope that Gabriel dressed him in a suit once they were done, rather than another soft sweater like he'd been wearing before. Or, at the very least, that Gabriel wouldn't be completely taken with the idea of having Crowley physically marked by his touch, and just vanish the bruises once it was over.

Crowley didn't think that the odds were particularly in his favour.

But he didn't voice any of his concerns, of course. What would have been the point? Gabriel would have found some way to misinterpret them, or come up with some alternative that Crowley would enjoy even less. Better to keep pushing down to meet Gabriel's thrusts, to make him think that Crowley was satisfied with what he was receiving, rather than being in need of more inventive attention.

"I wanted to try something," Gabriel murmured.

A chill of fear raced down Crowley's spine, coiling icily in the pit of his stomach. "Yeah?" he managed, dreading the elaboration.

He really needed to stop letting his imagination run so wild, concocting increasingly terrible new ways Gabriel might decide would better express his love. It seemed that every time Crowley did, it prompted the real Gabriel into action.

"I was inspired by getting the library for Aziraphale, I did some research. Watching things, obviously, that whole reading thing doesn't really do it for me."

Crowley tried not to think too hard about whether that meant that Gabriel had made a foray into watching porn, or if he'd actually gone and sat in on some hapless humans just trying to have sex in peace. Either option seemed awful.

"Anyway," Gabriel continued, "I found out there's a way to make this one less messy," he gave Crowley's cock an emphatic squeeze, "and you get to do it for longer, isn't that great?"

Crowley's stomach swooped dizzily. Oh, fuck, surely he wasn't about to–

Gabriel clicked, and a golden band cinched in tight around the base of Crowley's cock.

"There we go, nice and snug," Gabriel said, and Crowley whimpered, body bowing towards Gabriel, clutching at his shoulders as he struggled to draw breath. Gabriel worked a hand between them and encircled Crowley's cock, stroking him once more. "Isn't that better? You get to wear the one you like best, and I get to enjoy you not making so much of a mess."

Unable to speak, Crowley nodded, eyes closing as he did his best to not let any tears fall.

"Can you move for me, champ? Are you ready for that?"

He wasn't, but allowing Gabriel to dictate the pace felt worse, somehow, like he was being robbed of what little agency he had left. He leant his weight into his forearms, bracing them against Gabriel's chest, and lifted himself up, then eased himself back down, thighs already quivering.

Crowley didn't dare look down, not wanting to see the lurid shade of red his cock was probably turning. He rocked himself up and down in Gabriel's lap, breath coming in thready little gasps. As soon as he felt able, he pushed himself upright rather than supporting himself against Gabriel's chest, wanting to limit the opportunities Gabriel had to kiss him again. Gabriel's gaze was heavy and attentive, the weight of it fairly dragging against Crowley's skin. Rather than meeting the Archangel's gaze, Crowley let his own eyes flutter shut, and sardonically thought that Gabriel probably appreciated Crowley's most obvious demonic trait being hidden from his sight. It did, however, cut off one of Crowley's senses, leaving him to feel the inexorable press of Gabriel's cock all the more keenly. He shook, but kept bouncing himself on Gabriel's cock, feeling his swollen cock bob with the rhythm of it, already aching for release.

In the end, it was almost a relief when Gabriel's hands slid up Crowley's thighs, raising goosebumps in their wake, then took hold of Crowley's waist, assuming control of the pace as he guided Crowley down onto his cock.

"Let me give you a hand," he murmured, pistoning up into Crowley, driving into him ever deeper. Crowley's arms abruptly gave out and he collapsed back down onto Gabriel's chest. A long, low moan surged out of him at the change in angle, only for Gabriel to swallow the sound with a kiss, tongue already nudging at Crowley's lips for entrance. Caught off-guard, Crowley's eyes briefly shot open before he snapped them shut again, and he forced himself to reciprocate the kiss, shuddering as Gabriel pressed into him from both ends.

Gabriel shifted, and the angle changed, making him hit Crowley's prostate with each and every stroke. Crowley had to break away from the kiss to bury his face against the side of Gabriel's neck, overwhelmed and trying to catch his breath. The Archangel just thrust into him even harder, the sensations intensifying. Crowley's cock was firmly pressed between them, the ring digging slightly into the bottom of his stomach, but even with that physical barrier, he could feel that his end was approaching all the same.

Crowley felt it build and build, his breath going ragged, a keening sound catching in his throat. His shoulders trembled, his jaw ached from holding it all in.

"Gabriel–" he finally gasped out, the name exploding out of him against his will, and he was gone.

A dry orgasm rocketed through him, only a few pitiful drops of cum squeezing out of the tip of his cock. He moaned, loud and long and helpless. Gabriel's hips stuttered, then he fully sheathed himself in Crowley's arse, pulling their bodies flush once more as he came. His hands climbed up from Crowley's hips to his shoulders, wrapping tight and holding him down, making sure that Crowley took every last drop.

He kept holding Crowley close as he caught his breath, stroking Crowley's back. He clicked to remove the ring from around the base of Crowley's cock, and Crowley jerked in his grip, groaning lowly at the feeling of Gabriel's yet-to-soften cock shifting inside him. Crowley's breath hitched, and he buried his face against Gabriel's shoulder before it could turn into a sob.

He was going to have to ask Gabriel to do this to him again, or say yes to it when he brought it up in the future. Otherwise, he might suspect that Crowley hadn't enjoyed it, and begin to wonder why Crowley hadn't said anything at the time.

The prospect filled him with a despondent sense of longing, and he shuddered, doing his best not to think about it.

"You do like a bit of a firmer hand, don't you?" Gabriel pondered once his breathing evened out, leaving Crowley room to respond. All he could manage was a nod, shuddering and clenching around the cock still buried deep within him. He felt a groan rumble up through Gabriel's chest and echo in his own, clanging off his ribcage as Gabriel slowly eased out of him. Crowley's hole clenched again once Gabriel slipped free completely, and he hated how bereft he felt, how some small aching part of him longed to be filled again.

Gabriel dragged his fingertips down through the valley of Crowley's spine, lifting his fingers and snapping at the bottom of the stroke, leaving them both clean and neatly clothed. Crowley tried very hard to ignore the shameful part of himself that felt disappointed.

Gabriel's hand settled against his lower back, heat radiating through the soft weave of Crowley's sweater. The neckline curled loosely below his throat, just as he'd feared it would, the evidence of Gabriel's mouth on his skin clearly on display.

Their bodies remained flush, and Crowley didn't dare shift, despite his growing dread that Gabriel would decide he wanted another round after all.

"Does Aziraphale like that, too?" Gabriel asked, gaze expectant as he traced random symbols on Crowley's lower back.

It took Crowley a moment to connect back to Gabriel's previous statement, but once, he did, his stomach dropped out.

"No," he croaked, suddenly fearful. "No, he's–" Crowley swallowed thickly, desperate for moisture in his throat, desperate for Gabriel not to get it in his head that simply pinning Aziraphale down and taking him roughly was anything close to an acceptable option. "He likes it gentle. Slow. He doesn't want anything–" He doesn't want anything to do with you. "–Urgent."

"Hm," Gabriel said pensively, frowning, then softened. "Well, if he's not giving you what you need, I'm more than happy to. We can get him involved with the softer stuff, and we can have the more intense things for ourselves, that sounds good, doesn't it?"

Crowley nodded, not trusting his voice to remain steady, unwilling to correct Gabriel's latest misunderstanding, for fear of giving him the wrong impression in some new and terrible way.

A quiet, cowardly voice whispered in his ear – wasn't it a good thing, now, that Gabriel was soon going to get his way with Aziraphale? Better, after all, to give Aziraphale a chance to at least acclimatise to Gabriel's gentler attentions, rather than having him thrown in the deep end when Gabriel eventually decided he needed to use a firmer hand on them both.

Or, would Gabriel keep his word, and reserve the more vociferous of his sexual demands for Crowley? Would Gabriel think he was doing Crowley a service, providing for his inherent demonic need for stern attention from something holy?

He shivered as Gabriel carefully traced a fingertip around the bruise he'd sucked onto the junction of his neck and shoulder.

"I'll leave this here, I think," Gabriel decided. "That way, Aziraphale can see that I'm taking care of this for you, and that he doesn't need to worry about it. Saves having an awkward conversation."

And Crowley didn't want it, didn't want proof of his subjugation marked onto his very skin, but what choice did he have? "Sounds–" He cleared his throat, the words like ash in his mouth. "Sounds good."

Gabriel smiled at him, warm and guileless. "I'm so glad to hear you say that," he said, drawing his arms more tightly around Crowley and pulling him into an embrace.

Crowley let himself be held, closed his eyes against the faint throb of his pulse through the mark on his neck, and fervently willed himself not to cry.

Chapter Text

The library door swung open, and Aziraphale scrambled to look like he'd actually been reading the book this time, rather than clutching desperately at it for the past however many hours, in hopes that it would keep him from flying apart at the seams.

"Have an easier time reading by yourself, champ?"

"I– yes, thank you," Aziraphale replied shakily, managing a tight nod as he closed the book and stood from the armchair he'd been perched on the edge of, not wanting Gabriel to loom so much over him. "And thank you for understanding that I prefer to read alone."

Gabriel flashed him a beaming smile. "You're welcome! I've actually gotta run, now, you can finish thanking me properly when I get back, all right?" So saying, he promptly left Aziraphale's field of vision, then vanished with a faint pop.

It was really for the best that Gabriel had left without waiting for an answer, that Aziraphale's compliance with Gabriel's whims had simply been assumed, as Aziraphale doubted he would have been able to speak around the thick lump of fear wedged in his throat.

The fact that Gabriel was actively expecting his reciprocation in return for the library made the inevitable far more tangible for him. He wasn't going to try to find a way out of it – he wasn't going to fail Crowley, not again – but his imagination immediately went into overdrive, shifting from Gabriel graciously accepting what Aziraphale was forced to offer him, to the Archangel imperiously demanding Aziraphale's body in payment for the gift he'd provided, taking what he wanted as if he were entitled to it.

But if he kept trying to wait until the circumstances lined up so that he came to the least amount of harm, Gabriel would just end up taking what he wanted anyway, and Crowley would continue to suffer for it in the meantime.

Speaking of Crowley, the demon had yet to appear in the doorway, and Aziraphale felt his panic change tack. Granted, Crowley was almost always the one to fetch Aziraphale after Gabriel had left, rather than Gabriel bidding him farewell. He probably needed a moment to compose himself after having Gabriel's affections inflicted on him.

But Aziraphale couldn't fight the growing sense of dread that something even more awful than usual had happened. Gabriel had been in a good mood as he'd left, but that didn't mean he hadn't done something atrocious without realising.

He stood shakily, book entirely ignored as it tumbled to the floor, and staggered for the doorway with a rapidly increasing pace. He didn't dare call out, suddenly fearful that he wouldn't receive a response, and sped up to almost a run within the short space to the door.

Crowley had leant up against the wall outside the library, and gave him a startled look as he burst wildly into the living room.

"Are you all right?" Aziraphale asked frantically, hands hovering, unsure whether Crowley would welcome the touch.

"'M fine," he mumbled, turning his head away and tugging at the collar of his sweater.

The motion wasn't quite quick enough to hide the large bruise steadily purpling at the base of Crowley's neck.

"He hurt you," Aziraphale said, horrified. And of course he knew that Gabriel had already hurt Crowley countless times, but none of those had been with the intention of causing harm.

At least as far as Aziraphale knew. They hadn't yet had the opportunity to see each other naked since the first time, both of them too paranoid that Gabriel would barge in on them again. Now, Aziraphale couldn't help but wonder whether the collared business shirts and roll-necked sweaters Gabriel was so fond of dressing Crowley in had hidden similar injuries from Aziraphale's sight. Crowley had never winced with any sort of tenderness when he'd asked Aziraphale to hold him, after, but as he'd already demonstrated over and over, Crowley could be quite the exemplary actor when he needed to.

"It's nothing," Crowley said now, eyes closing tiredly and leaning his head back against the wall, abandoning his attempt to hide what had been done to him. "Don't worry about it, angel."

"Don't wo–" Aziraphale choked on his words, feeling beyond inadequate. "Crowley, you know I can't just not worry." Truly, it seemed to be the only thing he was actually good for.

Crowley smiled bitterly. "Better worry about yourself than me, then. You heard him, before he left." The smile slipped away almost immediately, his eyes filled with pain. "'M sorry."

"You don't have anything to apologise for," Aziraphale said, words gentle.

"He wasn't supposed to demand anything from you in exchange for the library," Crowley said softly.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale whispered, his heavy heart aching with bittersweet fondness. "You needn't apologise for anything of the sort, I swear it. I've promised you already, haven't I? I was already going to…" He swallowed, words bitter on his tongue. "…To… offer myself to him, when he comes back, it isn't as if you've accelerated the timetable for me at all. Truly, you are the only reason he's been kept at bay for so long. You've given me far more time than I deserve." His gaze drifted unwillingly down to the angry mark on Crowley's throat once more.

Crowley shifted his collar futilely, then sighed and let it drop. "'S not as bad as it looks," he muttered. "Wasn't like he was… attacking me, or anything."

"I would argue that that is precisely what he has been doing," Aziraphale said tightly. "Even if he doesn't realise it himself."

"It's fine," Crowley insisted, even though they both knew it wasn't. "Anyway, I told him–" Crowley's throat bobbed, drawing Aziraphale's gaze yet again. "I told him, you don't… That you're not a fan of the rougher stuff." His tone was ashamed, beseeching. "He promised he'd be gentle with you."

Aziraphale's gut wrenched itself sideways at the latest in a line of countless sacrifices Crowley had made for him. "You didn't need to do that for me," he managed, then felt his stomach fall through his shoes at the unspoken implications – that Crowley had been made to feel that he did need to take such measures, or risk having Aziraphale give everything away. After all, what in Aziraphale's conduct up to this point would have given him any impressions to the contrary?

Worse still, Crowley was much more than likely to be right. Aziraphale had never really been one to blur the line between pleasure and pain even in the most consensual of circumstances, he couldn't fathom the prospect of being able to react convincingly to being forced to blend the two.

"Wanted to keep you safe," Crowley mumbled, digging the knife in a little deeper.

"You've done marvellously," Aziraphale assured in a whisper. "And I–" His throat clogged painfully, but he forced himself to continue. "I know that Gabriel doesn't have the intellectual capacity of his own to think of giving me a library, and that you must have had a hand in that, too."

Crowley shrugged uncomfortably, keeping his shoulders a little hunched. "Just thought it might be nice, for you to not have to be cooped up in the bedroom every time, with nothing to do but sit and wait. 'Sides, the bedroom was where…" He shuddered, swallowed, and looked away again as he forged on. "Point is, he's going to want to use the bedroom again, probably sooner rather than later. I wanted… I wanted there to be a space for you, for us, where he hadn't…"

"Oh, my dear boy," Aziraphale sighed softly, and hesitantly stepped closer. Crowley tilted towards him, posture open even with his gaze still averted, and Aziraphale drew him into an embrace. Crowley folded into him like origami, all intricate, fragile angles. "Thank you," he whispered, burying his nose in the demon's hair to try and pick up his faded scent. He tried not to dwell on the fact that it seemed to have grown fainter still.

Crowley's voice was muffled as he spoke into Aziraphale's collarbone. "'M sorry that it doesn't look anything like the bookshop," he mumbled. "I figured he wouldn't have had the imagination to do anything other than make a visual copy of it, I can't imagine him having been in any others except yours. I wanted it to remind you of home. Our real home." He sniffled. "I should've known he'd design it to suit his tastes instead of yours. 'M sorry. Again."

Aziraphale felt his breath catch at the casual way Crowley had referred to the bookshop as his home. It had tripped off his tongue so easily, so naturally. Like it was a simple statement of fact, like it was a concept that Crowley had had a long time to mull over and grow comfortable with.

It was more than probable that Crowley had begun to think of the bookshop, in some capacity, as his home even before the failed Apocalypse. A sudden upswell of the deep affection Aziraphale felt for Crowley surged through him, tears welling in his eyes at the overwhelming love held in his heart for the beautiful demon in his arms.

"There's no need to apologise, Crowley," Aziraphale said thickly, knowing that mentioning it directly would only make the demon flustered and even more distressed than he already was. "It's probably for the best that it doesn't look like the bookshop, at any rate," he pointed out. "I wouldn't want to associate the two, once we're free of this place."

Crowley trembled against him. "Fair point," he choked out. "Didn't think of that. Sorry."

"It's all right," Aziraphale soothed. "You've done so much for me, you've been so strong for me, and I am so grateful to have you."

Crowley trembled harder. "It doesn't even matter," he whispered. "He's going to come back, he's going to–" He smothered a sob against Aziraphale's shoulder. "I just wanted you to be safe, I wanted it all to be worth something, and now he's going to– to–"

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale murmured, closing his eyes and holding Crowley close, the spare angles of him feeling so fragile in his arms. "You are worth everything to me, and I am sorry that I have ever made you feel anything different."

A small noise got trapped somewhere in Crowley's throat. "Wh– no," he protested, voice hoarse. "I don't think that, I didn't mean it like that–"

Aziraphale smiled sadly against the top of his head. "That may not have been what you intended, but that doesn't make it any less true," he said. "I know how much of our experience here has consisted of you making up for my lacking."

"I'm still going to protect you," Crowley said stubbornly. "He– I'll be in the middle, again, he won't– I won't let him." He shifted his hands from where they'd been clutching at Aziraphale's front, to instead embrace him fiercely.

"Crowley–"

"No," Crowley said gruffly, firmly. "We're doing this slowly, remember? 'Sides, he was the one that suggested it, not me."

"…All right," Aziraphale said in quiet agreement, knowing that this wasn't an argument he'd win.

Crowley shifted against him, loosening his desperate clinging embrace for something gentler. "I still really don't like him expecting this from you because he gave you a library," he muttered.

It was true – doing this was going to set a dangerous precedent. But couldn't they make that work to their advantage? If Gabriel wanted to gift him things that would remind him of Earth, with the expectation of receiving increased physical affection from him, wouldn't there be a greater chance that he would inadvertently provide them with something they could use to escape? And even if the gifts didn't end up proving useful themselves, wouldn't Aziraphale's growing participation help to convince Gabriel that his plan was working, thus making him lower his guard sooner?

He knew that suggesting as much to Crowley was a sure-fire way to upset him again, though, so he thought it wise to keep his thoughts to himself in that regard.

"It would have happened anyway," Aziraphale told him instead.

"Doesn't mean I have to like it."

Aziraphale managed a tired smile. "I admit, I'd be a little concerned if you did."

Crowley let out a huff of something attempting to be laughter into Aziraphale's collarbone, then drew back, scrubbing quickly at his eyes with the shoulders of his sweater to get rid of his tears. The skin around his eyes was still a little puffy, but the way his sclera was still consumed entirely by his irises, ironically enough, went quite a way to disguising the visual evidence of his distress.

"Anything interesting in the library?" Crowley asked.

"I haven't actually looked, much," Aziraphale admitted, recognising the shift in topic for what it was.

"We could have a bit of a look together, if you like," Crowley offered. "I know it's not… that it doesn't really look anything like the bookshop, but maybe there's still something on the shelves that you'd like, and–" He shrugged awkwardly, still trying to angle himself in a way that made the bruise on his throat less obvious. "Maybe we could lie on that little sofa in there, and you can read, and we can just pretend?"

Aziraphale thought of how similar it sounded to the comforting scene they'd shared the evening before being tilted into this waking nightmare, and felt his chest ache.

He smiled anyway. "I do believe I'd like that," he said quietly, offering Crowley his hand.

Crowley hesitated, and for a stomach-dropping moment, Aziraphale thought he wasn't going to take it. Then Crowley closed the space between them, lacing his fingers between Aziraphale's and allowed himself to be led into the library.

The copy of Anna Karenina he'd been not-reading before still lay on the floor, and he left Crowley by the sofa to pick it up, fussing and making sure that it hadn't been damaged despite himself. He could feel Crowley smiling fondly behind him, could feel his ears turning pink at his own predictability as he set the book on the seat of the armchair.

He thought it best to make no mention of the fact that part of his worry had been that Gabriel would have taken the sight of the book strewn on the floor as a slight against him, and reacted accordingly.

"Bit gloomy, that one," Crowley said, sprawling out on the sofa.

Aziraphale made a vague hum of agreement, already hunting for something a bit more light-hearted from the shelf. Gabriel appeared to have stocked the library much like it was a chain bookstore, albeit with a more expanded classics section than most, with several titles appearing more than once as Gabriel's limited imagination evidently ran out. Eventually, he settled on a pristine copy of The Importance of Being Earnest, thumbing at the crisp edges as he turned.

Hopefully, with time and handling, the books would stop smelling so clean, and more like they were loved.

The hopeful feeling slipped away as he realised how long that would take, what it would mean if that shift were to happen.

He shoved the thought aside and joined Crowley on the sofa, demon obligingly wriggling his splayed limbs out of the way to accommodate him. Crowley rested his cheek against Aziraphale's thigh, his own legs looped over the arm of the sofa. It didn't escape Aziraphale's attention that Crowley had purposely laid down in such a way that his bruise was hidden, but he didn't feel that there was anything to be gained by mentioning it. The satisfied little sound Crowley made when Aziraphale hesitantly brushed his fingers though his hair was clearly genuine, and Aziraphale allowed himself to relax enough to crack his book open and actually begin to read.

It still felt like no time at all before the tell-tale thrum of Gabriel returning to his office reverberated through the air.

Aziraphale snapped the book shut mid-sentence and swallowed thickly, knowing that Gabriel was under the impression now that he only read when he was by himself. Wordlessly, Crowley shifted to let him up, leaving a sudden cold patch on Aziraphale's side where Crowley had been snuggled up against him.

"All right?" Crowley asked softly, and Aziraphale gave him a nod despite the increasingly thunderous pace of his heart.

They made their way to the living room just as the front door opened.

"I'm home!" Gabriel announced cheerily, stepping through and moving towards them for a kiss. Crowley gave Aziraphale's hand a reassuring squeeze, and they both acquiesced, pressing their lips briefly to opposite cheeks.

"Welcome back, Gabriel," Aziraphale attempted, the words sounding only a little bit watery to his ears.

"Sorry I had to race out on you earlier, but you've got my undivided attention, now." Gabriel smiled pleasantly at him. "Don't you want to show me how grateful you are for the library?"

"I..." Aziraphale faltered, then swallowed down the nausea he could feel simmering within him, acid burning in his throat, and forced a smile. "Of course," he squeezed out. "I'd be… happy to."

"That's what I like to hear!" Gabriel said, beaming wide, and stepped in close, an encouraging hand settling against Aziraphale's lower back, already steering him towards the bedroom. Aziraphale gripped at Crowley's hand harder than he meant to, but Crowley made no noise of complaint, simply squeezing back and following along. "Why don't we go get started?"

Chapter Text

The sound of the bedroom door closing behind them rattled around in Aziraphale's head like the clang of a prison cell being locked.

He took a deep breath, and, feeling how much it had trembled on the inhale, pushed it back out again, leaving his lungs empty. He turned, forcing himself to be ready to have Gabriel force him, only to find that Crowley had stubbornly taken the initiative. The slim indent of Crowley's waist, defined as it was by the tailored suit jacket Gabriel had donned him in, seemed somehow even smaller under the broad, possessive curl of Gabriel's fingers, his mouth kissing hungrily at Crowley's as he steered them both in the direction of the bed.

Aziraphale, feeling both awkward and horrified, wobbled over to the bed and perched himself stiffly on the edge of it, before his legs gave out entirely. He did his best to smother a shout of protest as Gabriel promptly tipped Crowley onto the mattress, pinning him with his body. Gabriel towered over him, hips pressing down and forcing a groan from Crowley's throat, swallowing the sound with a devouring kiss.

Crowley's hands fisted themselves in the back of Gabriel's suit jacket – out a need to find some way to ground himself, or in an attempt to keep Gabriel from reaching out to pull Aziraphale in, it was impossible to tell.

Smiling, Gabriel rolled onto his back, shifting Crowley so that he was sat facing outwards in the Archangel's lap. A possessive hand splayed out across Crowley's belly, inches away from where his trousers had already grown visibly tighter.

Aziraphale swallowed dryly, blood thundering panicked in his ears, fingers twitching where they clutched at the sheets.

It had all happened so fast. How did it happen so fast?

"Aziraphale," Gabriel called out, fingers creeping down towards. "Are you ready to join us now?"

"I'd like to watch," Aziraphale found himself saying, feeling like his mouth belonged to someone else, words filtering back to him as if from a distance. He tried to hold onto the feeling – maybe if he simply tried hard enough, he'd be able to pretend that it wasn't actually him this was about to happen to, and he'd be able to weather Gabriel's attention and keep Crowley safe. That he wouldn't simply stay drifting around the edges, like a coward. "I-I might just do that for a little bit, if that's all right by you."
 

He just– he just needed a minute.

He thought of Gabriel's hands coasting over his body the way they were currently over Crowley's and suppressed a shudder.

Gabriel smiled and tweaked one of Crowley's nipples through his shirt, eliciting a soft gasp. "Can't say I blame you, he is very pretty to watch. You'll join in eventually, though, won't you?"

"Of course," Aziraphale managed, guilt pushing up into his throat like bile as he watched Crowley arch up into the pressure of Gabriel's fingers, feeling his own shameful stirrings of desire at the sight of Gabriel's miracle melting Crowley's clothes away. Even though it was the best way to keep Crowley safe, it felt like a betrayal, being at all aroused by the way he responded to Gabriel's touch.

Gabriel glanced over at Aziraphale, eyes falling to where his trousers were reluctantly beginning to tent, and smiled into Crowley's hair. He clicked, and Aziraphale's clothes vanished, making him flinch and forcing him to fight every instinct screaming at him to cover himself up in shame.

Gabriel returned his attention to Crowley, fingers slipping lower to graze along the underside of his cock.

Oh, but Crowley truly was a vision, eyelids already hooded, mouth slack and soft, lips parting around a moan as he shifted under Gabriel's touch. He didn't quite meet Aziraphale's eyes, hands fisting in the sheets beneath him, arms taut and chest straining upwards.

Still, Aziraphale knew that no matter the physical evidence that indicated Crowley was enjoying himself, that enjoyment wasn't genuine – that just as Aziraphale's body betrayed him by paralysing him with fear, Crowley's betrayed him by being aroused by unwanted touch. The humiliation in Crowley's averted eyes was near palpable, and Aziraphale had to force himself not to look at Crowley's face, lest his own expression show his distress too clearly.

Skin crawling, Aziraphale tried to only focus on Crowley's body. The way his legs splayed out in a loose, inviting sprawl. The deep flush spilling down his chest, the stiffened peaks of his nipples, the firm jut of his cock as it leaked slightly with precum.

Fingers shaking, Aziraphale gingerly took himself in hand, giving himself a hesitant stroke as he swallowed down the nausea swelling in his throat. Doing his best to imagine that Gabriel was far, far away, that Crowley was currently moaning under the touch of his own hands rather than Gabriel's.

"Aziraphale," Gabriel instructed. "You've been watching for long enough, haven't you? Come over here, use your mouth on him."

He froze, eyes involuntarily flying back up to meet Crowley's, concentration shattered. He could feel Crowley assessing him, reading his panic and terror, no doubt able to imagine the all-too-likely scenario of Aziraphale sobbing uncontrollably as he choked around Crowley's cock.

Crowley's mouth flattened into a determined line as he reached up and behind him, cradling Gabriel's jawline. "Can you swap me out instead?"

Gabriel smiled delightedly against Crowley's hair as Aziraphale attempted to parse what Crowley was asking for. "You'd like that?"

Aziraphale tried not to watch the long line of Crowley's neck as he swallowed. "Yeah, I... I don't want to wait. I want to take both of you at once."

It dawned on Aziraphale what was about to happen as Gabriel's hand trailed down Crowley's front, coming to rest over the hard swell of his cock. Aziraphale had to bite back a shout of protest, able to do nothing but look on in horror as Gabriel adjusted Crowley's physical form to suit his own desires.

The look of resignation on Crowley's face told him that this wasn't first time it had happened. Aziraphale stared at him, distraught, but Crowley was very deliberately not looking anywhere near him. Gabriel made a pleased noise at Crowley, tracing his fingers with gentle care around the already-damp folds of his newly summoned pussy. A moan wrenched itself from Crowley's throat, hips juddering up into the touch.

"Come on, Aziraphale!" Gabriel encouraged. "I know he's pretty to look at when he's like this, but surely you're ready to do more than just look, right?"

Aziraphale nodded tightly, but didn't move, unable to tear his eyes from the sickening sight of Gabriel's fingers teasing at Crowley's entrance. He could feel his muscles beginning to lock down, and the longer it took, the harder the thought of ever moving again became.

No. He couldn't allow himself to freeze up again. He couldn't do that to Crowley.

He couldn't do this to Crowley.

He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't–

"Angel," Crowley called out softly, cutting through the well-worn spiral of panic.

Aziraphale gave him another jerky nod, then forced himself to start crawling forward.

He had to do this. He couldn't sit idly by with Crowley in Gabriel's clutches like this.

Just one hand in front of the other, just keep going, just–

He sucked in a shocked breath as he grazed his fingers against the inside of Crowley's ankle. He stopped, the simple touch making everything so painfully real, a terrifying certainty that he was about to be forced to touch Crowley in ways that he didn't actually want.

"Please," Crowley whimpered, and Aziraphale had to smother the voice in his head that hissed that Crowley was begging for Aziraphale to make this nightmare stop.

He swallowed thickly, and shuffled closer still, trying frantically to pretend that he was on board with any of this.

Whilst obviously, he hadn't done this with Crowley before, he'd taken a number of human lovers to bed over the millennia. He'd gotten rather good at it, if he was being honest – it would have been difficult not to, after all that time – but he felt himself having to grasp desperately for the knowledge now, only to have it slip away from him, fingers clumsy.

He slid his hands hesitantly over Crowley's spread thighs, gasping a little at the way Crowley shivered.

Aziraphale couldn't help but stare.

Oh, but Crowley was so very beautiful, his lovely, sinuous form all stretched out and waiting.

But Aziraphale knew that his openness in that moment was only a mirage. That Aziraphale's touch, the way his hands were resting uncertainly on Crowley's thighs, would be just as unwelcome as Gabriel's, that Crowley didn't want any pleasure that Aziraphale could coax from his body, not with Gabriel looming expectantly over his shoulder.

"What are you waiting for?" Gabriel's brow slowly furrowed as Aziraphale didn't move any further. "Haven't you done this before?"

Aziraphale suddenly felt himself break out in a cold sweat.

Oh, God.

He'd hesitated too long. He'd ruined everything.

Gabriel had finally figured it out, and it was all Aziraphale's fault, oh God, how could he have failed Crowley so miserably–

"Not often, really," Crowley chimed in from beneath him. "We told you, we've been taking things slowly. 'S just been kissing so far, for the most part, outside of one or two occasions."

"Oh," Gabriel said, brow smoothing back out, and Aziraphale forcibly yanked himself back out of the spiral he'd fallen into.

He had to be better than this. He couldn't just rely on Crowley to keep saving him every time, he needed to start doing some of the saving himself.

Even if anything he could do, when they were like this, just meant that Crowley would be subjected to more.

He tried not the focus on the possessive curl of Gabriel's fingers around Crowley's waist, the gentle kiss he placed against the bruise on Crowley's neck. Gabriel smiled, oblivious still. "Well, then, good thing you have me now, right? I'm here for whenever you need more, you know I'm more than happy to give that to you."

Aziraphale said nothing, able to feel nothing but a helpless fury at Gabriel's presumptuousness, a nauseating relief that it also meant he and Crowley were at least relatively safe for a little while longer.

Gabriel looked up at Aziraphale. "I can show you," he offered, hands already creeping down from Crowley's hips.

"He's got it," Crowley said firmly. "Don't you, angel?"

Aziraphale nodded tersely, hands shaking as he drew them along Crowley's thighs, trying to determine whether he could bring himself to actually try and make anything about this horrific scenario pleasurable.

Surely he owed Crowley that much? Surely the least Aziraphale could do would be to make this pleasurable for him, and do everything he could for them both to pretend that Gabriel wasn't with them?

Unless he'd been faking it entirely. Unless he was only wet because Gabriel expected him to be.

But no, Aziraphale had seen how rapidly Crowley's cock had responded to Gabriel's ministrations.

Crowley had asked specifically for him to do this, rather than Gabriel.

Aziraphale set his jaw.

He wasn't about to ask Gabriel to slick up his fingers; he doubted he'd be able to force the words out without heaving.

Instead, he lifted his fingers to his mouth – looking only at Crowley, not looking at Gabriel, there was no room for Gabriel in this – and sucked.

He almost managed to feel gratified at the way Crowley's eyes darkened, watching him avidly, lingering on his lips even after he drew his fingers free. Crowley's thighs spread a little wider against Gabriel's, obviously encouraging him, trying to reassure him that this was all fine and not a massive violation of both their bodies.

Aziraphale stroked his fingers along Crowley's outer folds, biting his lip at the way Crowley's hips juddered up into the touch.

"Angel, please," Crowley whimpered, the words seemingly wrenched from him, his cheeks flushed a deep red. "I want… I want you inside me."

Helpless, and realising that the sooner he complied, the sooner it would all be over, Aziraphale obeyed, and gently sank two fingers into the slick heat of Crowley's pussy.

Gabriel chuckled from behind Crowley's shoulder. "If you insist," he said with a grin, and snapped his fingers. His clothes vanished and Crowley let out a sharp gasp, gripping tight at the sheets as his pussy clenched around Aziraphale's fingers, walls fluttering around him. Gabriel kissed at the side of his throat, taking hold of his hips and shifting both their bodies to allow him to line himself up.

Aziraphale resolutely didn't watch as Gabriel sank into Crowley's arse, but a second sharp gasp from Crowley, and a corresponding low groan from Gabriel, were more than enough to tell him it had happened. Crowley grabbed blindly for Aziraphale, yanking him down into a kiss and muffling the sounds he was making against Aziraphale's tongue. Aziraphale closed his eyes, trying to pour every reassurance he could into the kiss, gently working his fingers against Crowley's pussy. He did his best to imagine that the little jumps of Crowley's hips had nothing to do with the slow grind of Gabriel's cock in his arse.

When a hand curled loosely around Aziraphale's cock, he briefly tensed, abject fear convincing him it was Gabriel. But then Crowley hummed soothingly and gave him a slow pump, attempting to coax him to full hardness.

He tried to let it happen, begging with all his might for his body to respond to Crowley touching him like this in the way he'd always imagined he would. His body was stubborn, however, refusing to go much farther than half-mast. The shame of his inadequacy threatened to drown him.

After a while, Crowley seemed to realise that this paltry showing was all that Aziraphale was going to be able to offer him. His grip shifted to Aziraphale's hips instead, urging him closer. Aziraphale slipped his fingers out of Crowley, and, trembling, took himself in hand instead, lining himself up. One of Crowley's hands reached out to give his arse an encouraging squeeze, and Aziraphale smothered a sob against Crowley's lips as he forced himself inside.

Crowley's mouth was warm, and the slick clench of his pussy was warm, and his hands wound around Aziraphale's shoulders were warm, and Aziraphale's eyes were positively burning with the threat of tears. He muffled a wet gasp, trying to draw some solace from the kiss, trying to form a wordless apology as he began to move his hips in a shuddering roll.

"Hey, I deserve a turn, too, don't you think?" Gabriel said, resting a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder to gently pry him away from Crowley's mouth. Aziraphale barely smothered a sound of protest as Crowley's lips fell away from his, Gabriel's expectant face seeming to loom large in his vision. The fragile threads holding Aziraphale's arousal aloft abruptly snapped and he felt himself start to soften inside Crowley.

Aziraphale went to close his eyes, to steel himself enough to not flinch when Gabriel kissed him. Before he even got there, Crowley stubbornly turned his head to catch Gabriel's mouth with his own. Gabriel let out a sound of surprise, but it quickly morphed into a pleased hum.

Even as he kissed Gabriel, Crowley wrapped himself tightly around Aziraphale, one hand buried in his pale curls, angling Aziraphale's face in a way that meant Gabriel wouldn't be able to look directly at him. Aziraphale could still hear the Archangel's soft grunts of pleasure, though, could feel the heat coming off him, the gentle rock of Crowley's body as he was fucked into, the brush of Gabriel's fingers against both their thighs as his hands began to roam. It left Aziraphale unable to even think of pursuing his own pleasure, knowing that doing so would truly only benefit Gabriel. Try as he might, his cock refused to get hard again – in fact, it did the opposite, softening further. He kept his half-hearted thrusts shallow, for fear of slipping out of Crowley entirely and revealing his deception.

Despite the fact that the sensation of Aziraphale limply fucking him couldn't possibly be enjoyable from Crowley's end, Crowley clung stubbornly to him, fingers stroking over the clammy skin of Aziraphale's back. Aziraphale let one of his hands slip between them, wanting to keep his focus on Crowley, to do everything in his power to block Gabriel out, as well as making up for his own deficits.

His thumb rolled against Crowley's clit and he jolted and moaned, rocking his hips up into the touch.

Abruptly, Aziraphale began to doubt that it had been a good idea. Was he just making things worse? Would offering Crowley this small respite in the midst of their shared torment just make it impossible to extricate pleasure from the memories of what Gabriel had done to them, once they were free?

Seeming to sense his hesitance, Crowley's hand shot down to grab his wrist. "Don't stop," he whispered, the words leaving him in a rush.

Gabriel chuckled behind him. "Should've known you'd like being so full," he mused, hand sliding up to gently tweak Crowley's nipple, then Aziraphale's, before returning his grip to Crowley's hips and continuing to thrust.

Aziraphale abruptly locked up at the unwanted, unexpected touch. Crowley soothed him as best he could, cradling Aziraphale's jaw, offering Aziraphale the distraction of his mouth. Slowly, Aziraphale forced his lips to move against Crowley's, forced his hips to resume their shallow thrusts, forced his fingers to gently tease at Crowley's clit. Crowley groaned encouragingly, legs tightening around Aziraphale's waist, allowing him to break away from the kiss and bury his face against the refuge of Crowley's collarbone.

"Oh," Aziraphale stuttered as Crowley groaned louder this time, body going taut, fingertips digging into Aziraphale's back, into his hair. He squeezed around Aziraphale in a way that would likely have been very pleasant, if they were anywhere but here.

Not knowing what else to do, and feeling that ever-present fear still stiffening his muscles besides, Aziraphale let his hips shudder to a stop, even as his fingers gently coaxed Crowley through his orgasm, moving as if on autopilot. He smothered his face in the crook of Crowley's neck, hoping distantly that his helpless sob sounded close enough to a groan of pleasure to fool Gabriel.

Gabriel, meanwhile, didn't even seem to take notice, too busy chasing his own end. Crowley clung to Aziraphale still, huffing out quiet, whimpering breaths into Aziraphale's ear as Gabriel continued to pound up into him, each thrust causing him to rock against Aziraphale. He hastily withdrew his hand from between them, reaching up to cradle Crowley's face reassuringly before realising his fingers were still damp.

Crowley took hold of his wrist and guided him into place once more, clinging to him as he breathed his way through the overstimulation. Gabriel's hands tightened around Crowley's hips and slammed up into him once, twice, three times, before finally going still, moaning in satisfaction against the nape of Crowley's neck.

Aziraphale helplessly stroked at Crowley's cheek, closing his eyes and feeling his own crushing inadequacy threatening to grind him down into nothingness.

A miracle shivered over his skin, leaving him clean and warm but still naked, and then Gabriel began to move beneath them.

Before Aziraphale could quite catch up to what was going on, he was shifted one way as Crowley was shifted another, the broad stretch of Gabriel's chest suddenly separating them. Crowley reached out to him across the divide, tangling their fingers together in an offer of reassurance, but leaving them with no option but to rest their entwined hands on Gabriel's bare stomach.

Gabriel let out a satisfied hum, one hand draping around Crowley's back and holding his body close, the other curling around Aziraphale's shoulder so that his fingers could wind into Aziraphale's hair, drawing his face into the crook of Gabriel's neck. Aziraphale sucked in a startled breath, and immediately regretted it as Gabriel's scent invaded his nostrils – sharp and aggressively clean, still masculine despite the edge of lavender, the edges of it shivering with the smell of a barely contained storm.

Aziraphale forced himself to breathe out again slowly, and left his lungs empty once it was gone.

Gabriel pressed a kiss to Aziraphale's temple. "Told you it would be good, didn't I, sunshine?" he murmured, stroking Aziraphale's hair. "I know it was a lot for you, but I heard how you sounded, I know you enjoyed yourself." He smiled, giving them both a squeeze. "Not as much as Crowley, though, huh?" he added with a grin. "He loves having all that attention, all that love being directed at him. Don't you, Crowley?"

Crowley quietly hummed in the affirmative, keeping his eyes averted.

"Makes sense," Gabriel continued, fingers trailing along the valley of Crowley's spine. "You've spent so long not having anyone to love you, haven't you? Even if, you know, it was your own fault, what with you Falling and everything."

They both tensed, Gabriel's arms tightening fractionally around them before relaxing.

Aziraphale fairly simmered with impotent rage. How dare Gabriel say such casually cruel things, how dare he insinuate–

"Anyway, there's a lot of time for you to make up for, of course Aziraphale was never going to be enough for you on his own. That's why you need me, too."

Crowley hummed vaguely again as old doubts swirled back to the surface of Aziraphale's mind. Of course, the 'love' Gabriel offered was the last thing Crowley wanted or needed, but was there still some truth to the Archangel's words? Was Aziraphale's continuing inability to put up a convincing act emblematic of the fact that he didn't deserve Crowley, couldn't offer him enough love of his own?

Had Crowley come to that conclusion already, and simply kept on, fearing that if Aziraphale knew his true feelings that he'd simply give up, dooming them both?

"That's what I thought," Gabriel said happily, still holding them both tightly against him, and Aziraphale was left so distraught that he couldn't even cry.

Chapter Text

Time seemed to pass with an aching drag. Aziraphale's palm began to sweat against Crowley's, but he refused to let go, some part of him convinced that they'd both unravel at the seams if they lost that point of contact with one another, as if the divide of Gabriel's body between them would become some impassable ocean.

After what felt like eons, Gabriel finally stirred in a way that signalled he was about to rise, forcing them to let go of one another after all. Crowley carefully didn't look at Aziraphale's face as they parted, Gabriel giving them both a genial smile in turn as he stood and dressed himself with a miracle. "I won't be gone too long," Gabriel reassured them, as if that was at all something that they wanted. He grinned, eyes lingering on their naked forms. "I'm sure you'll be able to keep yourselves busy, you always do. Don't miss me too much!"

He turned as if to leave. Aziraphale stiffened beside Crowley, and Crowley's heart leapt into his throat. "What about our clothes?" he asked, fighting to keep out the tremor in his voice, already suspecting how Gabriel was going to respond.

Gabriel frowned. "I mean, you don't really need to wear them, do you? It's not like you guys ever leave the house. It'd be more convenient if you didn't, don't you think?"

"Still," Crowley tried, even knowing that it was almost entirely futile, "'S a bit nippy, for us both to be sitting around with our bits out all the time, isn't it?"

With a dismissive wave of Gabriel's hand, the ambient temperature of the room rose by several degrees. "There, that should keep you nice and warm."

Aziraphale's voice was sudden and a little shaky. "Oh, but Crowley looks so lovely in your colours, I'm sure you agree," he said, then swallowed, looking a little like he was trying not to throw up. "It would be such a shame to lose that, wouldn't it?"

Gabriel frowned again, but more pensively this time, and eventually he snapped his fingers, the room cooling once more as they were both clad in carbon copies of the suit Gabriel had donned himself. He raked his eyes over Crowley's body, and Crowley felt even more naked than he had before. "You know, Aziraphale, you really are right on this one," he murmured, then, a smile curling at his lips, promptly vanished with a faint pop.

Crowley let out the breath he'd been holding, feeling a relieved smile break out across his face despite everything. "Quick thinking, there, angel."

"I didn't mean it, I swear," Aziraphale blurted, his expression wretched. Crowley stared, taken aback.

"What're you on about?"

"I don't like you looking like this, I don't like him dressing you up in his image without even asking, it's, it's not–" His breath shuddered, and he squeezed his fingers together, looking like he was struggling very hard not to pray. "I know how much you enjoy choosing your own style, is all," he continued, voice tight. "I don't like that he's taking that from you. You are perfect as you are already, and his attempts to suggest otherwise are doing you a gross disservice. Nothing you have done would ever make you unworthy of love."

Despite the slight manic energy of Aziraphale's outburst, Crowley couldn't help but be relieved by the subtext of Aziraphale's words – that he accepted Crowley, loved him, with no caveat of very much preferring it if Crowley could keep his visage more similar to what it had been when he was still holy.

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale said quietly, eyes suddenly glued the floor.

"None of this is your fault, angel, I keep telling you," Crowley replied gently, edging closer, but not pressing further when Aziraphale twisted away from his extended hand. "He's the one doing this to us, I promise you I haven't forgotten that."

"But I didn't–" Aziraphale made a vague gesture at his lap and flushed miserably. "I couldn't, even though it meant you had to pretend even more that you were enjoying yourself, to make up for my… performance." He flushed harder. "Or rather, lack thereof. I... I don't want you to think that it stems from any absence of desire for you, my dear, I swear to you–"

"Aziraphale, no, I know that," Crowley was quick to interject, dismayed. "That's not– that's not something you can force your body into doing, not without a miracle, and I–" He paused, gathering himself. "Believe me, I know that how your body reacts to what he's doing to us has absolutely nothing to do with how we feel about each other." Tentatively, he reached out again, and although Aziraphale shuddered, he didn't pull away, instead collapsing completely into Crowley's arms. "And I am proud of you, you know," Crowley murmured into his curls. "I know… I know how difficult this is for you, how much he frightens you, and you still managed to be quick and clever enough to keep him from taking more from us."

"I hardly deserve any praise for that, I think," Aziraphale said, voice muffled against Crowley's chest.
 

"Well, I think you do," Crowley said simply, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale's shoulders. "I've had, what, six thousand years to get used to being disillusioned by Heaven's nonsense? It's a lot newer for you, and you've been under their thumb for so much longer than I ever was. I understand, angel." His voice became softer, thicker. "There's still part of you that wants to believe that they wouldn't harm you like this and call it love. That they wouldn't pursue their own ambitions at the cost of your wellbeing. I can't blame you for wanting to believe that, still."

Aziraphale just shook harder. "But my believing that has hurt you so much," he whispered. "I've hurt you so much because of it, and it's still hurting you. Neither of us can pretend it isn't."

"…I suppose that's true," Crowley admitted, throat aching as he swallowed. "But, hey, you've recognised it, at least, right? And I know it's something that you're working on, for me. You have me because you love me, and I love you, and that's something that no one else can take for themselves, no matter how powerful they are."

"You shouldn't excuse my behaviour so readily," Aziraphale said, quiet and subdued.

"Not an excuse," Crowley promised. "Just a reason." He made himself smile wryly. "I wouldn't let you off the hook just like that – after all, when have I ever made it easy for you?"

"The only thing that has ever been difficult about loving you was when I tried to convince myself that I shouldn't," Aziraphale whispered, almost too quiet to hear. "And that was a folly I should have forsaken far sooner than I did."

"We'll have plenty of time for you to make it up to me once we're free, all right?"

Aziraphale pressed the cuff of his shirtsleeve against his eyes, nodding against Crowley's chest before pulling away to better attempt stymying his tears.

Crowley's heart ached to see him like this, so close to unravelling and only able to hold himself together because Crowley was watching. "You don't have to do this right now," he offered gently. "You can sit the next one out, I can take care of myself."

"No, I can do it," Aziraphale insisted, scrubbing furiously at the tears that continued to spill over despite his best efforts. His face crumpled progressively as he spoke, voice trembling harder and harder. "I will, I must, I can't keep failing you like this–"

"Hey, hey," Crowley soothed, taking hold of his hands and gently rubbing his thumbs over Aziraphale's knuckles. "It's OK. He's expecting you to go slower than me, it'll be an easy sell, don't worry."

"I don't want to go slow!" Aziraphale cried. "I've always been so careful and cautious, and all that's ever done is cause us both immeasurable heartache, especially you, it isn't fair that you have to keep making concessions for my sake!" He clung tight to Crowley's hands. "I want to be home, I want Heaven and Hell and everyone to just leave us alone, I want to spend the rest of my days taking care of you in all the ways you deserve, I–"

The air hummed and trembled in the next room over, and Aziraphale crumpled again.

"–Oh, God," he whispered, a despondent plea that they both knew, deep down, would go unanswered.

Crowley rose, giving Aziraphale's hands one last squeeze before pulling away.

"Wait! I-I can–" Aziraphale stammered, eyes a little wild, the red rimming their edges making the piercing blue of them all the more startling. "He listened to me before, didn't he, perhaps I can try reasoning with him again, actually make him understand this time that what he's doing is wrong–"

"…I don't think that's good idea, angel," Crowley said softly, too softly to drown out the cheery, muffled sound of Gabriel announcing his return.

Aziraphale shrank. "…I'm doing it again," he said, voice hollow. "I just said I would do better, and I'm already doing it again."

"Just remember, what he's doing isn't love, promise me you'll remember that," Crowley insisted, torn between not wanting to leave Aziraphale alone in this fragile state, and knowing that it simultaneously meant he was not currently in a position to withstand Gabriel's advances stoically. His throat burned, knowing he had no choice but to keep moving towards the door, to step through and close it gently behind him, and leave Aziraphale alone to drown in his insecurities.

Gabriel was already beaming at him on the other side. Crowley forced himself on, stepping towards the Archangel, feeling like the door was glaring accusingly at his back.

Gabriel gave it a knowing look. "Guess he's still a little worn out by all the excitement, huh?"

Crowley made himself nod. "Something like that."

"Of course, of course," Gabriel replied sagely. "Gotta take things slow with that one, I know." He gave Crowley a conspiratorial grin. "Not like you, though, right? You just can't seem to get enough of me! Not that I can blame you, obviously." He made a grand gesture towards the sofa. "You know I'm always happy to remind you how much you're loved," he murmured, closing the distance when Crowley didn't move in fast enough for his liking. He slipped an arm around Crowley's waist to tug him closer, the other hand cradling Crowley's jaw and drawing him into a kiss. "I'll be honest, I was wanting a little more out of having both of you, but I get that might've overwhelmed Aziraphale a bit, and we don't want that, do we?"

Crowley shook his head mutely, and Gabriel quite literally swept him off his feet, pressing him down onto the couch.

"There's always next time," Gabriel hummed against his lips. "Now, though…" He smiled down at Crowley, then began kissing him again, keeping Crowley pinned beneath him. Crowley shuddered, helplessly returning the kiss, feeling the heated weight of Gabriel's body trapping him in place. He was keenly aware of Gabriel's hips pressed flush against his own, of every slow twitch of Gabriel's cock as it gradually stirred to attention against Crowley's thigh, of the unignorable way Crowley's own body stirred in response. Gabriel hadn't seen fit to swap him out for a cock again before leaving earlier, and some perverse part of him wished that he would do so now.

He could barely admit to himself that it was because he didn't want to have the feeling of Aziraphale inside him overwritten so soon. Despite Aziraphale's lacklustre physical showing, that selfish part of Crowley knew that it was likely to be some time before he'd be able to have Aziraphale take him in earnest, and craved having Aziraphale's soft, plump fingers gently bringing him to satisfaction, rather than Gabriel's broad hand coaxing unwilling pleasure from him.

Gabriel rocked against him, cock almost fully hard by now, then paused, frowning. "Aren't you– oh," Gabriel laughed. "Sorry, I never changed you back, did I? Well, we can fix that now, won't that be a nice treat for you."

Crowley opened his mouth to say something, he wasn't sure what, but Gabriel's hand was already slipping between his legs, kneading at him. Crowley's hips jolted and he moaned, making Gabriel grin at him again. His hand moved incessantly, and Crowley let out a quiet keening sound, feeling his entrance seal itself up, his labia growing heavier and descending into a pair of balls, clit stretching and extending into a cock already straining against the zipper of his trousers.

Maybe he should have expected it, but it felt vastly different to having his cock turned into a vulva when he was already aroused, so much more intense to have everything stretching out rather than condensing down. His hips jerked skyward, a groan punching out of him, and Gabriel smiled happily, misinterpreting Crowley's reactions as always.

"Eager, are you?" he murmured in approval, clicking his fingers to whisk Crowley's clothing away. "That's what I like to see."

Crowley turned his face away, suddenly unable to stand the way Gabriel's eyes were raking over his naked form. Too late, he realised how that would look, and he forced the rest of his body to follow suit, twisting himself around beneath Gabriel so that he was belly-down, hands braced against the arm of the sofa.

At least this way, he'd be able to make any expression he liked, and Gabriel would be none the wiser.

"Oh, you're very eager for me," Gabriel praised, hips rolling against Crowley's bared arse. Crowley's hips twitched forward, cock sliding easily against the cool leather, a gasp stuttering in his throat as another miracle left him loose and slick and ready. "I won't keep you waiting," he promised, his own trousers suddenly vanishing and cock sliding through the shallow valley of Crowley's arse cheeks, thrusting indulgently against him for a few strokes before slipping into him almost as if it was an afterthought.

Crowley scrabbled desperately at the arm of the sofa as he was filled, and Gabriel made a soothing, shushing sound at him, gathering both of Crowley's wrists in one meaty hand to pin him in place.

"There you are, that's what you need," Gabriel murmured, his other hand on Crowley's hip, gently pulling their bodies closer together. "That feels so much better for you, being filled up like this, doesn't it?" Gabriel took a firmer grip on his hip, sinking in another inch. "Doesn't it, Crowley?"

"…Yesss," Crowley moaned almost against his will as Gabriel bottomed out inside him, eyes screwed shut and tears dampening the leather.

He hated this. He hated that Gabriel could take this from him and expect him to be grateful, hated how his body responded to it, like this was something he actually wanted.

"You know I love giving you what you need," Gabriel told him, voice gravelly. He stayed buried deep for a few moments, only rocking forward with shallow little thrusts, before slowly and steadily building up the pace. He leant down over Crowley's back, the open lapels of his suit jacket grazing against Crowley's side, fabric shifting with each movement into him.

Crowley said nothing, barely keeping himself from impotently balling his fists in anger. He pressed his forehead a little harder against the sofa, trying to concentrate on keeping his breathing as steady as possible, only to immediately stutter on his next inhale as Gabriel's hand curled past his hip, taking hold of his cock.

Gabriel's pace slowed once more so that he could get better control, grinding deep as he stroked Crowley the rest of the way to hardness. Crowley trembled, keenly aware of how adept Gabriel had gotten at so quickly bringing him to the brink.

His eyes burned with tears.

It wasn't something he'd ever wanted someone like Gabriel to know. Gabriel wasn't the sort of person who should have been able to learn all the secret, intimate parts of him, how to make them sing, it should have been someone– 

Crowley cried out and came over Gabriel's fingers, spilling over onto the cushions below. Gabriel stroked him through it as he shuddered and moaned, then withdrew his hand and shook it out as he miracled it clean. Crowley still felt himself twitching with the aftershocks, clenching around Gabriel still buried within him.

"You're always so tight, after," Gabriel groaned, both hands seizing Crowley's hips and fucking into him deeply. Crowley's breath was punched out of him in ragged gasps, clutching desperately at the arm of the sofa for some sort of purchase, something to anchor himself with as Gabriel pounded into him. His spine arched in a futile attempt to change the angle, to lessen the intensity. It only seemed to inspire Gabriel to take hold of him by the shoulders instead, thrusts slower but harder, a sound Crowley hadn't even known he was capable of escaping him at the weighty smack of Gabriel's balls against his taint.

"You're moving around too much," Gabriel panted. "Try crossing your arms, hold them just above the elbow, that'll keep you nice and stable."

And Crowley didn't want it, he didn't, but he had no choice either way. He obediently crossed his arms, holding onto his own biceps, elbows braced against the side of the couch, burying his face in the crook of his shoulder to muffle his pitiful gasps.

There was no leeway, now, as Gabriel thrust into him harder and faster, letting out a satisfied grunt at each peak. He shifted his grip back to Crowley's hips. Crowley whined at the intensity, the overstimulation, the way that despite it all, he could feel his cock slowly, unwillingly stirring back to attention.

There had to be a miracle involved in there somewhere. He couldn't possibly be already getting hard again so soon after cumming otherwise. Gabriel didn't know how to play his body that well.

Not yet, anyway, the sadistic little part of Crowley's mind whispered, and he crushed his eyes shut.

"That's better, just stay like that for me, gorgeous," Gabriel rumbled, somehow, impossibly, picking up the pace further, quickly growing erratic. "You're so good for me, aren't you, just like that, just for me, so good for me, sweetheart–" Gabriel cut himself off with a gratified moan, managing a few more irregular thrusts as he began to spill over before sheathing himself to the hilt. His limbs went leaden with satisfaction, draping himself against Crowley's back and bearing down.

Crowley collapsed under the pressure, the bulk of Gabriel's broad chest pinning his shoulders just as readily as if Gabriel had been holding him in place with intent.

The weight and the angle of Crowley's neck was enough to compress his airway, making his cock throb all the more urgently as he began to get lightheaded. He let out a thin whine, unbidden, hips jerking and groaning louder as the motion shifted Gabriel inside him.

After a few seconds, Gabriel seemed to gather himself enough to push upright and stop half-choking Crowley. He couldn't actually suffocate, of course, as his body didn't the oxygen to survive, but still Crowley moaned. The release of pressure, the relief, sent heat coiling low in his abdomen, making him push back into Gabriel's lap without even meaning to.

Gabriel chuckled. "Still want more, huh?"

It wasn't really even a question – at least, it wasn't one that Crowley would have feasibly been able to get away with answering no to. He forced himself to nod, but rather than miracle himself hard again, Gabriel pulled out of him entirely, and Crowley moaned again, smothering his face against the cushions when it began to sound more like a sob.

Gabriel made a soothing sound at him, running a reassuring hand over Crowley's flank. "Don't worry," he murmured, "you'll like this."

Crowley very much doubted it.

The flash of another miracle made his hair stand on end, breath quickening, the skin on the back of his neck prickling with the desire to see what Gabriel was about to inflict on him. He managed to resist, focussing on keeping his breathing steady and not tightening up, knowing that it would likely be to his benefit.

Crowley felt something cool and smooth and blunt suddenly come to rest against his stretched hole, and barely stopped himself from jolting away from the touch.

He didn't have to look to know what was about to be done to him.

"The other Archangels and I have got our big quarterly meeting starting soon, so I'm going to be gone a bit longer than I usually am after this," Gabriel told him, gently nudging the tip of the plug in and out of him, pushing it a little deeper each time. Crowley did his level best to not focus on how huge it felt, or how easily the bulk of it slipped into him. "This way, you can be reminded of me even while I'm gone, won't that be nice?"

Crowley went to answer, but just then the widest part of the plug breached him, the entire thing suddenly slipping inside as it overcame the resistance of his body, and all he could manage was a low moan. Gabriel smiled serenely, fingers pressed against the base of the plug and gently pushing, grinding the tip of it against his prostate.

"They're going to be so thrilled to hear that Aziraphale's been opening up a bit more. And don't worry, they'll be very impressed with how far you've come along, too, I think they'll be pleasantly surprised by how much love you've shown for me." Gabriel reached between Crowley's legs with his free hand, and within the span of half a dozen firm pumps, had Crowley howling and jetting against the sofa cushions once more. Gabriel gave him a final, gentle squeeze, making him shudder and keen, then pulled back, miracling away the mess and dressing Crowley softly.

"I should be back in about two days," Gabriel told him tenderly, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his slack mouth. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you first thing when I get back."

Then he vanished, leaving Crowley full and aching and alone.

Chapter Text

Crowley lay there, shaking, for several seconds after Gabriel left.

His skin crawled. Everything in him was achingly aware of the plug Gabriel had pushed into him, his body rejecting the intrusion as if it were coated in poison.

He had to get it out.

But that meant touching it more, meant feeling the flared head of it stretching him in a slow drag as he pulled it free.

What alternative did he have, though? Even if he could manage to stand, and walk normally with that thing lodged inside him, that didn't change the fact that it couldn't stay there forever. Leaving it would just mean that Gabriel would be the one to remove it, and somehow Crowley didn't fancy himself lucky enough for him to just miracle it out. In all likelihood, Gabriel would just fuck him with it until he was loose enough to take it out, then fuck him with his cock, then plug Crowley up again for next time.

In fact, there was every chance that Gabriel would become angry with him, would view it a rejection of his gift if he found Crowley not wearing it as expected.

Crowley swallowed thickly, lifting his forehead from where it was still pressed to the leather of the sofa, and tried to straighten.

He immediately groaned, the plug somehow pressing deeper within him. Before he even realised he was doing it, his hands were fumbling at his belt, fingers shaking as he yanked his trousers down to his knees. He braced one hand against the arm of the sofa, the other reaching behind himself.

His fingers grazed against the base of the plug and he muffled a sound against the leather, tears springing to his eyes. He focussed on his breathing, hooking his fingers around the edge of the plug, gently easing it back.

He was intensely cognisant of each passing second, so very aware that Aziraphale was alone in the next room over, likely growing more concerned by the moment as to why Crowley hadn't gone to get him after Gabriel's departure. It was unspoken, but Aziraphale would always give Crowley whatever time he needed to put himself back together after Gabriel left, knowing that trying to comfort Crowley before he'd had the chance to regain his composure would only cause them both even more distress.

That wouldn't stop Aziraphale from working himself up into a frenzy of anxiety in the meantime, though, would leave him pacing relentlessly as he bit his lip hard enough to make indentations in his skin, or otherwise leave him jammed into the space between the bed and the wall as he made himself small and tried not to breathe.

The plug slipped from Crowley's fingers, slipped back inside him, and Crowley smothered a sob. He shook as he took hold of it again, breath trembling slowly on the exhale as he fought to keep himself from tightening up, then pulled, and pulled, and why did it have to be so fucking big, he just wanted it out, and–

It eased out of him with a slick pop, and he reflexively flung it across the room, where it thudded dully against the carpet.

He didn't look at it, just buried his face against the sofa and let out a sound somewhere between relief and despair.

He couldn't just lie there, though, he knew. Aziraphale needed him, and by– Someone, he really needed Aziraphale right now.

He closed his eyes.

One step at a time.

His breathing needed to be under control.

In. Hold a moment. Out.

In. Out.

His trousers were next. Without looking, without opening his eyes, he pulled them up, doing the zipper, the buttons, feeding the belt back through the buckle.

He breathed.

In. Out.

He pushed himself up on shaky arms, not allowing himself to groan at the gnawing emptiness within him. He ignored the feeling, knowing from unfortunate experience that it would fade in time as his body readjusted.

In. Out.

He forced his eyes open, standing unsteadily, his gaze immediately falling on the plug lying accusingly on the floor.

He couldn't well leave it there. He made himself approach, gingerly picking it up between thumb and forefinger, then hastened for the bathroom that no one used, hurriedly stuffing it behind the myriad bottles and tubes occupying the cupboard beneath the sink.

Despite his best efforts, his gaze caught on the mirror as he stood, and his reflection was nearly a stranger.

His skin only seemed paler for the lavender sweater he'd been dressed in, the bruise on his neck all the more obvious for it. His eyes were a sulphurous yellow all the way to the edges, seeming to loom too large above his splotchy cheeks. His hair, beginning to curl at the ends, just made him look like his head was wreathed in flames, consuming him, leaving his face gaunt and his gaze hollow.

He tried to concentrate, watching his own eyes intently as he tried to shift his irises down in size, and was not at all surprised when nothing changed.

He wished he had his sunglasses.

For obvious reasons, though, he couldn't go asking Gabriel to return them to him. Instead, he wrenched himself away from the mirror, abruptly realising he'd wasted enough time already.

He returned to the bedroom, finding Aziraphale hovering anxiously on the other side of the door.

Crowley was well aware, now, of just how awful he looked, and was entirely unshocked when Aziraphale wordlessly gathered him against his chest, sinking gratefully into his angel's embrace.

"It's all right, sweetheart," Aziraphale murmured, giving him a gentle squeeze, and Crowley tensed suddenly in his arms.

Aziraphale sensed the change and immediately pulled back, eyes large with concern. "What is it, what's happened, have I– oh," he said softly, realisation and horrified shame flooding his features. "Well. I shan't use that word in future, then. I have many other terms that I'd happily refer to you by, my dearest," he promised, then paused a moment, the corners of his eyes creasing again. "Oh, he hasn't used that one too, has he? It's no matter, I just– I won't use any at all, if that would be better for you, I wouldn't want–"

"Dearest is fine," Crowley told him softly, feeling his cheeks heat with the still-too-fast thumping of his heart as he admitted, "I like dearest." He buried his face against Aziraphale's chest once more, half-hoping Aziraphale wouldn't hear as he added, his moment of shock making him more openly vulnerable than usual, "Makes me feel like I'm your favourite."

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale murmured, indescribably soft, and Crowley felt himself be warmed through. "Of course you're my favourite. You've always been my favourite."

"Not like I've got a whole lot of competition," Crowley muttered, immediately feeling the need to deflect as the tops of his ears glowed red.

"Even if She had made you specifically for me, I couldn't love you more," Aziraphale assured, and Crowley felt his blush heat up another few degrees.

"Ssshut up," he hissed, letting the sibilance infuse his voice, knowing that Aziraphale would never look down at him for it.

Aziraphale hid a small smile in Crowley's hair, the curve of his lips evident against Crowley's scalp. "Of course. Dearest."

"Bastard," Crowley grumbled into his chest, holding him firmly and finally feeling himself still against Aziraphale's solid bulk.

This. This was what he really wanted, really needed, something that Gabriel would never be able to truly understand.

"He's going to be gone for two days," he mumbled into Aziraphale's shirt.

"Pardon?"

Crowley lifted his face to meet Aziraphale's eyes. "Gabriel. He's got some big meeting, said he'd be gone for about two days."

Some of the tension bled from Aziraphale's shoulders, and it made Crowley relax in turn. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you what a relief it is, to have some degree of certainty around that," Aziraphale murmured, giving him a soft smile, something of his old sparkle returning to his eyes.

Fuck, Crowley loved him.

"Is it all right if I kiss you?" Crowley blurted out, and Aziraphale softened further, reaching up to gently cradle Crowley's jaw and lead him into a kiss.

Crowley shuddered and sighed softly, melting into the embrace, the unhurried feel of Aziraphale holding him against his chest, their hearts beating in sync.

A part of Crowley fought for more, urging him to ask Aziraphale to lay him down, beg him if he needed to, to overwrite the crawling memory of Gabriel's hands stroking his skin. He wanted to overlay the phantom sensation, bury it beneath the weight of the real love Aziraphale held for him.

But Crowley was still slick from where the plug had been nestled within him, and he wanted time spent alone with Aziraphale to be marred by the thought of Gabriel as little as possible.

After all, what if Aziraphale wanted to be on top? Ordinarily, Crowley would have leapt at the opportunity, but he didn't want Aziraphale to find him already slick and loose. Any excuse Crowley could give would just make Aziraphale feel terrible for even asking to begin with.

Instead, when he pulled back from the kiss to gaze into Aziraphale's eyes again, he asked, "Could you read to me again?"

Aziraphale stroked a thumb over his cheekbone and smiled. "Nothing would make me happier."

They retreated to the library, and that was exactly how they spent the next two days, Aziraphale reading aloud as Crowley leant against him with his eyes closed. At first, Crowley was almost able to forget, in brief intervals, that they weren't in the bookshop, that they were being held prisoner and that Gabriel would eventually come back. He could just bask in the quiet, mellifluous tones of his angel's voice, the feel of his fingers idly scratching Crowley's scalp, and pretend for a while that he'd been transported back to the day before everything had gone to pot, and that nothing would happen after.

Gabriel's return ticked ever closer, however, and the looming spectre of it chased away any comforting feeling Crowley had managed to draw close to himself.

He opened his eyes and looked up when he realised that Aziraphale had stopped reading.

Aziraphale met his gaze, eyes watering briefly before looking away, putting the book aside and swallowing thickly. He fiddled with his cuffs, chin slightly trembling, then finally sighed and said, "I suppose it would be best if we both get ourselves ready to face the music, as it were. It can't be much longer until he returns."

"No!" Crowley all but shouted, unable to entirely keep the frantic note out of his voice as he suddenly shoved himself upright. There was no way that Gabriel wasn't going to make some sort of comment about the plug that Crowley was still supposed to be wearing. He didn't want Aziraphale to know, didn't want to provide him with further fodder with which to torture himself. "I know I keep saying it, I get what it sounds like, I do, I just… please. One more. Let me keep you safe from this one more time."

He felt a pang of shame at the selfish lie buried in his motivations – that he'd rather Aziraphale remain as ignorant as possible, that Crowley would never have to see the dawning horror in his eyes as he realised precisely what Gabriel had been subjecting him to.

Aziraphale seemed to sense that he was hiding something, his eyes searching.

"…This is the last one, Crowley," he said eventually, his face tightening when Crowley sagged slightly in relief. "I mean it. You cannot keep protecting me to the detriment of your own wellbeing."

"Thank you, angel," Crowley murmured, and Aziraphale made a choked off sound.

"Don't thank me for–" Aziraphale managed before the words filled his throat too full to continue.

Crowley bit down on an apology, instead pressing a tender kiss to the apple of Aziraphale's cheek before reluctantly slipping away.

Right on cue, the air in the next room over hummed, and Crowley caught the tail end of the bright flash of Gabriel's appearance in the living room.

"I'm home!" Gabriel declared, arms wide, fixing Crowley with a thousand-megawatt smile.

"Missed you," Crowley forced out, his tongue struggling to form the words, trying to cling to the inside of his mouth instead. He walked into Gabriel's expectant arms like he was approaching the gallows.

Gabriel gathered him against his chest and kissed him soundly. Any trance of Aziraphale that might have still been lingering in Crowley's nose was instantly obliterated, one of Gabriel's hands resting heavy and possessive against the small of his back.

"Meeting went well, then?" Crowley managed once Gabriel finally let him breathe again.

Gabriel beamed at him. "It went great!" he enthused, stroking a thumb over Crowley's hip. "They're all excited to see whether this works out, we're going to try and arrange to have some of them visit here, soon, show them what I've done with the place. And with you two." He smiled benignly, and Crowley could only hope that Gabriel didn't mean that any physical demonstration he and Aziraphale would be required to provide wouldn't be too thorough. "Obviously their schedules are all busy, so we're not going to be able to do any sort of big group thing, but we should be able to squeeze in something more one-on-one within the next year, maybe sooner. It's a bit more intimate that way, anyway, right?"

"Right," Crowley parroted, and Gabriel grinned, hands drifting to grip at Crowley's arse, kissing him again.

Crowley allowed himself to be subjected to it, knowing full well what the alternative would be, and wound his arms around Gabriel's shoulders. Gabriel growled approvingly, hips pressing flush against Crowley's, hands roaming further around to more firmly squeeze at Crowley's posterior. Before long, his fingers were teasing along the seam at the back of Crowley's trousers, drifting further and further down until he could press a forefinger against Crowley's hole through the fabric of his trousers.

Gabriel paused, and Crowley's heart skipped several beats, knowing it was because Gabriel had finally realised that Crowley had not accepted his gift as gratefully as he'd initially thought.

"Where is it?"

Crowley gulped. "I, uh, took it out, left it in the bathroom," he said, willing his voice not to shake. "'M sorry, it started to get uncomfortable after a bit, and you were gone for so long," he continued, angling for a guilt trip to help diffuse any anger Gabriel might otherwise take out on him. He looked up at Gabriel from under his lashes, trying to appear contrite. "You aren't mad at me, are you?"

Mercifully, the ploy worked, and Gabriel softened. "Of course not," he said, smoothing a hand over Crowley's hair. "I'm disappointed you didn't like it, obviously, but that just means I get to stretch you out again, doesn't that sound fun?"

"Always," Crowley agreed faintly, nodding along. With a snap of Gabriel's fingers, Crowley's trousers were gone, Gabriel's hand slipping between the crux of his thighs and kneading at him. Crowley's gasp was quickly swallowed by Gabriel's mouth, and he stumbled back, Gabriel urging him onward until his shoulders bumped up against the wall, legs spread open and vulnerable. Gabriel didn't break stride, kissing him still, massaging Crowley's balls through the thin fabric barrier of his underwear. Crowley shuddered as he felt them melt away at Gabriel's touch, a miracle shifting him into Gabriel's favoured form for him.

"Since my gift made you feel uncomfortable earlier, why don't we try this one instead, hm?" Gabriel asked. Crowley tamped down on the hopeless burst of laughter simmering in his throat.

As if Gabriel would ever let him say no when he'd already gone to the effort of changing him. He'd just frown, unable to comprehend the concept of Crowley not wanting to give him something he'd already given to him before several times over, and Crowley would cave under the threat of Gabriel actually getting mad at him and realising that Crowley had been lying all along.

The rest of Crowley's clothes vanished just as readily as his underwear had, leaving him entirely bare, Gabriel's fingers slick against sensitive skin. Gabriel teased along the edges of his entrance, grazing just to the side of his clit, grinning at the way Crowley's hips leapt forward of their own volition. "I'm barely going to need to stretch you out at all, am I?" he said approvingly. "You're always so ready for me when you're like this, aren't you?"

Sure enough, when he pressed two slicked fingers between the damp folds of Crowley's cunt, they slipped inside him with barely any resistance. Gabriel let out a pleased growl and began to gently fuck his fingers into Crowley, the side of his palm sliding against his clit. He rolled his own hips forward, grinding his burgeoning erection against the top of Crowley's thigh.

The way Gabriel had manoeuvred him, legs spread and back to the wall, left the Archangel towering imposingly over him, forcing Crowley to tip his head back as he was kissed again. Gabriel hardened rapidly against his thigh and slipped another finger into him, the slide smooth and wet and easy.

"Oh, Crowley," Gabriel moaned against his tongue. He abruptly withdrew his fingers from their cramped position in favour of sliding his hands around the backs of Crowley's thighs, hoisting them up around his waist. With a flurry of miracles, Gabriel was entirely naked, the weight of his body holding Crowley's against the wall, his cock hard and slick and already plunging into Crowley's pussy.

Crowley sucked in a shocked breath as he was abruptly filled to the brim. Gabriel held him steady, kissing him slow and deep as he thrust all the way into him. The wall behind Crowley was an unyielding and unforgiving surface to brace himself against as he was fucked into – his only recourse was to wrap his legs tight around Gabriel's waist, keeping him buried deep but at least preventing him from pounding Crowley into a state beyond comprehension.

Gabriel, of course, found his own spin on Crowley's actions.

"Oh, Crowley," he murmured again, voice gravelly, mouth barely leaving Crowley's to speak. "You really do love having me all the way inside you, don't you?"

Crowley slid his fingers into Gabriel's hair and kissed him more firmly, knowing that Gabriel would interpret that as an answer in the positive, rather than simply being because Crowley wanted him to shut up already. Gabriel hummed in satisfaction against his lips, hands curling around beneath Crowley's back to take hold of his shoulders, using the added leverage to drive into him even deeper. Crowley groaned at the sensation, his own arms slackening involuntarily, and Gabriel took the opportunity to break away from Crowley's lips to instead travel elsewhere. He slowly kissed up along Crowley's jawline, then down along the vulnerable curve of his throat. His teeth grazed over Crowley's collarbone, his tongue dipping briefly into the hollow divot that formed above it.

Then he pressed his lips to the sensitive junction between Crowley's neck and shoulder. His teeth latched firmly and he sucked, darkening the bruise he'd already left there, staking his claim all over again. Crowley's breath hitched at the feeling, his chest juddering in response. It only made Gabriel pull Crowley more firmly against him, one hand drifting down to hook into the bend of one of Crowley's knees.

All the while, Gabriel ground his hips against Crowley's, a steady pulse in and out of him, constantly moving, never allowing him a moment to catch his breath and adjust to the feeling of being so thoroughly filled.

"I love it like this, too, you know," Gabriel whispered after kissing his way back up Crowley's throat, breath hot against Crowley's ear. "I love having you so close to me. You're so gorgeous like this, it's like She made you for this."

Angry tears stung at Crowley's eyes, furious that Gabriel was bringing Her into this but unable to do a thing about it.

"I'm so glad you see how grateful you should be. You are a very singular demon, you know that? None of the rest of them understand what you do."

He wanted to scream in rage. He wanted to grab fistfuls of Gabriel's hair and tear it out at the roots, and shriek at him that Gabriel didn't understand anything.

"I'm so happy you could see that She just wanted you to love, and be loved." Gabriel began thrusting harder, his words edging towards breathless. "You know how happy I am to give that to you."

Crowley wanted to believe that She didn't have anything to do with this, but what would that mean, really? That She still cared so little for her defective creations that She'd simply allow this to happen, with no intervention? And if She did have a hand in it, what possible greater purpose could this be in service of? How was having Gabriel subjugate them like this the best available outcome?

No, this could only be punishment, for him and Aziraphale both. A harsh reminder that they both should have just stayed in their lanes, played out their assigned roles as hereditary enemies, and left the Earth to burn as a casualty of a celestial war.

Gabriel's mouth found the join of Crowley's neck and shoulder once more, sucking gently at his skin as he finally coaxed an orgasm from him, biting down when his own hips began to stutter.

Crowley twisted his head away from the sensation, and, unbidden, his gaze fell on the bedroom door. He felt his resolve suddenly strengthen, even as Gabriel spilt into him with a groan.

If this was all meant to be a cruel lesson, then Crowley refused to learn it.

Chapter Text

"I'm going to help with the next one," Aziraphale announced when Crowley opened the bedroom door.

"Angel…" Crowley began, and Aziraphale fixed him with a determined look. Crowley almost flinched, feeling like Aziraphale could see the depths of depravity he'd been subjected to, that the details of everything that had been done to him were etched into the weary lines of his face.

"No, Crowley." Aziraphale's tone remained firm, even as he gently drew Crowley into the comfort of his arms. "I can't allow myself to continue sitting on the sidelines, and I can't allow you to continue making excuses for me. This has exceeded anything that might truly benefit you." His voice shook. "Besides, you promised. You promised it would be the last time you withstood this alone."

And what could Crowley possibly say to that? Aziraphale had clearly made up his mind, and Crowley knew better than anyone just how stubborn Aziraphale could be once that had happened.

His vision blurred, and to his own horror, Crowley realised he was trembling on the verge of tears.

Strong arms wrapped delicately around him, drawing him down against a soft chest. Crowley didn't make a sound as he collapsed into the embrace, but his throat ached like it was filling up with liquid fire, all of his inadequacies bubbling up from within to drown him.

"This is not a failure on your part," Aziraphale murmured sternly in his ear. "I wish to be very clear on that point. You have gone above and beyond for me again and again; you have done more than anyone could have ever asked of you. I am unspeakably grateful to you."

Crowley's hands curled loosely against Aziraphale's chest, keeping his head down as he tried to force his eyes to stop stinging.

"I swear to you, I won't let it be in vain," Aziraphale assured him. He took Crowley's hands between his own, running his thumbs over Crowley's knuckles. "We will see this through, together. We will find a way out, and we will have the life we deserve." He squared his shoulders, keeping the fingers of one hand laced with Crowley's as he turned towards the door.

Crowley took a shaky breath. He couldn't allow himself to crumble right when Aziraphale needed his support the most. "Together, then," he murmured, and they headed out to the living room with nothing to do but wait.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

They'd actually managed to fall into a companionable conversation, just as if they had gone out for a meal at a favourite restaurant, or were spending an evening together in the bookshop, when Aziraphale suddenly fell silent mid-chuckle.

The air hummed, and a few moments later, Gabriel appeared.

"I'm home!" he declared, looking absolutely elated to find Aziraphale and Crowley together on the living room sofa, fingers entwined with each other's for comfort as they'd awaited his return.

"Welcome back," Aziraphale greeted automatically, giving Crowley's hand a gentle squeeze for reassurance as he stood. They both stepped forward, Gabriel waiting patiently for them both to give him a kiss on the cheek, beaming at them again once they'd complied.

"You're both looking especially eager to see me today," Gabriel said, his smile turning knowing. "Do you both want to share yourselves with me?"

Aziraphale forced himself to nod and smile in response.

"Great!" Gabriel beamed again, and with no further notice, miracled the three of them into the bedroom, leaving their clothes entirely behind.

"Oh!" Startled, Aziraphale clutched tighter at Crowley's hand, shrinking down and trying futilely to cover up.

How was it that Gabriel was always able to catch him so thoroughly off guard, to unthinkingly tear down the mental fortifications he had tried to build as if they were merely paper? Why couldn't the Archangel ever bloody well ask what they wanted, and actually listen when they told him they wanted to leave?

"I know you want to start slow, Aziraphale," Gabriel assured, entirely oblivious to how quickly he'd already shifted things. "So, why don't you come over here and give me a kiss, hm?"

He smiled at Aziraphale expectantly. Aziraphale swallowed and gave Crowley's hand another squeeze, then forced himself to pry his fingers free, crawling over to the other side of the bed where Gabriel waited for him. He could almost sense Crowley tensing unhappily behind him, on the brink of offering to take the hit for Aziraphale once more.

Aziraphale took hold of Gabriel's shoulders quickly, both to keep himself from overthinking it and freezing mid-motion, and to help hide how much his fingers were trembling.

He had to do this. He had to prove to Crowley that he could do this, that Crowley didn't always need to be the one carving off little pieces of himself to keep them both alive. He had to prove to himself that he could do this, that there was still a chance he could show himself to be worthy of the unending sacrifices Crowley had made for him–

Gabriel grazed a hand along Aziraphale's jaw and closed the final distance between them.

Aziraphale let out an involuntary gasp, immediately regretting it when Gabriel took it as permission to sweep his tongue into Aziraphale's mouth. Just as with every other time, the taste of Gabriel was instantly overpowering, as if just by existing, Gabriel was trying to subsume the entirety of Aziraphale's being.

The slightly hysterical and utterly bone-chilling thought crossed Aziraphale's mind that Gabriel probably would prefer it, actually, if Aziraphale looked exactly like him, instead of like himself.

Gabriel kissed him slowly, but each gentle press of his lips was a clear prelude to what he really wanted to do to Aziraphale, what he wanted Aziraphale to give to him. One way or another, Gabriel would take what he wanted, and there wasn't anything Aziraphale could do to stop it without dooming Crowley in the process.

Gabriel deepened the kiss, and Aziraphale let him.

He tilted Aziraphale's head back, rising up slightly so that Aziraphale was below him, made diminutive, only useful for the things that could be taken from him.

Aziraphale tightened his hands on Gabriel's shoulders, and withstood, even as he trembled.

Then he felt the cool slide of Crowley's fingers beneath his palms, prising him away, a trail of kisses peppered against Gabriel's jaw to distract him from Aziraphale's mouth.

It worked. Gabriel laughed, rolling onto his back and drawing Crowley along with him, hands on the demon's waist as he held him close. "No need to get jealous, Crowley," he assured. "I'm guessing you don't like just watching as much as Aziraphale does, huh? Do you want to be in the middle again instead, have Aziraphale actually use his mouth on you this time? I know you like being the centre of attention."

Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest – Crowley couldn't keep doing this to himself – but Crowley was already stubbornly staring off to the side, murmuring to Gabriel, "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Would you like the other one, too?" Gabriel asked, fingertips already tracing into the curve of Crowley's hip even before he nodded.

Crowley closed his eyes as Gabriel worked the miracle on him, but Aziraphale had no such luxury – after all, what possible excuse could he have had for averting his gaze? Acid roiled in his stomach, threatening to surge up his throat, as he watched Gabriel shrink Crowley's cock down with practiced smoothness, a pair of plump labia easing into existence under the gentle caress of his fingertips.

"Y'know, I've been thinking," Gabriel murmured, still stroking at Crowley gently, not yet pushing into him.

Don't suppose you strained something, doing that, the snarky part of Aziraphale's brain quipped, a touch manic, as the rest of him was flooded with foreboding.

"I was actually going to mention this when I first got home, but you've both been so distracting." He traced a line up Crowley's centre and grinned over at Aziraphale. "I know my work takes me away more often than you want me to be gone," he continued. "A lot of that is time spent in my office, though, handling paperwork, and I tend to get kind of engrossed in it, sometimes I won't even notice how long it's been until I look at the time!" He smiled bashfully. "But obviously I can't have either of you coming out into my regular office – and it's not like I'd be able to hear you knock. But…" He trailed off expectantly, as if expecting them to somehow guess what latest horror he was about to inflict on them. "…I'm going to have Uriel come in later today, do some adjustments on the wards, and have a secondary office set up inside the house!" He beamed at them both. "That way, if you start to miss me when I'm doing paperwork, you can just knock on the door, and I can take a quick break to spend some time with you."

"Do you even need to have Uriel come and–" Crowley gasped as Gabriel sank a finger past the wet folds of his labia and slipped inside him. "I-I mean," he continued shakily, whining a little as Gabriel began to slowly pulse a finger in and out of him, "'S not like either of us c-can get past a regular lock anyway with the wards in place – not that we'd try, obviously not," he quickly added. "Why not just miracle up a new office like you did with the library–"

Aziraphale forced his tongue to unstick itself. "But surely, if you'll be working on sensitive documentation there, you'll need to follow the proper protocols," he argued, fighting the tremor trying to sneak into his voice. He hesitated a moment, then spread his hands over Crowley's thighs, trying to get his attention, desperately pleading with his eyes for him to understand why this was important. "We wouldn't want anyone thinking you're affording us special privileges, after all." Crowley gave him a hazy look, confusion and alarm underlaid by forced lust, and Aziraphale felt an irrational amount of guilt surge through him. "What– what I mean to say is, you should have Uriel come and adjust the wards, as planned, and ensure everything is in order. After all, you said you wanted to get us started on showing the other Archangels that we…" He faltered, then forced the words out. "That we love you. Wouldn't– wouldn't this be an excellent opportunity to start?"

Crowley finally seemed to understand what Aziraphale was angling for, and managed to moan in agreement, rocking up against Gabriel's fingers.

Gabriel hummed in consideration. "…Two birds with one stone, I like where your head's at," he said eventually, then looked down at where Aziraphale's hands were still resting on Crowley's thighs. He smiled. "And you don't need to ask for permission from me to start, Aziraphale! I can see how much you want to use your mouth on him, and it looks like he's more than ready for it too, aren't you, Crowley?"

Crowley nodded, shuddering as Gabriel's fingers withdrew, a miracle cleaning them before he settled his hands on Crowley's hip.

Aziraphale felt his fingers shaking where they pressed against Crowley's skin, and Crowley reached out to cradle his face reassuringly.

"Please, angel," he murmured. "Want you."

Aziraphale closed his eyes and descended.

Crowley was slick and warm beneath Aziraphale's tongue, immediately yielding under the gentle pressure as Aziraphale tentatively lapped at him. The motion of his tongue was made stiff and clumsy by fear, but Crowley still gave a little roll of his hips and groaned.

Slowly, still stilted at the edges and so achingly aware of the danger looming literally behind Crowley's back, Aziraphale settled into the motions of pleasuring Crowley with his mouth.

How many times, after all, had he dreamt of this? To taste the delights that Crowley offered him, to have Crowley sing his praises as Aziraphale offered him whatever pleasures he desired in return. To feel the hot pulse of Crowley's blood thrumming beneath his skin, to feel it quicken at Aziraphale's touch, for the warmth of the demon's embrace to sink all the way through him. For Crowley to cry out his name in love and wonder, a sated smile softly curling his lips as Aziraphale brought him to ecstasy.

That was what it should have been. Instead, they were left with this mockery of love, where they acted out each of Gabriel's whims for fear of being permanently destroyed.

Unbidden, Aziraphale wondered whether Gabriel had deigned to subject Crowley to this, whether any of the countless times he'd heard Crowley's muffled cries of forced pleasure through the door had been because Gabriel's face had been buried between his thighs. And how was it any different now? No matter how Crowley reacted to the sensation, it was an inescapable fact that this was being forced upon him by Gabriel, that it was really no different than Gabriel being the one to pin Crowley down by the hips and–

No , he told himself sternly. Don't think like that. Just imagine it is only the two of you, and nothing else.

Aziraphale felt blunt, broad fingers slide into his curls, a wide palm resting against the back of his head, and his mind immediately spiralled.

Just pretend it's only Crowley, he thought desperately, fighting against every instinct telling him to freeze in place. Just pretend you are far away from here, that this is something you are offering freely because this is the demon you love, and Gabriel is someplace far, far away and doesn't have his hands on either of you–

A second set of fingers grazed along the edge of Aziraphale's ear, as Crowley's hand snuck its way beneath Gabriel's palm, gently trying to prise Gabriel's fingers from his hair.

Gabriel chuckled. "You're getting close, aren't you?" he murmured against Crowley's ear, and lifted his hand away from Aziraphale's hair, instead stroking up Crowley's chest to tweak at his nipples. He smiled down at Aziraphale, eyes hooded. "You're happy to keep going, aren't you?"

Aziraphale could only squeeze out an agreeable hum, making Crowley writhe as the vibrations rolled through the core of him. He could feel Gabriel's keen gaze on him, and Aziraphale forced himself to rock his hips against the bed despite his lack of arousal, hoping to convince him otherwise.

Crowley's breath quickened, the unruly bucking of his hips growing wilder. Aziraphale gripped his thighs more firmly, desperately hoping to anchor them both, and Crowley's legs began to shake, back arching. Gabriel's arms slipped possessively around his middle, the fingers of one hand still teasing at Crowley's nipple as he moulded their bodies against one another, grinding against Crowley's spine.

"Please," Crowley gasped, elation and despair chasing each other in circles on his face as his fingers spasmed tighter in Aziraphale's hair. He bucked and flexed like a bowstring stretched beyond the point of maximum tension, only kept in place by the hands encircling him as he howled with sensation.

Aziraphale couldn't bear looking at him, could only close his eyes and keep himself in place as Crowley writhed against his tongue, allowing his tears to mingle indistinguishably with the sweat pooling between them.

He stopped gently lapping at Crowley when he felt fingers twitch a little tighter in his hair, but didn't move away, didn't open his eyes, as if the atrocity of what had been done to them both would only be real if he observed it.

Crowley still shuddered against his lips, warm and inviting and almost seeming to beg for more. Aziraphale might have believed that that were actually the case, would have happily indulged if that was what Crowley wanted – but he couldn't ignore the shift of fabric and skin from the other end of the bed, telling him that Gabriel was still tweaking Crowley's nipples, still rolling his hips up against the valley of Crowley's spine.

Gabriel laughed, seeming to delight in the breathy little whimpers and gasps coming from Crowley's direction. "He always looks so gorgeous after, don't you agree, Aziraphale?" He pressed a kiss to Crowley's temple. "So soft and sweet, and so ready for more. It's a little messy for me to do, personally, but I do like seeing the way he reacts to it, I think it's fair to let you have that one." He winked down at Aziraphale. "There's plenty of other stuff I can do for him, anyway. Speaking of, scooch back a little, will you?" Gabriel asked, hands sliding down to Crowley's hips, brushing glancingly over one of Aziraphale's cheeks on the way down. "You've had your go with him, I want my turn." As if Crowley were merely the focal object in some enjoyable pastime, to be handed back and forth between the two angels as they saw fit.

Aziraphale had the sudden, horrid thought that the demonstrations of love Gabriel wanted from them when he presented them to the other Archangels, would actually involve the other Archangels. That they might believe that Crowley's love could be weaponised to their benefit, a mere strategic tool to give them an upper hand against the enemy. That they would all be granted immunity against permanent destruction, if they just partook in what Crowley was being forced to offer.

But no. He could plainly see the possessive intent in the way Gabriel touched Crowley, the way Gabriel was increasingly touching Aziraphale, too. This was something Gabriel wanted all to himself; he wanted to be special, to have something that others didn't, to be the Best Loved of them all.

Aziraphale was further convinced that his own position wasn't threatened by Gabriel thinking this way, that Aziraphale's love was still part and parcel of Gabriel's ultimate goals. What threat could Aziraphale ever really pose, after all, when Gabriel was already so sure that he was able to offer more to Crowley than Aziraphale ever could?

Aziraphale only realised he'd frozen in place again when Crowley was shifted out from beneath him, Gabriel drawing him backwards up the bed. He reclined back against the cushions behind him, lifting the pliant Crowley easily with his hands. Aziraphale's gaze was involuntarily drawn up just as Crowley was lowered into Gabriel's lap, a soft moan spilling out of him as Gabriel's cock sank easily past his soaked folds.

Aziraphale wanted to look away, to offer Crowley what small scraps of privacy and dignity were still left to him, but he was paralysed, eyes locked on the obscene stretch as Gabriel filled him, Crowley's mouth falling open as he was fully seated on Gabriel in a matter of seconds.

Gabriel chuckled at the way Aziraphale was gaping at the scene before him. "Looks like he's a little lost without you, sweetheart," he murmured against the nape of Crowley's neck, pressing his lips next to the bruise there before pulling back slightly. "Why don't you give him a kiss, huh? Don't want him to feel like he's missing out, and we both know just how much love you've got to give."

Crowley nodded limply, peeling himself away from where he'd slumped back against Gabriel's chest and tumbling forward, moaning as Gabriel was driven even deeper into him. One arm came down to shakily support his weight, keeping him from toppling over completely, and the other reached out for Aziraphale's face, eyes hazy.

Aziraphale couldn't not kiss him at that point, and allowed himself to be drawn close enough for their lips to touch. He was careful to keep his hips flush against the mattress, so that Gabriel wouldn't be able to see that he was not reacting physically to the experience in the way he was surely expecting him to.

Aziraphale dutifully swallowed the quiet whimpers falling from Crowley's lips, wishing fervently that there was more comfort he could offer than this without giving the game away. He shifted his own weight to one arm, cradling Crowley's face in a mirror of the way Crowley was cradling his, and tried not to flinch at the rhythmic tremors that began to roll through Crowley's body as Gabriel started to fuck up into him.

"Crowley," Gabriel panted, driving steadily into him. "Meet me halfway, here, will you?"

Crowley made an indecipherable noise against Aziraphale's mouth, then shakily drew his hips up, dropping them back down to meet the peak of Gabriel's thrust.

Gabriel groaned in satisfaction, hands curling more firmly around Crowley's waist to further increase the pace at which Crowley brought himself down to be impaled on the Archangel's cock. "That's more like it," he rumbled in approval, as Crowley's trembling hand slipped down from where it had been curled against Aziraphale's jawline, instead gripping at his shoulder for support as he was ploughed into. Crowley began to pant and moan more harshly, to the point where he was less kissing Aziraphale and more gasping into his mouth, their foreheads pressed together but beginning to slip a little with sweat.

Aziraphale valiantly tried to keep his own hips pressed to the mattress, but Crowley was clambering so desperately up him that he had no choice but to shift back onto his haunches, somehow scraping together the wherewithal to take himself in hand to hide his lack of physical response.

Crowley pressed harder, face crumpling in shame then quickly averted from Aziraphale's gaze, moans torn unwillingly from his throat. Aziraphale toppled onto his back, legs splaying out awkwardly as Crowley bracketed them with his own, all but falling into Aziraphale's lap as Gabriel kept driving into him. Aziraphale let go of his own cock at the last second as the force of motion pressed Crowley flush against him. Crowley's hips were still canted back, making it easier for Gabriel to continue thrusting into him, but also making it so the Archangel would touch Aziraphale less.

It didn't stop the contact completely, though, and Aziraphale found himself reverting to holding his breath to withstand the graze of Gabriel's hands and thighs against him. His own hands fluttered uselessly, not knowing where Crowley wanted him.

Not knowing whether Crowley wanted him at all.

The doubts he'd felt a few days prior began to creep back in. What if what Gabriel was doing to them permanently damaged Aziraphale's ability to derive pleasure from the act of sex? What if, even after they managed to get free, he wasn't able to provide for Crowley physically, or would only be able to give him lacklustre showings of arousal, as he had so far during their captivity? He knew that Crowley was far too kind to ever say something of the sort to him, but what if, after all this, Aziraphale would simply be a disappointment to him?

Tears welling in his eyes, Aziraphale silently begged his cock to give some sort of indication to Crowley that he found him desirable. It soundly ignored him, laying entirely limp even with the slick press of Crowley's body against it.

Then Crowley took hold of his fluttering hands, pressing them to the slim curve of his waist, before reaching up to grab at Aziraphale's shoulders, spine arching further back as Gabriel continued to pound into him.

"Please," Crowley sobbed, using the new angle to grind his clit against the base of Aziraphale's cock, thighs twitching as his moans grew steadily higher in pitch. "Oh, please–"

His arms trembled and gave in, and he collapsed against Aziraphale's chest, face buried in the crook of Aziraphale's neck as shudders wracked his body. Gabriel kept thrusting into him without pause, chasing after his own end, and it was all Aziraphale could do to hold Crowley gently as his body was used for Gabriel's pleasure.

After what seemed like an egregious amount of time, Gabriel's hips stuttered, pace becoming arhythmic before finally, finally slamming home with a few more deep thrusts before he stilled, draping himself satedly across Crowley's back.

The pressure forced Crowley more firmly against Aziraphale, the demon's ragged breath turning shallow as he was pinned between the two angels. Gabriel grinned down at Aziraphale, still panting slightly from the exertion, and without warning leant down over Crowley's shoulder to kiss him.

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut and let his lips fall open as Gabriel kissed him lazily for several long, agonising seconds. Then he pulled away, leaning back, and Crowley's breathing shuddered back to life. Crowley clutched at Aziraphale, shaking, his grip squeezing hard enough to hurt. Aziraphale didn't pay the pain any mind, and embraced Crowley helplessly, fiercely, hoping desperately that that was what Crowley wanted.

A quiet snap from Gabriel's direction saw all three of them clothed again, the lines of their new suits clean and crisp. Another snap, and a glowing blue rectangle appeared in Gabriel's hand. He consulted it briefly, nodded, then dismissed it again with a wave of his hand.

"C'mon," Gabriel instructed, smiling. "Up you get, don't want to leave any creases, do we? You've gotta make a good impression for me."

Chapter Text

There were clothes covering his body once more, but Crowley still felt naked, unable to fight through the shame to lift his head from where he'd buried it against Aziraphale's neck.

"Up you get, don't want to leave any creases, do we?" Gabriel said, but still Crowley didn't move. He couldn't, no matter how much he knew he should, shame leaving him utterly paralysed. He understood with a horrifying new clarity the way that Aziraphale had so often locked up when Gabriel started getting amorous.

He couldn't move, because that would risk Aziraphale being able to see his face again.

He hadn't been able to hide from Aziraphale, this time, how his body reacted to Gabriel's touch. He hadn't been able to disguise how the pleasure had played out across his face as Gabriel pounded into him, how he'd moved his own body to meet Gabriel's thrusts. How it had felt to have the hot press of Gabriel's cock nestled into the valley of his spine as Aziraphale had begun to slowly lap at his pussy.

Aziraphale had been stiff with fear to begin with, of course he had. But Crowley remembered all too well the quiet self-loathing in Aziraphale's voice when he'd apologised, last time, for not being able to stay hard when they were both being raped. Evidently, he'd wanted to make up for not being able to perform physically, to prove to Crowley that he was desired and that his lack of physical showing was purely down to the circumstances; it wasn't something he had done because he'd wanted to, but because he'd been forced to. Because he'd feared that Crowley might not think he loved him if he didn't.

Crowley hadn't missed the way Aziraphale had been unable to bear looking at him when Crowley came against his tongue. How Aziraphale had dithered over laying his hands on Crowley's body even when he so clearly craved it, and only circled his hands around Crowley's waist when Crowley physically placed them there. How, in the end, Crowley had begged and writhed mindlessly against Aziraphale's entirely flaccid cock, unable to keep from seeking his own pleasure even in the midst of the depravity they were being subjected to.

He knew, at an intrinsic level, that Aziraphale didn't think that Crowley in any way actually wanted for them to be kept by Gabriel like this. He knew that Aziraphale's shame was not based in the fact that Crowley's body reacted the way it did to the situation, but because his own body didn't react the same.

It was one thing to know that, but it was another to actually convince the poisonous little voice in his mind of the truth. That the reason Aziraphale had looked away had been because he'd been trying to inure himself, in some small part, to the horror of what was being done to them, and not because the fact that Crowley could come from it repulsed him. That there was no quiet, insidious voice in Aziraphale's own head, whispering that the way Crowley reacted meant that at least some of the pleasure wrought on him by Gabriel's touch was borne from genuine enjoyment. That, even if such a voice existed, Aziraphale would be disgusted with himself for even having the thought and immediately dismiss it.

It was hard to convince himself of that truth, because, after all, hadn't Crowley spent his entire time here insisting that it was easier for him to withstand Gabriel's touch, that he was inherently better equipped than Aziraphale to trick Gabriel into thinking that his attention was welcome? What if, as with so many things in Crowley's long existence, this was just his latest misstep in a long string of self-sabotaging actions? What if everything Crowley was doing to try and protect him, was just going to drive Aziraphale away in the end?

When it became clear that Crowley wasn't going to pull himself together and stand of his own free will, Aziraphale began to push them both upright. Still Crowley remained unresponsive in his arms – as if by not meeting Aziraphale's eyes, any theoretical doubt that might be dwelling in their depths simply wouldn't exist. As if he could just have this warm embrace instead, and wouldn't be forced to confirm or deny whether Aziraphale's love for him was still unmarred by what was being done to them.

He felt Aziraphale pause, then readjust as he realised Crowley really wasn't going to be able to help at all, awkwardly getting them both to their feet.

Gabriel laughed softly behind him. "He does like being clingy, after, doesn't he?"

Crowley clung a little harder to Aziraphale despite himself. He hated that he didn't even know whether that was even the truth or not – the entirety of his sexual experience had been, at least in part, at Gabriel's hands. He had no way of knowing if his clinginess after was actually something he wanted, or if it was just a basic need to grab at something as an anchor to keep himself from spiralling apart.

"Ah, yes, well," Aziraphale stammered, arms circling a little further around Crowley's back, as if trying to dissuade Gabriel from touching either of them again. Crowley tried not to examine the overwhelming sense of relief the small gesture gave him too closely, how very much it reassured him. "Physical closeness and intimacy, they rather tend to go hand in hand, don't they?"

Crowley felt Aziraphale wince a little even as he said the words, as if fearing that Gabriel would misconstrue them as an invitation. Even with Aziraphale's arms wrapped securely around him, Crowley knew that there was no real protection for him to have here, and he was suddenly, acutely aware of the fact that he had his back exposed to Gabriel, and no way to gauge his expression.

Gabriel hummed pensively behind him. "Still, I don't know that that's what the others are going to expect to see."

"Might we perhaps, ah, ease into it, then?" Aziraphale offered. "Showing the other Archangels the… love between us all, that is." His head angled momentarily against Crowley's temple, suggesting that he was glancing meaningfully at the back of Crowley's head in a way that Gabriel would surely read as subtle.

Crowley could all but see Gabriel smiling knowingly and tapping his nose. "Actually," he said, slightly too loud. "I think it's better if it's just you for the first one, Aziraphale. I think it'll be easier for Uriel to see love between two angels."

"Precisely," Aziraphale agreed, arms tightening almost imperceptibly around Crowley, a furious, small, protective gesture that Crowley couldn't help but feel warmed through by.

"Yes, it's all a bit more familiar that way, right? I've been giving glowing reports on how much Crowley loves me, of course, but I definitely think it'll be more obvious between the two of us, even if you haven't come as far along as Crowley has."

Aziraphale swallowed thickly, a faint tremor to his voice. "Yes, I… I agree."

Gabriel clapped his hands together and rubbed them in excitement. Crowley could just imagine the cheesy, unaware grin on his face. "Sounds like a plan, then!" he declared. "Aziraphale, you and I'll show Uriel how much you love me, and all the others, and once they're comfortable with that, we can start showing them how much Crowley loves me, too!"

Crowley felt Aziraphale shift slightly around him. "They… aren't comfortable with the concept, currently?" he asked carefully, the faintest thread of hope twining through the undertone of his query. Crowley had to admire his optimism; he knew that, by far, the most likely reason for any discomfort on the other Archangels' part would be for fear that Crowley and Aziraphale might do something that would result in Gabriel coming to harm, rather than the other way around.

Gabriel made a non-committal sound. "They just haven't had a chance to see the real thing up close," he insisted. "Once they're able to see that this is the real deal, they'll understand. A little scepticism to start is a good thing, after all." He chuckled. "Only a little, of course, we all know what too much doubt gets you."

Aziraphale's arms tightened protectively around Crowley once more.

"Anyway, no time like the present, am I right?" Crowley could almost imagine that he could feel the heat radiation from Gabriel's thousand-megawatt smile. "Aziraphale, you can go wait in the living room while I get Uriel, I'll only be a few minutes."

And with that, he vanished.

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"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked hesitantly, still keeping his arms circled around Crowley's shoulders, even as he remained hypervigilant for any indication Crowley might make that he no longer wanted to be held. "I do hope I wasn't merely being presumptuous, and you must know that I don't believe your ability to love is in any way diminished by what you are–"

"'M sorry," Crowley mumbled into the crook of his neck, faintly trembling still.

"There is nothing that you need to apologise for," Aziraphale assured him.

Crowley shook his head slightly before pressing it harder against Aziraphale's collarbone. "Didn't want you to see me like that," he whispered, words dragging reluctantly over his tongue like they had hooked barbs trying to keep them in. "Didn't want you to think that I… that I wanted…"

"Crowley, no, you must believe me when I say that I know this isn't something you would have ever chosen freely," Aziraphale murmured, beseeching and horrified in equal measure.

Had Gabriel really poisoned Crowley's thoughts so much? That even a small part of him feared that Aziraphale would ever think, after knowing Crowley for so long, that Crowley would actually want something like this, purely because he was a demon?

"I love you," he said fiercely, "and I am very much aware of how little he understands that. We will find our way out of here, and he will be made to understand what a vile mockery of affection he's been inflicting upon us, and–" Aziraphale forced himself to take a deep breath, knowing that now was hardly the time for an impassioned speech. Gabriel would be returning in a matter of minutes, far from long enough for Aziraphale to be able to deliver Crowley all the gentle reassurances he deserved. "–And," he continued, softer, "You have given up so much already, keeping him none the wiser. I have more than my own fair share to make up for."

Crowley's fingers twisted themselves tight in the back of Aziraphale's suit, the miracle-made fabric making his skin prickle as it shifted. "But I should be there, with you, what if–"

"I'll be all right," Aziraphale told him, forcing himself to believe it. "I've given Uriel more than a few sub-par reports in my time, and always came out of those meetings just fine, I can weather whatever she intends to throw at me. Besides, you heard Gabriel, I don't believe that he intends to get very, ah, physical, with this demonstration, the primary purpose of her visit is still the ward adjustments. It's safer for us both, this way." He stroked Crowley's back gently, then reluctantly began to draw back. "I'm sorry," he said, voice getting tighter despite his best efforts.

Crowley stared back at him, eyes wide and golden and still shadowed with shame. Aziraphale felt his heart grip in his chest, wishing that there was more he could do to allay Crowley's fears.

"I have to go," was all he could manage, and, feeling woefully inadequate, he stepped out into the living room, leaving Crowley behind.

It wasn't a moment too soon. Within seconds, the air hummed, heralding an Archangelic presence, and a moment later, the front door was being opened. Gabriel stood on the other side, beaming and making a grand gesture for Uriel to step in before him.

"Uriel, how wonderful to see you," Aziraphale greeted, a wobbly smile dragging at his lips.

Uriel regarded him warily, only taking a few paces into the room before allowing Gabriel to move in front of her. "Aziraphale," she said cautiously, holding herself at the ready like he was some exotic and dangerous creature. "It's been a while."

Aziraphale supressed the wild urge to start laughing, realisation suddenly dawning on him that the last time she had ostensibly seen him, she and her compatriots had been attempting to erase him from existence.

Gabriel laughed brightly, nothing like the manic sound that would have left Aziraphale's lips. "Oh, that's all water under the bridge, now, isn't it, Aziraphale? You know we only did that out of love, anyway."

Well. Wasn't that an entirely horrifying sentiment.

Aziraphale forced another thin smile as Gabriel stepped in close, planting a kiss on his cheek and looking at him expectantly. "Yes, of course… darling," he offered in response. Gabriel would surely read the hesitance in his words as him simply testing out the new moniker, but perhaps Uriel might detect how uncomfortable he was with being subjected to Gabriel's attention?

"Oh!" Gabriel gave him a surprised but pleased smile. "Oh, I like that one."

Uriel wasn't even looking at him. Instead, she was casting a glance around the room, eyes searching. "Where's the demon?"

"He's in the bedroom, still," Gabriel told her airily. "I figured Aziraphale and I on our own would be enough to start with."

She raised an eyebrow, losing some of her tension. "There's a bedroom?"

"Of course," Gabriel said genially. "A lot easier to share love between all three of us on a bed, after all."

Aziraphale could feel himself flushing horribly as Gabriel slipped an arm around his waist, tugging him close. Caught off guard, Aziraphale stumbled slightly, and unthinkingly threw out a hand, catching himself against Gabriel's chest to keep himself from falling. Gabriel chuckled down at him, pressing another kiss to his temple. Aziraphale somehow managed not to flinch.

It was a precarious balancing act, keeping his words and actions demonstrably affectionate enough that Gabriel would still be fooled, but not so much that there would be no chance of Uriel seeing the fear beneath. The prospect that she would entirely buy into the fiction Gabriel had constructed for himself was far too crushing a thought to handle. Aziraphale felt a bead of sweat trickling a slow path down the column of his spine, and was grateful for the fact that he was currently dressed in a suit thick enough to disguise it.

Uriel cleared her throat. "Not that this isn't lovely to see you, Aziraphale," she said, eyebrow quirking slightly again as she lifted her gaze away from where Aziraphale's hand was splayed across Gabriel's chest, and instead looked to Gabriel. "But wouldn't it be best if we were to get started on the wards?"

"Of course, of course," Gabriel agreed, pressing another kiss to Aziraphale's forehead before pulling away, smiling down at him. "Why don't you go wait in the library for me, sunshine? I'm sure this won't be interesting for you. It shouldn't take too long, anyway."

Aziraphale bit his lip, battling down his burning disappointment at how little he'd been able to achieve so far. He knew how important it was to play the long game, to sow seeds of doubt that would bloom over time, but he had his own doubts as to whether he'd be able to withstand the situation for that long. "Oh," he said, only faintly tremulous as he tried to salvage the situation. If only he could convince Gabriel to let him stay, gain some understanding of how the wards were structured... "But I've always found sigil work fascinating, are you sure I couldn't–"

"Aziraphale," Gabriel replied, growing stern. "The wards are here for your own good, you know that. How do you think it would look to the others, if Uriel here told them that you wanted to mess around with the wards? We want to show her how much you love, honour, and obey me, right?"

Another bead of sweat slipped down Aziraphale's spine and he dared to flick a brief glance in Uriel's direction. A small surge of gratification went through him at the sight of the faint frown on Uriel's lips. "Of course," he demurred, biting his tongue on asking to go back to the bedroom instead. There was only so much he could ask for, and regardless, he didn't want Crowley caught on the back foot if Gabriel suddenly decided that he was ready to be shown off to Uriel after all. "I'll– I'll keep myself entertained whilst you work."

Aziraphale forced a smile, and tried to console himself with the possibility that he'd won a small victory, and that Gabriel wouldn't be able to undermine it entirely as he and Uriel worked on the wards.

Then, he turned away, and retreated to the library, with nothing to do but wait.

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Aziraphale didn't read as he waited. How could he focus on words in a situation like this? How would he be able to assemble the letters into meaning, when his entire being was berating him for not doing better before being sent off to the library, for not being clever enough to better communicate to Uriel that they were being held against their will?

The more that time dragged on, the more that Aziraphale began to fear that Uriel had already left, and Gabriel had cornered Crowley in the bedroom once more, and was right now having his way with him. Aziraphale knew that if that happened, Crowley would be fighting against the thought that Uriel's visit had gone terribly wrong somehow, that he might well never see Aziraphale again, sobbing with fear and pleasure both as Gabriel forced him to–

No. Aziraphale needed to stop doing this to himself. He had to ignore the circles that his mind chased itself in. Instead, he had to imagine the more likely scenario: Gabriel and Uriel were still just tending to the wards, and if Aziraphale gave into his impulses and burst out into the living room in a panic, that was when everything would go terribly wrong.

Aziraphale would just have to sit and wait, like a good little angel, until Gabriel came and fetched him.

"Fuck," he said very, very softly, and buried his head in his hands.

He didn't let himself cry, though. When Gabriel was being amorous, Aziraphale could at least blame any tears on the throes of ecstasy, but he'd have no such excuse now. Gabriel would certainly have questions if he opened the door to find Aziraphale puffy-cheeked and red-eyed.

Instead, he focussed on breathing at a slow, measured pace, and completing complex mathematical equations in his head, and very determinedly not thinking about the possibility that Gabriel might just decide one day to leave Aziraphale locked up in the library, on his own, forever.

Aziraphale had solved three of the remaining six Millennium Prize Problems in his head when he heard the doorhandle begin to turn. His head snapped up and he hastened to his feet, assembling his expression into something appropriate.

"All done!" Gabriel declared, making a gesture for Aziraphale to join him again in the living room. Aziraphale moved forward obediently, allowing Gabriel to drape an arm around his waist once more, and pretending very hard that the contact didn't make his skin crawl. "Thanks again for the help, Uriel, you know your work is always appreciated."

"Of course," Uriel replied, then shifted her gaze to Aziraphale, her eyes inscrutable. "I hope that it will help you in your task of loving Gabriel, Aziraphale."

"Of course," Aziraphale echoed, daring to leave a subtle pause before speaking, hoping that she would read the reluctance for what it was, rather than the usual nervous habits she was used to him expressing.

"This has certainly been… enlightening," she offered, looking at Aziraphale askance. Aziraphale desperately tried to communicate with his eyes how wrong this all was, but if she was any better than Gabriel at reading the nuances of someone's expression, she didn't show it, returning her gaze to Gabriel. "We're all very interested in seeing where this little experiment of yours is headed, Gabriel."

"Well," Gabriel said jovially, a broad smile on his lips as he swept Aziraphale into a sideways embrace. "It's all been pretty promising so far, I'm sure you won't be disappointed."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "We'll see."

Please, Aziraphale begged silently, wishing fervently that he could have had more time, could have had even a moment alone with her without Gabriel hovering close behind. Please realise that what he's doing here isn't right.

Uriel gave him a brief, searching look, then folded her hands and disappeared in a silent flash of light.

He barely kept himself from crying out in disappointment, and instead told himself that the look she had just given him meant that she was still having doubts. That he and Crowley weren't completely alone in this, that there was still a chance that they'd be able to garner external support to put an end to this. That they just needed to be patient, and eventually they'd be able to provide Uriel and the others with enough circumstantial evidence to compel them to set Crowley and Aziraphale free.

"So, do you want to have a look at what we've done?" Gabriel asked, an enthusiastic smile on his face.

"O-oh," Aziraphale said cautiously. "I wouldn't have thought that would be allowed?"

Gabriel waved dismissively. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course, you wouldn't be allowed in if I'm actually working on anything, but don't worry, the other Archangels have all signed off, it's all above board. It's not like it's possible for me to leave anything lying around when I'm done working, anyway, so there's no risk of anyone getting upset."

"There… isn't?" Aziraphale asked, feeling a brief flicker of hope light up only to immediately be snuffed out.

Gabriel laughed. "Oh, I forgot – it's been so long since you actually did any paperwork Up Here, rather than down on Earth." He clicked and resummoned the glowing blue rectangle he'd used earlier. It rapidly expanded to the size of an A4 piece of paper, a stylus materialising above it, before Gabriel dismissed them both again. "See? We haven't used actual paper for our paperwork here for ages. So human, you know?"

Aziraphale felt his cheeks burn with humiliation at the condescension behind his words.

"Anyway," Gabriel said, clapping his hands together, then opening the office door to show off the interior. "What do you think? Nice, isn't it?"

The new office looked exactly like his regular one – soullessly corporate and entirely devoid of personality.

"It suits you perfectly," Aziraphale replied.

"I'm glad you like it," Gabriel enthused. "This way, you can spend a bit more time with me, if you want. You like it more when I do things for you, don't you? You liked the library I made for you, do you want more things like that?" He smiled hopefully. "Will that make you love me more? Make you ready to show me that you love me sooner?"

There was really only one answer Aziraphale could give. "That sounds…" His voice cracked slightly and he swallowed. "That sounds lovely. Did… did you have anything in mind?" he ventured. The library itself perhaps hadn't offered much in the way of providing anything to help them escape, but Aziraphale knew that if Gabriel could be persuaded to give them things that reminded them of Earth in exchange for increased affection, there was every chance he would inadvertently hand them the key to their own freedom.

And perhaps it would make Gabriel more likely to want to show off all the kindnesses he'd granted Crowley and Aziraphale, and arrange for one of the other Archangels to visit again soon, further increasing his and Crowley's chances of covertly communicating the fact that they didn't want to be here. He'd seen the faint wariness in Uriel's eyes; she clearly wasn't entirely convinced about the whole situation, and while it was just as likely that she thought that Aziraphale and Crowley were somehow tricking Gabriel, there was every possibility that they might eventually be able to convince her of the truth.

"Tell you what," Gabriel said, giving Aziraphale's shoulders a squeeze and smiling at him. "Give me a chance to break in the new office first, then I'll have a bit of a think about what other kinds of Earth things it's acceptable for you to have up here."

Without waiting for a response, Gabriel winked at him, gave him a cheery farewell, and vanished into his new office, leaving Aziraphale standing alone.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale hastened back to the bedroom the moment Gabriel closed the door to his new office.

He paused with his fingers on the door handle and swallowed around the lump in his throat. How many times, now, had it been Crowley on this side of the door?  How many times had Crowley been subjected to far more intimacy than what Aziraphale has just been forced to endure, then returned to Aziraphale, waiting untouched in the bedroom?

Well. There was no taking back how long it had taken him to be able to withstand Gabriel's touch without fear leaving him entirely paralysed, but he could still do better in the future, force himself further.

He let out a slow breath, then knocked on the door. "Crowley?" he called out softly. "It's only me." He gently depressed the handle, opening the door with caution. If Crowley had been reacting to his isolation anywhere near the way Aziraphale had – not to mention the state he had been in when Aziraphale had last left him – Aziraphale wanted to give him every chance he needed to recompose himself.

Aziraphale dared to peek around the edge of the door.

Crowley was facing away from him, hands twisted into the covers as he sat on the edge of the bed, misery tightening his spine.

"Crowley?" he called out again. Crowley didn't respond, but didn't make any indication that he'd pull away if Aziraphale approached. Aziraphale remained cautious anyway, softly closing the door behind him, keeping his footfalls slow and steady as he moved inside. "Gabriel's getting himself settled into his new office, so we'll have some time to ourselves before he's wanting for company again."

He sat at the end of the bed – at a right angle to Crowley, not wanting to assume that he would want to be touched by anyone right now – and neatly folded his hands in his lap, staring down at them.

"I think the meeting went about as well as it could have," he offered quietly. "Gabriel was certainly fooled by my demonstrations of affection, but I don't believe Uriel was convinced that everything was as rosy a picture as he's surely been painting for her, and the other Archangels. I do know that it might just be wishful thinking, or naivety on my part, but I truly do think there's a chance that, with enough time, she could be convinced that we're being held against our will."

"You really believe that, don't you," Crowley said bleakly.

Aziraphale harrumphed, because he knew that was what Crowley expected. It was a familiar, well-worn pattern – they would bicker back and forth, Crowley nipping at Aziraphale's optimism, Aziraphale doing his best to poke holes in Crowley's pessimism, both of them often getting gently sloshed on wine. They didn't have wine at the moment, obviously, but Aziraphale could at least offer that same camaraderie, and hope that the rhythm of it might bring Crowley some measure of comfort.

"Of course I believe it," Aziraphale told him firmly. "Whatever it takes, Crowley. I fully intend to see us both free of this place."

Crowley was painfully silent for a moment, and Aziraphale waited desperately for him to take his usual turn, delivering a piece of eyebrow-raised scepticism.

He didn't.

"I don't want…" Crowley shuddered, still not looking at him. "I don't want you to see me like that again."

"Crowley… I'm afraid I almost certainly will." He tried to be delicate, but cringed even as he said the words, knowing they'd landed far closer to blunt than he'd wanted.

Crowley turned further away from him. "You wouldn't, if you weren't here anymore."

Confusion and alarm roiled in the pit of Aziraphale's stomach, leaving him feeling queasy and unbalanced. He was glad he was sitting down. "Crowley," he said, unable to keep the rising anxiety from choking his words. "What are you suggesting?"

His shoulders hunched. "I could talk to him," he said quietly. "Convince him that… that you only need one angel and demon to make it work. We supposedly did it by ourselves, right? It wouldn't be a hard sell." He turned slightly, looking up pleadingly without quite meeting Aziraphale's eyes. "I could… I could convince him to let you go."

"Absolutely not!" Aziraphale shot up from the bed, attempts at being gentle forgotten as he balled his fists and whirled to face Crowley fully. "You promised!" he cried. "You swore that we would both get out of this, if I'm not allowed to try and 'throw myself away' for you, then you certainly aren't allowed to do the same for me, either!"

"That's just the part of the plan to get you out of here," Crowley muttered sullenly. "I'd figure something out to get myself out, too."

"And how long would that part of the plan take?" Aziraphale shot back. "You know that if he only had you, he'd be absolutely furious if he ever realised you'd tricked him! He'd sooner destroy you than let you go!"

"Keep it down!" Crowley hissed, finally turning to flick his eyes frantically at the door. "His new office isn't soundproofed, remember?"

Aziraphale grit his teeth, but complied, lowering his voice. "It's a ridiculous plan!" he retorted in a harsh whisper. "How on Earth would you convince him that letting me go is at all a viable option? I love you, Crowley, how would it ever make sense that I would willingly leave you behind?"

Crowley swallowed hard and resumed staring at the ground.

The silence was heavy – not because Crowley didn't have the words to say, but because he knew how much speaking them aloud would hurt Aziraphale.

"…Oh," Aziraphale said quietly, and Crowley flinched, hunching miserably into himself once more.

Aziraphale felt off-balance, light-headed, like the floor was dissolving out from under his feet. "You'd tell him that my love wasn't enough for you," he said faintly. "That he is the only one capable of giving you what you needed. You'd have him let me go out of pity."

Crowley's face twisted in anguish, but he didn't deny it. Aziraphale stumbled back a step, knees weak.

It wasn't true. That wasn't what Crowley thought of him, he knew that, he knew that what Gabriel offered – what Gabriel was forcing – was so far from being Crowley's true desire.

But it was one thing to know it, and another to keep that poisonous voice in his head from gleefully sinking in its teeth, from wrapping clawed fingers around his heart and tearing it to shreds. What if it's true? It purred in his ear as it ripped him apart from the inside. He'd never actually want Gabriel himself, but what if he's realised that what he wants is something you're not willing to offer him? He really won't want you, in the long run, if you aren't willing to keep him satisfied. If you aren't even capable of ever being enough for him.

Some self-loathing part of Aziraphale wanted to say the words aloud, to force Crowley to placate his insecurities, but he didn't. it would only be a delaying tactic, and it would just make the final blow land all the harder when it came. Throwing out an accusation like that now would only serve to make Crowley hate him sooner.

He felt himself sway, trying to drown the voice out himself.

No, he thought, knowing that he didn't sound firm even inside his own head. No, I love him with everything I have, and I know that he feels the same. How could that possibly not be enough?

The thoughts didn't have quite the bolstering effect he'd hoped, and he felt his self-doubt spiralling further.

Goodness, had his feet always felt this far away?

"…Aziraphale?" Crowley's voice, frantic, filtered down to him as if through a long tunnel. Aziraphale didn't realise his vision had been swimming until Crowley's face floated into view, two golden orbs set in a wavering pale oval of a face, mouth a thin slash of anxiety. "No, no, look, you were right, OK? You were right, and I'm sorry, it was an awful plan. Please forget I even thought about it."

There were warm hands cradling his face, thumbs smearing wetness across Aziraphale's cheeks. Aziraphale's brow knotted in confusion. Why were Crowley's hands wet?

Oh. It was because Aziraphale was crying. Rather profusely.

That made a lot more sense. It was one of the few things he was actually good at, after all.

"No, don't– fuck," Crowley swore. "Stay with me, here, angel. Together, yeah? I promised you together, and you promised me, too. So don't you dare go wandering off into your own head, convincing yourself of any nonsense like me being anything less than completely and embarrassingly in love with you, all right?"

"…I keep making you have to do this," Aziraphale finally whispered, words dragging up from the depths of him, reverberating hollowly in the echo chamber of his chest. "I keep forcing you feel like you have to prove to me that you still love me, when I should be the one–"

"Don't you dare, I said," Crowley told him sternly, voice still laced with worry. "I know that you know I love you. And you know that I know the feeling's mutual. And I know you're an angel of your word. You promised, and that means we're getting out of this together, simple as that." His voice softened. "I really am sorry. It was an awful plan, it would have just made us both miserable. Miserable-er. I just…" He stroked Aziraphale's cheek. "I thought, maybe knowing that if you were free, I might feel a little better about the whole thing myself. But I should have thought about what it would be like for you to leave me behind, especially if that's how I went and did it. That wasn't fair to you."

Aziraphale sighed and closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted. Crowley pressed a kiss to his forehead, and Aziraphale melted into him. Wiry arms circled around him, and Aziraphale returned the embrace fiercely, knees still weak as he hid his face against Crowley's neck.

Tears welled in his eyes again as he realised how selfish he was being. He made a low noise in his throat, forcing the tears back, forcing his knees to lock and his face to unbury itself from the crook of Crowley's shoulder.

"Are you all right?" he asked, voice wobbling still despite his best efforts.

Crowley gave him a soft look. "I should be asking you that. I was the one saying horrible things."

Aziraphale refrained from pointing out that he himself had been the one to voice the things Crowley hadn't wanted to say. He doubted Crowley would be much interested in bickering semantics, at present. "Before that," he insisted instead. "When I… when I had to leave you alone, whilst Gabriel paraded me around for Uriel."

Crowley's arms tightened briefly before pulling away, gaze intent. "What did he do?"

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale murmured in reassurance, his chest aching with tenderness. "It wasn't so awful, nothing more than a few chaste kisses and an arm around the waist, you needn't worry about me. It's far less than you've suffered." He stroked Crowley's cheek, a mirror of how Crowley had soothingly caressed him before. He hoped that his touch felt even half as helpful. "You must know how grateful I am for how much you've done for me whilst we're trapped here, I would never shame you for it."

Faint tremors shook Crowley's shoulders, seeming to shake all the way down to his foundations. His gaze dropped to Aziraphale's lips, then immediately dropped to the floor, but not before Aziraphale caught sight of his cheeks flooding with embarrassment and self-loathing.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked gently. "Would it be all right if you looked at me?"

He shuddered again, but lifted his head, golden eyes shining above the tight set of his mouth.

"I love you, and nothing he could ever do will change that," Aziraphale insisted fiercely. "He cannot diminish who you are, and who you are is entirely lovely, my dearest." He deliberately dropped his gaze to Crowley's lips before flicking it back up again. "May I?"

Crowley let out a sob and all but flung himself at Aziraphale, their lips meeting in an inelegant clash. The kiss was clumsy, fuelled by desperation and overwhelming relief. There were tears, and clashing teeth, and it was messy in a way that Gabriel would never understand nor appreciate. Aziraphale didn't care, was simply glad to have Crowley in his arms, both of them with love reassured, and black thoughts beaten firmly into the backs of their minds.

The frantic nature of the kiss gradually subsided into a gentle ebb and flow. There was a temptation to walk Crowley over to the bed, if only so that they could sit down, but too much had happened on that bed. Aziraphale knew exactly what that would imply. He also knew that Crowley wouldn't expect that of him, given how disastrously their last attempt at anything more intimate together had gone – but it was entirely possible that Crowley would think he was offering out of some sense of obligation.

Aziraphale rather felt he'd put Crowley in the position to needlessly apologise for things that weren't his fault more than enough times already. So, they remained standing, eventually breaking the kiss to just lean their weight against one another, Crowley's angles fitted against Aziraphale's curves, Aziraphale's head slotted against the hollow of Crowley's throat.

He allowed himself to drift, buoyed by the warm currents of their shared love, floating in the eye of the storm.

Inevitably, however, they were drawn unwillingly back towards the stormfront.

The door handle chunked down and moments later swung wide to reveal Gabriel, a dazzling smile filling the horizon.

"Excellent news!" he declared, as if heralding the discovery of new lands. "I've had a bit of a think, Aziraphale, and I think I know exactly what will make you happy."

Chapter Text

"You're really gonna like this," Gabriel assured, a hand settling heavy against Aziraphale's lower back as he steered him out of the bedroom. Aziraphale could only think that there was a high probability that he really, really wouldn't. Crowley kept pace with them, fingers laced with Aziraphale's and giving him a comforting squeeze.

Gabriel led them through the living room and down the corridor, past the kitchen none of them had ever used, and into the equally unused dining room. Aziraphale moved cautiously into the room, desperately trying to discern what Gabriel had brought them here for; he hadn't even been in this room since they'd first arrived, when Crowley had first tried to find a weak point in the wards for them to explore.

With a sudden lurch, Aziraphale realised that just because he hadn't been in here since then, didn't mean the same was true for Crowley – what if, on any of the multiple occasions that Aziraphale had been locked up alone, Gabriel had brought him in here, and bent him over the glass-topped dining table? Stripped him down and forced him to hold onto the top of one of the high-backed dining chairs as Gabriel took him from behind? Pinned him up against the floor-to-ceiling frosted windows, backlit with a vague celestial glow that didn't quite imitate sunlight, a cruel facsimile of being less than an inch of glass away from freedom?

"Take a seat, why don't you?" Gabriel prompted, gesturing towards the dining table. Aziraphale risked a glance in Crowley's direction, trying to gauge his reaction to being here, but if Crowley had any familiarity with the room it wasn't showing on his face.

Helpless to do anything else, Aziraphale obeyed, Crowley reluctantly taking the seat across from him – it seemed an unspoken given that Gabriel would have been displeased if either of them had tried to take the seat at the head of the table.

Aziraphale wanted to twist his hands in his lap with anxiety, but the glass tabletop meant that there was nothing hidden. Instead, he clasped them neatly, right thumb pressing down hard on the left.

It felt disconcertingly like he was attending a performance review.

Gabriel took his place, then, grinning, snapped his fingers.

A plate appeared in front of each of them – mash potatoes laden with gravy, bright green steamed sugar snap peas, and a juicy steak in a rich sauce, steam curling gently upwards.

It all looked cooked to perfection. Aziraphale had never wanted to eat something less.

"Oh," he murmured, knowing that Gabriel was expecting at least some form of reaction from him.

"Do you like it?" he asked hopefully.

Aziraphale forced himself to look up. "I thought you weren't fond of… gross matter," he managed.

Gabriel smiled wide. "Ah! But see, it isn't that, it's entirely miracle-made! And it's only a temporary miracle, too, so you don't have to worry about a heavy meal weighing down your stomach."

"Ah, of course, I see," Aziraphale murmured, looking back down at his plate. More specifically, at the steak knife laid out beside the plate.

He imagined taking the steak knife, and turning to Gabriel, and driving it as deep as possible into his eye.
 

He imagined that it would be immensely satisfying for perhaps a split second – then Gabriel would overcome the shock of being attacked, slip out of his damaged corporation, and unleash the full force of his true form, instantly obliterating both Aziraphale and Crowley in his fury.

Gabriel laughed. "I can see how ready you are to start, Aziraphale," he said, sounding incredibly pleased with himself as he misread Aziraphale's emotions entirely. "I'll say Grace, then," he told them, promptly clasping his hands and closing his eyes.

Aziraphale clasped his hands before him as a reflex, as well, but instead of closing his eyes, he looked over to Crowley.

Crowley, who was gripping hard at the edge of the glass table, gaze flicking between Gabriel and the food, face rapidly filling with terror.

Aziraphale felt himself go cold as he realised what would happen when Gabriel spoke.

"The eyes of all look to You, O Lord, and You give them their food at the proper time," Gabriel murmured, eyes still closed. "You open Your hand and satisfy the desire of every living thing. Our Mother, Lord God, Heavenly Mother, bless us and these Thy gifts which we receive from Thy bountiful goodness. Amen."

Aziraphale very carefully didn't think anything that could be constituted as a prayer. He didn't know what he'd do with himself if She listened to Gabriel's prayer over his.

He dared to glance over at Crowley again. He was staring down at the meal in front of him, expression schooled into complete neutrality.

Gabriel opened his eyes and beamed expectantly at them both. "Go on," he urged. "Dig in!"

Aziraphale looked down at the food laid out before them, the blessings now laid into it, the damage that consuming it would surely wreak on Crowley's insides.

"Darling," he said, trying not to grimace around the word, "I'm not certain Crowley can..."

Crowley made frantic eyes at Aziraphale from across the table as Gabriel gave him a confused look. "Why wouldn't he be able to eat his dinner?"

Too late, Aziraphale remembered that Gabriel was still under the impression that Crowley was immune to holy water, and that that would suggest immunity to such paltry things as consuming something blessed. Telling Gabriel that would only risk making him question whether Crowley could be killed with holy water after all, would lead to Crowley being tested with it just in case, would lead to his complete destruction. Aziraphale plastered a desperate smile onto his face. "Well, you see," he floundered, horrified with himself for the misstep, "he's– he's a snake, as well, some of the time, there are certain… tendencies that carry over," he supplied madly. His eyes darted to Crowley, an apology in his gaze as he continued, "which includes his eating habits."

Gabriel pondered this for a moment, then stood and dismissed the plate of food in front of Crowley with a wave of his hand, replacing it with a covered silver platter. "Well, I want Crowley to enjoy this, too. This should be better," he announced, walking over and removing the cover with a flourish.

Crowley stared at the neat rows of mice laid out on the platter, small and pink and hairless. He was obviously doing his best not to look disgusted or insulted. Gabriel hovered anxiously by his elbow.

"Are they all right? Are they too small, I can make bigger ones–"

"No!" Crowley all but shouted. "These are…" he swallowed. "These are fine."

Gabriel eased, smiling, and took his seat at the head of the table once more. Crowley let out a slow breath, psyching himself up for the incoming unpleasantness.

Aziraphale felt a pang of sympathy, and no small amount guilt for accidentally forcing this upon Crowley, but at least this way he wouldn't be harmed beyond perhaps a bit of an upset stomach–

"Oh!" Gabriel said, clasping his hands together. "Almost forgot, better redo it." He bowed his head and murmured Grace once more, divinity settling into the mice neatly arranged on the plate in front of Crowley. Crowley gave Aziraphale an anguished look, but schooled his face into impassivity by the time Gabriel looked up. Gabriel smiled. "Go on, eat up," he urged.

"Right," Crowley said hesitantly. "Bon appétit."

He squared his shoulders, picked up one of the mice by its tail, then tipped his head back and dropped it into his mouth, swallowing it whole.

"Mm," he praised through tightly shut lips.

His hand trembled ever so slightly as he reached for another mouse under Gabriel's expectant gaze. Aziraphale watched on with an awful, fascinated horror. Was the tremor in Crowley's hands down to fear, or was this actually hurting him? Was that barest downturn of the corner of Crowley's lips out of distaste for being forced to eat mice in the first place, or because the touch of something blessed was scorching the inside of his throat?

Was that, ever so faint, the scent of burning flesh that Aziraphale could smell?

Aziraphale's own meal remained untouched, what little appetite he'd had fleeing entirely as Crowley began slowly, methodically progressing through the plate of mice before him. Gabriel, apparently satisfied that Crowley was enjoying himself, began sawing at his steak, elbows sticking out with his tongue protruding slightly between his teeth. He sent a brief grin over in Aziraphale's direction as he carved off a little cube of meat, looking very proud of himself as he brought it to his lips. He looked down at Aziraphale's plate expectantly, and Aziraphale swallowed down the bile in his throat, forcing himself to chew on a forkful of gravy-smothered potato that tasted of ash in his mouth.

"Oh!" Gabriel said, a shocked expression on his face. "I think I might actually like this. Looks like you were onto something all those years, huh, Aziraphale? Although this food's the stuff of miracles, I bet actual human food doesn't taste as good." He tucked into his meal with gusto.

Aziraphale couldn't really attest to whether the food tasted better than the human fare he was used to, given that his appetite had fled entirely, but he somehow doubted it. He had enough experience himself trying to miracle up his own food, there was something of the delight of eating that was lost when the food wasn't prepared by hand. He forced himself to choke down his meal regardless, figuring there was no point trying to explain such things to Gabriel.

Crowley's hand trembled a little harder as he picked up another mouse.

A melodious chime sounded from the vicinity of Gabriel's trouser pocket. The Archangel gave a little start, then dug out the glowing blue rectangle of his celestial communication device, frowning as he flicked a finger across its surface.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking put out. "I've got to go handle something. Will you both be all right to finish up without me? This is probably going to take a while."

Aziraphale mustered a queasy smile and a murmured, "Of course." Crowley lifted his mouse in a mock-toast, giving the Archangel a lopsided grin.

Gabriel softened. "Great. I'll try not to let it take too long."

"Take as long as you need," Aziraphale assured him, doing his best not to sound too eager. "We wouldn't want you to rush yourself on our behalf."

He smiled wide. "Knew you'd understand," he said happily, standing and making his way to the door.

Aziraphale watched Crowley anxiously as Gabriel walked away. Crowley still had that easy-going smile on his face, showing no outward signs of discomfort, leaning back casually on his chair and watching the Archangel go. Aziraphale dared to hope that through some sort of miracle, the blessed food had had no effect on Crowley after all–

The moment Gabriel was gone, Crowley's smile dropped, and he all but launched himself out of his chair, racing down the hall towards the previously unused bathroom and flinging the door open. Aziraphale sped after him, only to find Crowley already hunched around the toilet bowl, loudly and unhappily emptying the contents of his stomach.

"Oh, Crowley," he gasped despairingly, and Crowley vomited again.

Crowley's body convulsed a few more times, but he had nothing left to give. With a shudder, he sagged against the bowl, legs collapsing under him entirely. Aziraphale knelt beside him and stroked his back helplessly, pulling away when Crowley flinched at the touch, knuckles as white as the porcelain bowl they were clutching. After a few moments of quiet trembling, Crowley lifted his head out of the bowl, but only barely, closing his eyes with a faint whimper and resting his forehead against the rim.

From this angle, Aziraphale could see the pale forms of the mice bobbing amid the brackish ichor, staining the water black. More ichor was flecked around Crowley's mouth, and Aziraphale could only imagine the internal damage that had been done to have caused Crowley to bleed so much.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly, hesitantly shuffling a little closer.

It was a stupid question, and he knew it. The answer was so obviously no, had Aziraphale not been paying attention at all these past few minutes?

Guilt churned in his belly, making him feel nauseous in a way that watching Crowley be so violently ill hadn't. Aziraphale swallowed down the urge to vomit himself. Crowley deserved better behaviour from him than that. "I'm so sorry," he choked out.

Crowley's eyes cracked open, tracking the way Aziraphale was staring at the contents of the toilet bowl. Wordlessly, he lifted one weak, shivering hand towards the flush, tugging it down with an uncoordinated swipe. Aziraphale had a dizzying moment of panic where he feared that Gabriel wouldn't have bothered installing functional plumbing. Then the water swirled, carried off only God knew where, leaving the ichor smeared over Crowley's lips the only evidence that something had gone terribly wrong.

That, and whatever havoc consuming something blessed had wrought on the demon's insides.

"Crowley? Please let me see?"

Crowley shook his head mutely, lips clamped shut. Aziraphale wrung his hands, casting his gaze around the polished white sterility of the bathroom for something that could be useful, before landing on the sink. Given that the toilet was apparently hooked up to some sort of plumbing, perhaps that meant the taps were more than decorative as well?

He stepped over to the sink and turned on the cold water, relieved when a cool stream smoothly flowed out of the faucet. He grabbed one of the monogrammed cups sitting along the back edge of the sink top, tipping out the entirely ornamental toothbrush and filling it with water.

"You'll need to clean around your mouth, at least. He'll know something's wrong, otherwise."

Crowley eyed the water warily and Aziraphale bit his lip, heart sinking as he realised the train of thought that was no doubt running through Crowley's head. Aziraphale couldn't sense any latent divinity imbued within the water, but with his angelic senses neutered as they currently were, that didn't necessarily mean anything. It wouldn't be holy water – it was a rather specific process, and it wouldn't have made any sense for Gabriel to go to the effort – but it still might be close enough to blessed that it would cause Crowley further harm.

"I could dip my finger in? Touch it against somewhere he wouldn't be able to see, to check if there's any divinity to it?" Aziraphale suggested, hating himself. Crowley kept giving him that mournful look, and the guilt snarling in Aziraphale's chest roared a little louder. "Crowley, please. We need to get you cleaned up, and you can't just wipe it off on anything in here, it'll stain."

Crowley swallowed reflexively and his face contorted with pain. He refused to meet Aziraphale's gaze as he gave him a tight nod, fists balled in the pale grey of his trousers. Aziraphale knelt gently beside him, setting the cup on the floor and reaching up to cradle the demon's cheek.

"Ready?" he asked softly. Crowley closed his eyes and nodded. Aziraphale took a deep breath, touching the tip of one trembling finger to the water's surface, wiping the excess off on the rim so that only a hint of moisture remained. Crowley arched his neck, head tilted to the side, parting his hair with his fingers so that his scalp was exposed at the back of his head. He went tense, curling in on himself as he sensed Aziraphale reaching out, teeth leaving indents in his ichor-stained bottom lip.

He gasped when Aziraphale's finger finally touched against the bared skin, flinching away before going limp with a shuddering sob.

Aziraphale watched him anxiously, unable to tell if the reaction had been out of relief or pain. "Crowley? Did the water hurt?"

Crowley shook his head and forced his limbs to unwind, reaching out for the cup. Aziraphale passed it to him with shaking hands, and Crowley brought the cup to his lips, carefully taking a mouthful and swirling it around before spitting it into the toilet, the mix of water and saliva streaked with black. He shuddered and repeated the action until the water ran more or less clear, then hauled himself to his feet, flushing the toilet again and heading for the sink to wash the rest of his face. Aziraphale hovered behind him, unable to ignore the miserable hunch of the demon's shoulders, the deathly pallor of his skin under the flush of colour high on his cheeks.

He splashed water onto his face, rubbing and rubbing at the stains left behind until his skin started to go pink. Just as Aziraphale was about to reach for him again, Crowley let out a short, wretched sound, head dropping and arms quivering as he clutched at the edge of the counter.

Aziraphale bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood in an effort to keep himself from reaching out. Crowley stayed, hunched forward and shuddering, for several minutes before slowly straightening, expression schooled into a careful neutrality that Aziraphale knew meant he was in incredible pain.

"Crowley," he said, tone soft but firm. "Please let me see."

Crowley hesitated, but then his shoulders drooped and he nodded, purposefully looking up at the ceiling, away from Aziraphale, as he opened his mouth for the angel's inspection.

The inside of his throat looked like someone had poured boiling tar down it, black and blistered and raw. Fresh ichor oozed from the worst of the blisters, a slow drip down the back of his throat that had Crowley swallowing convulsively despite the obvious pain it was causing him. It all looked so brutally agonising that Aziraphale instinctively tried to heal it, only to stumble when the power he'd reached for didn't respond.

"Oh, Crowley," he whispered, aghast.

"That bad?" Crowley managed in a voice that could charitably be described as a croak. The sound alone made Aziraphale try to heal him again, tears filling his eyes when he failed to have any effect on the demon's suffering.

"Don't– don't try to speak, just–" Aziraphale fluttered about, opening the bathroom door and gesturing through it. "Perhaps– perhaps you should just go lie down for a while, we can try to think of what to do next–"

Crowley started to respond, but then grimaced, thinking better of it, and nodded instead. Aziraphale ushered him out, casting an anxious glance around the bathroom to double-check for any ichor stains.

Struck by a sudden thought, Aziraphale bade Crowley wait a moment before rushing back to the dining room to gather their half-finished meals, flushing the contents down the toilet, then returning the emptied plates to the table.

Crowley nodded weakly in acknowledgement. There was no way of telling whether or not the miracle on the food would cease before Gabriel came back. It was better to not risk Gabriel growing suspicious if he returned to find they hadn't finished their meals.

Crowley didn't walk with any of his usual swagger, instead switching to a smooth, economical gait, likely in an attempt to minimise the amount his torso moved. Aziraphale's heart ached as he helplessly watched on. Part of him irrationally demanded that he pick Crowley up and carry him to bed himself, but he knew the demon's pride would never allow it. Instead, he trailed after Crowley, feeling singularly useless.

With those same careful movements, Crowley entered the bedroom and gingerly laid himself down on the mattress, letting out a small, ragged sigh. Aziraphale sat down next to him, hands clasped tightly together in his lap. He took in a deep, fortifying breath before speaking. "You're going to need to sleep, Crowley."

Crowley pushed himself back upright, glaring.

Aziraphale set his lips in a thin line, trying to stop their trembling. "You need to sleep," he insisted. "You need to give your corporation time to heal."

"No," Crowley croaked, words scraping painfully out of the ruin of his throat. "You'll be alone." He swallowed, face contorting briefly at the action. "Won't do it."

Aziraphale stroked a hand along Crowley's cheek, trying yet again to shove past the barrier blocking his powers to heal the demon. It had the same effect all the previous attempts had had – absolutely nothing. A little hysterically, Aziraphale recalled reading somewhere that repeating the same task over and over and expecting different results was the definition of insanity.

"Be reasonable, Crowley," he said, barely able to keep the tremor from his voice. "You can barely speak. Your throat is too damaged for you to be able to pretend that nothing's wrong. He'll figure it out if you don't sleep."

"Sleeping won't stop him," Crowley rasped sullenly, pushing against Aziraphale when the angel tried to ease him back down onto the bed.

"I'll tell him it's because of your snake aspect, he won't try to wake you if I convince him that it's a natural, necessary process for you. He believed it once already," Aziraphale urged, trying to lower Crowley once more. "I'll be fine."

"No you won't," Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale let his hands fall away, and Crowley sat up, curling his arms around his knees and refusing to meet the angel's eyes.

Crowley hadn't meant the words maliciously, of course he hadn't, but that almost made it worse. Like he had simply been stating a fact that Aziraphale wasn't built to handle situations like this.

"Yes, I will," Aziraphale said, with far more conviction than he felt. "I will, because the alternative is that Gabriel finds out your immunity to holy water was faked, and he will destroy you, and that is an unacceptable outcome to me."

Crowley continued to avert his gaze.

"...Crowley," he said quietly. "You know this is the only way. Trying to argue with me will only serve to aggravate your injuries and make it take longer for you to heal. If you don't sleep, there is a very real chance we will both be killed."

The demon didn't say anything, but slowly unwound his arms from around his knees, tipping himself onto his side with all the inevitability of a felled tree. He still wouldn't look at Aziraphale, and the angel could only just barely see the tears sliding over the bridge of Crowley's nose.

"I know, my dear," he murmured, trailing gentle fingers through Crowley's hair. "It's only for a few weeks. I can bear that, for you." Aziraphale pressed a soft kiss to his temple. "You've taken so much of the burden of this onto yourself, I'm truly grateful for all you've done to protect me. I would be honoured to return the favour."

"No honour here."

The angel kept stroking Crowley's hair. "No, I suppose not. But we must do what we must to survive."

Crowley seemed to relax almost unwillingly under Aziraphale's touch. "Don't want to leave you alone."

"Shh," Aziraphale soothed. "I won't be alone, you'll still be here," he said, not adding that ultimately, he knew it was his own fault that Crowley was in this position in the first place – both in the broader sense of their captivity, and the specific circumstances that had led to Crowley's injuries. Saying it out loud would just start a whole new argument that Crowley couldn't afford to have. "You just rest, and let me take my turn at protecting you. You've more than earned it."

"Don't want to…" Crowley murmured, even as his eyelids grew heavy and fluttered shut.

"I'm a guardian, Crowley," he said gently. "It's what I was built for."

Crowley made another soft sound of protest, but his injuries had clearly taken their toll, leaving him exhausted. His breathing deepened even as his face twitched, an unhappy furrow in his brow, instinctively curling up into a ball.

Aziraphale kept on gently patting Crowley's hair, and did his best to crush down the selfish hope that he wouldn't sleep for too long.

Chapter Text

By the time Gabriel returned, Aziraphale was mildly surprised that his hands had any skin left on them, given how anxiously he'd been wringing them for the past however many hours.

He'd stayed at Crowley's bedside for the first little while, softly stroking his hair and torturing himself with the sight of the unhappy furrow in Crowley's brow. After a while, though, he'd realised the risk involved if Gabriel found Crowley sleeping and unresponsive, without Aziraphale having a chance to explain what was going on first. So, even though it killed him to leave Crowley alone in such an acutely vulnerable state, he'd retreated to the living room, alternating between sitting on the sofa and feeling useless, and pacing restlessly and feeling useless.

Time dragged its feet at an agonising pace, yet it still felt far too soon when the air finally rippled with the tell-tale indicator that Gabriel was returning.

"I'm home!" he announced, smiling blinding-bright as he appeared, close enough that he was able to immediately reach out and sweep Aziraphale into a kiss.

Aziraphale let out a sound of protest at the suddenness of it, then frantically hoped that Gabriel would interpret it as mere surprise. He was clearly dim enough to still think that either Aziraphale and Crowley wanted any of this, surely such a small thing wouldn't be what sent everything tumbling down?

Sure enough, when Gabriel pulled back from the kiss, he was still smiling, although there was a quizzical look stealing across his face as he glanced around the otherwise empty living room.

"Where's Crowley?"

"He's, um." Aziraphale tried desperately to wet his suddenly parched throat. "He's… sleeping."

Gabriel frowned, the glow of his expression immediately dimming. "He's a demon. He doesn't need to sleep."

Aziraphale took in a deep breath as subtly as he could, doing his best to inject some measure of confidence into his words. "He actually does, in this instance. I-It's another part of his snake-like attributes, he goes into a hibernation state almost immediately after eating a big meal. It's a perfectly natural process for him."

The Archangel kept frowning. Aziraphale felt a bead of sweat slide down his spine. "How long does he need to sleep for?"

"A few weeks, usually," Aziraphale replied, then added, just in case, "sometimes longer."

Oh, how he hoped it wouldn't be longer.

"A few weeks?"

Aziraphale gave him a feeble smile. "I-I can keep you company," he offered, wishing he sounded half as brave or convincing as Crowley when he did this sort of thing. "You'll hardly notice the time go by at all. It isn't even as if that's a significant amount of time, for beings like us."

Blast it all, Gabriel was frowning again. This was off to a terrible start. Aziraphale felt himself beginning to grow damp under the armpits.

"Don't try to hide the truth from to me, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale's smile faltered for a moment before he desperately plastered it back on. "I haven't–"

All at once, Gabriel softened, stepping closer to cradle Aziraphale's face. Aziraphale made himself lean into the touch. "I've been leaving you out too much, haven't I?"

He did his best to keep his expression from morphing to reflect the terror he felt. "N-no, no, not all," he was quick to reassure. "I know it's been taking me a lot longer to... adjust, that's hardly a reflection on you."

Gabriel's hands curled around his cheeks and Aziraphale stumbled to a stop. He couldn't take this. He couldn't stand this tenderness, this pretence of affection, when surely Gabriel was about to change his mind again and–

"I'm sorry, Aziraphale, I didn't mean to make you feel neglected," Gabriel told him, stroking the pad of his thumb over Aziraphale's cheek. "I just thought you wanted to take things a little slower, still. It really is sweet of you, but I don't want you to pretend I haven't been dropping the ball on this. And hey, maybe this is actually a blessing in disguise, huh? Giving the two of us the chance to spend some quality time together? How about I start making it up to you – we let Crowley sleep it off, and in the meantime you can read one of your books to me, so I can see what all the fuss is about, how does that sound?"

"That sounds– lovely, it sounds lovely," Aziraphale replied, fighting so hard to keep the sheer, nauseating relief from his voice that it took a few seconds for his mind to catch up with what he'd just agreed to.

The library. The facsimile of the home he'd been ripped away from, bought and paid for by the demon he was now trying so desperately to protect. It was as artificial as everything else in their gilded prison, but at least it offered some measure of solitude, at least Gabriel respected him enough to allow him a space to himself–

That had been his mistake, thinking that Gabriel was doing any of this with respect for Aziraphale – or Crowley, for that matter – in mind. That he was ultimately doing this for anyone's benefit other than his own.

"Great! I knew you'd like the idea, too." Grinning happily, Gabriel leant down for another kiss. Aziraphale somehow managed to keep his lips from trembling as he returned the gesture, even managing an appropriate little gasp when one of Gabriel's hands slid to his lower back. "Shall we?"

Crowley. I'm doing this for Crowley.

"Yes, let's," Aziraphale said unsteadily, grateful for the excuse to turn away from Gabriel's embrace. The hand at the base of his spine remained, however, and the weight of it seemed to increase with each reluctant step he took towards the library door. He had to fight to keep himself from flinching when Gabriel reached around from behind him to open the door, making an encouraging noise into Aziraphale's ear as he ushered him inside.

"Why don't you go pick something out for us?" Gabriel murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of Aziraphale's neck.

Aziraphale suppressed another flinch, nodding jerkily and trying not to make it too obvious that he was glad to be moving out of Gabriel's grasp, even if only for a moment, as he headed for one of the shelves, hands shaking.

Once upon a time, Aziraphale would have been delighted that Gabriel was taking an interest in books, given his general distain for Aziraphale's earthly pastimes whenever they had come up in his quarterly reviews. Now, Gabriel's attentiveness terrified him, breath catching in his throat once more as Gabriel sidled up behind him.

"Have you picked something out yet?" Gabriel murmured, and Aziraphale snatched a book off the shelf at random, fearful that any further delay would just leave him locking up in complete unresponsiveness.

"Yes," he managed. "All sorted."

He couldn't help his short yelp when Gabriel promptly tugged him backwards onto the nearby sofa, landing partially sprawled against his thighs. Gabriel chuckled, grabbing Aziraphale by the hips and dragging him closer. He nuzzled at the back of Aziraphale's neck, and Aziraphale tried to distract himself by looking down at the book he'd grabbed.

His stomach lurched as he read the title.

Not this.

Gabriel would get all sorts of ideas if Aziraphale started reading this.

Oh, God, he couldn't do this, he couldn't sit halfway in Gabriel's lap and read him love poems–

But he couldn't put the book back now. Gabriel would want to know why he'd changed his mind, and how would Aziraphale be able to convincingly explain his way out of that? Granted, Gabriel wasn't particularly likely to peruse the book if Aziraphale discarded it, but the risk was still there. Besides, Aziraphale was already sat in his lap, he couldn't really see Gabriel letting him get up again before getting what he wanted himself.

Aziraphale cracked the book open, then placed it down in his lap – both to help disguise the way his hands were shaking, and to cut off Gabriel's access to his more intimate areas.

He hated this. He hated having to plan his every action strategically, the constant fear that he was one small misstep away from being responsible for Crowley's destruction.

Gabriel hooked his chin over Aziraphale's shoulder. "Are you going to start?"

"You are here," Aziraphale read, his voice shaking only slightly. "Oh, you do not run away. You will answer me to the last cry."

He was very much aware of Gabriel beneath him, the arm circled around his waist, the weight of Gabriel's chin resting on his shoulder.

He stumbled over the "I love you." A sour taste filled his mouth as he read, "How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me." He didn't think too hard as he described loving the mother-of-pearl of Gabriel's body, and pushed himself on through to the end, only to trip up again.

"I…" He faltered, swallowed, and then forced the words out. "I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees."

"…I think I get it," Gabriel said slowly once he'd realised they'd reached the end. Aziraphale sincerely doubted that was the case. "Can you read me another one?" he asked, kissing at the side of Aziraphale's neck.

"Of course," Aziraphale murmured, knowing that the question had only been a courtesy masquerading a choice. He turned a few pages, skipping over a series of poems that were more than likely to confuse or enrage Gabriel. Even the mere fact that Aziraphale was taking this editorial approach seemed to irritate Gabriel slightly, making him shift and peer over Aziraphale's shoulder to more closely watch what he was doing.

Aziraphale stopped turning pages and swallowed, trying to get any moisture at all into his achingly dry throat.

The second reading was more halting than the first, in large part due to the way that Gabriel had decided to start gently stroking the outside of Aziraphale's thighs.

The poem. He just had to focus on the poem, and nothing else, he just had to allow the written word to bring him comfort as it always had–

Aziraphale stopped mid-sentence, all of a sudden aware of a burgeoning swelling at the front of Gabriel's trousers.

"Keep going, I'm enjoying this," Gabriel murmured, drawing his nose along the curve of Aziraphale's neck before pressing another kiss there, one hand tugging the collar down slightly to increase his access. The other continued to stroke at Aziraphale's thigh, and he reflexively pressed the book down harder into his lap, trying to protect himself.

Don't think of him pushing the book out of the way and trying to take what he wants anyway, his intrusive thoughts told him, immediately leaving him incapable of thinking about anything else. Don't think about him taking hold of your cock, don't think about how, when it doesn't respond at all to his touch, he'll get confused, then angry–

"Aziraphale? Aren't you going to keep going?"

"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where," Aziraphale babbled around the lump in his throat. "I-I love you straighforwardly, without complexities or pride."

He stumbled through the rest of the poem, trying his best to distance himself from the feeling of Gabriel's cock pressing more and more insistently against his arse. He turned the page and doggedly began ploughing through the next poem, hoping – and even he knew it was a futile and naïve hope – that Gabriel might simply get bored with the poems, and leave Aziraphale to read them on his own.

"I have scarcely left you," Aziraphale read, feeling tears sting his eyes. "When you– when you… go in me– oh!"

He cried out, suddenly bare from the waist down, suddenly slick and loose between the cheeks, suddenly being eased down onto Gabriel's cock.

Gabriel chuckled behind him. "It's all right, Aziraphale, I've been picking up what you've been laying down," he said, hands on Aziraphale's hips as he guided him where he wanted him.

Aziraphale's mouth fell open at the intrusion, the shocking, steady invasion of his body. He wanted to scream, but knew he couldn't; knew he was helpless to do anything but allow Gabriel to take what he thought was being offered freely.

He looked down at the book, perched atop his tightly clenched thighs, obscene in the way it barely preserved his modesty. The words swam before his eyes and he blinked rapidly, trying to clear them, reading the poems aloud like it was the only thing that could stop him from drowning.

He spoke of love and rising tides and things in bloom as Gabriel began to slowly thrust up into him. Before long, the words stopped making sense entirely – he still read them, still spoke them, but did so without comprehension, or even knowing whether he'd descended into spouting absolute nonsense.

Either way, it didn't seem to matter. Regardless of what Aziraphale was saying, Gabriel's hands remained firm on Aziraphale's hips, and he leant back against the sofa for stability as he continued to fuck up into him.

Aziraphale wondered whether Gabriel was holding him tightly enough that he'd leave a mark.

He wondered how often he'd left hand-shaped bruises on Crowley's hips, and felt sick.

Another page, another poem, another tangle of syllables that didn't make sense even before they'd passed his lips. His voice was made staccato and breathless by the steady drive of Gabriel's hips, and it only seemed to spur Gabriel further.

He didn't cry. It was the least he could do, to not cry – if Gabriel saw tears, Aziraphale didn't trust his own ability to explain them away as tears of ecstasy. He kept his focus on the book instead, very carefully not thinking about the bedroom door or the sleeping demon hidden behind it, or the fact that there really wasn't all that much of the book left to go. He didn't know whether Gabriel would be satisfied with Aziraphale just starting the same book over again, or if he would insist on carrying Aziraphale over to the bookshelf to pick out something new, just dragging out the process further.

Mercifully, Gabriel chose that moment to pick up the pace, grunting slightly with the force of his thrusts. Aziraphale kept reading in gasping fits and bursts as he was bounced, because the only other option was to begin hyperventilating.

Then Gabriel was yanking him down, down, groaning in pleasure as he held Aziraphale tight and spilt into him. Aziraphale stuttered to a stop, fingers gripped so tight around the book that he feared tearing the pages or making the cover buckle.

He held his breath, chest aching with the yearning to cry out at the injustice of what was being done to him. Instead, he kept his lips pressed tight against one another to hide their trembling, trying to ignore the arms wrapped around his midsection and the mouth pressed lazily to the nape of his neck.

"That was nice," Gabriel murmured after a few moments, kissing a spot just below Aziraphale's ear. "I can see why you like your books so much!"

Aziraphale shuddered at the sickening sensation of Gabriel easing out of him, trying to keep his focus on staying upright and not completely crumbling to pieces in Gabriel's grasp.

"Let me get you now," Gabriel told him, turning Aziraphale in his hands, and Aziraphale stumbled, dropping the book on the sofa, then falling against Gabriel. He let out a soft groan as the shift of his body loudly reminded him just how empty it was.

Gabriel's brows knotted together at the sight of Aziraphale's entirely flaccid penis. "Oh," he said quietly, confusion clear in his eyes. "You didn't… Why didn't you say anything?"

Aziraphale gave Gabriel what he hoped came across as a soothing pat on the chest, willing his hands to not shake too noticeably. "Don't worry, it isn't because you were doing anything wrong," he assured, fighting the hysterical urge to laugh. The fact that he was currently looking down at Gabriel, rather than being loomed over, was likely the only reason he was able to muster the capacity for speech at all. "I was merely focussed on reading, a-and making sure you were enjoying yourself, and I thought that would all be easier to accomplish if I didn't allow myself to get distracted."

"Oh," Gabriel said again. "Well, I want you to enjoy yourself too, I could–"

"I've enjoyed myself quite thoroughly," Aziraphale told him hastily, knowing just how quickly the lie would unravel if Gabriel tried to reciprocate. "When–" The words caught in his throat and he forced them out. "When you love someone, bringing them pleasure can be satisfying enough on its own."

"...If you're sure," Gabriel said, looking like he didn't quite understand the logic, but was willing to let it go with only a token amount of protest.

"Quite sure," Aziraphale confirmed, standing on wobbly legs, not completely biting back a whimper at the deep ache he could feel between them.

Gabriel's brow creased with concern and he stood, reaching out to cradle Aziraphale against him. "Let me get that for you," he murmured, snapping his fingers. A slow, bright wave of celestial energy flowed through Aziraphale. It felt so similar to performing a miracle on himself that Aziraphale instinctively reached out to direct the power where he wanted, only to find his command bouncing off and the miracle continuing its steady path through him. Soon enough, however, it reached the aching space at the crux of his thighs, soothing the tender flesh and mercifully removing the trickle of spend that had slowly begun to leak back out of him.

A hand curved around the soft swell of his hip, Gabriel's mouth close to his ear.

"You're really sure this was enough for you?" he murmured, fingers tracing into the crease of his thigh.

"Positive," Aziraphale insisted before his voice gave out entirely.

Gabriel let out a disappointed sigh and snapped his fingers again, this time to summon a fresh set of clothes to cover Aziraphale's nakedness. Aziraphale bit back a cry of relief, and when Gabriel tried to draw him into an embrace, he didn't resist, closing his eyes and pretending very hard that he didn't exist.

"I've got paperwork to be getting back to," Gabriel murmured after holding him for a few moments. "But I am glad we got to share that, it's great how you're starting to open up to me." He paused. "Although, I'll be honest, I was hoping for a little more. But hey!" He gave Aziraphale a squeeze. "It's like you said, right? Patience is a virtue, and you've just been giving me plenty of opportunities to practice it! We can just work on having you ready for more."

Aziraphale wanted to be furious at the insinuation that his reluctance to be raped was an inconvenience to Gabriel. Instead, he just felt hollowed out, like a husk of the angel he had formerly been. He kept his face buried in Gabriel's chest, not wanting him to see the likely contorted expression settled onto it.

Gabriel eventually pulled back, and Aziraphale forced a rictus of a smile onto his lips, only allowing the expression to drop once Gabriel had bid him farewell and retreated to his office, door closing quietly behind him.

Aziraphale sagged back down onto the small sofa and silently let the tears he'd been holding in fall, his entire body going limp and unresponsive, and wondered what it would take before he stopped feeling so woefully inadequate.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale eventually scraped himself back together, standing on wobbly legs and tottering back to the bedroom. He picked up the pace as he went, though, struck suddenly by the irrational thought that Gabriel would have taken Aziraphale's limp performance with the poetry as an excuse to miracle Crowley awake, that even now, Gabriel was forcing himself down Crowley's battered throat, oblivious to the pain he was causing–

When he opened the door, Crowley was still sleeping, if not peacefully, then at least alone.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, curled up into a painfully small ball, and felt tears well up and immediately spill over.

"Oh," he managed, more a watery exhalation than an actual spoken word, and staggered over to the bed, collapsing onto it the moment he was near enough. He reached out for Crowley with trembling hands, wanting so very desperately to just pull Crowley close and clutch him tight. He restrained himself, though, knowing how unfair it would be of him to use Crowley as a prop for his own sense of comfort, particularly given his injuries.

He tested the waters first, gently brushing over Crowley's cheek, a sob leaving him when Crowley shifted up into the touch rather than flinching away. Aziraphale's fingers were clumsy as they stroked the side of Crowley's jaw, trying to smooth away the lines of tension etched into Crowley's face. They didn't vanish entirely, but they did soften slightly under Aziraphale's careful touch, his lips parting as he slept.

Aziraphale tipped himself onto his side to lie parallel to Crowley, feeling a tear leak from the corner of his eye and slide over the bridge of his nose. The lone tear was followed by a slow, steady trickle of more, a damp patch gradually forming beneath his cheek. He kept gently soothing Crowley's face, kept his gaze sharp for any sign that Crowley was experiencing any discomfort related to Aziraphale's touch rather than the damage that had been wrought upon him.

Instead, Crowley slowly began to uncoil as he slept, gravitating towards the warmth of Aziraphale's body and the gentle passage of his hands. Eventually, Crowley had laid himself out to his full length, legs tangled with Aziraphale's and head tucked into the hollow of Aziraphale's throat, hands curled loosely in the space between their chests. The tears stopped, slowly, the skin around Aziraphale's eyes crackling slightly with salt whenever he shifted too much. He did his best not to move, instead keeping his focus on the demon held carefully in his embrace.

Aziraphale thought of all the times he'd dreamt of holding a sleepy Crowley like this. How often he'd fantasised about being curled up on the sofa in the bookshop's backroom – or, if he was feeling particularly hopeful and indulgent, on the bed in the seldom-used bedroom on the floor above. How he'd imagined Crowley, head tilted back to look at him with an expression softened by the deep wellspring of affection he carried within in, those beautiful golden eyes brimming with love.

He almost began to weep.

He buried his face in the loose tangle of Crowley's hair, still so very careful not to hold him too tight and risk making him in any way uncomfortable with Aziraphale's presence. He scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, drying fresh tears and tear tracks alike as he reminded himself that that was something that they were striving for – Crowley would heal with time, and they would eventually find their way free from Gabriel. They would need some time to heal their respective psychological wounds, too – Aziraphale was under no rose-coloured disillusion that there would be no emotional reckoning for them both to grapple with, once the lion's share of their focus wasn't centred around the significant stress of ensuring they weren't both obliterated from existence. But they were their own side, now. They had each other, and they would still have each other once this was done. They would heal, and they would be able to slowly build a shared life together, and they would be happy.

They would.

They would.

Crowley shifted slightly against him, snuggling closer, and Aziraphale had to push down another sob. He let out a slow, shaky breath instead, carefully draping an arm around his middle. Not for the first time, he marvelled at how well Crowley fit against him, his hard angles folding perfectly along Aziraphale's soft lines.

He even started to feel a small measure of peace – inasmuch as one could feel at peace when being held prisoner the way he was – when he heard the door handle behind him begin to turn.

He felt a low swooping in his stomach, realising far too late that with the new office, he wouldn't always be able to rely on sensing the ozone shift of Gabriel's arrival anymore.

"Hey, Aziraphale!" Gabriel greeted cheerily as he stepped into the room. "Still cuddling, are you? Mind if I join?"

"Please," Aziraphale said, managing to keep his voice from cracking. It didn't matter that he was really begging Gabriel to stop doing this. Aziraphale knew exactly how his words would be interpreted.

Gabriel moved towards the bed, but instead of climbing in behind Aziraphale, as he'd expected, Gabriel instead circled around to the other side, slotting himself into place behind Crowley's back before Aziraphale could protest.

He smiled at Aziraphale over the top of Crowley's sleeping head, sweeping some of Crowley's hair out of the way so he could lie his own a bit closer. Aziraphale felt the faint tickle of Gabriel's breath brushing against his cheek before he ducked his head down to observe Crowley more closely.

"He's still sleeping, huh?" Gabriel observed inanely.

"…Yes, it's–" Aziraphale cleared his throat. "It's only been a few days, after all."

"Hm," Gabriel murmured, starting to stroke his fingers along the sleeve of Crowley's shirt, just barely grazing the skin beneath.

Aziraphale had to fight off the urge to slap him away. Instead, he was helpless to do anything but watch as Gabriel continued to run his fingers along Crowley's arm, or when he dipped lower instead to coast over the soft rise and fall of Crowley's chest, fingers bumping gently along the side of Crowley's ribcage.

Aziraphale knew it wouldn't be too long before Gabriel tired of the fact that Crowley wasn't awake to reciprocate his attention. He'd soon settle for the second-best that Aziraphale represented, would soon fuck Aziraphale in the same bed that Crowley slept. And Aziraphale would let him, because he'd never be able to live with himself if Gabriel forced Crowley awake only to immediately use him for his own pleasure.

It was then that Aziraphale felt something firm nudge against his thigh.

At first, he assumed it was the buckle of Crowley's belt.

Then, he realised it was something just a little bit below Crowley's belt, and he froze.

Crowley was merely reacting subconsciously to the heat source, the gentle caress of his body causing his body to stir, even as the rest of him slumbered on. Aziraphale knew that, but he also knew that Gabriel wouldn't see it that way – that if he were to notice how Crowley was reacting to his touch, he would interpret it as Crowley offering up his body even as he slept.

There was something so egregious about the idea, that Crowley wouldn't even be conscious for his own violation. And what if that was what woke him? By having the attentions he'd been trying to escape quite literally thrust upon him? The thought was horrifying enough on its own, but what if, in a disoriented, half-asleep haze, Crowley panicked and tried to fight free, leading Gabriel to realise that his advances had been unwanted this entire time? It wasn't as if Crowley would be able to convince him otherwise, not with the state that his throat was in.

Gabriel sighed, and Aziraphale realised with sinking horror that he'd been agonising too long. He went to open his mouth, to offer up something to distract Gabriel, but it was too late.

"It isn't quite the same when he's asleep, is it?" He said, stroking Crowley's hair once.

"No," Aziraphale said tightly, both an agreement to his words and a denial to his intent.

Gabriel sighed again. "I have to get back to work," he said regretfully, and a wave of relief suddenly crashed through Aziraphale. "I'm sorry it was so short, I had a meeting to prep for and this was really all the time I could spare before heading out. I just felt a bit bad leaving you on your own right after, before."

"Oh, well," Aziraphale said, feeling lightheaded. "I understand, truly. Duty calls."

Gabriel gave him a wry smile. "That it does." He glanced down at the insensate Crowley again. "You sure you'll be all right here, by yourself?"

"Absolutely tip-top," Aziraphale assured.

"I'll be back before you know it," Gabriel promised, then disappeared in a flash of ozone and lightning.

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut, trying to take solace in the fact that Gabriel had left the house entirely, and wasn't merely back in his new office.

It was a cold comfort, though, knowing what needed to happen when Gabriel returned.

Aziraphale had to start being more proactive. He had to start initiating.

The other option was to let Gabriel grow tired of waiting for him and take advantage of Crowley as he slept instead, and Aziraphale knew that he'd never forgive himself if he allowed that to happen without doing everything he could to stop it.

–––––––––––––––––––––

Aziraphale didn't leave the bedroom right away. There was no need to – Gabriel was off at a meeting, rather than being in his office, he'd be gone for hours at the very least. Aziraphale was safe, at least for now, to hold Crowley against his chest as the demon's body slowly calmed, to give himself every reminder possible of what was at stake if he didn't perform to Gabriel's standards.

Crowley softened against him, but their bodies remained flush. Aziraphale didn't dare do more than simply hold him, not wanting to risk restoking Crowley's earlier physical response.

When Crowley sleepily threw an arm around Aziraphale's middle, Aziraphale drew in a sharp, shocked breath, blindsided by Crowley's unconscious affection.

It shouldn't have come as such a surprise, he knew. Crowley so readily embraced him, now, Aziraphale had become well-acquainted with what it felt like to have Crowley wrap his arms around him. Not to mention that, given how deeply asleep Crowley was, it was more than likely that it didn't even register to him that it was Aziraphale he was holding, rather than just the abstract subconscious concept of a warm, plush body.

Still, unknowing or not, Crowley sought him for comfort whilst he was in pain, and Aziraphale couldn't keep his chest from clenching tight with the realisation that he'd soon need to move away.

He continued to hold Crowley as long as he dared, but all too soon, the roaring tide of anxiety telling him that Gabriel would return any moment grew too loud to ignore. He pressed a trembling kiss to the furrow on Crowley's brow, reluctantly shifting himself away. When he tried to unwind Crowley's arm from around his midsection, however, Crowley let out a soft, sleepy whine, and clutched him tighter.

"Crowley, please," he whispered, nearly choking on his words. "I know– I know you don't want me to, believe me, I certainly don't want to either, but I…" He paused for a steadying breath, blinking away his suddenly blurred vision. "But I made a promise to protect you, my dearest one, and it's also the best way to keep myself safe for you, too." It's for the greater good, he almost said, but instead just bit his tongue hard enough that he tasted blood.

Crowley, of course, said nothing, just clung to him like a limpet. There was no reasoning with him like this, so Aziraphale was left with little recourse but to pry Crowley's fingers, one by one, from where they clung to the back of Aziraphale's shirt, and hold him by the wrists as Aziraphale wriggled out of his grip.

The sad, pained little whimper that escaped Crowley when Aziraphale finally disentangled himself very neatly split Aziraphale's heart right down the middle. The way that Crowley immediately began to curl up into that vulnerable ball that Aziraphale had first found him in served to shatter the two halves of Aziraphale's heart into a million tiny pieces, and having to leave Crowley alone when he was like this only ground those fragments down into dust.

It was what needed to be done to ensure Crowley's continuing survival, though, and Aziraphale swept up the crystalline shards embedded in his chest and quietly shut the door as he left the bedroom entirely.

He rested his forehead against the cool wood, breath leaving him in a shaky rattle.

He could do this. He could.

Failure wasn't an option.

Chapter Text

The waiting was almost worse than what he knew would come after.

Aziraphale was a restless ball of tension, pacing back and forth as the seconds dragged agonisingly by. He'd tried to sit on the sofa, briefly, but had become so consumed by the mental image of Gabriel turning up and just bearing down on him immediately that he'd shot back upright, and resumed pacing.

The longer it dragged on, the more tense Aziraphale became. He'd always been a worrier, and his mind travelled down the well-worn paths of anxiety – would Gabriel review his recent performance and find him lacking, would Aziraphale crack under the pressure and inadvertently reveal the subterfuge he'd been engaging in, would his failure to keep it together end up being directly responsible for Crowley's destruction–

He felt a terrible sort of relief, almost, when the air began to softly sing, soon followed by a flash of lightning as Gabriel reappeared in the middle of the living room.

"Gabriel," Aziraphale said, attempting to smile as he stepped closer. He tried to emulate some of Crowley's effortless, sensual slink, but knew he didn't wear it anywhere near as comfortably as the demon did.  "How lovely to see you."

Aziraphale was suddenly reminded of the myriad 'surprise visits' Gabriel had conducted throughout Aziraphale's years of duty on Earth. More often than not, there had been an undertone of disapproval to any comments Gabriel made – or, more truthfully, an overt tone, Gabriel was about as subtle as a megaphone – as he sternly reminded Aziraphale that he wasn't to be enjoying himself too much.

Funny, how now that Gabriel was ostensibly allowing him to enjoy himself – for whatever measure of enjoyment Gabriel dictated – Aziraphale was having a significantly worse time of it.

Aziraphale felt his rigid smile fighting to stay in place. Not wanting his expression to crumple like a wet napkin before Gabriel's very eyes, he turned and gestured to the sofa, his stomach leaden with the knowledge of exactly how Gabriel was going to interpret the invitation.

"Won't you join me?" he asked, somehow forcing the words out without making them sound like he was spitting out poison.

Gabriel's face lit up. "Of course," he enthused, surging forward and sweeping Aziraphale up in his wake. An arm circled around his waist as Gabriel immediately took the lead, taking a seat and urging Aziraphale to do the same.

Aziraphale sat awkwardly next to Gabriel, their thighs touching, revulsion rising in his throat like burning acid. He felt lightheaded. How was he meant to go about this? How did one invite their rapist to take advantage of them without dissolving into a complete mess in the process?

It turned out he wouldn't have to.

Gabriel turned towards him with a smile, hand tilting Aziraphale's face towards his own. Aziraphale closed his eyes, not wanting to watch his approach.

He just needed to let it happen. He just needed to sit there, and Gabriel would take what he wanted, and Aziraphale didn't have to put in any effort except to keep himself from dissolving into panicked tears. Gabriel already expected him to be quiet and meek, surely that wasn't too difficult for him to accomplish?

He just needed to let it happen.

When Gabriel's lips finally pressed against his own, he very nearly faltered, very nearly let out the quiet sob he was trying so hard to keep in.

It was so much harder to keep himself together like this – with Gabriel looming over him, cornering him against the arm of the sofa and invading his space, leaving Aziraphale without even the luxury of being able to show his utter terror on his face–

He yanked himself out of the spiral so aggressively that he almost grunted with the effort.

You must do this. Would you really rather he inflicted this on Crowley as he sleeps? Aziraphale told himself viciously as Gabriel continued to kiss him. Do you really wish for Crowley to wake to the experience of his body being violated without his knowledge? Gabriel's tongue pressed cautiously against his lips, and Aziraphale forced them to crack open, permitting Gabriel entrance. For him to cry out with his ruined throat, then panic as Gabriel notices his injuries, and have everything fall apart? Aziraphale returned the kiss with mechanical motions, forcing one hand to settle on Gabriel's shoulder, the other clenching so tightly by his side that he would have drawn blood, if his nails had been any longer. Would you really allow him to believe, in his last moments before Gabriel smote him in rage, that he had failed you, when you would have had nothing but your own incompetence to blame?

He trembled uncontrollably when Gabriel experimentally ran the back of his knuckles over Aziraphale' still-clothed and entirely flaccid penis.

He didn't know if he'd ever been less aroused, or more terrified, in his entire existence.

Please, he begged his unwilling body. Please, Crowley's very existence depends on Gabriel being convinced you want this. Can't you just pretend that you want this?

He knew what he needed to ask for. What he needed Gabriel to do to him to sell the lie.

The words refused to pass over his lips.

Gabriel was saying something, the end of his sentence lifting up in a question, and Aziraphale barely had the control over his body left to eke out a small nod. He had no idea what he was even agreeing to, whether Gabriel had uttered the words that refused to leave Aziraphale's own mouth. He just knew that it was more likely to be something that Gabriel expected him to answer yes to than not.

Then Gabriel's hand moved to cover the crux of Aziraphale's thighs entirely, and a pulse of celestial energy thrummed up through the core of him, confirming that Gabriel was about to do just as Aziraphale had feared.

The world snapped sharply back into focus. Aziraphale wished it hadn't, would have far preferred to keep drifting further and further until he could feel nothing at all. Instead, he looked down, and saw that the line of his trousers had shifted under Gabriel's touch, cock vanishing as it was replaced by a vulva.

"Has it been a while since you've worn one of these?" Gabriel asked softly, breath ghosting over Aziraphale's lips. Aziraphale could only nod again. "That's OK, we can go slow, I promise I'll be gentle."

Aziraphale wondered whether he should count that as a mercy or not. If Gabriel had been rough with him to start, then at least Aziraphale could have begged for him to be kinder, and wouldn't have had to force back tears, as he was now, if he'd subsequently had his pleas ignored.

He stopped breathing.

The other option had been to immediately start hyperventilating, and even Gabriel would realise that something was wrong if that happened.

"Don't worry, I've practiced with Crowley already, no need to be nervous," Gabriel assured him, fingers tracing along his outer folds through the fabric of his trousers. Aziraphale hiccupped around a sob, trembling with the effort of keeping himself from jerking away from Gabriel's touch, hating the unwanted images playing in his mind of Crowley being subjected to this. "You're very sensitive," he said approvingly, changing the position of his hand to cup Aziraphale's mound fully. He gently rubbed his hand up and down, middle finger drawing a line up the centre of him and just barely grazing over his clit at the top of each stroke. Aziraphale twitched and gasped and shuddered with each press, Gabriel leaning in close to capture the sounds coming from Aziraphale's mouth with his own.

Aziraphale tried not to feel grateful for the kiss, for the excuse to close his eyes as Gabriel kept petting at him.

Wouldn't it at least be easier, like this? His lack of arousal during the act would be far less apparent than now if he'd still been sporting a cock, and Gabriel had already interpreted the physical response Aziraphale was having to his touch as sensitivity, rather than revulsion.

He shuddered again as the press of Gabriel's fingers slowly increased in pressure, before eventually moving away entirely to undo Aziraphale's belt buckle. Aziraphale felt his skin prickle as his trousers were drawn slowly down his thighs, fabric bunching up beneath him as he froze, and he couldn't help the gasp that punched out of him when Gabriel simply miracled away all the clothes on his lower half instead.

Before Aziraphale could reflexively snap his knees shut, Gabriel's hands shifted to his inner thighs, holding him open and exposed.

Gabriel frowned down at Aziraphale's crotch. "You're nowhere near as wet as Crowley would be by this point," he said. "Aren't you supposed to be wet by now?"

Aziraphale had to respond, he had to. Nonverbal communication wasn't going to help him here. Worse, it would actively hinder him, would lead to Gabriel tossing him aside like the useless thing he was, would lead to Gabriel forcing Crowley awake, subjecting him to a mockery of love, alone, for the rest of eternity– "Ah, well, a-all bodies are different," he finally stammered, the words squeezing out of him. "Some naturally lubricate themselves more than others, I-I've always found it the case that I need a bit of assistance in that arena, irrespective of any degree of... arousal. It doesn't– it doesn't matter how long I've been at it for, I've always used an– an, ah, external aid for such things." He swallowed, throat feeling sticky and dry, knowing that he was dangerously close to rambling, apparently unable to stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth now that he'd set them loose. "Normally– normally I would attend to it myself, but..."

"Right, of course," Gabriel replied, snapping his fingers. Aziraphale gasped as the space between his thighs suddenly grew wet and slick and loose. "Better?"

Aziraphale could only manage a nod, gasping again when Gabriel trailed a forefinger between the lips of his pussy, teasing over his entrance before slowly pressing in. Aziraphale whined and clutched at Gabriel's arm, trying to fight the instinct to reject the intrusion, knowing that he was going to be expected to take so much more.

Gabriel's thumb traced over Aziraphale's clit in steady circles, making soothing sounds at him. Aziraphale trembled, wondering just how many times Gabriel must have subjected Crowley to this in order to be so confident in his movements.

A second finger was slipped inside him, and Aziraphale whimpered, his entrance slowly stretching to accommodate the digits pulsing in and out of him. He didn't know if it was more due to any residual miraculous expectation, or if his body was simply giving up.

Aziraphale swallowed a sob as it dawned on him that this was the most patient Gabriel had ever been with him.

"There we go," Gabriel crooned, crooked fingers stroking gently over Aziraphale's g-spot. It didn't feel pleasurable by even the most generous definition of the word, but Aziraphale could still feel his body responding nonetheless, slowly ceding to the intrusion. His breath caught briefly before he got it under control again, his walls clenching and releasing in a slow rhythm, gradually stretching wider.

The movement of Gabriel's fingers was so slow and methodical, in fact, that Aziraphale almost stopped realising it was even happening, his body going numb to the feeling. He could almost disconnect from what was happening to his body entirely – just flesh moving against flesh, none of it belonging to him, not really. Just Heaven reclaiming what was theirs. There was a strange sort of catharsis to be had in this, of simply allowing Gabriel take what he wanted with no resistance. As if given enough time, he would simply cease to exist.

It felt rather a lot like giving up, but Aziraphale found himself lacking the energy to care, drawing the blank nothingness around him like a protective shroud.

After all, if Aziraphale could make himself completely oblivious to what Gabriel was doing to him, it would almost be like it hadn't even happened at all.

Gabriel's fingers eventually withdrew, and Aziraphale's mind didn't connect the dots as to the reason why until he heard the soft clink of Gabriel's belt being removed, the rasp of his trousers being pulled down and then miracled away.

"Wait!" The word exploded out of him without his permission. Dimly, he felt himself be horrified at his sudden outburst, sure that he'd just ruined the months of painstaking sacrifice Crowley had made, was he really so pathetic that he couldn't keep it together for even a single–

Gabriel's brow wrinkled. "What's wrong? Are you uncomfortable?" His face cleared before Aziraphale even had the chance to rally his thoughts and muster an answer. "Oh, I know what would be better!"

So saying, he took hold of Aziraphale's hips, encouraging him to turn over. Aziraphale had no choice but to allow himself to be manhandled onto his stomach, face pressed to leather as Gabriel hiked his hips up into the air.

Aziraphale felt himself start breathing again involuntarily, rapidly picking up the pace, rattling on the edge of hyperventilation.

He wanted to go back to the roaring grey fog that had been threatening to consume him earlier. Anything but the sudden hyper-focus of his body held just beneath Gabriel's, every cell of his skin seemingly aware of the brush of Gabriel's suit against him. The sudden flash of a miracle made his hairs stand on end, as Gabriel ensured he was slicked enough for what came next.

"I can feel how excited you are," he murmured, smoothing a hand over Aziraphale's hip as he trembled. "I'm excited too," Gabriel told him, drawing small circles on Aziraphale's hip with his thumb. "I thought you were going to make me wait forever to actually get anywhere with you when it's just the two of us, with no distractions, I'm really glad that's not the case." He gave Aziraphale a gentle pat. "Speaking of, are you ready for more?"

Aziraphale didn't remember giving any sort of indication in the affirmative, but he must have managed a jerky nod or vaguely positive sound – because the next thing he knew, Gabriel had lined himself up with the entrance to Aziraphale's pussy and begun to push his way inside.

It didn't hurt, which was a small mercy, but that didn't mean the sensation of Gabriel slowly pressing all the way into him was anything less than completely overwhelming. He gulped desperately for air, the looming threat of hyperventilation seemingly gone now that Gabriel was rapidly filling up all the spare space inside him, leaving any breath he might attempt to draw with nowhere to go.

As awful as it had been, he would have preferred to be back in the library, struggling to read poetry as Gabriel thrust up into him. At least then he'd had something to distract him, something to focus on other than the absolute power Gabriel held over his very existence.

"Y'know, I think I'm finally starting to get the appeal of you being all soft, like this," Gabriel told him. "I can really just sink into you like this, can't I?" He thrust forward the last few inches for emphasis, and stayed there, small pulses of his hips allowing him to thrust a little whilst staying buried deep. "Not like I need you in fighting form now, huh, sunshine?"

Aziraphale said nothing, just let out a weak, wet gasp, breath condensing on the leather.

He wanted to stop breathing.

"Yeah, you're really good like this," Gabriel murmured, reaching down to where Aziraphale was clutching at the couch cushions and lacing their fingers.

He wanted to stop existing.

Gabriel kissed the nape of his neck. "How's that feeling for you, champ?"

"You're–" Aziraphale choked on his whispered words. "You're very big."

Gabriel grinned at him. "Thank you! Isn't it great? Don't I fill you up so nicely?"

He pulled out almost all the way before pressing back in to the root, as if Aziraphale needed the reminder of just how deeply Gabriel could sink into him.

"I do like all these little noises you're making," Gabriel murmured, pressing another smiling kiss to his shoulder blade. "They're very cute."

Aziraphale hadn't even realised that he'd still been making any sound at all.

"Not too hard, is it?" Gabriel asked, still fucking him slow and deep, and Aziraphale mutely shook his head. Gabriel smiled as he pressed another kiss to the back of Aziraphale's neck, just above the collar. "Good. Crowley was telling me how you like it a lot gentler than he does."

He began to pick up the pace – nothing aggressive, and only brutal for that fact that Gabriel was the one doing it. Aziraphale could hear the soft little gasps being torn from his throat at the peak of every thrust, now. His entire focus narrowed down to the overwhelming press of Gabriel around him, into him, the Archangel's words rattling around in his head like an accusation:

This was Gabriel being gentle. This was far less than what Crowley had been subjected to when Aziraphale wasn't around.

His fingers clenched within the confines of Gabriel's grip, and Gabriel stroked at the edge of his palm with his thumb.

"There, you like that, don't you?" he murmured, disentangling one hand to slowly stroke his way down Aziraphale's body, skimming over Aziraphale's still-clothed upper half to stroke a thumb over his hip. Gabriel's hand soon travelled lower, though, sliding easily into the fold of his hip and grazing his fingers over where they were joined. Aziraphale jolted at the contact, hands flexing against the leather sofa as Gabriel chuckled.  Those broad fingers stroked him slowly, the thrust of his cock gentle to match, and Aziraphale could do nothing but tremble and take it.

Gabriel stroked over his clit, and Aziraphale allowed himself to moan in horror, knowing how Gabriel would interpret the sound.

Right on cue, Gabriel let out a rumble of approval, pace slowly beginning to increase as he seemed to think that Aziraphale had adjusted to him. Aziraphale ground his forehead hard against the sofa, trying to focus on not breathing, not thinking, not feeling anything at all.

Before long Gabriel hit his stride, finally moving his fingers away from Aziraphale's entirely uninterested clit in favour of grabbing onto his hips for purchase. Aziraphale nearly whimpered in relief at the meagre respite, but crushed the sound deep down into his chest instead, knowing that there was every chance that Gabriel would think it meant Aziraphale wanted him to go back to what he was doing previously.

Aziraphale could feel himself growing uncomfortably warm under the clothes that he was still left with. His skin prickled beneath the fabric, like it was trying to physically distance itself from the flesh and bone of him. It remained present, of course, and so did he, despite all his wishes to simply stop existing for the duration of Gabriel's assault of him. Instead, he was excruciatingly aware of each incremental uptick in Gabriel's pace, how each thrust slowly grew deeper and more invasive, how his panting breath grew heavier as it condensed against the back of Aziraphale's neck.

Then, finally, mercifully, Gabriel's hips gave a tell-tale shudder. Within the space of a half-dozen thrusts, Gabriel had driven himself as deep as he could go, groaning in satisfaction as he laid himself down against Aziraphale's back, arms winding around Aziraphale's chest and holding him close. Aziraphale barely had the wherewithal left to make his body somehow tighten further, dragging a shaky sound up from the depths of himself, before forcing himself to relax inasmuch as he could. He slumped within Gabriel's arms and kept his eyes shut, aching breath held in his lungs as he waited to see whether Gabriel was convinced that the satisfaction he'd clearly felt was mutual on Aziraphale's part.

Gabriel chuckled breathlessly after a few moments, pressing a kiss just below Aziraphale's ear. "There, I told you I could make you feel good, didn't I, sweetheart?"

Aziraphale forced a small nod, needing more time to get his vocal cords to start obeying him again.

Gabriel let out a contented hum, the vibration of travelling between the tight press of their bodies and rattling through Aziraphale's core. He kept holding Aziraphale, occasionally giving a lazy roll of his hips so that his softening cock pressed deeper inside Aziraphale.

For a few terrifying moments, it seemed that Gabriel might start getting hard again, that the indulgent press of his cock into Aziraphale would redevelop into something with more intent. Aziraphale wasn't sure that he'd be able to handle it – he'd been hanging by a thread the first time, how would he survive a second round so soon?

Then Gabriel was easing free of him with a soft groan, a quick snap of his fingers seeing them both clean and dressed once more. Gabriel sat back, drawing Aziraphale along with him and pulling the smaller angel in his lap. Gabriel's cock was decidedly soft, now, but Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to draw any comfort from the fact, not with Gabriel's hands now resting on his thighs.

"Do you want me to change you back?" Gabriel asked, one hand shifting higher to gently cup Aziraphale's mound.

"N-no, that's quite all right," Aziraphale assured with a stammer, baulking at the prospect of further violation of his body, in any form. "I'm– I'm happy to continue wearing this one, for now."

"Great," Gabriel beamed at him. "I was hoping you'd prefer this one, I really like it too. Less messy. Plus, it means I don't have to swap you out every time, now."

Aziraphale smiled queasily.

"So!" Gabriel shifted Aziraphale out of his lap, then slapped his own thighs and stood, straightening his already impeccable suit. "I know you like cuddling, after, but I've really got to be getting back to it." He gave Aziraphale another bright smile. "You can just go and cuddle with Crowley again, though, that'll be enough for you, right?"

Aziraphale managed a mute nod, and with another dazzling smile, Gabriel promptly vanished.

The moment he was gone, Aziraphale slid from the sofa and collapsed to the floor.

His lungs spasmed, apparently trying to catch up on all the breath he'd been holding at once, then seized painfully, useless and overwhelmed.

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, his stupid body didn't even need the oxygen, why did he feel like he was suffocating? Why did he have to be so utterly pathetic, so spineless, so driven by fear? Was simply lying there and taking it really the best he could do? Where had his bravery fled, his conviction? Where was the angel who had so boldly stepped up to Gabriel at the Tadfield airbase, and told the Archangel that he'd spent the last six millennia misunderstanding God's will?

A weak, gasping sound escaped him, but no fresh air rushed in to replace it, the cavity within him remaining empty and hollow. He felt the burn of it in his throat, behind his eyes, hot as the shame coursing through him.

He needed to do better than this. But did he even have it in him to do so? Or had all the bravery he'd had stored within him simply died along with Armageddon?

Finally, a single breath dragged itself into his burning lungs, only to rattle its way right back out again, ribcage constricting like a vice. He crushed his eyes shut and let it go, unable to muster the energy to chase it down and draw it back into himself.

What was even the point in trying to put himself back together, after all, when he was just going to fall to pieces again when Gabriel returned?

His eyes slowly opened and drifted to the bedroom door of their own accord. A small breath stole past his lips unbidden, then another, aching and uncertain at first but gradually steadying, a hint of steel rebuilding its way back up his spine.

He did have one reason.

One beautiful, vulnerable reason.

And he would well and truly rather be damned than allow Gabriel to take that from him.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale slowly recomposed himself, getting his breathing back under control before getting shakily to his feet. His hands trembled slightly as he straightened out his clothing, and he tried not to let his mind linger too long on the fact that it was finely spun wool beneath his fingertips, rather than familiar well-worn velvet.

Tears pricked his eyes regardless at the reminder that he'd likely never see that set of clothes again.

He let out an unsteady breath and headed for the bedroom, quietly opening the door.

Crowley slumbered on inside, and Aziraphale pushed away the irrational flicker of disappointment he felt that Crowley wasn't yet awake. It would be a bad thing if Crowley were awake now, he reminded himself. It hadn't been nearly long enough for Crowley's injuries to be healed, and it would be so much worse if Crowley just had to lie there and pretend to still be sleeping until they were. There would be too much risk of discovery if he and Aziraphale spent time together in Gabriel's absence, and Aziraphale would have to avoid the bedroom entirely for fear of Gabriel appearing suddenly and deciding that he wanted to have Aziraphale in the bed. Aziraphale doubted whether Crowley would be able to stand feigning sleep as Aziraphale was raped beside him.

Aziraphale shook himself from the dark imaginings and instead crossed over to the bed. He sat beside Crowley rather than lying down next to him, both to avoid inadvertently causing his body to stir with his closeness again, and to avoid a repeat of the heart-wrenching moment where he'd had to forcibly disentangle himself from the embrace of a sleepy, unhappy Crowley. Thankfully, Crowley had curled up about halfway down and most of the way to the left on the mattress, leaving ample room for Aziraphale to sit next to the pillow stuffed under Crowley's head and gently stroke his hair out of his face.

"I did it," Aziraphale told him softly. "I– well, I can't say that I did a very good job of it, but it was enough to keep Gabriel fooled. I'd like to think you'd be at least a little proud of me for that."

Crowley, predictably, said nothing, but the pained grooves worn into the space between his eyebrows, dragging down on the corners of his mouth, seemed to soften slightly under Aziraphale's touch.

"I know…" His voice wobbled slightly and he took a deep breath, forcing it to steady before continuing. "I know I'll need to do more. That you've already done so much more, and that I'm merely catching up on things that are long overdue." He smoothed a hand over Crowley's cheek, breath catching a little as Crowley nuzzled up into his palm. "I will protect you," Aziraphale promised, quiet and fierce. "You have been put through so much suffering, but I swear to you, I will do everything I can to see you through to the other side of this. I can only hope to prove myself worthy of the love you've shown me."

He stayed with Crowley as long as he dared, drinking in those ever-familiar features as if it were the first time he was gazing upon him.

Before too long, however, the creeping anxiety warning him that he didn't want Gabriel finding him in the bedroom grew too loud to ignore. He bade Crowley a shaky farewell, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple, then retreated to the library instead.

Aziraphale held no illusions that Gabriel wouldn't fuck him in the library, but at least attempting to read something seemed a marginally more palatable option than simply staring at the living room wall until Gabriel returned.

He skimmed over the spines, nearly drawing out one of his favourites before realising that anything he read here would likely be forever be tainted in his memory. His hands shifted instead, pulling out a novel he'd read before but hadn't felt particularly moved by – no need to pick up something new, and potentially ruin a story he might have enjoyed in different circumstances – and curling up on his armchair.

A sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob caught in his throat at the notion that anything in this awful house could actually be considered his, but he swallowed it down, resolutely forcing all of his attention onto the uncompelling book.

It was actually somewhat successful, if the way he was completely caught off guard by the ozone ripple of Gabriel's return was anything to go by. Aziraphale had left the library door open, wanting to signal to Gabriel where he was without having to explicitly invite Gabriel to join him. Sure enough, a few minutes later, a smiling Gabriel was filling the doorway of the library, beaming happily and striding inside. As if it weren't already obvious where he was expecting things to be going, Gabriel closed the door behind him as he stepped inside. 

"Aziraphale, great to see you enjoying the library," he said, heading for the two-seater sofa and giving Aziraphale an expectant look.

Aziraphale reluctantly uncurled himself from his armchair and sat beside Gabriel, arranging himself in Gabriel's open arms. "Of course," he managed. "You know I'm grateful for it."

Gabriel smiled fondly. "That's what I like to hear!" he said, wrapping an arm around Aziraphale's shoulder. Aziraphale swallowed dryly, fingers gripped tight around the book as he cautiously resumed reading. The words swam indecipherably before his eyes, but he'd learnt his lesson from the last time. He turned the page every few minutes, trying to ignore the steady stroke of Gabriel's hand against his upper arm.

Inevitably, Gabriel grew bored with simply holding Aziraphale. His free hand rose to cup Aziraphale's cheek, tilting Aziraphale's face towards his own. Aziraphale tore his unseeing eyes away from the book, instead confronted by the all-too-familiar lavender of Gabriel's gaze, only inches away.

"Why don't we put away the book for now, huh?" Gabriel murmured, plucking the novel from Aziraphale's suddenly nerveless fingers and setting it on the shelf behind him. He returned his hand to Aziraphale's jaw, closing the last few inches of distance between them.

Aziraphale whimpered as Gabriel began to kiss him, but allowed himself to be subjected to it, forcing his jaw to unclench when Gabriel's tongue began to probe into his mouth. He didn't know what to do with his own hands; he let one drape over his own stomach, but the other, tucked in against Gabriel's side, hovered awkwardly before settling on Gabriel's thigh. Aziraphale took care to place it near Gabriel's knee, knowing exactly what his hand would be grazing against if he moved it higher.

Gabriel kept stroking at Aziraphale's shoulder as they kissed, but, gradually and unsurprisingly, it began to drift lower. First skimming along the curve of Aziraphale's waist, drawing circles on his skin through the thin fabric of his dress shirt, then lower, gliding over the soft swell of his hip before finally sliding into the yielding gap at the crux of his thighs. Aziraphale shuddered at the broad strokes of Gabriel's hand over his outer folds through the fabric of his trousers.

"Budge up for me, will you?" Gabriel murmured against his lips, the arm slung around Aziraphale shifting and squeezing him until he moved into the position Gabriel desired of him. Aziraphale's thighs were splayed open against his will. He let out a hitching breath into Gabriel's mouth, the sound instantly swallowed by the demanding press of Gabriel's lips. Gabriel's hand moved between Aziraphale's legs with more deliberateness, making his hips twitch and his breathing uneven in a way that Gabriel would surely read as sensitivity.

Gabriel rumbled approvingly, deepening the kiss. Not long after, he lifted his hand away from Aziraphale briefly to snap his fingers, and Aziraphale's trousers vanished just a gush of warmth slicked the space between his thighs. Aziraphale's shocked cry was swallowed again as Gabriel suddenly sank two fingers into him.

It didn't take long for Gabriel to grow frustrated with the awkward angle, though, withdrawing his fingers and giving Aziraphale's hip a squeeze. "Why don't we get you more comfortable, huh, sunshine?" he said, coaxing Aziraphale into place, getting him onto his hands and knees. "Bend forward for me," he murmured, one hand pushing down gently between Aziraphale's shoulder blades, forcing him down. "There you go, sweetheart," he continued encouragingly, Aziraphale willing his elbows to bend without buckling as he was made to present himself.

He bit back a whine at the sound of a zipper being lowered.

If Gabriel had been prepping him manually, it wouldn't have been enough. As it was, the miracle meant that Gabriel's slow slide into him was painless, if overwhelming. Aziraphale shook, clutching hard at the armrest of the small sofa, breath he didn't need pressing at his lungs.

It went as it had before – as it would again and again, Aziraphale reminded himself desolately – with Aziraphale, wobbling dangerously on the edge of dissociation, and Gabriel, oblivious to everything but his own pleasure.

Gabriel spooned him on the small sofa after, both of them cleaned and clothed but Aziraphale still feeling like his skin had been irreparably stained.

"I like being this close with you," Gabriel told him, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, arm slung around Aziraphale's middle. "Feels good. Feels right."

It didn't feel like either of those things to Aziraphale, which was to be expected. The only thing he could hope for was that Gabriel wouldn't also feel the need for another round.

That hope was eventually granted, Gabriel getting no further than idly tracing shapes on Aziraphale's side before he sighed and announced that he had paperwork to be getting to. Aziraphale nodded, offering no complaints as he was shifted out of Gabriel's lap and left behind.

He lay where he'd been left on the couch for an indeterminate amount of time, surrounded by the cold impersonality of the stark white shelves and conjured books. Eventually, though, he scraped himself together enough to make it back out to the living room – staying in the library and trying to read felt more than a little beyond him, at present.

The living room didn't offer much in the way of distraction, though, and it took Aziraphale what was likely about ten minutes to realise he'd just been sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the door to Gabriel's office.

He moved again to the only place left for him – by Crowley's side. He still didn't quite dare to cradle Crowley in his arms like he really wanted to, but taking his hand felt at least marginally safe. He curled his fingers into Crowley's palm, Crowley's fingers gently curling against his in response. Aziraphale managed a smile, drinking in the way Crowley's furrowed brow marginally smoothed out at the simple touch.

If there was one sight Aziraphale would never tire of, it was Crowley's face. Still, it would be leagues better to have Crowley with him properly – to have him free, eyes open and unguarded, and untouched by the unthinking atrocities Gabriel was imposing on them.

"We will find a way out," Aziraphale promised quietly, watching the subtle flutter of Crowley's eyelashes against his cheeks. He wondered whether Crowley was dreaming; whether such dreams would offer him a fantastical escape from reality, to allow his mind a reprieve from the horrors he would otherwise fall victim to.

Or, if the furrow of his brow and the downturn of the corners of his mouth were to be taken as an indication, whether their waking nightmare had followed him into his sleep.

Or, perhaps, Aziraphale tried to reassure himself, he wasn't even dreaming at all. Really, it was such a human thing, to dream – Aziraphale had never had a need for sleep, so he'd never attempted dreaming, which made him think it would be unlikely for Crowley to dream if he didn't want to.

Then again, it wasn't as if Crowley had much control over his corporation, at present, so if it had decided it was time to dream, Crowley wouldn't have been able to do much besides hang on for the ride.

Aziraphale pushed the notion aside, and instead resolutely imagined the comforting silence of the roaring grey fog that always loomed over him whenever Gabriel had his way with him.

He would think of that, and nothing else, and hopefully it would mean that he and Crowley were thinking of the same thing.

He was startled suddenly from his reverie when the door handle began to turn, and his stomach plummeted out through his feet.

He'd been a selfish fool. He should have known to leave the bedroom sooner than this.

He turned his head, and saw Gabriel striding into the room, a smile on his face. "There you are! I thought you'd be waiting for me in the library."

"I was feeling a little lonely," Aziraphale offered, knowing he needed to say something, then immediately wished he could take the words back when Gabriel frowned.

"My office door is always open, Aziraphale, you know that," he said. "Provided you knock first, of course."

"Of course," Aziraphale echoed, clinging still to Crowley's hand.

"Well," Gabriel said, expression clearing, "I'm here now, no need to be lonely."

Aziraphale watched as Gabriel began to move around to the other side of the bed, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to bear watching Gabriel touch Crowley when he was in such a vulnerable state again.

"Why don't you lie with me instead?" he found himself offering, somehow keeping the fear and resignation from his tone. "It's hardly as if he'd notice the difference, after all. Not to mention there's far more space on this side of the bed."

Gabriel flicked his gaze down to Crowley before meeting Aziraphale's eyes, then smiled, already making his way back around to the other side of the bed, leaving Aziraphale to feel the weight of Gabriel's form looming over him as if it were already physically pressed against him.

He forced his fingers to loosen from around Crowley's. No matter the small comfort it brought him, there was far too much risk that he'd end up squeezing Crowley's hand too tight. The last thing Aziraphale wanted was for Crowley to wake up in the middle of Gabriel doing what he was about to do to him.

He tried to force himself to shift further away from Crowley, but he found himself freezing again instead. He squeezed his eyes shut, raging impotently at his unresponsive limbs, but they stubbornly refused to budge at his command.

No. He was better than this by now, surely? He'd proved pathetically useless for so much of their captivity so far, but he'd thought at the very least he was beyond having his responsiveness shut off completely like this. Couldn't he do at least that much, for Crowley's sake?

It ended up not mattering. Gabriel's strong arms curled around his midsection and dragged him to the opposite side of the bed. The mattress dipped behind him, making his body roll back against Gabriel, making Gabriel let out a pleased rumble and rock his already-hardening cock against the curve of Aziraphale's arse.

"There we are," Gabriel murmured against the shell of his ear, pressing a kiss just below it. "That's better, isn't it? You fit against me so well."

Gabriel's hand was quick to sneak over Aziraphale's hip, fingers teasing along his waistband for a few moments before miracling his belt away. For better or for worse, he was more patient with the rest of Aziraphale's clothes, thumbing open the button on his trousers then slowly lowering the zipper, slipping his hand inside to cup Aziraphale's mound through the cotton of his underwear.

Aziraphale tried to find relief in it. After all, the fact that Gabriel has so immediately gone to wanting sex from him again meant that this was how it was always going to end. Aziraphale had been right to suggest Gabriel snuggle with him instead. If Gabriel had started caressing Crowley again, and realised he was being aroused in his sleep, Aziraphale wouldn't have been able to stop him from taking what he wanted. Trying would have just seen him locked up in the library whilst Gabriel did as he pleased with Crowley. 

Aziraphale couldn't let that happen. He'd promised to protect Crowley, and he would not allow Gabriel to make a liar of him.

He battled through the leaden fear trying to him paralysed, and forced himself to roll his hips up into the gentle pressure of Gabriel's hand, shuddering when the tail end of the motion made him press back against the thick line of Gabriel's cock. Gabriel made a pleased sound, starting to stroke him a little more firmly, grinding slowly against Aziraphale's arse. His free hand squeezed between them, tugging down at Aziraphale's trousers and underwear at the same time. His other hand was quick to dive beneath Aziraphale's retreating waistband, a quick miracle slicking his path when he found Aziraphale still completely dry. He swirled his fingertips around Aziraphale's clit a few times, smiling at the way it made Aziraphale shudder and whine, then dove deeper.

He pressed one finger inside Aziraphale, then two, the miracle easing the way far more than he ever would have managed on his own. Gabriel kept grinding against him, too, the fabric of his trousers apparently doing very little to dull the sensation as he rolled his fully hardened cock against Aziraphale's bared cleft.

Another miracle shivered through the air, and suddenly it was Gabriel's bare skin against his arse, the velvet smoothness of his cock slipping easily between his cheeks. Gabriel rocked against him, the underside of his cock barely grazing against the tight furl of Aziraphale's anus.

"You want more, don't you?" Gabriel whispered, voice rough with lust.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and nodded, thankful at least that Gabriel couldn't see the tear that leaked from the corner of his eye and rolled off the bridge of his nose.

Another miracle, and Aziraphale found his arse slick and loose, a gasp escaping him at the sensation even before Gabriel's cock began nudging at his rim.

"Oh, that's much better," Gabriel groaned, slowly pushing into Aziraphale's arse with fingers still buried in his pussy. "Doesn't that feel good, Aziraphale?"

Aziraphale nodded again, not knowing what awful sound might try to escape him if he attempted to speak. Gabriel's fingers pumped incessantly into him, palm deliberately grazing against Aziraphale's clit with the motion.

Aziraphale couldn't help but wonder how good it might feel if it weren't for the fact that Gabriel was the one doing it.

Gabriel eventually withdrew his fingers and rolled them both over, burying himself deep and bearing down against Aziraphale's back. Aziraphale twisted his hands into the covers above his head, trying to find something to ground himself with, only for Gabriel's palms to cover the backs of his hands, fingers twining with his own, leaving him even more thoroughly pinned.

"I love you, Aziraphale," Gabriel murmured, nuzzling against the nape of his neck. "Don't you love me?"

Aziraphale looked at Crowley deep asleep on the bed beside him, completely vulnerable, his ravaged throat nowhere near healed enough to be subjected to Gabriel's attentions. "I love you," he whispered.

Gabriel made a pleased sound, rolling his hips into Aziraphale. The new position allowed him to thrust even deeper, pressing Aziraphale down into the mattress and making him feel like he might disappear.

If not for Crowley, he would have welcomed the prospect.

Instead, he remained trapped where he was, and whimpered as Gabriel pulled out halfway only to sink back into him.

Gabriel let out a pensive hum. "What you said, about love, when you and Crowley first came up here," he said suddenly.

Thrown, Aziraphale stuttered out, "Y-yes?"

"I mean, I've been sharing myself with both of you a lot, now, and that's been fantastic, of course, don't get me wrong, but I haven't felt any of the rest of the stuff you said I would." He thrust a fraction harder and Aziraphale bit down on a sob. "Why isn't it working?"

"You– you need to ha– ah! –ve patience," Aziraphale gasped out around Gabriel's next thrust, shoving down the panic threatening to close off his throat. "These things take time– mnh! You can't– you can't rush it."

"That's what you said before," Gabriel replied, sounding slightly grumpy.

"It's still true– ooh!" Aziraphale panted desperately, closing his eyes and struggling to adjust to the feeling of being repeatedly filled to the brim.

"Hm," Gabriel said, then, right when Aziraphale was about to simultaneously start hyperventilating and burst into tears, he pressed a kiss to Aziraphale's shoulder. "I guess until we get there, we just keep doing this." He grinned, pressing in deeper for emphasis. "I'm sure we can manage that, huh?"

Not trusting his voice any further, Aziraphale merely nodded once more.

It had already been a week since Crowley had fallen asleep. It was only one more week to go. He could manage that, for Crowley.

Just one more week, and he wouldn't be alone.

Chapter Text

It had been a month since Crowley had fallen asleep.

Gabriel invaded the quiet of the library so many times that Aziraphale was left feeling nauseous at the mere sight of a book. Aziraphale took to waiting for him in the living room instead, leaving himself to be bent over on the sofa again and again. Or the desk, on the few occasions where Aziraphale had screwed up the wherewithal to knock on the door to Gabriel's office and allow the Archangel to usher him inside, knowing that Gabriel might eventually grow suspicious if Aziraphale didn't make use of the gifts he'd been offered. The only other option had been to wait in the bedroom, with Crowley, which wasn't really an option at all. Aziraphale was only hanging on by a razor wire, having Crowley stir to wakefulness only to find Aziraphale being raped right next to him would just make Aziraphale snap entirely.

Of course, he still spent all the time he could with Crowley. He didn't dare lie down with Crowley anymore, for fear of Gabriel walking in and mistaking the fact that Aziraphale was prostrate as an opportunity to have him in a bed, rather than bent over on a sofa or desk. Generally, he was able to make enough of an educated guess as to when Gabriel would return, and leave Crowley to rest as he waited in the living room instead.

Sometimes, however, Aziraphale miscalculated.

"Crowley, please wake up," Aziraphale whispered, fingers shaking as they restlessly stroked the demon's hair. It had grown a fair bit during their captivity, fiery locks fanned out across the pillow as he slept. "I can't stand being alone like this, being alone with him. Please, I need you."

He felt terrible for asking Crowley to give up the only respite he had from their situation.

He felt even more terrible when it didn't work, Crowley peacefully slumbering on.

A snide, spiteful part of Aziraphale's mind hissed that a month should have been more than enough to heal Crowley's injuries, and the easy way with which the demon breathed certainly didn't indicate that he was still in pain. Aziraphale crushed it down immediately, disgusted with the errant thought.

Crowley had taken on the brunt of Gabriel's affection when he'd been awake, purely to spare Aziraphale from the same. He'd carried that burden so bravely, never once complaining, always putting concern for Aziraphale above concern for himself, until Aziraphale's own failings had backed him into a position where he hadn't been able to physically withstand it anymore.

So Aziraphale had shouldered the weight of it, as he should have from the beginning, and it had instantly crushed him.

He wasn't cut out for this. Give him a sword and pit him against a squadron of Heaven's finest, and he would fight until his last bloodied breath if that would keep Crowley safe. That was what he'd been designed for; a guardian, a protector, a warrior. But he couldn't keep protecting Crowley from this – even with Gabriel's inability to grasp the nuances of emotional expression, Aziraphale could feel himself crumbling under the pressure of constantly constructing convincing enough lies.

That was Crowley's area of expertise. He was the original tempter, after all. Duplicity was second nature to him, in a way it never could be for Aziraphale. Oh, sure, Aziraphale had become incredibly adept at white lies, and lies of omission, over the course of the Arrangement, and he'd also lied to himself on a number of occasions when he'd felt things a good angel wasn't supposed to. But telling an outright falsehood? Being forced to tell his rapist he was in love with him? That was not something that Aziraphale could properly process, even knowing that he was only doing so to ensure his and Crowley's survival.

That wasn't to say Aziraphale looked unfavourably on that particular skill of Crowley's. Truly, there was no one he trusted more. It was a constant that Aziraphale had always been able to rely on – no matter whether he deserved Crowley's loyalty or not, the demon always came back just when Aziraphale needed him most.

So why, that insidious little voice in his head murmured, was Crowley continuing to sleep now, when Aziraphale was on the brink of falling apart?

He was spared having to find an answer by the dreadful, familiar tang of ozone that indicated Gabriel's return.

He took what was meant to be a steadying breath, only for it to rattle back out of him as a sob. He tried to will himself not to cry, holding his breath as if it might keep his emotions contained, but the tears spilt over just as Gabriel opened the bedroom door.

The smile on Gabriel's face fell away at the sight of Aziraphale's tears, replaced with a look of confusion and concern. "What's wrong?"

Aziraphale hastily wiped at his eyes. "No, no, nothing's wrong," he was quick to insist. "I just… I miss him when he sleeps, that's all."

Gabriel frowned, gazing down at the peacefully slumbering demon. "He has been sleeping a while."

"It's hardly the longest he's slept," Aziraphale assured, forcing a bright smile. "Why, I've known him to sleep for decades at a time in the past, this will be but the blink of an eye in comparison, I'm sure."

Gabriel looked at him sharply. "You said he was only going to sleep a few weeks. It's been a month. Now you're telling me it might be decades? Why is it taking so long?"

"I-I don't know, I…" Aziraphale fished desperately for a plausible excuse, then forced down the relieved smile that threatened to tug at his lips as he found it. "I suppose the fact that he's been cut off from his demonic abilities could be hampering the process," he said. It wasn't even a lie; after all, if they had had access to their miracles, they would have been able to heal Crowley's injuries in an instant, and he wouldn't have needed to go to sleep in the first place.

Gabriel gave an aggravated sigh. "Well, I can't do anything to change that," he said. "I'd have to convince the other Archangels to lift the wards, and they still think it's way too early for that. You heard Sandalphon when he visited."

Aziraphale suppressed a shudder at the memory. Uriel, at least, had given Aziraphale a slim hope that she might eventually be convinced of the wrongness of what was being done here. Sandalphon, when he had visited a few days before, had looked at Aziraphale with a flat, dispassionate gaze that seemed to scream how little he cared about how Aziraphale actually felt about the situation, so long as it meant that Aziraphale's supposed immunity to hellfire could be turned to Heaven's advantage. He hadn't even raised an eyebrow at Crowley's absence, simply taking Gabriel at face value when he said that things were progressing there as expected, and that he'd be able to show off how much the demon loved him in due course. Apparently Aziraphale submitting to Gabriel's embrace had been enough to satisfy him.

"You couldn't just lift them yourself?" Aziraphale asked hesitantly, heart racing. "Only for a moment, just enough that he'd start waking up. Then you could put them right back where they were, no risk at all."

Gabriel patted his shoulder sympathetically, softening. "You know I would if I could," he said, "but I can't, not without the others signing off first. It isn't like when I had Uriel help put the office in. The wards just got tweaked a little, then, it wasn't a massive change to their continuing operation. It took the four of us to actually put the wards up in the first place, it'd take all four of us to take them down – then putting them back again would be a whole process." He smiled at Aziraphale. "I can just spend that time with you, instead."

Aziraphale mustered a queasy smile. "Jolly good."

It had been worth a try. At least it gave him a reconfirmation of how thoroughly trapped he and Crowley were – not that he'd particularly wanted the reminder. He felt himself falter a little at the thought of just how long it was going to take before Gabriel would slip up enough to grant them an opportunity to escape.

He wondered if when the time came, whether Crowley would even be awake.

The tears welled in his eyes again, spilling over despite his best attempts to stymy them.

Gabriel looked from Aziraphale to Crowley and back again before saying, "I think being here, while he's still sleeping, is just going to keep making you upset." He patted Aziraphale's back again, then pressed against Aziraphale's shoulder blades, trying to make him stand.

There was no fighting it. Aziraphale stood with the meek obedience to an Archangel's orders that had been ground into him over thousands of years, and allowed himself to be steered from the bedroom, daring to steal one last longing glance back at Crowley before the door was closed.

Gabriel locked the door behind him, seemingly as an afterthought – likely just habit from locking his office door, or before when he'd still been locking Aziraphale up so that he could go and fuck Crowley in peace – and Aziraphale's heart leapt in his throat.

"Does it really need to be locked?" he asked, wishing his voice was just a little bit less tremulous. "What if he wakes up, and…" He swallowed down the acrid taste threatening to fill his mouth, imagining Crowley coming to, alone, with no way of telling when – or if – anyone was going to come let him out. "What if he wants to join us?"

Gabriel smiled. "That would be a nice surprise, wouldn't it?" he demurred, and unlocked the door. "Still, even if he doesn't wake up, we can have some fun on our own, huh?"

"That sounds lovely," Aziraphale replied, nausea souring his stomach.

It followed the same sickening pattern that it had for the last month. Gabriel led Aziraphale to the couch and held him in his lap, pressing kisses against the side of Aziraphale's throat as his hands gradually wandered south. His hand would slide between Aziraphale's thighs, mouth rising to capture Aziraphale's lips when he started to involuntarily whine at the sensation. Before long, Gabriel would press further, dispensing with the encumbrance of Aziraphale's trousers and slicking the way with the same miracle. His fingers would slip inside, his own arousal growing increasingly obvious as he ground himself against Aziraphale's spine. Then would follow the inevitable flip of their bodies, with Aziraphale face-down against the cushions as Gabriel plundered the deepest depths of him.

Aziraphale liked to think he was getting better at faking it. Sometimes, he could make himself moan on purpose, rather than despair and the strength of Gabriel's thrusts simply forcing the sound out of him. Sometimes, he could even manage to push himself back to meet those thrusts – even if he then had to steel himself against the sounds of Gabriel groaning louder in response, against the knowledge that by doing so, he was only increasing Gabriel's pleasure. Even if it left the taste of ash in his mouth, another piece of the spark of vitality he carried within him flickering and dying.

He liked to think he was getting better at withstanding it, because the thought of Crowley coming to only to find that Aziraphale had retreated so far into himself that he couldn't find his way back out again was the only thing more horrifying than what Gabriel was already doing.

The gentle embrace of the grey void that had so often enveloped him didn't feel quite as comforting as it once had – instead, Aziraphale found the thought of slipping into the mire of his own mind like that as appalling as he probably should have to begin with. Now, no matter how sneakily it stole in at the edges of his consciousness, he always pushed back against it as hard as he could. It was so, so tempting to just succumb instead, but what would it do to Crowley, waking only to find that Aziraphale had slipped under? And somehow, that was the best case scenario if Aziraphale did give up – that Crowley would just happen to wake right when Aziraphale relinquished his grip on reality, and find some way to distract Gabriel from the fact that Aziraphale had gone completely unresponsive, rather than what might befall them both if Gabriel came back to find that neither of them had the capacity to obey him.

It was clear that Crowley was Gabriel's favourite, after all, if all the comments he'd made about wishing Aziraphale behaved more like Crowley were any indication. It was likely that Aziraphale's only saving grace was that he was an angel, and Crowley wasn't, and Gabriel was certainly bigoted enough that he would be forcing himself to believe that that inherently meant he should favour Aziraphale's company instead.

So Aziraphale was left without much recourse than to muscle his way through, and fervently hope that Crowley's foray into unconsciousness would end before Gabriel's patience did.

Even with all that, Aziraphale couldn't quite bring himself to ask Gabriel to use miraculous means to wake Crowley. There had to be a reason, after all, that Crowley was sleeping so long, leaving him alone like this. He'd been so against the idea of going to sleep in the first place, he would never choose to leave Aziraphale like this. Maybe the blessing had done even more internal damage that Aziraphale had initially thought, or it had wrought damage that went beyond merely his physical corporation, something that might only be made worse with further divine influence. How could Aziraphale truly begrudge him for not waking, when he so clearly wasn't doing so by choice?

And, even if Crowley was currently in a state to be able to choose to continue sleeping, could Aziraphale really fault him for doing so?

After all, exactly what in Aziraphale's behaviour prior to Crowley falling asleep indicated that he was worth saving?

Heaven had spent so long trying to squeeze any sense of individuality out of him. Now, trapped in this horrendous monotony, it seemed more and more like what Gabriel was doing now was coming closer than anything to satisfying that millennium-old goal. Yes, Aziraphale was growing more adept at acting in line with what Gabriel expected of him, but the cost was steep – Aziraphale could almost feel his identity being chipped away, ground down, worn smooth. Each day brought him closer to being the obedient little drone they'd always wanted for him to be, no personality or will of his own.

If – when – Crowley finally woke, would there even be anything recognisable of Aziraphale left?

Chapter Text

"Still sleeping, then, my dear?" Aziraphale said with forced levity.

He wasn't sure at what point, exactly, he'd picked up the habit of speaking to the slumbering Crowley as if nothing was wrong, but it did bring him a small measure of comfort.

Even if it never lasted long.

After all, there wasn't really much he could say about his day to day whilst still skirting around the fact that they both remained captive. He'd made the mistake, a few weeks prior, of bringing in a book to read aloud to Crowley. It had worked entirely too well, leaving him so engrossed in recounting the contents of the novel that he hadn't noticed Gabriel entering, and was then forced to continue reading for them both – even if Gabriel likely understood as much of what was being said as the unconscious Crowley did. As Gabriel inevitably bore him down against the bed next to Crowley's still-sleeping form, another book was ruined for Aziraphale, and he resolved to keep all the books in the library.

There were still the litany of poems and passages that Aziraphale had long ago memorised whilst thinking of Crowley, though. That was something Gabriel could never take from him. Those were special, secret, only to be murmured softly when he was alone with Crowley, gently stroking the tangle of flame-coloured curls spilling across the pillow beneath Crowley's head.

All too soon – always too soon – the air thrummed, signalling Gabriel's imminent return. The wild thought streaked across Aziraphale's mind that he could just hide under the bed, and if he waited long enough, Gabriel would simply go away. He shoved the thought aside almost as soon as it came to him. The temptation of finding a respite from Gabriel's attention was of course strong, but where would that course of action really leave him? He wouldn't be able to stay there forever. Gabriel would turn the house upside down trying to find him, and what possible explanation could Aziraphale give when Gabriel finally discovered him?

And even if he didn't, it would leave Crowley entirely at Gabriel's mercy.

Aziraphale let out a shaky sigh, brushed his lips against Crowley's forehead in a barely-there kiss, and stepped out to the living room just as Gabriel appeared.

"Welcome home, Gabriel," Aziraphale said with practiced smoothness. The words barely even caught in his throat with the taste of bile anymore.

Gabriel grinned at him. "There you are, sunshine," he murmured, sweeping Aziraphale in for a kiss. Aziraphale submitted him to the well-worn pattern of it, allowing himself to be led over to the sofa, to be drawn into Gabriel's lap, for the kiss to deepen.

Then, without warning, the pattern broke.

Gabriel pulled away from the kiss, drawing Aziraphale down against his chest. "I've been thinking," he started. Aziraphale, ear pressed to Gabriel's chest, heard the obvious lack of a heartbeat as his own thundered in his chest. "I like the sex, I really do…" He trailed off, distracted, one hand coming down to squeeze Aziraphale's arse. "I really do," he said, a grin evident in his voice before sobering. "But I'm thinking that it's not enough on its own, and that's why the love between us hasn't been feeling the way it's supposed to. What do you think?"

Aziraphale swallowed dryly. "I… yes, that's a likely theory," he said, because as terrifying as the thought of Gabriel finding new ways to inadvertently torment him was, the predictable monotony of all he was doing currently carried the constant threat of that grey void consuming Aziraphale entirely. Perhaps a little variety might save him from that brink, and even make Gabriel a little less inclined to just simply bend him over on whatever piece of furniture availed itself to them.

"Good," Gabriel murmured, giving him a gentle squeeze. "I thought we could have dinner again," he suggested. "You liked it so much last time."

Aziraphale thought of miracled food that tasted like ash in his mouth and of tiny pale bodies floating in brackish water.

He forced a smile as he looked up at Gabriel. "I believe I'd rather enjoy that," he said.

Gabriel beamed. "Great! Let's do that now!"

Aziraphale found himself jostled upright; Gabriel was clearly eager to get started on this new tactic in his quest to fully feel the love he was convinced Aziraphale reciprocated. Unresisting, he allowed himself to be steered into the dining room, taking the seat the Gabriel pulled out for him.

Gabriel still sat himself at the head of the table, which only made Crowley's absence from the chair across from Aziraphale all the more obvious.

He snapped his fingers, and a meal the exact duplicate of the ones he'd summoned last time appeared. He then clasped his hands before him, murmuring the same blessing over the food, instilling it with the same divinity that had left Crowley bedridden.

Aziraphale stared down at his thick cut of steak, trying to muster even a shred of appetite, before dragging his eyes up to meet Gabriel's expectant gaze. "Thank you for the meal, darling," he managed, and Gabriel beamed back at him, giving him an enthusiastic gesture to begin eating before heartily tucking into his own food.

Nausea roiled in Aziraphale's stomach at the thought of eating. "So," he hazarded tightly, trying to psyche himself up for the fact that he was going to have to choke down an entire meal that he very much didn't want to eat, "How was your work today? I-I'm sure you can't go into specifics, I mean I certainly wasn't privy to the dealings of Archangels except when it was required for my own work, when I was still–" He cut himself off abruptly, then resumed with a weak, "What I mean to say is, I hope things are going well with you?"

Gabriel finished swallowing his bite, gesturing at Aziraphale's plate again. Aziraphale reluctantly sliced off a piece of tender meat and brought it to his lips, feeling the warmth and juiciness but tasting nothing.

"They are," Gabriel enthused. "Takes a lot to keep Heaven operating smoothly, but we run a tight ship up here."

"And the other Archangels?" Aziraphale hazarded. "Should I expect another visit soon?"

"I'm trying to organise a time for Michael to come by, but it's still up in the air at the moment. You know how busy she gets."

"Mm," Aziraphale replied noncommittally, scooping up a mouthful of potato and viciously suppressing his gag reflex. Oh, but he hated how unappetising food had become to him. What he wouldn't give to be dining at the Ritz with Crowley instead, happy and free as the demon watched him eat to his heart's content.

That was what he was fighting for, he reminded himself. Happiness and freedom, for himself and Crowley both. They would only ever get that if Aziraphale kept his chin up and kept Crowley safe until he woke, until they could find a way out of this prison together.

The conversation continued in much the same pattern – Aziraphale asked questions, Gabriel gave largely bland answers, with seemingly no spark of curiosity prompting him to ask his own. It occurred to Aziraphale, not for the first time, that Gabriel had no concept of how boring he was as a conversationalist.

At least it seemed to make him happy – and he clearly hadn't cottoned onto the real reason that Aziraphale was doing it, outside of the potential for a bit of information gathering, was because it gave him some time to quell the nausea in his stomach enough to be able to force down another mouthful.

Aziraphale silently measured time by the emptiness of his plate, judging that almost an hour had passed by the time he'd cleared his meal. He was about to set his cutlery down when Gabriel threw his head back, laughing at his own joke in the midst of the self-aggrandising anecdote that Aziraphale had only been half-listening to.

An alternative course of action struck Aziraphale then, and his hand moved seemingly of its own volition – as Gabriel laughed, Aziraphale used the moment of inattention to slip his steak knife from the table and into his pocket.

It was a far cry from a flaming sword, but at least it was something. It probably wouldn't actually be enough to do any lasting damage to Gabriel in the event that Aziraphale was driven to use it, but it was something tangible, some physical proof that he'd been looking for things that might help them to escape, that he hadn't simply been resting on his laurels as Crowley slept. Look, he'd be able to say when Crowley woke. It isn't much, but I've been trying.

Gabriel continued to talk about himself for a good while longer. Aziraphale did his best impression of someone who was actually interested in the drivel Gabriel was spouting.

Finally, Gabriel pushed his chair back. "Well, I should be getting back to work, but I really liked this. Talking with each other is nice, isn't it?" He smiled, oblivious to just how much of the conversation had actually just been him talking at Aziraphale, rather than with him. "We should definitely do it again."
 

"Definitely," Aziraphale echoed, waiting with suppressed impatience for Gabriel to head to his office so that he could secrete the knife away somewhere safe.

Gabriel smiled again. "Great!" he said, and snapped his fingers to dispose of the remnants of their meal. The table was cleared, and a subtle shift in Aziraphale's stomach told him that the food he'd just ingested had vanished.

So did the slight weight of the steak knife in his pocket.

Aziraphale barely kept himself from crying out in dismay, gripping tight at the edge of the dining room table. Gabriel, ever oblivious, was already heading down the hall towards his office, leaving Aziraphale feeling like he'd had the rug torn out from under him.

He continued to sit there for several long minutes, the empty pocket a burning absence at his side.

Was it just going to keep being like this? Tiny victories almost won before being unthinkingly snatched from him? It all seemed so futile.

No. He had to keep trying. He had no other choice. He couldn't do that to Crowley, having him finally wake only to find that Aziraphale had failed him.

He couldn't let that be his legacy.

Even so, it took what felt like hours before he could scrape together enough energy to bounce back from this latest defeat, and rise from his chair. He still had to take several moments more after that, breathing slow and shaky as he pressed his knuckles hard against the tabletop, head bowed as he fought to keep himself together.

He would get through this, he told himself, a well-worn mantra. He would.

He would.

He took another unsteady breath, then straightened, and headed for the bedroom. He tried not to let it, but the same little blossom of hope that always bloomed on approach to the bedroom, that this time when he opened the door, he'd find Crowley sleepily blinking himself back to consciousness on the other side.

That hope shrivelled back down, as it had every time before, when he instead found Crowley still sleeping.

Aziraphale watched him from the doorway for a few moments, then closed the door and retreated to the library instead. He needed a little more time, still, after his latest failure to further their escape plans.

The library didn't really offer the respite he was seeking, although he hadn't truly expected it to. He still dutifully slogged through the first chapter of a dozen books in turn, trying to find something he could focus on, the words of all swimming into indecipherability. It wasn't what he would call productive, but at least there was something of a routine to it, at least left him close enough to centred that he could enter the bedroom without being entirely overcome by shame.

He crossed quietly over to the bed, where Crowley lay silent, sleeping and beautiful, like something out of a novel himself.

"I'm… I'm not doing well, I don't think," Aziraphale said, voice tight, before letting out a laugh that wavered dangerously close to a sob. He stroked Crowley's hair with trembling fingers. "I wish you were here with me," he whispered. "I wish you would wake." He gently brushed over one of Crowley's eyelids, fingers tracing a shaky line along the sharp curve of his cheekbone. "…Is it something I'm doing wrong?" he asked, finally, his voice unsteady. "Is it because I haven't given up enough? It's…" He faltered. "You've been asleep for half the time we've been trapped here, now. And I know that you wouldn't leave me alone like this by choice, believe me, I do, but I can't help but feel like this is some sort of test that I'm failing."

A tear fell from Aziraphale's eye, striking Crowley's cheek. Crowley didn't even flinch.

"What am I doing wrong?" Aziraphale asked. "Surely you've healed by now, haven't you? You're not in pain? I can't–" He choked on his words, and drew his hand away from Crowley's face, instead reaching down to give his shoulder a squeeze. Unsurprisingly, Crowley didn't react to that, either, but Aziraphale still felt his hope diminish slightly all the same. "I can't keep doing this on my own, Crowley. I know how awful it is of me to ask, but I need you to wake up. Please, won't you wake up? For me?" He squeezed a little tighter, his arms shaking with the overwhelming pressure of it all, fresh tears dripping down the curve of his nose. "Please, Crowley, I need you, please, please, please!"

Aziraphale had a moment, then, where he almost seemed to shift out of himself, letting him view himself from the outside – the tension in his shoulders, the clench of his jaw, the haunted desperation in his eyes.

The limp lolling of Crowley's body as Aziraphale shook him like a ragdoll.

He let go like he'd just been burnt, horror mounting at his own actions as he scrambled back. Crowley's head rolled to the side as he settled, continuing to sleep as if he'd been entirely undisturbed.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, beginning to pace erratically without any real conscious direction, just needing some outlet for the directionless energy within him. "I'm letting this get the better of me, I need to do better. I promised you I'd protect you, I promised, and I will, I swear I will still, I just don't know how…"

The jitteriness started draining back out of him and his knees wobbled, and he barely made it back to the edge of the bed before they gave out, sending him slumping down. "What do I do?" he asked of no one in particular, his reddened eyes staring, unseeing. "What on Earth am I supposed to do?"

Of course it was then that the door handle turned, and Gabriel stepped inside.

Aziraphale immediately dashed at his eyes, but it was already far too late. The smile on Gabriel's face as he'd walked in had already dropped, and he moved quickly to the bedside.

"Aziraphale? What's wrong?" His eyes flicked briefly over to Crowley's sleeping form before taking a seat beside Aziraphale. "Is it because he's still sleeping?"

Aziraphale dabbed a sleeve against his eyes again and nodded. Words seemed so far beyond him, that for once he was actually grateful for Gabriel's very rudimentary skills of deductive reasoning.

"There, there, Aziraphale," Gabriel told him, patting him on the back, a touch too enthusiastic to come across as more than an approximation of sympathy. "I'm still here for you."

It took everything Aziraphale had not to cry and shake harder.

Actually making himself so much as think of not crying was far beyond him, and after a while Gabriel finally cottoned on to the fact, as well.

"…Why don't we go to the library, huh? Give you a distraction, how does that sound?"

It sounded like Gabriel wanted him to stop crying so that he could bend him over the arm of a sofa.

He didn't have the energy left to resist.

Gabriel's hand pressed encouragingly at Aziraphale's lower back, and he stood, feet leaden as he began to walk. He barely even absorbed the change in scenery as he walked, and blinked when he suddenly found himself stood outside the library, unable to reconcile with the memory of having walked there from the bedroom.

"This will help take your mind off him for a bit," Gabriel said tenderly, then promptly nudged him inside, shutting and locking the library door behind him.

Aziraphale whirled around in horror, but it was already too late.

He should have known better. Gabriel wouldn't want to deal with him crying, of course he'd think the logical solution to Aziraphale crying over Crowley would be to remove him from Crowley's presence.

"Gabriel!" he shouted, rattling the door handle in a futile attempt to open it, helpless at the sound of Gabriel's retreating footsteps. "Gabriel, please, come back, I-I'd rather– I'd rather spend time with you than read!" he tried desperately, but he knew well how thick the library door was, how it muffled words into indecipherability, how unlikely it was that Gabriel could hear what he was saying. He strained silently, both hoping and dreading to hear the sound of Gabriel's footsteps approaching once more.

Instead, right at the limits of his hearing, he heard the muted sound of a door opening and closing. It was impossible to tell whether it was the office or the bedroom that Gabriel had returned to, but Aziraphale knew with a bone-deep certainty that he'd never be able to fully convince himself that it wasn't the latter.

"No!" he yelled, rattling the door handle once more, then, when that proved useless, charging at the door and ramming it with his shoulder.

Although Aziraphale didn't often show it, he'd been trained to fight, to use his body as a defence. He was strong. He had hefted the stones of the walls of Eden as if they had weighed nothing. The door should have splintered from its hinges from the force of his charge.

But, for all of its appearance of being a mundane door, everything in his current environment was miracle made, and laced with safeguards designed to keep him contained. Instead of giving way, the door barely even shook at the impact. Aziraphale recklessly flung himself at the door again to the same result, and almost tried for a third charge, before realising with a sob that Gabriel might grow suspicious if Aziraphale ended up giving himself a bruise.

Not that Gabriel tended to get him fully naked before raping him, but the risk of discovery was always there.

Needing some sort of outlet for the frustrated uselessness making his limbs shake, Aziraphale unthinkingly snatched the nearest book off the shelf and hurled it across the room.

He realised what he'd done a few seconds too late to stop himself. The book lay accusingly by the wall, the top of the spine dented, one corner of the cover bent in with pages rumpled. He immediately scrambled after it, fingers trembling as he tried to smooth out the pages that had crumpled when they'd hit the wall, biting back the instinctive urge to apologise.

"Nonono," he whispered bleakly instead, feeling the hot roll of fresh tears down his cheeks. He stood, trembling, eyes darting frantically around the room, limbs twitching with the need to do something.

He tried to pace again, but his hands still flew in jerky, agitated movements, barely restrained from grabbing hunks of his own hair and tearing it out in frustration. His legs wobbled, and he collapsed down onto his knees, great sobs heaving at his chest as he crawled over to the armchair, and stayed hunched there, unable to bring himself to actually drag his body up onto the seat.

He gulped in air in fits and starts. Tremors wracked his entire body as he clasped his hands before him, head bent so low that his knuckles ground against his forehead. He pushed into the sensation, pressing his elbows into the seat of the armchair for support as he crushed his eyes shut.

He didn't know if it was going to work. He didn't know if the Metatron was still screening his prayers, or if that channel of communication was even open to begin with, given the way his powers were blocked off.

Please, he begged anyway. I need your strength to guide me through this. I need some sort of sign that there is hope, that there is an end to this, that there is some sort of sense in all this suffering.

He waited, and waited, and he received the answer he'd secretly feared he'd receive all along:

Absolute silence.

Still kneeling, crushed under the weight of that oppressive and complete nothingness, he wept until he had nothing left to give.

Chapter Text

After a while, the familiar grey numbness began to creep back in, and he let it. At least then he'd have something to blame for how unreachable he felt.

He'd suspected, deep down, that he wasn't going to receive an actual answer from Her – She hadn't been that direct with anyone in millennia, what would make him more special than any of Her other children? – but the confirmation still made him ache, left his limbs leaden.

He felt like he was drowning, but he didn't fight it, disappearing down into the still grey depths with nary a ripple.

It was better like this. Safer. Nothing could reach him, down here in the depths. Even though his eyes were open, they did not see, nor would he have noticed if an earthquake shook the house. Not even God could reach down this far into him and draw him back out, even if She'd wanted to; at any rate, She clearly had no interest in actually trying.

Or maybe it was simply that he hadn't done enough yet on his own to earn receiving help.

He felt, with detached vagueness, the burn of his eyes as they tried to cry. They'd long run dry, though, salty tracks crusted onto his cheeks and staining the collar of his shirt.

He sank deeper, serenely drifting with no concept of how much time was passing, his body feeling like it had been hollowed out.

Was this what giving up completely felt like?

Was this what being forsaken felt like?

He held more doubts about the latter than the former. Even with his powers bound, he surely would have felt it if he'd–

A shudder ran through him, briefly disrupting the stillness. It seemed that even in the privacy of his own thoughts, the prospect of stepping away from Her light made him baulk. Particularly when doing so would send him on a very long trip down, and would mean Crowley would be left defenceless. He still loved Her, still believed in Her, even when it made him hate himself a little.

He could still feel Her love, after all. Even if She refused to actively help – or She was unable to, or She was simply unaware of the predicament unfolding – he could still tell She was there, that he was still loved.

He was loved, but the only person who could help him was himself.

It seemed so insurmountable a concept, that one person alone could withstand and endure without support, and still retain a sense of self by the time it was done.

But hadn't he seen it done already, a thousand times over? Crowley had survived without Her light for six millennia, and he had never been anything but himself in the whole time Aziraphale had known him. He had survived – and thrived, up until quite recently – without Her actively intervening. That being the case, even the mere presence of Her love should have been more than enough to see Aziraphale through.

So why did it feel like it wasn't? Why was he so defective, that he couldn't do even the thing he'd been specifically designed to do, to protect others from harm?

What was wrong with him, that the love of an Archangel made him shrink in terror?

Well, that last one, he could answer, at least. That wasn't love, and no matter how hard Gabriel believed that it was, that wouldn't change.

And even if it seemed an insurmountable task, it was still Aziraphale's duty to protect Crowley. He still needed to fight, to defend, if he ever wanted the chance to see those beloved golden eyes again.

He finally unclasped his fingers, knuckles aching from how tightly he'd been clenching them. He hoped he hadn't bruised his forehead with how hard he'd been pressing his knuckles against it. His arms shook as he pressed down on the edge of the seat, dragging himself slowly up so that he was sitting in it. No matter how leaden his movements felt, no matter how much he wanted to allow himself to simply be dragged down again, there wouldn't really be a reasonable excuse available to him, if Gabriel were to return, and find him still curled up on the floor.

Aziraphale drew in a shaky breath, feeling like he had water in his lungs.

Gabriel would return, eventually. And Aziraphale might have had no one to support him, but Crowley was still relying on Aziraphale to see this through. He had to keep himself afloat, because Crowley would be set adrift himself otherwise.

He took another breath, drawing his focus within, slowly finding an uneasy balance between feeling like he'd been weighted down with cement, and feeling like he'd simply float away without it.

But he needed to stay here. If he wanted Crowley to return to him, he needed to stay here, and not become so lost in his own mind that he'd never find his way out again.

He breathed, and breathed, and breathed, the constant but unsteady airflow through his lungs doing its best to tether him to reality, to remind him that he physically occupied the space that he was in, that his form had weight and substance. He scrubbed the salt from his cheeks, smoothed the wrinkles from his clothes. Made himself presentable.

He breathed, and the door handle began to turn, swinging inwards.

Gabriel smiled hopefully at him from the doorway. "Are you feeling better now?"
 

"Yes," Aziraphale lied.

"That's great!" Gabriel replied, beaming, approaching with arms open wide to draw Aziraphale in.

Even though there was no escaping the fact that it was Gabriel, Aziraphale found himself suddenly craving the embrace, and he let himself fall into it, the physical contact forcibly reminding him that he still existed, that he was still real. He couldn't quite make himself forget that it was Gabriel holding him, though, and he still felt like crawling out of his own skin when Gabriel grasped his by the shoulders and held him at arm's length.

"I've got some fantastic news," Gabriel said, filling Aziraphale with dread. "I've been talking with Michael, and we both know she's been too busy to come see how well I've been doing with you, so – I agreed to take on some of her paperwork, help her out, and that means she's going to be able to drop by!"

"How lovely," Aziraphale murmured, felt some faint sense of relief that Gabriel had, at least, given him something of an advance warning that another Archangel would be visiting. Then again, Aziraphale had been bawling his eyes out the last time Gabriel had seen him, it was more than likely he hadn't wanted to risk Michael being witness to his tears if he hadn't finished crying himself out yet. Gabriel was still clearly convinced that his plan was working, but even he would be able to see that there was no merit in letting Michael watch Aziraphale sob his heart out.

"Knew you'd love the idea," Gabriel said happily, giving him a squeeze. "Just figured I'd give you the heads up that's she's on her way, that way you can get yourself ready."

"N-now?" Aziraphale stammered, and Gabriel gave him a thousand-megawatt smile.

"No time like the present, huh? Just go wait in the living room, I'll go get her and bring her in."

So saying, he vanished in a burst of static and ozone, leaving a slightly stunned Aziraphale in his wake.

It took him a few seconds to shake himself out of his stupor. His chest clenched suddenly, realising that, with the whirlwind of Gabriel's abrupt arrival – and departure – he'd momentarily forgotten about Crowley.

Crowley, who was still sleeping, and had possibly been assaulted even as he slumbered, whilst Aziraphale had been crying in his book-lined prison cell.

He raced for the bedroom, desperate to confirm whether Crowley was all right, whether Gabriel had done the very thing Aziraphale had been trying to protect him from. Aziraphale couldn't go into the imminent meeting with that degree of uncertainty hanging over him, simply not knowing what state Crowley was in.

He took a shaky breath and yanked the door open.

Inside, Crowley was sleeping peacefully as ever, but Aziraphale's stomach bottomed out all the same.

Cashmere.

Crowley was wearing a cashmere jumper.

When Aziraphale had been taken away from him, he'd been wearing a button-down.

Gabriel had changed his clothes.

He tried to tell himself it was just Gabriel wanting to make Crowley feel more comfortable as he slept, or simply feeling that a change of clothing was in order, but the words rang hollow even within his own head.

His fingers shook as he reached for the collar of Crowley's jumper, dread coiling in his stomach as he gently rolled it down.

There were no mouth-shaped bruises to be found, but the relief was minimal. An absence of physical evidence did not mean that Gabriel hadn't just been making concessions for the fact that Crowley was sleeping. Aziraphale's fingers still trembled as he smoothed the collar back into place.

The only way to ever truly know would be if Gabriel let it slip in casual conversation. Aziraphale certainly couldn't ask him – how could he, without coming across as accusatory? And if the answer was no, he hadn't, then what if Aziraphale asking was what gave Gabriel the idea to go ahead and actually do it?

A creeping sense of dread began to climb up his spine, as the thought occurred to him that this latest horrific uncertainty being inflicted on him might well be a sign – a punishment for his lack of faith when the prayer failed to give him what he wanted. That even with all he'd suffered through, he still hadn't done enough to hold Gabriel's attention. If Gabriel had taken this opportunity to have his way with Crowley as he slept, then it was Aziraphale's fault for not ensuring he was satisfied.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Aziraphale said. "Did he– if he–"

The words caught in his throat, refusing to be voiced. As if speaking them aloud would somehow make Aziraphale's fears manifest.

"I-I need to initiate more," he whispered instead. "He'll leave you be if I can do more, surely? If I– he's told me to go see him in his office if I'm feeling lonely, I need to–"

The air began to hum anew, and Aziraphale immediately scrambled for the bedroom door, flinging himself back out into the living room and down onto the sofa, frantically trying to calm his thundering pulse.

Not a moment later, there was an electric flash on the other side of the front door, and it opened, Gabriel leading Michael inside.

Despite the way his knees felt like they'd been liquified, Aziraphale forced himself to his feet, clasping his hands behind his back to hide their tremors.

"Michael," he greeted cordially, slipping back into those old rhythms like a glove. Much as he hated the instinct to be immediately deferential, at least it gave him a framework for behaviour, allowed him a degree of going through the motions without having to focus too hard. Given the ricochet effect of the last few minutes, he needed that familiarity. "It's been too long."

"Aziraphale," she replied, her tone cool and calm as always. "I'd meant to come by sooner, but ensuring the smooth operation of Heaven takes up so much of my time, I'm sure you understand."

"Yes, of course." He swallowed. "I do appreciate you taking the time to come and see me."

"I'd rather expected to see more than just you," she told him, casting her gaze around the room before returning her attention to Gabriel. "I'd heard from Uriel that the demon wasn't present when she was completing the ward adjustments here, either. There isn't a problem, here, is there, Gabriel?"

Gabriel's million-dollar smile dropped a few figures. "He's not quite ready to be meeting with anyone other than me, just yet."

Michael arched an eyebrow. "But Gabriel, your reports gave the impression that your progress with the demon was promising, in particular. I would have thought it reasonable to assume he'd become agreeable enough to participate in a civilised conversation. Was that not what you intended?"

"It has progressed," Gabriel assured. "I'll admit, it's plateaued a bit recently, but just look at where we started from! He's still a demon, after all. You've got to admit, the amount of love I've been able to get him to show for me is impressive, any way you slice it. Besides, I'm sure it's only temporary, it'll correct upwards soon enough, just you watch." He moved into Aziraphale's space, drawing him in and giving his side a squeeze. "And anyway, it's given me the chance to focus on putting in some work in with Aziraphale, so it's really just been a blessing in disguise, isn't that right?"

"Yes," Aziraphale managed to force out without his voice shaking. "We… we've been spending quite a bit of time together, Gabriel and I." Gabriel gave him another encouraging squeeze, urging him to perform, and Aziraphale swallowed thickly. "I-I've been doing what I can to show Gabriel the love that Crowley and I share, and-and sharing it with Gabriel, as well, of course." He moved his mouth into a shape he hoped at least resembled a smile. "That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

Michael smiled easily back. "That is the goal of this project, yes. I'm certainly pleased to hear that you've been participating so enthusiastically."

Gabriel gave him another squeeze. "Yeah, Aziraphale's been really eager to show me how love works in a more human sense, haven't you, sunshine?" He lifted Aziraphale's chin with his forefinger, drawing him in for a kiss that Aziraphale had no choice but to submit himself to. It seemed to go on for several agonising eons, and Aziraphale was left with the distinct impression that, when Gabriel pulled away, it was only because Michael was still in the room, and he had some sense of propriety to maintain.

Michael gave Aziraphale an amused once-over that made him flush horribly. "I can't say that I quite understand the appeal of the physicality of it all," she said, "but ultimately, it's down to the results at the end. I remain very interested in the developments of this project of yours, Gabriel. I trust you'll keep me appraised of things as they progress."

"Of course," Gabriel agreed, "All good things, you'll see."

"I certainly hope so," she told him, casting a glance down at her watch. "I'm afraid that's all I have the time for," she said. "Thank you for arranging this, Gabriel, it's all been very illuminating. And of course you'll tell me if you have any issues with the paperwork I handed over to you?"

"Don't even mention it," Gabriel said, grinning broadly, letting go of Aziraphale's waist and escorting Michael back to the front door, closing it behind her. He turned to Aziraphale, still smiling. "That went well, huh?" he said brightly. "And just imagine how much better it'll go once Crowley's awake, too!" He stepped close, giving Aziraphale a pat on the shoulder. "Anyway, champ, I better get started on this extra paperwork, then you and I can spend some more time together."

Without waiting for Aziraphale to reply – it wasn't as if Gabriel would have expected him to do anything other than acquiesce, anyway – Gabriel carried himself off to his office, and Aziraphale was abruptly left alone.

Aziraphale let out the breath he'd been holding in a shaky exhale. From his view, the meeting hadn't gone particularly well; he'd been too frazzled by the way it had been sprung on him, had left him with nowhere near enough time to collect his thoughts properly, let alone form a strategy for determining whether Michael might prove a potential ally. Instead, he'd gone on autopilot for the majority of the conversation, his usual attempts at dropping furtive hints falling by the wayside as he'd struggled to just keep up with the conversation.

There was nothing to be done about it now, though, and dwelling endlessly on it wasn't about to help anyone. Aziraphale fell back on another set of patterns instead: pacing, reading, checking in on Crowley in the dwindling hope that this time he'd find those beloved golden eyes blinking sleepily back at him. He didn't manage to do any of it particularly productively, but it still passed the time, albeit at an agonisingly slow grind.

Hours passed by at a crawl. Even though it was clear that Gabriel would be holed up with his paperwork for quite some time, the ever-present dread that accompanied Aziraphale like a shadow insisted that Gabriel would come out any minute, and demand more of Aziraphale.

The frantic realisation he'd come to before Michael's arrival still held true, though. If he didn't do more of his own accord, didn't force himself to be a more active participant in his interactions with Gabriel, Gabriel would inevitably grow bored of him. He would find diversion with Crowley's insensate body – if he hadn't already – and it would be all Aziraphale's fault.

He squared his shoulders, swallowed down his fear, and gave the door of Gabriel's office a firm knock.

Chapter Text

"Aziraphale," Gabriel said, sounding pleasantly surprised. He clicked his fingers, sending the glowing blue tablet he'd been consulting into the aether.

"You said to come visit you here if I was ever feeling lonely," Aziraphale said, swallowing down the taste of acid trying to crawl up the back of his throat. "Then you came and went so quickly before the meeting with Michael, and you've spent so long already on the paperwork she's given you…" He looked down, shamefaced, hating how many of his old patterns of deference were coming to play. "I understand, of course, your work is very important, you could always say no if you'd rather not." Tears suddenly stung at his eyes as he wished fervently that that was an option afforded to him.

Gabriel's face softened. "I've been cooped up in here a while, huh? About time for a break, if you ask me. Why don't you come here, sunshine?"

Aziraphale obeyed, and Gabriel stood as he approached, immediately crowding him against the desk as he drew near.

"Let's see if I can't give you a little company, huh?" Gabriel murmured, tipping Aziraphale's chin up so that he could draw Aziraphale into a kiss.

In a different world, one where Aziraphale had asked for this genuinely rather than out of fear, Aziraphale imagined that he might have thought Gabriel was actually a good kisser. As it was, Aziraphale was left overwhelmed and nauseous instead, and with the distinct foreboding feeling that he was about to be consumed entirely.

He wondered how it was possible for it still to feel this way after so many times. It always felt the same; the sensation of being so completely overwhelmed, overpowered, and completely outmatched. It made each memory blur into one, indistinguishable from the next. He'd very quickly lost track of how many times it had been done to him. There would always be another, it seemed, so what even was the point of keeping count?

As if to punctuate the thought, he felt the first stirrings of Gabriel's cock where it was pressed between their bodies. Gabriel pressed in closer, the edge of the desk digging into the backs of Aziraphale's thighs as Gabriel ground slowly against him. He began to kiss Aziraphale more deeply, and Aziraphale forced himself to unclench his hands from around the edge of the desk, and looped his arms around Gabriel's back instead.

Gabriel rumbled his approval, deepening the kiss further. moving in even closer, not an inch of space left between them as he reached down to grab at Aziraphale's arse. The gasp that punched itself out of Aziraphale's mouth was instantly swallowed, but still he forced himself on, hands trembling slightly where they'd clenched into Gabriel's suit jacket as he pressed back against the onslaught, shuddering at the undeniable hardness being rubbed between his thighs.

Another approving sound rolled through Gabriel's chest, their bodies so flush that it reverberated through Aziraphale's own. Gabriel squeezed the handfuls of Aziraphale's arse still cupped in his palm, then spun him around, pulling Aziraphale down into his lap as he took a seat once more.

Aziraphale kept his legs spread through sheer force of will. The pressure of Gabriel's hand between his thighs was immediate and somehow still shocking, the heat of it sinking through the meagre layers of fabric separating them. Even those soon vanished with a snap of Gabriel's fingers, his other hand still teasing gently over the folds of Aziraphale's pussy, suddenly dripping with the miraculous simulation of desire. Not for the first time, Aziraphale wished that Gabriel's actions inspired even the slightest hint of actual arousal in him; not for the first time, Aziraphale was disgusted with himself for the thought, knowing full well the self-loathing that such things inspired in Crowley. It might have made things easier in the moment, might have made it easier to pretend, but the level of shame would have still been the same in the end.

Gabriel, of course, believed that they both enjoyed their time with him either way. Aziraphale could feel the evidence of this nestled into the cleft of his arse, soft wool giving way to thick flesh with another snap of Gabriel's fingers.

In the end, Aziraphale had no more chance of stopping Gabriel than he did of stopping a hurricane.

But there were things he could do – had to do – to help weather the storm.

For the first time, Aziraphale didn't wait for Gabriel to enter him entirely under his own power. Instead, Aziraphale lifted himself up slightly and reached down between his legs, suppressing a shudder of revulsion as his fingers closed around Gabriel's cock, and guided him into place.

Gabriel let out a guttural sound behind him, sliding in with miracle-aided ease. Aziraphale forced himself to moan in kind, forced his thighs to flex and lowered himself down onto Gabriel. He let go of Gabriel's cock as soon as he reasonably could, his fingers feeling like something disgusting had just crawled all over them.

"Oh, that's it, Aziraphale," Gabriel groaned, broad hands taking hold of Aziraphale's hips and easing him the rest of the way down. Aziraphale reached out and clutched at the desk as he was filled, eyes crushed shut and panting. He forced himself to lever forward, his thighs shaking when he then pushed himself back down, quiet whimpers catching in his throat as he began to fuck himself on Gabriel's cock.

At first, Gabriel's hands were a guiding presence, content to simply allow Aziraphale to perform for his pleasure. Then, inevitably, Gabriel grew dissatisfied with Aziraphale's performance, and took charge, hands tightening and arms flexing as he lifted Aziraphale up and down in his lap. Even for someone possessed of Gabriel's strength, though, the position was a little ungainly. Eventually, Gabriel lifted Aziraphale off him entirely in favour of bending him over on the desk.

Braced on his forearms, Aziraphale felt fear quicken his pulse, not daring to turn his head despite the panic insisting he needed to know what was going on. He knew if he did, there was every chance Gabriel might force him to twist even further and kiss him again, or otherwise request to watch Aziraphale's face as he entered him once more.

It was the smallest of mercies, but Gabriel didn't keep him waiting long, the blunt head of his cock butting against Aziraphale's already-stretched entrance before slowly forcing his way back inside. Aziraphale trembled, Gabriel's thighs boxing him in against the desk, Gabriel's upper half towering over his in this position. Gabriel's hand, pressing against Aziraphale's lower back and holding him firmly in place as Gabriel bottomed out, only further reinforced the thought.

Gabriel groaned above him, wasting no time in finding his rhythm again, pumping steadily into him.

"How's that for you, Aziraphale? That good?"

Eyes closed, Aziraphale nodded, trying not to focus on the shuddering of the desk beneath him as Gabriel filled him over and over.

He would endure. If he could just withstand it all a little longer…

––––––––––––––––––––––

"It's still not feeling the way you said it would," Gabriel grumbled.

"Perhaps we've been too focused on the, ah, physical intimacy aspects?" Aziraphale suggested, trying not to shrink into the loose embrace Gabriel had trapped him in.

"What else do we need to do for this to work, then? Is there something else you'd like to do that we can do together?"

Aziraphale cast about anxiously, craving anything that might result in Gabriel's hands all over him with even a marginally reduced frequency. His gaze fell on the door to the hallway, the largely disused portions of the house beyond. "We could try, er, baking? I-I mean, you've made us such a lovely kitchen, it seems a waste to have never used it. I've tried my hand at baking a bit in the past, I'd be happy to show you."

Gabriel frowned. "But why would you prepare food the human way, when a miracle could do it even better?"

Aziraphale mustered a weak smile. "Well, when I was on Earth, you know, I didn't want to be expending too many frivolous miracles, I-I've always…" He swallowed, voice trembling slightly. "I've always tried to be what Heaven wanted."

And he had. Even long after he'd realised that what Heaven wanted him to be was anything but himself. He'd barely had the chance to begin unlearning those lessons before Gabriel had swept him up and reiterated how much he was still expected to obey.

"Well, you have me, now," Gabriel pointed out. "I don't have to worry about frivolous miracles, I can give you anything you want," he said with a warm smile.

Aziraphale clenched his fist tight at the double standard, and the knowledge that if he did ask for what he wanted most – his and Crowley's freedom – Gabriel would not, in fact, be happy to oblige.

"Still," Aziraphale forced out, "Six millennia on Earth, I've developed what you might call a bit of a habit, and I do believe there's some satisfaction to be gained from making something with your own hands. And, you know… I thought it might be something fun, that we could do together. You've asked me the sort of thing I might enjoy doing, this is one of them."

He held his breath, waiting for the moment he'd be dismissed outright, Gabriel declaring the mere prospect a waste of time. Instead, Gabriel shifted them both to standing. "All right, we can give that a try. Let's see if we can't get this whole love thing working properly, huh?"

He gave Aziraphale a firm clasp on the shoulders, then steered him in the direction of the kitchen. Aziraphale allowed himself to be directed at Gabriel's whim, still a little stunned he'd even entertained the suggestion.

"Where should we start?" Gabriel raised his hand, ready to miracle whatever Aziraphale requested into existence.

"Oh, well, it would probably be best if we both had aprons on before we begin, just in case of any spills."

Gabriel gave him a sharp look, hand starting to lower again. "You didn't say it was going to be messy."

"We can do our best not to make a mess," Aziraphale reassured hastily. "The aprons will help keep our clothes clean just in case, though. Surely it's all right if we have that extra contingency in place?"

Gabriel still didn't seem entirely thrilled, but snapped his fingers, a pair of matching aprons appearing over their matching dress shirts. Aziraphale nodded to himself, fingers anxiously smoothing over the front of the apron.

"Now, we'll want two eggs, flour, sugar…" Aziraphale rattled off a list of ingredients and equipment, each item requested appearing with another snap of Gabriel's fingers. In short order, everything they needed was ranged out on the kitchen island before them, and Aziraphale shakily coached Gabriel through measuring out each ingredient to be added to the mixing bowl. He demonstrated how to break an egg and handed the second to Gabriel to try, doing his best not to flinch at the sharp crack of the shell hitting the edge of the bowl. He'd half-expected Gabriel to shatter the egg with entirely too much enthusiasm, but it split neatly, white and yolk dropping into the bowl without fuss.

Aziraphale grabbed the whisk and began to combine the ingredients, offering Gabriel a turn when he started to look impatient. Here, Gabriel did end up proving a touch overenthusiastic, and he made a face at the batter that had splashed onto his apron, before shoving the bowl back at Aziraphale and miracling the stain away.

"Ah, well, I think it looks about ready, anyway," Aziraphale offered with an attempt at a smile, picking up a spoon from the counter to give the batter a taste test.

The texture of it was creamy on his tongue, but he gleaned only the faintest hint of chocolate as the batter melted in his mouth. Still, it was more than he'd tasted in months, and he dipped the spoon into the bowl again to scoop out another little tasting of batter. He fixed the smile on his face and offered the spoonful to Gabriel. "Here, why don't you give it a try?"

Rather than taking the spoon from his hand as he'd expected, Gabriel awkwardly leant down and took the spoon into his mouth, leaving Aziraphale to wait uncomfortably until he pulled back.

Gabriel held the dollop of batter on his tongue for a few moments before swallowing, a thoughtful expression on his face. "It's sweet," he said finally. "It doesn't taste like the dinners we've had before at all."

"No, it wouldn't," Aziraphale agreed cautiously. "A cake isn't a meal on its own, it's more of a treat between meals, or after them."

Gabriel peered down into the bowl. "And is it just served like this? I mean, it tastes good, it's just not very visually appealing."

"Oh! No, it needs to be baked, still. It's just good to have a taste of the batter before it goes in the oven, to make sure it tastes the way it should." He gestured to the cake pan, already lined on the bottom with baking paper and greased along the sides with butter. "That's what this is for. I think that the batter is ready to go, don't you?"

"Yes," Gabriel told him, the inflection in his voice making it clear that he didn't actually have a clue what was required.

Well, it wasn't as if Aziraphale could have truly expected any different, given Gabriel's lack of experience. He forced another smile, and poured the batter into the cake tin, scraping down the edges with a silicone spatula until the bowl was emptied. Aziraphale barely kept himself from licking the spatula after, so readily falling back into old habits, and instead dropped the dirty utensil back in the bowl. He donned the oven mitts Gabriel had conjured for him earlier, a burst of heat hitting his face as he opened the oven and carefully place the tin inside. His mind screamed at him all the while that he should know by now what tended to happen when he turned his back to Gabriel. He swallowed, fingers trembling as they set the timer on the oven. "There we go," he said, fighting to keep his voice from sounding too strangled. "We just have to let it bake now."

There was a quiet click of a miracle behind him, and the dirty baking utensils in front of him vanished. A pair of warm, thick hands circled around his waist, lips pressing a kiss just above where the strap of his apron sat snugly against his collar. Aziraphale gripped tightly at the countertop, eyes fixed straight ahead, trying to keep the tension from creeping up to his shoulders.

He'd known this would happen, really. It shouldn't have still felt like such a shock. He really should have just gotten used to it by now.

"So, we've got some time before it's ready, is that what you're telling me?" Gabriel murmured, tone laden with suggestion, kissing a slow trail up Aziraphale's neck, making Aziraphale shudder as his skin crawled.

Aziraphale bit his tongue, swallowing down any remarks he might otherwise make about how incredibly unsanitary it was to conduct such activities in a kitchen. They were two celestial entities, after all, it wasn't as if germs could actually affect them. He wasn't even sure whether germs would even be able to exist in Heaven.

He had the brief flash of a thought that not existing in Heaven didn't really sound all too bad, before forcibly shoving it out of his head.

He couldn't entertain thoughts like that, not even for a moment.

Gabriel pressed against him, pressing Aziraphale's hips in turn against the edge of the countertop, the front of the oven warm against his thighs. Gabriel was already starting to harden against Aziraphale's arse.

"Don't–" Aziraphale blurted before he could stop himself. He bit his tongue harder, but it was already too late, Gabriel's hands going still and heavy against him.

"'Don't', what? What do you mean, 'don't'?"

"The– the oven," Aziraphale babbled, thinking frantically. "The buttons, on the front, I can feel them against my stomach, I-I wouldn't want to accidentally press them and ruin our hard work, why don't we move to the side a bit?"

"Oh, of course," Gabriel said, and obligingly manhandled Aziraphale to the right of the oven. Then he snapped his fingers, and all of Aziraphale's clothes – save for the apron – vanished, his arsehole instantaneously stretched and slicked. Aziraphale gripped at the edge of the kitchen island at the suddenness of it, his left leg still slightly warmed by proximity to the oven as Gabriel took hold of the globes of his arse, spreading them. Aziraphale whimpered, the humiliation of his body being put on display like this leaving his face burning.

Gabriel didn't spend too long on the sight of Aziraphale being made ready for him. Within seconds, the hands retreated, the all-too-familiar clink of Gabriel's belt being undone sounding out behind him. Then, as always, that initial blunt pressure, a brief resistance before a force as unstoppable as the tide left him overwhelmed, consumed, dragged under. He gripped at the edge of the counter for dear life, mind thrown back to being bent over across Gabriel's desk, to the untold number of times before that he'd submitted to Gabriel bearing him down onto whatever proved the most convenient surface in the room.

He tried to remind himself this would end eventually, that it would all end, but with Gabriel already moving into him with rhythmic familiarity, it was getting harder and harder to believe that it ever would.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

He was losing weight.

It seemed a little ironic, given that Gabriel had started to make meals between them a frequent occurrence, and had even taken to manually cooking and baking things together with something approaching regularity. The meals still didn't taste of anything but ash – if he hadn't already been familiar with the vast stores of human literature on how a deep enough sadness could dilute one's senses, Aziraphale might have suspected that the food actually did taste of ash, that Gabriel's limited imagination was only able to summon the visual likeness of food. Gabriel was certainly a bland enough person that the absence of a flavour profile in the thing he was eating might have even appealed to him.

But no – Aziraphale was more than certain that his recent lack of enjoyment of food had everything to do with the fact that he didn't want to be there.

The weight loss didn't sit well on him. It wasn't a reflection of anything healthy, by any stretch of the imagination – he felt like he'd been stretched taught over something for eons, and suddenly that support had disappeared, leaving him with a body ill-fitted for the frame it was hung upon.

Gabriel, predictably, saw it as a good thing, and attributed it to the fact that he'd only been eating foods made from celestially conjured substances, rather than earthly matter. Which might well even be true, at least to the extent that it was a contributing factor rather than the sole cause – it wasn't as if the conjured food ever stayed in his system long enough for his body to attempt to digest it.

Aziraphale was sure it was all taking a toll on his physical appearance in other ways too. He hadn't been able to gather the courage to inspect it at all – he looked at his own body as little as possible, and he steered well clear of the bathroom, and the mirror within. He could already feel the papery looseness of his skin; he didn't want to see the cumulative trauma mapped onto his face with rough, craggy lines. He didn't want to see a stranger staring back at him. He'd rather pretend it wasn't even happening at all, and deal with it if – when, when – he finally escaped Heaven's clutches.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

He yelled at Crowley when Gabriel was gone, sometimes, begging him to wake up already. Whenever it did happen, he kept himself at a safe distance, knowing he would not deal well with the emotional fallout if he again became possessed by the urge to try and forcibly shake Crowley awake. More often, he would sit there quietly, stroking Crowley's hair, the scent of him so faint now that Aziraphale couldn't entirely convince himself it wasn't just his memory.

He'd gotten into the habit of praying regularly, now. He was under no illusion that it would actually get him anywhere, that any action would be taken at the other end, but the rhythm of it still held comfort, despite everything. Even if it felt like talking to a brick wall, his other options for conversation were limited – Crowley was of course still insensate, and Gabriel might as well have been a brick wall, for all of his ability to hold an engaging conversation.

He prayed for the strength to survive, for Gabriel to have a rare epiphany and finally realise how monumentally awful he was being about his pursuit for love, for Crowley to finally wake. In his bleaker moments – which only seemed to be increasing in number – he wondered whether praying for the health of a demon might be doing more harm than good.

Thinking of escape anymore was beyond him. The meagre stores of his energy went entirely to simply existing, to surviving one day to the next. He'd had a brief spark of renewed hope, a week or so before, when Uriel had visited again – Michael was still too busy to visit more than once so far, and Aziraphale had gotten the impression that Sandalphon's initial interest was perfunctory at best, resulting in no further visits – but it had proved difficult to maintain.

He'd done his best, of course, to try and leave subtle cues for Uriel to pick up on, but it still seemed like he could do so little. In the end, he couldn't really be sure that the uncertainty still lingering in her eyes wasn't just her having ongoing doubts that Crowley and Aziraphale were trying to trick everyone, and that he was only imagining the possibility that it was because she was harbouring some small doubts about Gabriel's actions instead.

Despite the uncertainty of it all, though, he did everything he could to convince himself that he would still survive, that he could still prove himself to be brave and clever enough to have Crowley wake up before Gabriel decided that Aziraphale was no longer worth it.

He needed to believe that everything he'd gone through hadn't been in vain.

He would hold onto that fraying, desperate hope with all his might, and cling to it until he was borne through, into Crowley's loving arms.

He needed to believe it, because it was all he had left.

Chapter Text

As a general rule, Crowley didn't dream. He'd tried it on for size, once, out of sheer curiosity, and the first thing he'd done after finally being able to claw his way back to consciousness had been to decisively and permanently switch that particular function of his corporation off.

Mercifully, that stern set of instructions seemed to have held, even without him otherwise having any external control over how his body behaved. The time he'd taken to sleep off his injuries had been entirely dreamless. As far as his mind was concerned, it had gone offline for an appropriate amount of time and was ready, if certainly not eager, to return to the waking world he'd left behind.

Crowley still didn't open his eyes right away, using his other senses to get the lay of the land before he revealed the fact to anyone in the room that he was no longer sleeping.

Neutered as his occult abilities were, there were still certain aspects of his form that were inherent to him, and were beyond the scope of what a human could perceive. Even if, in all other aspects, he was currently about as effective as the average human.

He could just barely sense an angelic presence in the room, very close to him, and Crowley had a moment of rising dread before it crystallised into Aziraphale's divine signature over Gabriel's. Relieved, he opened his eyes and began to unwind from the tight ball he'd curled himself into.

"I hope you slept well," Aziraphale said evenly, an undercurrent to his voice that Crowley was still too befuddled by sleep by to parse.

Crowley raked a hand through his hair, the ends of it curling around his chin. He frowned, clearing his throat without pain, taking several seconds to even remember why he'd expected it to hurt. He blinked blearily, bringing Aziraphale into focus. The angel looked…

Well. He looked like shit.

"How long was I out for?" His mouth tasted like cotton, tongue sticking dryly to the roof of his mouth. He made a face and worked his jaw, trying to nudge his body into producing enough saliva to keep his lips from sticking together.

"Five months," Aziraphale said shortly. "One hundred and fifty-one days, three hours, if you want to be precise."

Five months?

Crowley's mouth immediately went dry again. No, no, that couldn't be right. Aziraphale must have been mistaken, somehow, Crowley should have only needed a few weeks of sleep to heal himself. Surely there was no way he'd slept ten times longer than he'd intended.

But the way Aziraphale looked now, the sunken hollowness of his cheeks, the loss of his soft edges... There was no way that could have happened in two weeks, either.

He looked down at the watch still strapped to his wrist, still in a state of disbelief. The tiny date display glared accusingly back at him, confirming the truth. "...Meant to wake up sooner than that," he mumbled eventually, guilt clawing along the inside of his ribcage.

"Yes, well. Clearly, you didn't want to."

He shrank back a little at the cold edge to Aziraphale's tone. He would have expected Aziraphale to be – perhaps happy wasn't the right word – at least relieved to see Crowley awake. Instead, the angel seemed worn down with sullen anger, grey circles smudged under his eyes and a hardness to his stare that hadn't existed before. This was not the same Aziraphale that had so sweetly insisted that Crowley take all the time he needed to heal. Crowley felt his insides clench anxiously.

He'd slept for too long.

"How..." He swallowed, still getting used to not having his throat spasm with pain. "How've you been holding up?"

"How do you think?" Aziraphale snapped, but when Crowley flinched at his abrasive tone, all the fight suddenly left him, sagging like his strings had been cut. He dragged a hand slowly over his face, his skin seeming to turn even more ashy and haggard under his own touch. He avoided Crowley's gaze. "You were only supposed to sleep for a few weeks," he said hollowly. "I was beginning to think that you were going to sleep as long as you did in the nineteenth century. That you might… that you might sleep even longer. That you'd left me for good, and were never going to wake at all."

An icy weight settled in Crowley's stomach as he was forced to then contemplate what a century of captivity, alone with Gabriel, would have looked like for Aziraphale.

Would he have fallen victim to delusion, his mind convincing him that he returned Gabriel's love rather than having to deal with the dismal reality of his situation? Would he have come to loathe Crowley for abandoning him in favour of the respite of sleep? Would Gabriel have grown tired of waiting for Crowley to wake, and decide that Aziraphale would give him enough love to be satisfied with? Would Gabriel have tossed Crowley into some dark pit somewhere to be forgotten, leaving Aziraphale truly alone? Would Aziraphale have finally cracked under the crushing weight of it all, and confessed to Gabriel that neither of them loved him, dooming them both?

The ice crept into his veins at the realisation that his worst fears might well come to pass, if they didn't find a way out in time. Gabriel showed no indication of letting them go anytime soon. Eternity stretched before them, trapped in this gilded cage, and Crowley didn't trust himself not to simply shut down and go under again as the years and centuries wore on.

The thought alone that it might be centuries before they managed to escape already threatened to drag him right back under.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to leave you that long."

Aziraphale's face seemed to split down the middle. "Please don't leave me like that again. I won't survive it, not again. Promise me you won't."

The ragged edges of Crowley's heart sheared against themselves, blood feeling like it was pooling in his lungs, suffocating him and doing its damnedest to drown the words he didn't want to speak. He dredged them up from the depths anyway, shoving them toward the dubious safety of the shore. "Aziraphale…" he whispered. "It's… it's not really a conscious process. I can't control how long I sleep for, not when I'm sleeping to try and heal from something. Especially when I don't have access to my usual abilities. And if Gabriel wants me to eat something blessed again... I swear to you I'll do my best, but I can't promise I won't sleep as long if this happens again."

Aziraphale's hands tightened in the bedsheets. "Crowley," he said, voice wobbling. "I need you to promise."

"Aziraphale," he choked out, bloodied pieces of his heart lodged in his throat. "I can't."

Aziraphale turned away from him, shoving away from the bed, fists clenched.

In the back of his mind, Crowley knew that this was Aziraphale in panic mode, after spending five months being forced to return Gabriel's affections alone, facing the prospect of an eternity of the same. This was an Aziraphale that had looked at Crowley's sleeping face, and slowly lost hope that they would ever actually speak to one another again. Given some time to calm down, Aziraphale would surely be mortified at demanding this of him. At the forefront of Crowley's thoughts now, however, was the glaringly obvious fact that, yet again, Aziraphale expected Crowley to swoop in and save him from danger, because that's what Crowley had always done, wasn't it? Aziraphale told him to jump, and even if he often made a show of grumbling about it, Crowley eventually asked how high. And Aziraphale was always grateful, of course he was, but it had never once occurred to him that Crowley wouldn't ultimately do as he asked.

"I'm sorry I left you alone," he said, fighting to keep his voice gentle. "I wasn't abandoning you, I can promise you that much."

Aziraphale whirled back to face him, eyes red, cheeks splotchy. "You don't get to decide whether or not I felt like you abandoned me. You said that we were going to get through this together, then you as good as left for five months." His voice cracked, his expression shattering along with it. "I needed you here. I was so alone." His breath hitched, voice cracking, the only colour in his pallid face two splotches of red on his cheeks. "I can't do this the way you can, I'm not built for this, Crowley!"

Crowley narrowed his eyes, his desire to defuse the situation evaporating in an instant. He knew exactly where Aziraphale's train of thought was headed with this. And yes, maybe he was partially to blame, constantly insisting to Aziraphale that it was best for them both in the long run if Crowley took the lead, that it was easier for him given the way he responded physically to Gabriel's touch, but still. Surely Aziraphale didn't actually agree with the poisonous little voice in Crowley's brain that suggested he was genuinely enjoying the torment Gabriel was putting them both through, that it was more than merely being the way his body reacted to sexual trauma? He debated not pushing it, but decided he was angry enough now that Aziraphale still carried those prejudices that he would.

He stood from the bed, folding his arms. "Are you implying I am?"

It dawned on Crowley suddenly that he was wearing different clothes to those he'd fallen asleep in, and the realisation was almost enough to make him sit back down again.

His body was clean beneath the clothes, free of any tell-tale aches or pains or stains, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. He knew with an aching, intimate familiarity how much Gabriel liked things to be kept neat and tidy.

Crowley had been operating under the assumption that Aziraphale had been bearing the brunt of Gabriel's more amorous attentions whilst he'd been asleep, but it suddenly occurred to him that that might not have actually been the case. Without Crowley there to support him, had Aziraphale made excuses to put off Gabriel's advances? Had it led to Gabriel touching Crowley in his sleep, too pent up with waiting for Aziraphale to be ready for anything on his own? How many times might he have laid down beside Crowley, undone both their trousers, and taken Crowley gently, whilst Crowley unwittingly slept on? How many times had Gabriel sent Aziraphale out to the library so that he could have Crowley to himself? How many times had Crowley's body, soft and yielding with sleep, been violated without his knowledge?

How many times had Aziraphale voluntarily left him sleeping, alone, Gabriel looming over him, because he hadn't been able to stand being witness to Crowley being assaulted without even being conscious for it, but still unable to lay himself on the line for Crowley's sake?

How many times had Aziraphale been the one to suggest that Gabriel violate Crowley, in order to save himself?

Maybe that why Aziraphale was really so upset that Crowley had slept for so long – not because he'd had to sacrifice his own body to Gabriel's whims, but because he hadn't. Maybe he had only been fearful of the thought that Gabriel might eventually grow bored with the unresponsiveness of Crowley's sleeping body, and instead turn his sights on the only one of his captives that was still awake. When faced with the reality of being the sole focus of Gabriel's attention, had the pretty words Aziraphale had spoken to Crowley before he'd fallen asleep crumbled without substance, offering no resistance to Gabriel taking his pleasure from Crowley's body as if nothing had changed?

Crowley didn't want to believe it, but Aziraphale seemed so different to how he remembered him, so sullen and sunken, a mere shadow of his former self.

It had been five months. A lot could happen in five months.

Evidently, it had.

"Crowley, you're..." Aziraphale faltered suddenly, and Crowley could all but hear the 'a demon' ready to fall from the angel's tongue. Instead, he offered the weak substitute of, "Your temptations. Surely you'd have more experience than I've had through those."

Crowley laughed bitterly, the sound made abrupt and staccato from the way he was still reeling. "No, I haven't. Not that it should fucking matter, by the way, but any temptation involving lust was strictly hands-off, as far as I was concerned. More efficient that way, getting two – or more – humans to commit sin with each other, rather than with me." He sneered at the angel. "I'd never had anyone touch me like that before all this. I'd never had anyone I actually wanted offer to."

Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth a few times. "Never...? But this whole time, you've been so..." he trailed off, voice small.

"Put on a good show, haven't I?" Crowley grinned, all teeth and no humour. "It was only ever you."

For all the good it had done him.

Aziraphale dropped his gaze, looking immensely ashamed of himself. "Crowley, I'm so sorry, I didn't realise, I'd just assumed–"

"Yeah, you usually do," Crowley muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. "But like I said, it shouldn't matter if I'd been with a thousand people or none. It shouldn't matter that my body reacts the way it does to him touching me. That doesn't have any fucking bearing on the fact that he's been raping me and calling it love." He turned abruptly and stormed towards the door.

Aziraphale's voice spiked with sudden concern. "Crowley, wait, where are you going, that isn't what I–"

"Where does it look like I'm going?" Crowley snapped back at him. "There's only one thing I'm good for, apparently, might as well just give into it, right? That's what you were waiting for me to wake up for, after all, if what you've just said is any indication. Might as well go make myself useful."

"Crowley, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply– I shouldn't have–" Aziraphale started, tears spilling over, but Crowley cut him off.

"Yeah, except you did. Best you stay in here," he shot back curtly. "He'll want to know why you've been crying otherwise, and I don't think you're in a state to give him a good enough answer."

With that, he stepped through the door and shut it in Aziraphale's tearstained face.

Chapter Text

Crowley did his best not to let himself think as he stormed away from the bedroom.

He did his best not to linger on the sullen anger, the threadbare desperation he'd seen haunting Aziraphale's eyes. None of it excused the way that Aziraphale had lashed out at him, the way that he'd weaponised those old prejudices in a way that seemed designed to hurt Crowley the most.

He did his best not to linger on the fact that he'd only wanted to sleep for a few weeks to heal his injuries, and had instead left Aziraphale alone for almost half a year.

Whatever. It was clear that Aziraphale was rubbish at keeping Gabriel sated, and Crowley had already thoroughly proven himself to be very good at it.

He shoved the reaction down, instead taking a deep breath and knocking on the office door before he could think better of it. Stopping for anything would mean he'd have to acknowledge the warring needs within him, to both yell at Aziraphale until he understood the hurt he'd caused, and to sweep Aziraphale into his arms and apologise for leaving him alone for so very long–

The muted flash of a miracle being performed rippled through the air, as Gabriel presumably hid away whatever sensitive documentation he'd been working on, as well as unlocking the door. "Come in."

Crowley stuffed the little voice telling him what a colossally shit idea this was into the back of his head, and opened the door, stepping inside.

"Crowley! You're finally awake!" Gabriel's face lit up with a surprised, beatific smile. "I missed you," he said, pushing his chair away from the desk and opening his arms.

He knew better than to decline the invitation, and climbed into Gabriel's lap, knees on either side of Gabriel's thighs, arms looped loosely over broad shoulders.

Crowley felt the front of his trousers stretch against his crotch as he settled into Gabriel's lap, and supressed a shudder. Whatever Gabriel might have done to him whilst he'd been asleep, he'd at least done Crowley the dubious courtesy of leaving him with a cock.

He almost started laughing at the thought that Gabriel would likely be convinced that he was being respectful.

"Well, snake, you know," he told Gabriel with a self-deprecating shrug. "Comes with the territory, unfortunately." He saw no need to mention that snakes didn't technically hibernate, they were just less active over winter, and that it was because of the cold, not the amount of food they'd recently eaten. What Gabriel didn't know would keep Crowley safe.

Gabriel's hands drifted along Crowley's sides, tugging him closer, nuzzling against his neck. "Did you have to sleep so long?"

Crowley swallowed. "It's a little arbitrary, really," he said. "I haven't got much control over it, especially with my powers blocked off like this."

He frowned, drawing circles on Crowley's hips. "Aziraphale missed you, too. I had to lock him up in the library a couple times, he was getting so upset by the fact that you were still asleep."

Well, wasn't that just a punch to the gut. Crowley did his best not to let it show. "He did mention that," he murmured, then, before Gabriel got any ideas about calling the other angel into the room, added, "He did say he was pretty tired himself now, though, watching me sleep for so long."

Crowley winced internally, realising that saying that might cause Gabriel to grow wary of the possibility of Aziraphale falling asleep as well, but the thought didn't even seem to cross the vacuous halls of Gabriel's mind.

"Do you think you could try sleeping less, next time we have dinner together?"

"I can just not eat anything next time," Crowley suggested hopefully, internally baulking at the idea of having to suffer through an ordeal like that again. It was unlikely that he'd be lucky enough for Gabriel to be called away mid-meal a second time. He didn't know how he'd possibly manage to fake his way through a normal conversation with his throat burning like it was filled with red-hot razor blades – not to mention if Gabriel wanted to use Crowley's mouth for other things before he had the chance to sleep it off. "I really don't mind. I don't like food the way Aziraphale does."

Gabriel's expression dimmed, hands tightening around Crowley's waist. "You didn't like it?"

Crowley did his best not to tense, knowing that there was no way Gabriel wouldn't feel it. "No, no, I didn't mean it like that, I'm honestly just not that big on eating." He forced a smile. "Rather spend the time with you and Aziraphale, instead of sleeping."

"Oh," Gabriel smiled back, relaxing and giving him another, gentler squeeze. "Well, good, then, you don't have to eat if you don't want to, especially if it means you'll stay awake. You should've just told me, that would have been fine."

Crowley kept the overwhelming relief from showing on his face through sheer force of will. "I just thought it would've been impolite to decline when you'd already made it for me." Not to mention that no matter what he said, Crowley doubted Gabriel would ever take kindly to being told no.

Gabriel caressed his cheek, tipping Crowley's chin up. "I don't want you to do anything you don't want to," he said, and Crowley had to bottle up the wild urge to laugh.

Yeah, right. We both know exactly what would happen if I told you I wanted to leave.

"There is one thing I want to do," Crowley said, because the sooner it started, the sooner it would be over. He was already regretting even initiating this in the first place. Fuck, why had he done this to himself, willingly laying himself bare before Gabriel mere minutes after waking up?

But what other choice had he really had? He couldn't have stayed in the bedroom with Aziraphale, and Gabriel would have come out of his office into the living room eventually. It would have just been delaying the inevitable.

Gabriel grinned at him. "Yeah?" he murmured, already hooking his fingers under the knot of Crowley's tie and loosening it. The tie whispered free of his neck, disappearing in a flutter of fabric as Gabriel tossed it over his shoulder, already turning his focus to Crowley's buttons.

A shudder crawled sickeningly down Crowley's spine even as the skin of his throat tingled pleasantly at the sudden freedom, his hatred for the clothes he was forced to wear battling with his hatred of the fact that Gabriel was the one removing them.

Gabriel only got halfway through the buttons before getting distracted by the way the parted fabric exposed Crowley's collarbones, and he dove in, teeth and tongue laying claim to Crowley's skin. Crowley tightened his arms around Gabriel's shoulders in an effort to keep him there, to prevent him from rising and kissing Crowley on the mouth instead. Gabriel seemed entirely content to stay where he was, fingers eagerly returning to fumble at Crowley's buttons. He seemed to struggle with the buttons now that he wasn't looking directly at them, and with a frustrated growl, he tipped Crowley onto his back, hair spilling out around his head like a fiery halo. With a snap of Gabriel's fingers, Crowley was bare from the waist down, his open shirt doing exactly nothing to preserve his modesty. His legs had automatically spread open as he'd been laid down on the desk, and despite how acutely vulnerable that made him feel, there wasn't a whole lot he could do about it now without raising Gabriel's ire.

Gabriel towered over him, gaze heated as it swept over Crowley's splayed form. "I really have missed you," Gabriel told him, leaning down to trail warm fingers over the flat expanse of Crowley's stomach. He stroked slowly, as if refamiliarising himself with the feeling of Crowley's skin, and by the time he reached Crowley's cock, it was already half-hard.

"Missed you too," Crowley lied, a soft sound escaping him as Gabriel's fingers circled around his cock. His hips jolted upward and he bit his lip, letting his head fall back against the desk, resigning himself to having unwanted pleasure coaxed from his body once more.

It wasn't like he really had anyone but himself to blame, this time.

And, in all likelihood, it probably hadn't actually been that long since it had last happened. He just hadn't been aware of it.

He felt his skin crawl at the thought.

"Can I..." Gabriel swirled his fingers loosely around the head of Crowley's cock. "Can I swap you out for the other one?"

Crowley knew that Gabriel would read his shudder as a sign of arousal. "Go ahead," he forced himself to say. Gabriel smiled, leaning down and kissing him deeply, stepping in closer so that Crowley's thighs were nudged further apart. Crowley shut his eyes, fingers tightening around Gabriel's shoulders as he pressed down a little with each stroke, gently easing Crowley's cock down in size, nerve endings multiplying and condensing as Gabriel coaxed it into becoming a clit. Then he stroked lower, balls receding and a pair of plump, pink labia taking their place, an entrance opening deeper and deeper with each soft press of Gabriel's fingertips into him.

Even with the aching care Gabriel was taking, it felt like the deepest violation, sculpting Crowley's physical form to suit his own desires. Still, it could always be worse, he supposed. At least Gabriel hadn't tried anything beyond the physical. Crowley wondered whether it was even possible; with his powers bound like this, his true form was locked away from him, too. It was entirely reasonable that it might also be beyond Gabriel's reach.

He went tense as he realised that wasn't quite true.

His wings. His wings, an extension of his soul made manifest in the physical world, were so much closer to the surface than the rest of his abilities. If he concentrated, he could feel them chafing against the metaphysical constraints of his corporation, a slight ache between his shoulder blades that was so familiar he'd often forget about it entirely. Even now, they were just barely out of his reach, and if Gabriel could already change his corporation as readily as this, it would only be a matter of time before he realised he could do the same with Crowley's wings. Bad enough that Crowley would never be able to scrub the sensation of Gabriel's touch from his skin, but his soul?

"Are you all right?" Gabriel asked, clearly concerned by the way Crowley had stopped reacting to his touch entirely.

He did his best to tamp down on his panic, ordering his muscles to relax. "Yeah, sorry, just– you were going a bit quick, been a while for me, after all," Crowley told him, fumbling for an excuse, realising too late that all evidence indicated that wasn't even true. Or maybe Gabriel had thought altering Crowley's body without some sort of permission would have been a step too far? He'd always asked before doing so when Crowley was awake, after all.

Either way, Gabriel bought it, and Crowley immediately regretted not finding a different lie when Gabriel started fingering him even slower.

"Is that better?" Gabriel asked, entirely free of guile, as he added his thumb to the mix, tracing a torturously slow circle over Crowley's clit.

"Mm," Crowley agreed, face flushing with shame as he felt himself growing slick around Gabriel's fingers. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and pressed his forehead against Gabriel's collarbone, pretending that he was watching the slow push of Gabriel's fingers in and out of him, but truthfully using it as a chance to close his eyes.

That only served to make things worse, to make him feel the pressure of Gabriel's fingers all the more keenly. He couldn't quite stop the breathy little whimper that punched out of him when Gabriel crooked his fingers inside him, the first stirrings of a deeper sensation beginning to build within him.

Gabriel slowly worked him open, thumb rolling in vague circles over his clit. Crowley's abdomen quivered, but he couldn't bring himself to ask for more, for it to be over sooner, not least of all because he'd just asked Gabriel to slow down. All he could do was submit to Gabriel's gentle petting, and let out a sob that was halfway between relief and despair when he eased a third finger into him.

The pressure of Gabriel's thumb became a little firmer, more targeted, and Crowley bit back a curse, feeling his arousal surge forward.

He hated it, hated how familiar Gabriel still was with his body, almost seeming to know how Crowley was about to react before he himself did. Gabriel's fingers were inexorable, pulsing in and out of him steadily, a small smile playing on Gabriel's lips at the foregone conclusion when Crowley's legs began to shake.

Crowley moaned unwillingly, twisting his head away even as his hips jumped up towards the thrust of Gabriel's fingers. He moaned again when Gabriel shifted forward, splaying his free hand flat against Crowley's stomach to keep him pinned. Crowley's body flexed helplessly under the pressure, and he grabbed blindly for the edge of the desk, clinging on in a futile attempt to keep himself grounded.

His spine arched even with the small of his back pressed firmly against the desk, and he cried out as he reached his peak. He squeezed his eyes shut, mouth gaping and thighs trembling as Gabriel sent him over the edge, and Gabriel crooned softly at him through it, the movement of his fingers both tender and unrelenting.

Gabriel swiped his thumb gently against Crowley's clit, chuckling at the way Crowley's hips jerked at the touch, then pulled out, snapping to clean his fingers but leaving Crowley soaked. He moved in closer, leaning down over Crowley to trap his lips in a kiss. Crowley didn't have the energy, or the mental fortitude, to be anything other than limp and compliant, and returned the kiss when Gabriel's tongue almost immediately delved into his mouth, keeping his eyes crushed shut as Gabriel crowded into his space.

The tremors still rippling through his legs slowly subsided as Gabriel kissed him. Almost as soon as they were gone, Gabriel snapped his fingers again, trousers and pants vanishing as a fresh surge of slick coated Crowley's walls. A quiet, involuntary noise left Crowley's lips, only to be swallowed as Gabriel kissed him again, a pleased groan spilling into Crowley's mouth as the head Gabriel's cock grazed past his labia and pressed firmly against his entrance.

Even with the preparation of his fingers, there was so much to take, and a low groan rattled in Crowley's lungs as the tip of Gabriel's cock slowly, so slowly, forced its way inside him, as unstoppable a force as the tide, the stretch of it close to overwhelming.

Somehow, it never seemed to occur to Gabriel that he might adjust his own genitals, and at the very least shrink his cock down in size. Crowley was always made to accommodate him.

After all, he took it so well every time, what reason did Gabriel have to change his ways?

Crowley whined, unable to keep from clutching at Gabriel for support as he was gradually breached. Gabriel made a soothing noise at him, hand leaving his cock as he sank in a little deeper, instead rising to swirl a thumb around Crowley's clit again. Crowley gasped and swore, hips jerking at the sensation, inadvertently taking in another inch. Gabriel's thumb began describing steady sweeps over his clit, eliciting another spasm from Crowley.

"You like that?" Gabriel murmured, repeating the motion.

Crowley felt his eyes sting.

Someone help him, there was a distinct possibility that Gabriel would eventually be able to convince him that he did.

Was this really what he was worth, after all? Was there really a part of him that craved this, needed this, to be kept for someone else's pleasure? Maybe that really was all he was good for. He was certainly good enough at it, if Gabriel's low groan as he bottomed out was anything to go by. He'd been so worried, upon waking, that Aziraphale would allow himself to be convinced that he returned Gabriel's affections, but what if Crowley himself succumbed to the lie first?

"Oh, Crowley," Gabriel sighed contentedly, rocking into him with tiny thrusts, seemingly unwilling to withdraw his cock from Crowley's cunt even the slightest bit. "You always feel so good, I love how well you take me."

At least Crowley didn't have to worry about Gabriel noticing any redness in his eyes – he was sure that his time spent sleeping hadn't changed the way his irises engulfed the entirety of his sclera, leaving no visible white behind. Really, they'd most likely been that way the entire time he'd been trapped in Heaven, although he couldn't be completely positive – he'd avoided looking at himself in the mirror as much as possible.

Still, he could feel the threat of tears looming in the corners of his eyes, so he reached up and took hold of the knot of Gabriel's tie, pulling him down into a kiss. Gabriel moaned his name against his tongue, one hand grabbing at the top of the desk and abruptly sinking in the last few inches, the other wrapping around his thigh.

All the breath punched out of Crowley's lungs, hands tightening and thighs clamping around Gabriel's waist in reflex. Gabriel didn't even give him the chance to recover, pulling out only to immediately sink back in again, still gripping at the top of the desk for extra leverage to pound into him.

Crowley couldn't help the gasps and cries being torn from him. He could feel a tear trickle out of the corner of each of his eyes and down over his temples, and he grabbed at the back of Gabriel's head to keep it buried against his own neck, not wanting to have to explain why he was crying. Gabriel groaned against his collarbone, kissing and biting at the exposed skin as he buried himself deep in Crowley. It hadn't even occurred to Crowley that the love bites Gabriel delighted in giving him would have been long gone, and he nearly cried out in despair at the fact that they were so immediately present once more.

Gabriel's grip shifted to the crease of his hips. "Can you grab onto the desk for me?" he murmured against Crowley's ear, and Crowley was helpless to do anything but obey. He reached above his head, fingers clamping around the edge of the desk, as Gabriel's hands moved to the crease of his hips. Gabriel leant back, taking firmer hold of him, eyes hooded as he towered over Crowley and thrust into him even harder.

His breath stuttered out of him in airy little gasps, and he buried his face against his bicep, both to muffle the sound and to avoid having to meet Gabriel's heated stare. Nothing could stop the occasional moan being dragged from him, though, or the slick sound of flesh meeting flesh as Gabriel continued to pound into him.

Had Gabriel always fucked him quite so deeply? Or was this just a Gabriel fuelled by five months of being unable to fuck him anywhere near as hard as he usually liked?

A vicious little part of him hoped Aziraphale was listening. The rest of him still desperately hoped he wasn't.

Gabriel slowed, but Crowley couldn't quite see it as a mercy, given the way that Gabriel then splayed one broad hand against Crowley's stomach, keeping him pinned to the desk. Then Gabriel's thumb shifted down slightly, able to reach down just far enough to graze at his clit, still thrusting steadily into him.

He couldn't help but moan, gripping hard at the desk as he pressed forward into Gabriel's movements, already feeling the wave start to crest. Gabriel's pace picked up at the same rate that Crowley's breath quickened, his own breath going ragged to match. His hands moved from Crowley's waist, and instead grabbed at the desk next to where Crowley's hands clutched tightly at the edge. He could feel the slick coating one of Gabriel's thumbs, where he'd been stroking Crowley to near-completion.

With hopeless inevitability, Crowley let out a long, low moan, feeling his body clamp down hard as Gabriel spilt into him. Gabriel pressed in deep, and stayed there, pulsing hot as he bore his weight down against Crowley's body, and kissed hungrily at Crowley's mouth, before trailing down to bite possessively at the juncture of his shoulder and throat.

Crowley stared unblinkingly up at the ceiling, and furiously tamped down on the aching sob that threatened to rattle through him.

He couldn't let it out. He couldn't. He needed to wait until he wasn't trapped in Gabriel's embrace before he absolutely went to pieces.

By the time Gabriel straightened up, Crowley had composed himself, no sign of the fact that he felt like he was about to fall apart showing on his face.

With a snap, they were both clean and clothed once more. Crowley could feel the wide neckline of the soft sweater Gabriel had clothed him in, undoubtedly showing off the new bruises Gabriel had left there. Gabriel smiled down at him, still standing between his spread thighs. He tucked a strand of fiery hair behind Crowley's ear, before helping ease Crowley up into a seated position. "I really am glad you're awake again."

Still trying to catch his breath, Crowley forced a smile, and found himself wishing deeply that he could just lie back down and go back to sleep.

Chapter Text

The moment the bedroom door shut forcefully behind Crowley as he stormed out, Aziraphale immediately regretted the way his anger had overcome him.

He wondered at what point exactly, during Crowley's slumber, he had forgotten how much Crowley had sacrificed for him during their captivity. How Crowley was only in this situation because of Aziraphale's own trust that Heaven would deal fairly, despite every piece of evidence he'd ever received to the contrary.

And yet Crowley, who would have left Earth behind to burn if it had meant that he and Aziraphale could run off to the stars together, was the one Aziraphale ended up accusing of having ulterior motives to his actions. He hadn't even really meant it; even as he'd spat the words at Crowley like poison, he knew, deep down, that the nuances of control over his corporation had been stripped from Crowley. In his current state, he could no more dictate how long he slept than he could summon hellfire.

But Aziraphale had still done it, had still taken out his anger on the person he loved most. Even knowing that none of it was truly Crowley's fault, it hadn't been as if Aziraphale had anyone else to lash out against, after all. Saying any of it to Gabriel would have just signed both their death warrants. Aziraphale had been more than halfway convinced that he'd already lost Crowley forever, anyway, and that partial acceptance of having already lost him was at least, in part, to blame for how careless he'd been with his words. His anger and desperation and deep, deep loneliness had been pent up for so long, and, unfair as it was, Crowley had been the only target available to him.

There had even been relief, briefly, when he'd done it – both for the fact that Crowley was no longer sleeping, and that Aziraphale had had the chance to properly voice his anger over the weight of their continued captivity to someone. It had almost felt good, at the time, to let that fiery fury come hissing out from between his teeth like flames, burning away at the grey fog that had, more than once, come so close to overwhelming him entirely.

Then, his anger had been the only thing to sustain him, to keep him company as he'd waited, with increasingly slim hopes, for Crowley to wake. It had fuelled him when the insidious doubt crept in, that Crowley had deemed him not worth all the effort and decided to leave him for good.

Now, he felt more alone than he had the entire time Crowley had been asleep.

What did it say of his character, that Crowley had thought Aziraphale was implying that being a demon meant that he actually liked what had been done to him, as if there was some inherent part of him that actually wanted Gabriel to sexually abuse him? How many lashes had been struck against Crowley's soul over the millennia of their friendship by Aziraphale's careless caveats regarding Crowley's behaviour? Should it really come as a shock to him, that Crowley should expect him to believe something so heinous, when he'd said things half as bad so consistently throughout the long years of their shared history?

Aziraphale was an angel. He was meant to show compassion and kindness, love and understanding. How could he have been so repeatedly callous to someone he loved so dearly? How could he have been so cruel that Crowley would rather submit to Gabriel's attention, rather than spend another minute at Aziraphale's side?

How could he feel any lasting relief from his outburst, when this was what it had cost him?

––––––––––––––––––

Gabriel ran his fingers through the long, uneven strands of Crowley's hair, frowning pensively.

Crowley's heart leapt into his throat, battering itself against his jawbone and making his teeth ache.

Was Gabriel about to take his hair from him? Declare it as visually representative of his demonic nature, that he couldn't have that much red in his colour palette if Gabriel was ever going to be able to show Crowley off to the other Archangels as a perfectly loving partner?

Gabriel snapped his fingers, and Crowley closed his eyes, expecting to feel the slight weight of it vanish, another part of his identity stripped from him. Instead, he felt it grow a little heavier as it lengthened further, a slight tension at the back of his head where it had been partially drawn away from his face and secured.

He didn't need a mirror to know that his hair had been arranged so that the snake marking next to his ear had been covered, but the bruises on his throat were left on display.

"Is this what it looked like, before?" Gabriel murmured curiously, fingers grazing the soft waves framing Crowley's face. "Shame we can't do something about the eyes, they're the only thing that give you away, now."

Crowley swallowed and looked down, feeling another small part of himself disappear.

"Still," Gabriel continued, stroking Crowley's hair absently. "It's very beautiful. I like it like this, I'd really like it if you kept it like this. How does that sound to you?"

Crowley nodded, swallowing again. As if he actually had the choice. "Sounds good," he said, forcing the words out quickly before his voice could crack.

"Great, I'm really happy to hear you say that," Gabriel said, giving his shoulders a squeeze. "Now, I'd love to spend some more time with you, but I was actually in the middle of some pretty important paperwork, and I really should be getting back to it. I know you like cuddling after, but you've got Aziraphale for that, right?"

Crowley nodded once more. He figured that telling Gabriel he didn't think Aziraphale would particularly want to touch him at that moment probably wouldn't go too well.

Gabriel smiled, dragging his fingers through Crowley's hair again, using his grip on it to hold Crowley in a searing kiss. His mouth was hot, insistent, and Crowley found himself perversely hoping that Gabriel would get excited enough for another round, if only for the fact that it would delay the inevitable emotional fallout bearing down on him for a little while longer.

It wasn't to be, though, and Gabriel pulled away with another smile and a brief squeeze of Crowley's arse. "You really are insatiable, aren't you?" Gabriel murmured, almost making Crowley snort at the abject hypocrisy. "But I'm sure you can get Aziraphale to tide you over until I'm done here."

"Yeah," Crowley offered lamely, slipping from Gabriel's grasp with only one more kiss on the lips being inflicted on him. Gabriel watched him go with a wistful expression, and Crowley didn't let his own expression shift until the office door was firmly closed behind him. He sagged briefly against the door, eyes closed as his breath rattled shakily out of his lungs, before he forced himself upright.

He took a few steps, then his legs began to tremble as whatever passed for adrenaline in his approximation of a human body left him. His knees abruptly gave way beneath him, sending him to the floor in a crumpled heap. Beyond his control, he felt his breathing pick up rapidly, rocketing towards hyperventilation at an alarming speed.

All the while, he was intensely aware of Gabriel's office door just a few paces behind him, and exactly what would happen if he found Crowley, shaking and unresponsive on the floor, what it would mean for his and Aziraphale's continued survival in this figurative hellhole they'd been trapped in–

He forced himself to fall apart quietly, for the too-fast breaths pumping in and out of his lungs to be as soundless as possible. Then, much louder within the confines of his own mind, he further insisted how important it was that he scraped himself up off the floor, and finished going to pieces somewhere where he'd remain undisturbed.

Bedroom was out. He couldn't even think about facing Aziraphale right now, or risk spiralling even further. Fuck, it really had been such an awful idea to throw himself beneath Gabriel like this.

Library was out. There was every chance that Aziraphale had decided to console himself with books, which posed the exact same problem for Crowley.

The bathroom was looking like his most likely option. No one in the house had any use for it, after all, he wouldn't be found unless someone was actively searching for him.

Besides, he thought with grim practicality as he dragged himself in the direction of the bathroom, if the nausea in his stomach manifested further into vomiting, then at least he'd already be in close proximity to the toilet.

Not that he'd expect particularly much to come out of him, if it were to happen.

He closed the bathroom door behind him quietly, leaning his forehead against it as he tried to fight the urge to lie himself flat against the invitingly cool tile.

It didn't take him long to succumb. He sank down, shoulders hunched, body twisting so that his back was pressed against the door. His cheek pressed against the promised cold smoothness of the tile, an anchor point to reality as the rest of him spun away from his control. His breath picked up again, but now it rattled in and out of him with an ugly sound, unsteady and broken. Heat gathered in his eyes, spilling over the bridge of his nose, dripping down onto the tiles beneath him as he shook.

His eyes stared, unfocussed, for several minutes before he became cognisant of the fact that he was staring aimlessly at the cabinet under the sink. A horrid sense of morbid curiosity crept over him, and he wondered whether the plug Gabriel had tried to force him to wear was still stuffed into the back, hidden behind the disparate assortment of bottles and containers inside, or whether Gabriel had actually thought to vanish it.

It didn't ultimately matter whether it was still there or not, though. Gabriel could always conjure another one, or any of a variety of other toys that he might want to use on Crowley.

He closed his eyes and wept a little more, fighting what felt like a losing battle to convince himself that he had value other than just being an instrument for Gabriel's pleasure.

That wasn't what Aziraphale thought of him, too, was it? He hadn't gotten to the point where he only missed Crowley for the protection he offered against Gabriel's advances?

He'd said he'd been lonely whilst Crowley slept, but what if any other friendly face could have filled that void, what if he'd realised that Crowley wasn't special to him, after all? What if his concern after their argument had just been fear that Crowley was about to go and give the whole game away?

Maybe it was only fair for Crowley to really take his time in falling apart. If Aziraphale started to worry about how long it had been since Crowley had gone, that would only serve him right.

There was also the slight chance that it would make Aziraphale angry about being left alone again, though, and Crowley wasn't sure whether he'd be able to deal with that.

He dug his fingers hard into his sides. He wanted to dig deeper – to tear into his own flesh, to rip out all the shame and fear and inadequacy – but he knew he couldn't. Gabriel would question any marks on Crowley's body that he hadn't put there himself.

After a while, the cooling comfort of the tiles stopped being so appealing, and Crowley realised he was shaking from being cold just as much as from how overwhelmed he felt. He peeled himself from the floor into a seated position, wrapping his arms around his knees as he shivered. The trembling didn't subside any, though, so he forced himself further. He dragged himself over to the cabinet, which he pointedly didn't open, and hauled himself upright. His legs didn't quite seem up to the task of supporting him, the cabinet taking the brunt of his weight. He stared down at the drain for several seconds before being able to drag his eyes up to meet his reflection.

Someone who looked like they were pretending to be an angel stared back.

His hair and clothes so obviously screamed Heavenly design that, for a moment, he felt like the touch of something divine was tingling against his skin, burning from the outside in. The eyes were the only obviously demonic thing left of him. He wondered whether the way his sclera had been overtaken by his serpentine pupils was entirely down to stress and fear, or whether there was some part of his demonic nature doing its best to help remind him of his identity, despite Gabriel's continuing attempts to erase it.

He looked at the soft, voluminous curls Gabriel had granted him. He was struck by the sudden, irrational urge to begin tearing his hair out by the fistful, in defiance of the image that Gabriel was trying to sculpt him in. The urge was tempered by the certainty of how poorly Gabriel would react to Crowley destroying his gift, as well as the futility of knowing that Gabriel would be able to repair the damage with a snap of his fingers.

He buried his fingers deep anyway, and tugged – not enough to pull any out, just enough to feel it, just enough to hurt. It almost felt good, for a moment, before it struck him that it felt the same as it did when Gabriel held him down and spilt down the back of his throat. Had that been something Gabriel had done to him, too, during his long slumber? Carefully forcing himself past Crowley's slack lips, pouring himself down Crowley's throat as he slept on, unaware?

With shaking hands, Crowley turned on the tap, splashing water onto his clammy cheeks, clearing the salty tracks his tears had left, letting the warmth of the water soak into his chilled hands. He did his best to smooth down the hair that he'd rumpled – he supposed he could have passed it off as having had his hair mussed from having sex with Aziraphale, but Gabriel had made it fairly clear that he enjoyed the idea of being better at tending to Crowley's sexual 'needs' than Aziraphale. There was no need to go and inspire him to fuck Crowley even more often.

He returned to clutching at the sink. The cold lights overhead made him seem so pale – or maybe that was just how his skin looked now? After all, he hadn't seen the sun since before his captivity.

Gabriel apparently wanted him to be a perfect little doll anyway, he told himself sardonically. It seemed only fitting that his skin was pale and delicate, like porcelain.

He didn't realise he'd been biting the inside of his mouth again until the blood began to drip from his lips, startling against the bright white of the sink.

With a sigh, he turned the tap back on, and set to rinsing out his mouth until the water ran clear.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Eventually, he knew he had to go back to the bedroom. Even if he was still furious over the way Aziraphale had behaved, the way he'd made Crowley feel, he knew that leaving him alone out of spite wouldn't end up helping either of them.

He turned on the water again, hot almost to the point of pain, in an attempt to help stop their trembling. It worked, sort of; possibly he was only distracted by the sensation of the hairs of his arms standing up from the focussed change in temperature.

He pressed his heated hands against his face in an attempt to transfer some colour into his pallid cheeks, let out an unsteady breath, then towelled away the damp clinging to his skin and left the bathroom.

Crossing the living room seemed a suddenly daunting task. Would he have the energy to deal with things, if Aziraphale decided to get confrontational again? What if Aziraphale decided to remain up on his high horse, as he occasionally did, and made his excuses for the way he'd behaved? It wasn't as if Crowley could really do much, in their present situation. Particularly not anything that might end up dooming them both. Crowley did have at least something of a self-preservation instinct. No matter how badly things went between them, he couldn't see himself bringing destruction down on both their heads just to spite Aziraphale.

He put one foot in front of the other, over and over, and inevitably wound up standing directly in front of the bedroom door.

Without thinking too hard about it, he grabbed the door handle and wrenched it open.

Inside, Aziraphale stopped in the middle of his frantic pacing, his hands reddened from how forcefully he was wringing them. He gave a frightened little start at the door being opened so suddenly, and when he turned to face Crowley, his face flooded with a warring mix of relief and concern.

"Oh," Aziraphale breathed. "Your hair..."

Crowley stepped into the room, folding his arms. Of course the first thing Aziraphale did was make a comment on how Crowley had changed, rather than show any sort of introspection on the things he’d said to Crowley. "Go on, then," he snapped. "You can say it. You'd almost think I looked like a proper angel, now, if it weren't for the eyes."

"That isn't what I was going to say," Aziraphale replied quietly.

Crowley snorted in disbelief.

"It reminds me of how you looked when we first met, in Eden," Aziraphale continued. "I confess, I... I might have already been a little taken with you, even then. Even if it did take me a good long while to realise it."

The wind immediately left Crowley's sails at the unexpected response, leaving him suddenly foundering as he realised he might have made a few too many snap judgements. Despite having just slept for almost half a year, he felt indescribably tired. "'M sorry," he mumbled begrudgingly, dragging a hand over his face. "That wasn't..."

"Please don't apologise to me, of all people, Crowley," Aziraphale whispered. His expression was anguished, his hands making awkward jerky movements, like he was fighting the instinct to reach out and offer comfort. Crowley fought the instinct to let him. "What I said to you was atrocious. Spending five months on my own isn't an excuse." His eyes shone, on the verge of spilling over. "I will make it up to you, though, I swear it. Whenever he next begins making physical overtures towards you, I… you've actively placed yourself in the line of fire with him for my sake, surely it’s more than fair that I returned the favour."

Crowley stared at him. "You really think having him put his hands all over you is going to make me feel better?"

Aziraphale wrung his hands and looked away, trembling, shrinking down into himself. "No, I... I suppose it wouldn't."

"I told you," Crowley said tersely. "He's not going to touch you like that, not as long as there's something I can do about it."

He'd made a promise, after all, at least someone in this satanblessed house needed to have some bloody integrity.

Something undefinable flickered in Aziraphale's eyes as he lifted them back up to gaze into Crowley's. "My dear... you do know he already has, don't you?"

Crowley's throat suddenly closed over, oesophagus slamming shut as bile tried to rise up into his mouth.

"You were asleep for five months, Crowley," Aziraphale said gently. "He'd already begun to get impatient with me before then, even with you there to placate him, and he certainly wasn't going to be less, ah, amorous, with you asleep. I didn't... I thought you would have realised that."

He hadn't. Crowley had been so caught up in his anger over Aziraphale's hurtful words, he'd convinced himself that if Gabriel had been assaulting him in his sleep, it had been because Aziraphale hadn't been offering up his body at all. He hadn't allowed himself to consider the possibility that he'd so completely failed in his promise to protect Aziraphale from Gabriel.

But he had failed.

Five months.

It was a comparatively short timespan, given their immortality, but when you were trapped, one step removed from being wilfully tortured, the passage of time began to get a little bit relative.

At this point, Aziraphale had been subjected to Gabriel's attentions, alone, far longer than Crowley had.

All the insistences Crowley had made, all the times he'd sacrificed his own body so that Aziraphale would be protected, and now Aziraphale had suffered more than he had anyway. Even with all his anger and doubt, Aziraphale had still done what he could to keep Gabriel's attention away from Crowley.

And then Crowley had immediately gone and assumed that Aziraphale hadn't even been doing anything at all to protect him.

"Oh, Crowley, there's no need to look at me with such pity, " Aziraphale said quietly. "I do understand why you would have thought I hadn't done anything whilst you were asleep."

"He–" Crowley tried, but the words lodged in his throat, emotions spinning out of his control.

His mind swam with images, imagining Gabriel's hands all over the soft plushness of Aziraphale's body, each touch slowly diminishing Aziraphale down into this shadow slumped on the edge of the bed. The physical changes wrought on Crowley's own body seemed so much less severe in comparison. Aziraphale had always been so comfortable in his own skin; now, it looked like he was eating away at himself from the inside, he wanted to be in his own body so little.

Aziraphale looked away. "It isn't any worse than what he's already done to you," he said. "In fact, I believe it's fair to say you've still been subjected to more, overall. I rather got the impression he was being… gentle with me."

Crowley tried to respond, to offer at least a little protest that he didn't think their mutual suffering was a competition, maybe, but the words didn't quite make it to his tongue.

Aziraphale reached a tentative hand towards Crowley, then withdrew, smiling sadly. Amidst the turbulent state of Crowley's mind, he felt some shade of relief – he wasn't entirely sure how he would have reacted if Aziraphale had actually tried to touch him in that moment. "I certainly don't blame you for coming to the conclusions you did," Aziraphale told him. "My behaviour when you first woke certainly lent itself to that impression, and the time that it took before then, to gather the mental fortitude to withstand what Gabriel intended to do to me…" A wet little laugh caught somewhere in his throat. "For all that I'm meant to be a guardian, I've really done an awful job of protecting anything." He wiped surreptitiously at his eyes before lifting them to meet Crowley's. "I do still feel, though, that I should explain some of the things I said, as I understand now why you would have thought I was being far more callous than I intended. When... when I said I'd thought you'd had more experience through your temptations than I had, I didn't mean to imply that anything about what you are is designed for, or deserving of, having sex acts performed on you regardless of your level of consent – I merely meant... Well, I thought that, assuming you'd done such things as a requirement of your work, that you would have had far more practice than I with compartmentalising things of this nature." He looked down at his hands, twisting creases into the fabric of his trousers. "Truth be told, I'm not sure why I automatically assumed you wouldn't have enjoyed that if it had been an aspect of your work, either. I can only guess that it was out of misplaced envy, so I'm afraid I've done you a disservice yet again."

"...Oh, angel," Crowley choked out, a complicated cocktail of emotions still swirling through him. Yes, Aziraphale had clearly suffered willingly to spare Crowley harm, but he’d still caused Crowley harm after, insisting Crowley make promises that would be impossible for him to keep, making him feel like his body was the only thing of value he had to offer…

"I don't say this seeking forgiveness, Crowley, I fully expect you to still be furious with me, and you'd be more than justified. I demanded entirely unfair things of you. Regardless, my intent doesn't change the fact that what I said hurt you deeply, and if I demanded that you accept my intent over the harm it caused you, I'd be no better than Gabriel. I just wanted to be sure that you knew I didn't think such awful things about you."

"...I do get why you were angry," Crowley admitted, once he was reasonably sure he could get the words out without drowning in them. "If I'm being completely honest, I probably would have been just as angry if you'd been the one asleep this whole time. I just..."

Aziraphale gave him another weary smile, understanding even though it didn't reach his eyes. "I do understand, truly. I'm sorry I lashed out. I was wrong to do so, no matter how much I felt the need for it in the moment. Not with how it hurt you." He sat down on the end of the bed, hands clasped in his lap. "And I know you would never have thought I'd think something so awful about you, if I hadn't given you reason to believe that I would. I cannot begin to describe how sorry I am that my words and actions have ever made you feel this way."

Crowley took an unsteady breath, not meeting Aziraphale's gaze.

He wanted so desperately for the fact that Aziraphale finally understood, the fact that he'd finally apologised, that he had put himself on the line when Crowley was at his most vulnerable, to be enough on their own. He wanted the easy camaraderie they usually shared to seamlessly restore itself, and allow them both to help each other through this.

But it didn't. Even with the apology, the understanding, part of him was still angry. Part of him was still angry, and part of him despised himself for it.

Chapter Text

Crowley sat heavily on the edge of the bed, far enough from Aziraphale that there would be no accidental touching. He was suddenly reminded of the months he'd spent, blissfully unaware of the passing time, in this very bed. He tried to dredge up anything, anything that might have imprinted itself onto his subconscious, but there was nothing. No Aziraphale smoothing his hair back, no Aziraphale speaking softly to him, no Aziraphale weeping over him as he slumbered on.

No Gabriel slipping the hard length of his cock into Crowley's unresisting body.

There was no way for him to tell on his own whether the last part had actually happened; the evidence was purely circumstantial. Gabriel changing his clothes could just as easily have been down to him knowing that it was a human custom to regularly change outfits. It just so happened that Gabriel had fucked him so frequently when he was awake, that the previous clothing changes had all been after sex.

The thought that there was still every chance that Gabriel had still been violating him in his sleep made his skin crawl, but the only thing worse than knowing for certain was never knowing at all.

"Aziraphale…" he started hesitantly, unsure that it was exactly the best time to be asking something like this. But then, when was? What if he waited for a better moment, when they were both calmer, and in the intervening time Gabriel just casually referenced it in conversation instead? Crowley would be much better served knowing ahead of time what had actually happened, and give himself more opportunity to school his reaction.

He took a steadying breath and tried again. "I realise now that you were…" He fished around for a phrasing that wouldn't make them both flinch. "…Keeping Gabriel's attention when I was asleep, but I couldn't help but notice that he's changed my clothes," he said delicately. "Did he do that because he…"

"I don't know," Aziraphale choked out, suddenly tensing once more. "He would– he would try to hold you, as you slept, early on, and I– that's when I started to–" He gulped in a few tattered breaths, his threadbare composure rapidly deteriorating. "I tried, please believe that I tried to do what he wanted, whatever needed to be done to keep you safe. I tried so very hard to be enough. B-but, sometimes, he'd make me leave, or lock me up in the library, and sometimes, you'd– you'd be wearing something different, when I came back, and I couldn't ask, because how can you ask something like that? And what if he wasn't, and my asking gave him the idea to start? I'd already been responsible for so much of your suffering here, I couldn't bear risking more to just– just–" He pressed a trembling hand to his mouth, futilely trying to hide his distress.

Crowley swallowed around the painful lump in his throat.

Fuck.

He'd been right.

This was far worse than knowing.

Why did the universe always take such macabre delight in throwing things back into his face like this?

"Aziraphale," he said gently, swallowing again in an effort to keep his voice from wobbling. "What he's doing, it's– you're not the one to blame for it, all right? You're not responsible for his actions, he is."

Aziraphale didn't look at him. "I'm not blaming myself for his actions, Crowley," he said quietly, voice still thick. "I'm blaming myself for my reactions to them, and what those reactions have forced you to do." He lifted his head again, and fixed Crowley with a steady gaze. "Tell me truthfully that you aren't still angry with me. That you no longer feel hurt by the things I said. That there aren't millennia of small cruelties that I've laid against you, and have never truly apologised for before."

Crowley contemplated lying, briefly. How many times, after all, had he brushed off things that Aziraphale had said throughout their friendship, under the banner of him having prejudices ingrained into him by Heaven? But Crowley didn't want to keep perpetuating that, and by the sounds of it, Aziraphale didn't, either. Instead, Crowley shook his head and said, "I am. And I do."

"Good," Aziraphale told him, still holding his gaze. "That is something I'll work on, and try to do better. I don't ever want to become so convinced of my own righteousness that I turn into Gabriel."

Despite himself, Crowley managed to crack a weak smile. "Don't think you need to worry too much about that happening," he said. "You're nowhere near that boring."

"All the same," Aziraphale insisted quietly. "Please, please tell me if I ever hurt you in such a way again. I can't bear the thought of causing you more harm, not on top of everything you've already suffered."

There was a shifting tension to Aziraphale, now, like he was aching for the comforting familiarity of drawing Crowley into an embrace – but that he was unsure whether Crowley would allow it, or that he hadn't even been able to convince himself it was something he still deserved.

Crowley let out the barest of sighs, then shifted closer, wordlessly drawing Aziraphale into his arms. Aziraphale's breath hitched unsteadily, chest shuddering as it pressed against Crowley's, and then Aziraphale was clutching at him like he had been certain he'd never get to hold Crowley again.

A lump sat heavy in Crowley's throat. Even as he sat uncomfortably in the embrace – even as he was sure Aziraphale could feel the stiffness of his posture – he still found some solace in being held by someone other than Gabriel, someone that actually loved him.

Of course, the moment he did allow himself to relax fractionally into Aziraphale's arms, the near-imperceptible sound of Gabriel's office opening reached them through the bedroom door.

Aziraphale let him go and sprang anxiously to his feet, hands clenched tight around one another. Crowley wondered, suddenly, how many times Gabriel had fucked Aziraphale in this very room, how many times he hadn't been quite quick enough to make it out to the living room, how many times he'd been laid down inches away from Crowley's unconscious body.

Crowley stood from the bed, too, positioning himself a little closer to the door as the handle began to turn.

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Gabriel walked in a moment later, all smiles as he saw the both of them waiting for him. "There's my favourite angel and demon!" he said brightly, as if they even had the option of being anywhere else.

"Hello, Gabriel," Aziraphale replied dully, with a smile that got lost long before it reached his eyes.

"I see you and Crowley have been catching up," Gabriel continued. "Doesn't look like you've gotten to the fun part yet, though." He gave them both a pleased look. "Were you waiting for me?"

"Just so," Aziraphale lied.

"No time like the present, then!" Gabriel smiled, walking over and patting the covers on the bed. "Why don't you hop up, huh, sunshine?"

Aziraphale nodded mutely, motions automatic as he climbed onto the bed, head down and arse up, just how Gabriel liked him.

It took a good few seconds for his mind to catch up with what he'd done. Too late, he realised how he would look to Crowley, so meekly prostrating himself at Gabriel's command. He heard a sharp inhalation from Crowley's direction and crushed his eyes shut, burying his face against his bicep as his whole body trembled, letting out a soft sound as Gabriel miracled away his clothes.

"Doesn't he look a treat?" Gabriel said proudly. "He's gotten better at this while you've been asleep, you know. Actually, you know what, I'm sure he'd love to show you. Why don't you go first, and I'll go after, how does that sound?"

Crowley hesitated. Aziraphale felt so brittle with tension that it felt like he might shatter at the slightest touch. He tried frantically to reassure himself that Crowley's hesitation wasn't about him feeling any sense of repulsion at the thought of being intimate together in general, but rather about Crowley not wanting to force himself on Aziraphale.

It was hard to make the thought feel true, though, when Crowley was still so justifiably angry with him. When Aziraphale had given Crowley every reason to treat him harshly, in a situation where he wouldn't even be able to put up a protest without dooming them both in the process.

Aziraphale wouldn't have blamed anyone but himself for it, but he knew if Crowley was rough with him, it would be the thing to finally break him completely.

What felt like an entire lifetime later, the mattress dipped behind him, slender fingers settling hesitantly on his hips. Aziraphale forced himself not to flinch.

"All right, angel?" Crowley murmured, and it wasn't, of course it wasn't, but Aziraphale had no choice but to nod anyway. Crowley took a shuddering breath, not moving for several seconds before giving Aziraphale's arse a soft squeeze, parting his cheeks to expose his hole. Aziraphale could feel Crowley's hands trembling.

"Gabriel, could you…?" Crowley asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"Oh, right," Gabriel chuckled, and snapped his fingers, instantly stretching and lubricating Aziraphale's hole. Aziraphale tried not to flinch, but couldn't help the way that his breath caught in his throat.

Crowley moved slowly, his touch tentative as he brought his fingers to Aziraphale's miracle-slick rim, and gently pressed one inside, making sure that Gabriel had actually done a thorough enough job of stretching him so that he wouldn't be hurt.

The fact that Aziraphale had ever feared Crowley might not be kind to him here soured his gut. When had he ever known Crowley to be cruel to him when it really mattered?

Even now, Crowley was gentle as he added a second finger, then a third. Gabriel, for all his faults, however, did at least ensure that Aziraphale was completely stretched and ready for him, and his body accepted each finger with nary a twinge of pain. Crowley made a sort of breathy little hiccupping sound, then pulled his fingers free. He looked to Gabriel to miracle his fingers clean for him before resting his hand just below the small of Aziraphale's back, almost absentminded as he stroked his thumb just next to the cleft of Aziraphale's arse.

It was clear that Crowley was trying so hard not to think that he'd zoned out entirely. Aziraphale, trembling, cast about for a way to get his attention, without alerting Gabriel to the fact that something was actually amiss. He settled on reaching his trembling hands back to spread his cheeks open, almost inviting Crowley to take him. Aziraphale's core flexed and ached as it fought to keep him balanced and upright, keenly reminding him of how much of his muscle had vanished along with the comfortable fat he normally liked to wear. It did the trick though, even as it made Aziraphale's face burn with humiliation. Crowley took in a sharp breath at the sight of Aziraphale holding himself open and on display, Gabriel watching them both avidly from behind.

Crowley's hand moved back to Aziraphale's hip. He suppressed a flinch at the slick sound of Crowley giving himself a few steady strokes, the soft shift of fabric as Crowley shuffled into place behind him, pressing himself gently against Aziraphale's stretched rim.

"Oh," he sighed breathily, because he owed Crowley that much, surely? It could only make Crowley feel a bit better about being forced to do this to him, if he thought Aziraphale was enjoying it. Under different circumstances, it wouldn't even be an act; Aziraphale had ached for so many long years for Crowley to hold him so intimately.

Like this, though, Aziraphale couldn't divorce himself from the reality of Gabriel's looming presence, no matter how hard he tried.

Crowley had fucked him once before at Gabriel's behest – that briefly beautiful moment of lovemaking he and Crowley had shared before Gabriel had intruded, ruining everything – but that had been face to face. They'd been able to cling to each other for comfort, bury their faces in each other's skin, smell something other than the cool sterility of Heaven. Now, there was absolutely no escaping the fact that this was only happening for Gabriel's pleasure.

He still let out soft gasps as Crowley slowly rocked himself deeper and deeper, even though he knew the unhappy tension of his muscles would betray him. At least it gave him something to focus on doing; he certainly couldn't allow the grey fog to overtake him like this. How would Crowley be able to stomach fucking Aziraphale any further, after all, if his eyes went entirely vacant and unseeing as he submitted himself to that inviting oblivion?

He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face a little harder against the sheets instead, forcing himself to moan as Crowley found his rhythm.

"Oh, Aziraphale," Crowley whispered, and Aziraphale could hear the brokenness of it, could hear the pleasure in Crowley's voice and how much he loathed himself for it.

"Crowley," he squeezed out, trying so very hard to not sound like he was about to cry. "Feels good."

Crowley let out a helpless sound, clearly not believing Aziraphale's feeble attempt at placation. Aziraphale felt his eyes sting. Was he really that useless? Was he really so ineffective that he couldn't do anything to make Crowley feel even slightly less awful about being forced to do this to him?

The only choice he had left, though, was still to try, even if his attempts were entirely pathetic.

He made himself push back into Crowley's thrusts, his face burning at the steady, wet sounds of their bodies meeting. There was a perpetual monotony to it, at least, a ceaseless push and pull that allowed Aziraphale to zone out a little, to let him view it as a simple mechanical action that didn't require much thought or cause much mental strain.

That was, until he heard a slick counterrhythm behind them, and realised that Gabriel had taken his cock out and started stroking himself as he watched.

Aziraphale slammed back into full awareness of his body, feeling himself clench tightly around Crowley.

"Oh, fuck," Crowley choked out, rhythm faltering before picking back up again. Aziraphale, despite every effort to relax however much he could, couldn't untighten his body completely, could still feel the way his hole gripped at Crowley's cock every time he pulled out. Could still hear the sound of Gabriel fucking into his own fist as he presided over Crowley being forced to violate him.

Crowley's breath grew ragged, nearly to the point of sobbing, and he dropped his forehead down against Aziraphale's shoulder. His hips stuttered, thrusts growing shallow and irregular, Aziraphale's name tumbling from his lips like a mantra until he finally pressed all the way in and spilt deep. He let out a long, low sound, just this side of mournful, cheeks damp with tears where he'd pressed his face to Aziraphale's back.

"Crowley," he whispered, trying to soothe, but no further words came to him, a shudder rippling through his body. He felt an echo of the tremor in Crowley's body, the way his arms shook as he clung to Aziraphale's back.

Crowley was still trembling slightly when Gabriel shuffled closer, tapping him on the shoulder. "I still need to have a go, remember, champ?"

Aziraphale could feel that Crowley wasn't ready to let him go; Aziraphale wasn't ready to let him leave, either, but what choice did they have? Crowley reluctantly parted with him, slipping out with a soft, wet sound, the mess left behind cleared away with a snap of Gabriel's fingers.

"Give me some space here, will you?" Gabriel asked, and Aziraphale heard a slow slide of fabric as Crowley was forced to sit back and watch as Gabriel closed in on Aziraphale's still-naked form.

Gabriel took hold of his hips, hiking them up higher into the air. The shaky support of Aziraphale's elbows promptly gave out, leaving him with his face suddenly half-buried in the covers. He tried to focus on holding his breath as Gabriel trailed a hand down between his legs, fingers gently parting Aziraphale's labia, slicking and loosening the way with another miracle as he went. Aziraphale shuddered, hips giving a little jerk, some sort of involuntary noise leaving him, and Gabriel chuckled. "Extra eager for me today, aren't you?"

Keenly aware that Crowley was still watching, listening, Aziraphale kept his face pressed to the bedsheets and nodded. "Yes," he said, then, once he was relatively certain his voice wouldn't give out entirely, added, "Please."

Another chuckle from Gabriel's direction. "Well, you're always so polite about it, of course I'm going to give you what you want."

And then he was sliding in, making Aziraphale cry out softly as he was forced to yield, body accepting the intrusion against his will. He picked up the pace far faster than he normally would, and thrust harder than he normally would, little sounds punching out of Aziraphale's chest entirely of their own volition at every peak.

At first, he thought it was just Gabriel being impatient over having to wait his turn. Then he realised he might have made Gabriel jealous, reacting more vocally to Crowley's touch than he ever had to Gabriel's, and felt a chill of terror race down his spine.

"You're liking that, aren't you?" Gabriel murmured, leaning down and scraping teeth over the lobe of Aziraphale's ear. "I know you've said before that you like to just watch, sometimes, but you like being watched, too, don't you? You like it when Crowley and I can each see how well you take the other."

Aziraphale quickly nodded with another forced moan, realising that Gabriel's latest misinterpretation of his desires was by far the safest option. Wasn't it better, this way, anyway? Wouldn't this give him the chance to draw some of Gabriel's attention away from Crowley, to at least try and share some of the burden of Gabriel's misplaced affections in a slightly more equitable way?

At least the fact that Gabriel had been pleasuring himself to the sight of Crowley having sex with Aziraphale meant that it was over sooner. He didn't wax poetic about how Aziraphale clearly wanted and loved him for nearly as long as he usually did, before grabbing Aziraphale's hips and tugging them flush with his own, his groan of satisfaction loud as he poured heat deep into Aziraphale's core. Aziraphale made some facsimile of a reciprocal sound, knowing that that would be enough to convince Gabriel that he'd brought Aziraphale to completion, too. It wasn't as if he was likely to comprehend the idea that he could have possibly done a bad job.

Gabriel savoured the sensation of being buried deep for a minute or two longer, then pulled free. He snapped his fingers, all three of them suddenly clean and clad in identical outfits, then rolled onto his back, tugging Aziraphale along with him to nestle in at his side.

"Crowley, get in here," Gabriel enthused, gesturing in Crowley's direction.

Aziraphale didn't watch, but heard the shift of fabric as Crowley moved, settling in at Gabriel's side in a mirror of Aziraphale's position.

 "I'm so happy to have you both with me again," Gabriel said with a contented sigh, squeezing them both tight.

Crowley let out a sound that Gabriel was sure to interpret as a contented hum, and Aziraphale did his best to echo it as tears filled his eyes. He didn't dare raise them to meet Crowley's, even though he could feel Crowley's tortured gaze on him, knowing that he would only see a reflection of his own shame there.

Instead, he kept his gaze lowered, Gabriel's body a vast ocean between them even though they were mere inches apart.

Chapter Text

After an indeterminable length of silence that Gabriel probably assumed was companionable, he got up, announcing that he had another meeting to attend. Aziraphale and Crowley both bid him stiff farewells, the tension in the room lifting somewhat – but not entirely abating – once they'd felt the shift in ozone that indicated Gabriel had left them to their own devices.

The silence continued for several long minutes, both of them staring at the ceiling. Crowley felt the cold needling at his skin where Gabriel had been pressed up against him, the block he'd placed between Aziraphale and Crowley apparently no less tangible for the fact that he was, at least temporarily, gone.

Crowley wanted to reach across that divide, offer Aziraphale comfort for what had just been done to him – after what Crowley had done to him – but how could he? Aziraphale had barely spoken to him during, but he hadn't really needed to. It was achingly clear that he hadn't wanted Crowley to be touching him in that moment, any more than he'd wanted Gabriel to. He'd so automatically complied with Gabriel's orders, just mechanically going through the motions because the alternative to letting himself be sexually abused was even worse. He'd gotten onto the bed and prostrated himself without a single word of protest or the slightest hesitation, even though it was obvious he wasn't going to be getting any pleasure out of it himself.

Unlike Crowley. He kept trying to tell himself that it was just how his body reacted to unwanted sexual stimuli, but how did that help Aziraphale? How could it possibly comfort him to know that Crowley could be getting off on something like that, even when it was abundantly clear that Aziraphale wasn't? He'd seen the way Aziraphale had nearly been brought to tears by Gabriel's dirty talk. He'd felt it, himself, when his own traitorous cock had begun to stir again at the sight of Aziraphale bent over and being ploughed into, leaving him sickeningly glad for Gabriel snuggling with them both after, giving him enough time to calm his body down with Aziraphale none the wiser.

Crowley still couldn't shake how good it had felt, having Aziraphale's body clenching tightly around his cock, the way he'd spread his own cheeks to invite Crowley in. Even though they both knew Crowley was still angry with him. Even though they both knew that Aziraphale didn't want this at all. The deep well of shame pooling in Crowley's gut hadn't been enough to drown his desire, hadn't stopped his orgasm from surging forward, from flooding Aziraphale with the throes of unasked-for pleasure–

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale said suddenly, shattering the silence with a wavering apology. "I know things would have been easier for you if I at least enjoyed it. I wish I did – and I know I would if we hadn't been trapped here." He kept staring at the ceiling, eyes shimmering as he blinked rapidly. The motion didn't stop them from spilling over, a faint silvery streak running down over his temple as he staunchly ignored his own tears. "I just– I simply wanted you to know that my… lack of physical interest isn't because of you, my dear, but because of the situation Gabriel has placed us in."

Crowley felt the pit of shame within him grow wider, deeper, felt himself want to dive headfirst into it and never come out again. "…Angel, I–"

"I know I'm not… much to look at, in my current state." He turned his head now, further away from Crowley, allowing him to only view the reddened curve of his cheek, the tear-matted curls pressed damply near his ear. "Really, it's– it's entirely commendable that you could still find me attractive enough to be aroused by, like this. With what I've been reduced to."

"Aziraphale, that's not–" Crowley choked out, grief and shame completely inundating him.

Aziraphale's shoulders tightened, breath hitching. "Oh," he whispered softly. "Oh, I've misunderstood, haven't I? You've even said it before, I just haven't been listening, this is just– that's how your body reacts to this, it has nothing to do with me." He hiccupped around a sob, words still pouring out of him like a flood. "I'm so sorry, I've been entirely projecting myself onto you, I'm just being selfish again–"

"Angel, angel, stop," Crowley begged, reaching out despite his better judgement to place a soothing hand on Aziraphale's shoulder.

Aziraphale flinched and turned towards him, eyes brimming with shame before he averted them again. "I'm sorry," he whispered, quickly dabbing the tears from his eyes.

All Crowley could see in his mind's eye was Aziraphale, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow, trying to escape the fact that Crowley was being forced to fuck him.

"You shouldn't be sorry," he said thickly. He wanted to swing his legs up onto the bed, to cradle Aziraphale against his chest – but what if that felt too similar to how Gabriel had had him not an hour before? What if it felt too similar to how Crowley had had him?

He kept up his entirely inadequate patting of Aziraphale's shoulder, unsure whether even that was too much.

"Please don't be sorry," Crowley whispered. "Not for this." He took a shaky breath. "I do want you, Aziraphale. Always have, always will. Just not when it's clearly not what you want."

Alarm flashed in Aziraphale's eyes. "I do," he said, practically falling himself with panic as he sat up. "That wasn't how I meant things at all, please, you must know how very much I want you, it's only–"

Crowley caught Aziraphale's shaking hands in his own, mustering a soft and encouraging smile. "Don't worry, angel, I get it, I promise. I know things would be different if we could be together, if we could be away from him."

A sob got lost somewhere in Aziraphale's throat, and he slowly crumpled against Crowley's chest, hunching in on himself as he went. "Oh," he whispered. "What I wouldn't give for us to have that opportunity."

"It'll come," Crowley promised. "Just need to keep working towards that, is all."

Aziraphale didn't reply, and Crowley got the distinct impression that he thought Crowley's words had been a mere placation, without substance.

There wasn't a whole lot that Crowley could do about that, though – outside of finally finding an opportunity to have them both escape Gabriel's clutches, and proving to Aziraphale in real time that they were in this together.

Instead, he simply held Aziraphale in his arms until Gabriel returned.

–––––––––––––––––––

It wasn't enough.

Aziraphale had forced Crowley to give him gentle pacifications, to hold Aziraphale like he even wanted to offer it to begin with, and still Aziraphale felt so greedily starved for more.

It didn't feel like anything Crowley said could really placate him, because why would Crowley really want to, when Aziraphale was so much less than he used to be? Despite his best efforts, Aziraphale was only proving over and over how much of a burden he was – that he even had the gall to make Crowley upset on his behalf!

He needed to do better. His best obviously fell short of the mark, so he clearly just needed to push himself even harder, prove that he did have use, that he did have value, that he could be good enough to earn his freedom–

He felt the subtle ozone shift of Gabriel's return, and couldn't help the way he went tense with dread.

"All right, angel?" Crowley asked softly.

The answer was never yes, these days, but Aziraphale still made himself nod and smile, made himself retreat from the embrace he hadn't deserved to have in the first place. He stood, unable to bear meeting Crowley's eyes, and made his way to the living room.

Better to be out there, then wait for Gabriel to find them still in bed, after all. At least they'd be able to delay the inevitable for a few moments longer. Maybe Aziraphale would even muster the courage and eloquence to get the wrongness of it all through Gabriel's thick skull, and avoid the whole thing entirely.

Crowley trailed out after him, bedroom door clicking shut just as the front door opened. Gabriel opened his arms, all expectant smiles, and they were both pulled in like hapless fish caught in a dragnet.

Gabriel waited patiently for them each to give him a kiss on the cheek, and once they'd delivered, smiled and drew them both towards the sofa.

"I wanted to talk a bit more about love with you two," he said as they all sat.

"All right," Aziraphale said with empty defeatism, knowing with near-absolute certainty that Gabriel would somehow manage to pervert whatever they said into something that would inadvertently make their situation worse.

"So, I'm starting to get that love involves objects, material goods, y'know, like your library and your books, Aziraphale?"

Aziraphale nodded tiredly, watching Crowley echo the motion.

Gabriel beamed. "Great! I wanted to do something like that for Crowley, too." He gave Crowley an affectionate squeeze. "Obviously, he's a demon, so I bet he'd gotten his hands on all sorts of material possessions, but there've got to be a few things that stand out, right?

Without thinking, Aziraphale said, "Well, I daresay the Bentley would be–"

His mouth caught up with his mind, and he promptly shut it, but the damage was already done; he could see it in the horrified look in Crowley's eyes, the interest sparking in Gabriel's.

A lightbulb seemed to flicker to life in the dim echo chamber of Gabriel's mind. "The Bentley? That's the car that you have– well, had, back on Earth – isn't it, Crowley?"

Crowley kept his gaze fixed on Aziraphale, making him shrivel up under its weight. "Yes," he said tightly. "It is."

Gabriel clapped his hands together, a pleased expression on his face. "I've just had a great idea," he announced, sending a thrill of terror down Aziraphale's spine. There was no world in which that could possibly be a good thing. "You both just wait here, I'll be right back."

With a flash of lightning and ozone, he vanished.

"Like we have any other choice," Crowley spat, shoving himself upright and stalking back and forth.

"Crowley, I'm so sorry, I didn't think–"

"He's going to hurt her," Crowley muttered despairingly, hands making agitated, fitful movements as he paced. "He's going to hurt her somehow, get his grubby hands all over her…"

Aziraphale stared at him in horrified stupefaction for a few seconds. "Who? The car?"

"Yes, the bloody car!" Crowley hissed, burying his fingers in his hair and tugging sharply in frustration.

"Maybe…" Aziraphale tried, without enough conviction to convince anyone of anything. "Maybe he won't do anything to her?"

Crowley whirled on him. "How d'you think he's going to get her Up Here? Drive her up the sodding escalator? He's got to do something. And where is he going to put her? Hm?"

"He might create a garage?" Aziraphale suggested desperately. "If he agreed to make a library for me, then surely–"

Crowley laughed bitterly. "Oh, yeah? And what're you going to trade him in exchange for that?" Aziraphale flinched, and Crowley bit down hard on his bottom lip. "Forget I said that. I didn't mean that."

Aziraphale was saved from having to answer by the bright flash of Gabriel's triumphant return.

"Here we are!" he announced grandly, taking hold of one of Crowley's hands and holding it up, before promptly depositing the Bentley – now the size of a thimble – into his upturned palm.

Crowley stared down at the tiny car in his palm in outraged disbelief, hands trembling, barely able to keep himself under control enough to avoid accidentally crushing it in his anger.

"Oh, look at that, he's... simply overcome with joy," Aziraphale said faintly. "Well done, Gabriel, what… what an excellent gift."

"Great! I knew he'd like it." Gabriel beamed at them both, then stepped closer to Crowley, slapping him on the shoulder. "Why don't you go put that away, though, huh? I forgot to tell you both, but Michael's going to drop by in about an hour, just before our next meeting. Everyone's been really interested in how you've been coming along in all this, I can't wait to start showing you off a bit."

Aziraphale could see a slight tension around Gabriel's eyes, a little extra insistence in his tone, a tiny slip in restraint as he squeezed Crowley's shoulder a touch harder than he probably meant to.

It struck Aziraphale, suddenly, that the other Archangels likely still weren't aware of Crowley's five-month slumber – and that there would be immense pressure on Crowley to perform to expectations, given that they'd been made to wait so long for Crowley to ostensibly be 'ready' to meet with them.

He wondered how vocally the other three might have been expressing their doubts on Gabriel's little pet project. He wondered what promises Gabriel had made about Crowley's behaviour, the efficacy with which he was conferring a supposed immunity to hellfire to Gabriel.

He wondered what would happen if Michael was dissatisfied with their performance.

"Actually, y'know what, Crowley, you don't like food, do you? That works out well, Aziraphale and I can go get lunch ready, and you can…" He made a vague gesture to the Bentley clutched in Crowley's still-shaking hands. "Do whatever things you do with a car."

"O-oh," Aziraphale said cautiously, worried gaze still lingering on how Crowley was trembling. He didn't think Crowley had even heard what Gabriel had said. "I suppose we're off to the kitchen then, and Crowley will stay out here?"

Gabriel chuckled. "Well, that is where the food is, Aziraphale, we've made meals together often enough at this point, haven't we? Let's give Crowley a chance to enjoy his gift."

Crowley finally seemed to realise that the conversation was carrying on without him, and that Aziraphale was about to be whisked away.

It was only an hour, at least, Aziraphale told himself. If they were going to be preparing a meal, that probably left very little time for Gabriel to do anything to him during the preparation (or after) – and Gabriel had the meeting to attend to with Michael after their lunch.

There wouldn't be anything stopping Gabriel once the meeting was over, of course, but that was a bridge that he could put off crossing for a little while still. One step at a time.

He offered Crowley a wan smile, trying not to linger too long on the tension etched into Crowley's face. "Enjoy your… your gift a while, my dear," he managed to say without his voice cracking. "As Gabriel said, food is not your favourite human experience, best that Gabriel and I handle this on our own."

Crowley nodded, hesitant and terse, and Aziraphale allowed Gabriel to steer him towards the kitchen by a hand on his lower back.

"You were right, Aziraphale," Gabriel said, pleased, as they entered the kitchen and he miracled them both into aprons, their sleeves neatly rolled. "He was absolutely speechless with that present, huh? We'll have to brainstorm some more things to get you both at some point, we'll have you giving me that immunity in no time!"

"Yes, rather," Aziraphale murmured, mechanically gathering ingredients from the pantry as per the instructions of the open page of the cookbook Gabriel had taken to using whenever they cooked. He looked over the recipe – a simple breaded chicken and salad – and realised with a sinking heart that there was more than enough time to spare to prepare the meal Gabriel had chosen before Michael arrived.

More than enough time for Gabriel to occupy himself in other ways.

Sure enough, when he turned to collect more ingredients from the fridge, Gabriel caught him by the waist, chuckling in his ear and drawing him close. "Easy there, sunshine, no need to rush things, is there?"

"No," Aziraphale whispered as he gripped at the edge of the counter, knowing full well that Gabriel wouldn't recognise the protest for what it was.

"I don't want you to feel left out, now that Crowley's awake again," Gabriel said, pushing his hips against Aziraphale's arse. Aziraphale could already feel him stirring through the fabric of their trousers. "It's still important to me that you feel loved."

"T-thank you," Aziraphale stuttered, eyes clenching shut when Gabriel began kissing at the side of his neck.

"It'll just be a quick one, we've got things to do, after all, is that all right?"

"Of course," Aziraphale replied dully, shuddering as the fabric separating them was miracled away, as Gabriel's rapidly hardening cock slipped between the cleft of Aziraphale's arse. Soon enough, the tip of his cock pressed against Aziraphale's miracle-slicked entrance, the hard barrier of the kitchen bench leaving him with no option but to accept the intrusion.

Aziraphale read the product details on the back of the packet of flour and waited for it to be over.

He tried to keep himself quiet – what if Crowley heard, came into the kitchen, and was then forced to bear witness to this indignity? – but there was nothing to stop Gabriel's short, sharp grunts of pleasure as he fucked into Aziraphale hard and fast. There was nothing stopping Gabriel's long, satisfied groan when he came to completion, grinding himself slowly against Aziraphale's arse, like the idea of leaving something of himself inside Aziraphale for more than a few minutes was immensely appealing to him.

The noise hadn't summoned Crowley, in the end, and Aziraphale didn't quite know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

Gabriel patted him on the back. "Thanks for that, champ," he said, pulling out and miracling them both a new set of clothes. Aziraphale felt his chest clench at the realisation that the clothes were very much distinct from the ones he'd been wearing previously – even if Crowley truly hadn't been listening, thanks to the wardrobe change he'd still likely know exactly what had happened.

Aziraphale said nothing, easing himself upright and tugging his newly summoned apron down.

He kept his head down, wordlessly following Gabriel's instructions as he was ordered about the kitchen, ever the good little soldier.

Just as the meals were plated, a soft chime sounded from Gabriel's pocket.

"That'll be Michael, I'm sure," Gabriel said, fetching the glowing blue communication device from his pocket. "Michael!" he announced broadly. "Punctual as always, you know I love that. I'll be right out to get you." Without waiting for a reply, he blew gently over the screen to disperse the connection and tucked it away. He gave Aziraphale's shoulders a tight squeeze. "Showtime, huh, bud? Why don't you go make sure Crowley's ready – don't know if you could tell, but there's a lot riding on this, so we better make sure it all goes smoothly, hm?"

Gabriel strode off before Aziraphale could stammer a response, a heavy pit settling deep in his stomach and taking root.

Chapter Text

Crowley cradled the tiny Bentley in his palm as if it were a snowflake, and walked to the bedroom with leaden feet.

He'd cottoned on at the end of the preceding conversation that Gabriel wanted to cook something with Aziraphale, but Crowley himself was well acquainted with the way Gabriel seemed to read even the most mundane of activities as a mere prelude to sex. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to stand the inevitable sound of Gabriel taking his pleasure.

He closed the bedroom door behind him with a soft thud, then sank heavily down onto the bed.

In an attempt to console himself, Crowley reasoned that Gabriel might have only made a miniature facsimile of the real thing, but he knew that he wasn't that lucky. This was his most prized material possession, reduced to something smaller than a children's toy.

He wanted to be mad at Aziraphale for his slip of the tongue. Hadn't he just told Crowley, after all, that he was going to be more thoughtful with his words? Could he not have thought of literally anything else to satisfy Gabriel's questions?

But the roiling black sea of fury within him was directed entirely at Gabriel. He couldn't really blame Aziraphale, no matter how much he might have wanted to hold onto that anger. The Bentley's fate had been sealed the moment Gabriel had even asked the question. It had been by far the most logical answer for Aziraphale to give, and Crowley wasn't sure if he would have even answered differently, if the question had been posed directly to him instead.

Not to mention that, when the gift of the Bentley failed to give Gabriel the feeling of love that he was searching for, he'd no doubt try to find something else Crowley loved to pervert. Even if Aziraphale had managed to answer differently, the Bentley would have wound up in Gabriel's clutches in the end.

Still. That didn't mean that the sight of the Bentley morphed into something convenient for Gabriel's needs didn't fill him with unbridled fury.

Crowley stroked a finger carefully over the roof of the tiny car, leaving a smudged echo of the fingerprint he'd carefully wrought into the skin covering his fingers several millennia ago.

No matter what Gabriel had done, the Bentley was still Crowley's.

He worked on keeping his breathing steady, repeating that same mantra in his head, and did his very best not to scream with rage.

––––––––––––––––––

Aziraphale was startled into action at the distant click of the front door, as Gabriel made his way through to his main office to let Michael in.

He shucked the apron he was still wearing and walked quickly out to the living room, then, upon finding it empty, darted to the bedroom. Inside, Crowley was still staring down at the tiny Bentley cradled in his palms.

"Oh, Crowley," he said softly, guilt swirling through him in an anxious spiral. "I'm so sorry, I truly am, I spoke so thoughtlessly–"

"'S OK, angel," Crowley sighed heavily. "You had to give him something, after all. Makes sense that this is the first thing that came to mind." He looked up, sorrow and exhaustion framed by soft, fiery waves. "S'pose Michael's about here, then?"

"Yes," Aziraphale confirmed, throat tight, unsure what he'd done to deserve such easy forgiveness, when he'd yet again caused Crowley more suffering. Or maybe it was simply that Aziraphale being such a failure was so par for the course, that Crowley wasn't even surprised he'd managed to mess things up again. Maybe he just didn't have the energy left to deal with Aziraphale's shortcomings. He hunched his shoulders, throat tightening a little further. "I'm supposed to make sure that… you're ready."

Crowley scoffed. "Don't suppose Gabriel elaborated on what measure of 'ready' he wants me to be, did he?"

Aziraphale grimaced in response, berating himself for not having had the forethought to ask more questions. "Not so much, no. He only emphasised the importance of making a good impression."

"Little tempted to see if we could sabotage that without Gabriel even noticing," Crowley muttered, standing and crossing over to one of the bedside tables, gently placing the Bentley down in one of the drawers. He sighed again, staring down into the drawer for several seconds before closing it. "But I reckon that would probably backfire, wouldn't it? Our continued survival probably hinges on this lunch going well, doesn't it?"

"I would imagine so, yes–" Aziraphale started, and his heart lodged itself a little further up his throat at the sound of the front door opening once more. Without thinking, he grabbed for Crowley's hand, clutching tight, some small, greedy hope curling in his chest when Crowley didn't immediately pull away. He hoped desperately, but probably futilely, that it would be enough to communicate everything that he didn't currently have the time to say. They looked at each other, each taking a shuddering breath, then, in unison, stepped towards the bedroom door.

They moved into the living room just as the front door opened, Gabriel making a broad gesture to invite Michael in. "So glad you could join us, Michael," he was saying, all ultrabright smiles. Aziraphale gave Crowley's hand another squeeze, trying to reassure both Crowley and himself.

Michael cast a glance over the living room, lingering briefly on the office door that had appeared since her last visit.

"Michael," Aziraphale said with a forced smile, trying not to sound like he was choking. "How lovely to see you again. I'm sure you remember Crowley?"

Even as he said it, he knew how inane it sounded – and why would he give her any reminder that the last time she'd supposedly seen Crowley was at his failed execution? Hadn't Aziraphale already made enough blunders for one day?

"Michael," Crowley said with a carefully casual drawl, offering a hand to shake. "Been a while, hasn't it? Much nicer scenery, this time 'round."

Oh, Aziraphale could have kissed him, if he'd thought it would at all be welcomed. Crowley was always so much better at this sort of thing than he was.

"Yes, these are certainly more… pleasant circumstances, I'm sure." She gave him a tight-lipped smile, taking his hand with two fingers and shaking it gingerly. "I hope that you won't hold my actions against me."

Crowley made a few affable noises. "Ah, all holy water under the bridge, isn't it?"

Gabriel cut in with a laugh. "It didn't go the way I expected it to, that's for sure! But all for the better that things went the way they did, huh? Wouldn't have you both here, with me, if it'd all gone according to plan." He wedged himself between Crowley and Aziraphale, giving them both a squeeze. "Tell you what, I've got lunch ready already, why don't we get you three settled in the dining room and I'll bring it out, how does that sound?"

Michael raised her eyebrows slightly. "You've prepared food? The human way?"

Gabriel laughed again, giving Aziraphale a conspiratorial look, like they were both in on some grand secret. Aziraphale mostly tried to avoid throwing up out of pure stress.

"Aziraphale turned me on to it," Gabriel said as they moved into the dining room. "It's a bit tedious, but he loves the more human stuff, and it's been really helpful in learning about romantic love, from both of them." He smiled, teeth practically gleaming, as he pulled out the chair at the opposite head of table at which he usually sat. "You really need to give it a try. No room for doubt in Heaven, after all, is there?"

"Quite," Michael murmured, following Gabriel's gesture towards the chair and allowing him to tuck it in underneath her.

"Great! Just you wait, you'll see what I mean."

He vanished back to the kitchen, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley alone with Michael.

Aziraphale's heart abruptly began pounding against his ribs, acutely aware of the narrow window of opportunity being presented to them – the chance to speak with someone in Heaven without direct oversight from Gabriel.

Admittedly, Michael hadn't really given much away when she'd visited last time other than some scepticism, so Aziraphale was entirely unsure as to where she currently sat on the whole business. She had always been rather terrifyingly practical, but might that not work to their benefit? Might it not be easier to convince her, than anyone else, that what Gabriel was attempting to do wasn't something that could be forced, and finally put a stop to the proceedings?

The chance of success seemed so slim, but how long would it take for the opportunity to speak to another Archangel outside of Gabriel's earshot to arise again? What if he decided next time to just miracle the food from the kitchen to the table? What if Michael ended up finding the concept of eating distasteful, leading Gabriel to decide not to make the same offer on any future visits?

He couldn't let the opportunity pass him by.

"Michael," he whispered, voice low and frantic. Crowley gave him a sharp look, immediately reading his tone, but Aziraphale surged on, driven by desperation. "There's been a terrible misunderstanding. Gabriel appears to believe he can make Crowley and I fall in love with him, but–"

"Aziraphale," she soothed, with a smile sharper than any blade. "Gabriel is Best Loved. Of course you love him, as well."

Aziraphale felt his chest tighten, mind flashing back to a thousand other instances when she'd regarded him with similar condescension.

Maybe this had been a bad idea. Maybe he should have waited.

"Michael, you misunderstand me," Aziraphale insisted anyway, soldiering on, ignoring the frantic eyes Crowley was making at him. The only way out was through, there was nothing to be gained from simply backing down now. What if this was their only chance, and his meekness ruined everything once again? "We didn't... we didn't choose this. We are not here by our own choice. We are being kept here against our will."

It was something of a liberation to state it so plainly to someone who wasn't already suffering the same fate beside him. A weight lifted from his shoulders. There was surely no way that Michael could misconstrue his words, she'd have to act now that she knew that Gabriel's plan could never work–

"Of course you aren't here by choice, Aziraphale, that would defeat the purpose." Her smile grew hard, gaze shifting and eyes boring into Crowley's. "It is a shame that having your punishment fit your crime didn't work out, but I suppose I can settle for second-best."

The weight instantly dropped back down onto him, crushing him all the harder for the brief moment of reprieve.

He'd heard that phrasing before, when he'd been down in Hell wearing Crowley's skin. At that point, he'd already seen the brackish puddle of goo on the floor of Crowley's flat that had formerly been a Duke of Hell, he'd already known that Hell blamed Crowley for orchestrating the Duke's obliteration.

He had wondered who, exactly, had first opened the channels of cooperation between the offices of Heaven and Hell, when they had tried to enact his and Crowley's executions after the failed Apocalypse. Well, that was that mystery solved.

He went cold as the implications truly began to sink in.

She knew.

She already knew exactly how desperate their position was, and she wasn't going to so much as lift a finger to help them, because she wanted them both to suffer.

In fact, it was more than likely that even if they fully gained Gabriel's trust, Michael would actively block any petition Gabriel might make to grant them any increased freedoms.

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, and saw horrified realisation flashing in his eyes, mirroring his own.

"Here we are!" Gabriel announced cheerfully, wheeling out a sleek serving cart.

"Thank you, Gabriel," Michael said serenely. "I'm sure that this luncheon of yours will prove very informative."

Gabriel smiled, utterly oblivious to her subtle disdain, and promptly dispersed plates and cutlery to the place settings before each of the angels, steam wafting gently from the chicken.

Michael looked to the empty place setting before Crowley. "Aren't you having any?"

Aziraphale's heart leapt up into his throat, mind whirring as he searched for a possible explanation, one that didn't involve letting on how long Crowley had slept after his last meal. Something that wouldn't make Michael suspect that their deceit ran deeper than just pretending to be in love with Gabriel.

Crowley just gave a laconic shrug.

"Nah, never had much of an appeal for me, personally." The maelstrom of Aziraphale's frantic thoughts began to settle at Crowley's calm tone, giving him some degree of certainty that Crowley had some suitable lie for the occasion. "Eating dust all my days, and all that, tends to put a bit of a damper on the appetite. You guys dig in, though, I don't mind."

Aziraphale remembered Crowley laughing at that particular verse, once, saying that he'd certainly never had God speak to him directly like that, and that he could taste just fine. Definitely wouldn't have enjoyed wine nearly as much as he did if he couldn't.

Ironic enough, really, that Aziraphale's first bite after Gabriel had said Grace tasted like absolutely nothing.

He supposed that in reality, the meal was delicious. The breaded crust was crisp, making a satisfying crunch as he chewed, juices from the chicken within spilling over his tongue.

Mostly, it just made him want to throw up.

He forced the mouthful down, the muscles of his throat aching as they tried to rebel against him. To his right Gabriel tucked in with his usual gusto; to his left, Michael cut herself a dainty slice of chicken, expression aloof as she brought it to her mouth for a taste.

"Oh," she murmured, seeming genuinely surprised, and Gabriel let out a hearty guffaw in between bites.

"See? What did I tell you!"

She gave him a thin smile as she chewed, clearly enjoying the food, but very much not enjoying being proven wrong.

The three of them ate with varying degrees of enthusiasm for a few quiet minutes, Aziraphale struggling gamely with each mouthful as he helplessly watched Crowley fight the urge to bounce his leg with anxiety.

Michael seemed clued in to the tension, but rather than resuming her needling of Crowley, she turned her attention to Aziraphale, seeming to sense a weaker target.

"So, Gabriel has been running his project with you both for the better part of a year, now, but I've gotten the impression that you haven't yet achieved the desired results?"

Vomiting would not be accepted as a reasonable response, he was sure, so instead he said, "No, not yet."

"And why do you suppose that might be?"

Aziraphale swallowed, recognising the interrogation for what it was. "Well, I…" He swallowed again, eyes flicking to Crowley. "Romantic love isn't born, fully formed, in a single instant. It takes time to develop. It must be nurtured, cared for. Love cannot flourish without due care and attention. Crowley and I… we… we courted for centuries before we even realised that our love for one another had grown to the point that it granted us other gifts."

Michael's gaze kept him pinned like a butterfly in a display case, but there was only disdain and cold satisfaction in her stare. There was no suspicion to be seen, no inkling that she had any doubts that he and Crowley were truly immune to hellfire and holy water.

"Centuries? Gabriel's given a much more compressed expected timeframe in his progress updates," she said, question implied in her leading words.

Aziraphale forced a smile, knowing that he would have to parrot the rationale Gabriel had given for his expectations for success. Even knowing that she was actively trying to steer him into saying hurtful things about Crowley, he couldn't think of a way to entirely avoid it. "He… yes, that is to say, we… believe that the love an Archangel can offer is even more powerful than what Crowley and I could share on our own."

He'd done what he could to soften the words, but realised too late that all that had done was leave the door open for Gabriel to interject. "See, Michael, didn't I tell you? I've got a natural advantage with Aziraphale, because I'm an Archangel, and if Crowley can fall in love with an angel like Aziraphale, then it won't be long before he's in love with me enough to give me hellfire immunity, too. Way faster than the centuries it took them on their own."

Aziraphale flinched, shoulders hunched miserably. Gabriel was right about one thing, he supposed; it wouldn't take centuries. There was no way that Aziraphale would last that long.

Michael's mouth twitched up into a smile, clearly thinking that cornering Aziraphale into saying cruel things had the combined effect of having Crowley hurt by his words, as well as making Crowley suffer from watching helplessly on as Aziraphale struggled. He felt some measure of bitter satisfaction – at this point, he doubted she was actually achieving much of the latter.

That didn't stop her from continuing the conversation in a similar fashion; he took to choking down another piece of his meal right as she finished saying something to him, to give him an excuse for a few extra seconds to collect himself. Before long, though, his plate was emptied, leaving Crowley to try and force himself into the conversation whenever Aziraphale floundered. Michael was relentless, though, clearly enjoying how off-kilter it was making them both that she was directing her attention at Aziraphale like this.

Finally, mercifully, she set down her knife and fork as she finished her own meal, leaning back in her chair.

"Well. Not that this hasn't been entertaining, but I've got a prior engagement to attend to. Gabriel?"

He smiled vacuously, standing from the table and vanishing the dirty dishes as he went. "Right behind you."

She gave him a curt nod, then vanished in a shower of sparks.

Gabriel sucked in a breath through his teeth once she'd gone, turning to Crowley. "You were a bit quiet, there, bud, what happened? You're usually so chatty," he said, frowning. "Didn't Aziraphale tell you that I wanted you to make a good impression for me?"

"I don't think any fault lies with Crowley," Aziraphale interjected hastily. "Michael directed most of her queries to me, after all. I-I should think it was from force of habit, I used to report to the Archangels as part of my former duties, I'm sure you remember." He folded his lips before any more ramblings could tumble out.

Gabriel let out a discontent sigh. "Guess you're right. But hey, Uriel's going to want to come see Crowley's progress for herself at some point, I'm sure he can do a better job then." He gave Crowley's shoulder an encouraging squeeze, then glanced down at his watch. "I've really gotta get to that meeting, but we can talk more after, OK?"

So saying, he motioned them both to get up for a farewell kiss, then disappeared once they'd complied, leaving the scent of ozone burning in their nostrils.

"She already knew," Crowley said bleakly, staring at the space Michael had just vacated.

Aziraphale nodded slowly, making a futile attempt to swallow down the lump in his throat as he blinked back tears. "She… she did."

"She's going to try to find ways to keep us here, even if we manage to convince anyone else to help us."

Another nod, tighter this time. "I suspect so, yes."

Crowley suddenly crumpled into him, face buried against his shoulder. "We're so fucked," he mumbled flatly, his whole body limp as he sagged against Aziraphale.

"We've survived this much," Aziraphale tried to soothe, refraining from mentioning that they'd really only done so by the skin of their metaphorical teeth. "There are other options. We'll find some other way to freedom."

The words sounded so thin, even to his own ears.

He didn't expect a reply, so the silence between them stretched on for several long moments, before Aziraphale realised that there was a depth to the quiet that he couldn't quite place. Then, too late, it clicked – exhaustion had overtaken Crowley, despair over the disastrous outcome of the lunch sending him into a slumber as a means of temporary escape.

The thought immediately occurred to him that Crowley had just left him for another five months or more. It made his pulse quicken, breath rapidly deteriorating to a ragged gasp, but he forced himself to be calm, to be rational. Crowley had suffered no injury to his corporation, as he had the first time. There was no physical ill that needed time to heal.

He stroked Crowley's hair with a hesitant, shaky hand, then gently scooped him off his feet, holding his sleeping body in his arms.

Crowley hadn't abandoned him, he hadn't.

In fact, what better way to prove to Crowley that he could do better, that he could be better? If he could bear being the sole focus of Gabriel's attention with a little more stoicism this time, it – well, it wouldn't be enough to win their freedom, but it might be enough to begin earning his way back into Crowley's good graces.

Even if it meant seeking Gabriel out deliberately, and subjecting himself to Gabriel's misguided affections without resistance.

Aziraphale carried Crowley to the bedroom, laying him down atop the covers, then straightening up with an expression of grim determination fixed on his face.

He wasn't strong enough for it to matter if he tried to physically confront Gabriel, but he was strong enough for this.

He had to be.

Chapter Text

Crowley jerked awake from a dreamless sleep, heart pounding without knowing why.

Then, in an abrupt tumble of recollections that made him feel like his heart had stopped beating entirely, he remembered.

The lunch. Michael's supercilious smile as she revealed that she'd known they were effectively being tortured, that she'd wanted them to suffer as they had. The realisation his past actions might be the reason that they never got away from Gabriel.

Falling asleep in Aziraphale's arms to escape the dismal reality of their continued imprisonment–

Aziraphale. Where was Aziraphale?

Crowley whirled around, bedcovers twisting beneath him as he frantically scanned the room, only to be greeted with an empty room, completely silent.

Horror crept coldly down his spine at the realisation that that wasn't quite true.

Muffled by the door, he could hear the soft sounds of moaning from the living room.

Terror gripped him as he realised he had no idea yet how long he'd slept for. How long Aziraphale might have had to face Gabriel completely on his own.

His gaze dropped to his watch, but his relief from the knowledge that it had only been around half a day was minimal. Especially when another moan sounded from the other side of the door.

Crowley launched himself out of bed, wrestling briefly, ferociously, with the tangle of sheets trying to keep him trapped, struggling just as much to tamp down on his panic before finally pulling free. He raced for the door, only pulling back at the last second, as he realised how disastrous simply bursting into the room could be.

He forced himself to breathe, to calm some of the manic energy, before he turned the door handle and stepped out into the living room.

His eyes were drawn immediately to the sofa. Or, more accurately, what was happening atop it.

Aziraphale was astride Gabriel's lap, naked from the waist down, button-down shirt completely undone, Gabriel's hands gripped firmly around his hips. His eyes were screwed shut, but they popped open at Crowley's abrupt arrival. "Crowley," he choked out, startled, just as Gabriel yanked him fully down onto his cock and spilt into him with a groan.

A moan squeezed itself from Aziraphale as he looked away in shame, a shudder rippling over him as Crowley watched helplessly from the door. Gabriel, now alerted to the fact that they had an audience, pressed a kiss to the back of Aziraphale's neck, then turned his attention to Crowley.

"There you are, champ, was wondering where you'd gotten to before this one distracted me!" He grinned and gave Aziraphale's arse an emphatic fondle.

The little sound Aziraphale made, a soft hitch of breath that was too tired to be a sob, nearly broke Crowley's heart in two.

"Would you like to join?" Aziraphale asked, still not meeting his eyes. There was a defeatism to Aziraphale's expression that made Crowley's stomach turn.

"I'm sure Gabriel's got work to get to," he managed in response.

Aziraphale made a shaky little sound, right as Gabriel let out a sigh. "Much as I'd like to stick around, Crowley's right," he said, starting to shift Aziraphale out of his lap. "Budge up, won't you?"

Aziraphale whimpered as Gabriel's cock withdrew from him. Crowley did his best to look away, but his eyes were drawn back in, like watching a tragedy unfold before him. Soon enough, though, Gabriel was miracling away the mess, conjuring a new set of clothes for himself even as he levered the still-half-naked Aziraphale onto the sofa next to him.

"I'll leave him ready for you, Crowley, that way you don't have to bother doing it the messy way," Gabriel said, snapping his fingers again. Aziraphale muffled another whimper, hips jerking forward slightly in his seat.

Crowley felt his cheeks flare hot to match the miserable flush on Aziraphale's face. "Oh," he faltered, "That's..."

Gabriel waved him off affably. "No need to thank me. Now, don't have too much fun without me," he said, winking, then vanished with a faint pop.

"…Are you all right?" Crowley asked softly.

Aziraphale just let out a hysterical laugh that wavered dangerously close to a sob.

Crowley winced, knowing how asinine the question had been.

"'M sorry," he murmured, awkwardly taking a seat next to Aziraphale, unable to stand talking down at him. He left enough space between them that their thighs wouldn't touch, but close enough that Aziraphale could feel free to reach out, if he wanted.

At least, that's how he hoped it came across. Aziraphale was still wearing nothing but an undone button up shirt, Crowley certainly wouldn't have blamed him for having any anxieties about being touched in his dishevelled state.

"Don't be sorry," Aziraphale whispered, staring at an unfixed point on the floor rather than looking at him. "It wasn't your fault that you fell asleep. I know the blame lies with Gabriel."

Crowley glanced involuntarily at the front door. "Why didn't he just wake me, anyway? 'S not like I would've had the hibernation excuse this time."

"I didn't let him know you were sleeping," Aziraphale said quietly, his voice beginning to thicken. "You needed the rest."

Crowley stared at him. "What if I'd kept sleeping long enough for him to notice anyway?" he blurted.

"I would have had to have crossed that bridge when I got to it, but I'd held onto the hope it wouldn't come to that," Aziraphale told him, wrapping the open edges of his shirt over his chest, fingers shaking too much to rebutton it, shoulders hunching in on themselves. "I thought that it would be better if Gabriel didn't know at all, if possible. If– if he'd known, I'm sure he would have gotten mad, and demanded an explanation, and I don't know what excuse I could have given to appease him, and…" He swallowed, blinking hard, visibly fighting to keep his voice from wavering. "I only wanted–" He hiccupped around an ugly sound, his face crumpling. "I know how poorly I reacted the last time you needed to sleep, I wanted–"

"Mary's fucking tears, angel," Crowley blessed furiously, drawing Aziraphale into the circle of his arms without thinking. He had a brief moment of panic where he feared he'd made the wrong move, but Aziraphale immediately buried his face against Crowley's chest, shoulders hunched as he sobbed.

"Would you have told me?" Crowley asked eventually once Aziraphale grew quiet, his tone careful. "If I'd slept a bit longer, and he'd already gone by the time I'd woken up, would you have even told me that you'd punished yourself like this?"

The silence that followed was just as loud as if Aziraphale had spoken.

"…S'pose I'm hardly one to talk, am I?" Crowley let out a huff of mirthless laughter. "Way I acted when I woke up last time."

"I think your behaviour then was more than justified," Aziraphale murmured into his shoulder. "I know I deserved far worse treatment. I know I'm not enough," he said quietly, plainly. "I know I have been thoughtlessly cruel, and close-minded, and I haven't offered you nearly the same kindness you have shown me. You deserve far better than the treatment I've given you. I would not blame you one bit, should you blame me for all that has happened, once this is over." He looked up, eyes watery and beseeching. "I merely want you to know that whatever your opinion of me is, or will be, I swear to you I won't let it colour my behaviour, and I will not allow myself to be the reason you do not make it out of this."

"...Wait a minute," Crowley said, mind reeling even as it snagged on the last of Aziraphale's words. "Why does it sound like you don't think you're getting out of this along with me?"

Aziraphale let out a watery little laugh. "Come now, my dearest, there's nothing to be gained from trying to spare my feelings. After the way I've behaved, I could hardly do you the further disservice of keeping you beholden to your promise. If an opportunity presents itself that would allow you to escape, you should take it."

"No," Crowley said. Aziraphale pursed his lips, a stubborn set to his jaw. "No," he repeated, more firmly. "You don't get to decide to do that."

Aziraphale looked at him steadily. "On the contrary, I've decided a fair number of things, as of late. It is not your responsibility that I made so many of those decisions poorly."

"Oh, so you agree, then?" Crowley challenged. "You see how absolutely shit that choice is?"

"Crowley, stop being difficult," he said. "All I am saying is that, should circumstances arise whereby you might win your freedom, I would–"

Crowley didn't let him finish. "You want to make it up to me? You start by making it through this, right alongside me. We've had this discussion already, all right? My answer's the same now as it was then. That isn't how this ends. Also, you can stop this rubbish about not being good enough, because you are. People make mistakes, yeah? It's how you learn from them that matters." He took hold of Aziraphale's unresisting hands, giving them a gentle squeeze. "You are so much stronger than any of those glorified pigeons have ever told you that you are, you're the strongest person I know, angel, and you have to get through this, because–" His voice cracked suddenly, a leak springing in his sinuses, eyes threatening to brim as his voice turned watery. "Because if you can't make it through this, then, fuck, I don't even stand a chance."

Aziraphale blinked rapidly at him, clearly trying to stymy his own tears. "But I thought you were still angry with me."

Crowley stared for several seconds before being able to scrape together a reply. "Even if I was, that wouldn't mean I wanted to leave you here on your own, Aziraphale! What the Heaven kind of monster do you take me for?"

He tried to keep any note of accusation out of his voice. If there was any blame to be had in this moment, it was definitely on him; he'd been so wrapped up in his own misery that he hadn't realised just how far Aziraphale was spiralling.

Aziraphale took a shaky breath, withdrawing his hands from Crowley's. "I should hardly think that leaving behind someone who has already proved themselves undeserving to be monstrous behaviour."

"Hey," Crowley protested, resisting the urge to make a panicked grab for Aziraphale's hands. "When did I ever say you were undeserving, that's hardly fair!"

"You didn't need to." Aziraphale took another shaky inhale. "I tried praying, the first time you slept, you know." He pressed his lips together, blinking hard and looking away.

"And? What did She have to say for Herself?" Crowley asked impatiently, fear twisting his insides into an increasingly nauseating series of knots. She hadn't told Aziraphale that neither of them were worth saving, surely?

"Nothing," Aziraphale squeezed out, tears spilling over in the moment before he wrenched his gaze away. "Absolutely nothing. Not even the barest peep. I'm beginning to wonder if…" Aziraphale's chest shuddered. "If She's even bothering to listen at all." He let out a laugh edged with wild hysteria. "She certainly isn't bothering to do anything about it." He took another shuddering breath, scrubbing furiously at his eyes before fixing Crowley with a beseeching look. "Why else wouldn't She answer?"

The irony wasn't lost on him, that Aziraphale would look to him, of all people, for reassurance about the ways in which God moved her chess pieces about.

At least it seems to takes more than a question or two to Fall, these days, he thought with bleak humour, then felt a wave of cold terror crash over him.

What if the doubts Aziraphale was expressing now were concrete steps in that direction? What if Aziraphale lost faith in Her, and vanished through a burning circle in the floor, to be beset upon by whatever demon found him once he'd crash-landed in the pits of Hell?

He knew, without a doubt, that if that happened, Crowley would find a way to go straight down to Hell after him. No way would he let Aziraphale face down the legions of the damned entirely on his own.

At least when the inevitable demonic torture came, they wouldn't be telling him they were doing it because they loved him.

He forced himself out of such dark contemplations with the realisation that Aziraphale was still waiting for an answer.

"I still talk to Her, sometimes, too," he confessed. It only seemed appropriate to finally admit this secret he'd held for the past six millennia. When he'd still been in Hell's employ, it would have been beyond reckless to confide such a thing in one of his fellow demons, and he'd been far too fearful that telling Aziraphale before the failed Apocalypse would have only garnered him pity. Never mind that the state Crowley had been in whenever he'd looked skyward and begged for an explanation had tended to be rather pitiable. "She never… I never got an answer, and I haven't tried since we've been Up Here, but... getting nothing but silence from Her is something that's easy to get used to."

Aziraphale let out a shaky sigh. It wasn't enough, and Crowley knew it, but it wasn't as if they had the luxury of unpacking it all now. What energy they did have needed to go towards their survival. Any existential crises would simply have to wait.

"I suppose if She hadn't spoken back to me when the whole of Earth was at stake, I shouldn't expect Her to do so when it's just the two of us in peril," he said quietly. "What do we do, Crowley?"

"We keep playing along," he made himself say, hating the taste of the words in his mouth. "Obviously Michael's a bust, but maybe one of the other Archangels might cotton on that something's off here eventually, yeah? Not saying I'm hanging all my hopes on that, but might as well keep the option open." Aziraphale nodded, lips pressed tight and eyes glittering. They both knew it was a long shot, but at this point it was almost more about not losing hope than anything else. "As for Gabriel, him bringing the Bentley here might actually be a…" The words almost stuck in his throat. "…Good thing. If we can keep convincing him to give us new things to make us love him more, he's bound to give us something eventually that'll help us escape. He brought something here, from Earth, rather than miracling a replacement. He wouldn't have done that at the start of all this, I think. I'm sure there'd be pushback from Michael on any big-ticket stuff, like letting us go and visit Earth, or even other parts of Heaven, but the scope of what he'll let us do will keep expanding, if we work on it."

Aziraphale nodded, readjusting his shirt around himself, but still not rebuttoning it, even though his hands had long since stopped shaking. The movement made his thighs shift, and he let out a quiet little sound, sitting up a little straighter and abruptly stilling.

Crowley remembered, suddenly, the parting 'gift' Gabriel had left Aziraphale in lieu of actually summoning him a fresh set of clothing.

They hadn't tried making love without Gabriel present since their disastrous first attempt, but surely, after so long being left entirely unsatisfied, having someone tend to him with real love might be to his benefit? Crowley couldn't begin to imagine the sort of tension that Aziraphale had been building up, not having any form of release for all that Gabriel had subjected him to. Might having at least one pleasant experience whilst they were trapped here ease the effect of everything they'd suffered, bring a reminder that there was more to their existence than abiding by Gabriel's whims? Might it remind him of what they were fighting for, help bolster his hope that there would be something left for them at the end of this ordeal?

"Did you want to try again, just the two of us?" Crowley offered hesitantly. "I just... I know you don't get anything out of it when he's here, but I thought, maybe, if it's only us, I could..." He swallowed. "I could do something nice for you. Make you feel good, for a change."

Aziraphale hunched into himself a little further. "I'm not sure if I can," he said, staring at the floor again. "But, if you think trying anyway might help..."

"Nono, hey, no," Crowley was quick to interject, instinctively reaching for Aziraphale but pulling back at the last second, not sure what he'd do with himself if Aziraphale flinched from his touch. "I'm not going to do anything if you're not interested in it. Not here, not once we're free. Not ever. I would never take that choice from you."

The relief that scrawled itself across Aziraphale's face was absolutely crushing, no matter how quickly he hid it. "Perhaps we might revisit the idea, once... once we're back on Earth, where we belong," he offered, voice soft. Crowley's heart broke a little at his fear, his hesitance to say no, as if some part of him expected Crowley to reject him for not acquiescing.

"That'd be nice," Crowley replied, tone just as gentle. "If that was something you wanted to do, once we're out." He cleared his throat, looking to steer away from topics Aziraphale clearly wasn't comfortable dwelling on. "Plenty else to do, once we're out, anyway. Why don't we talk about all the things we'll be able to do again, after? As good a way to pass the time as any."

The gratitude in Aziraphale's expression made Crowley's chest positively glow. "Oh, that sounds like a marvellous idea, I can't believe we haven't done it sooner. Would you like to start, or shall I?"

Crowley made an expansive gesture. "You go ahead, angel, I know how much you love to gush about things."

How much Crowley loved to listen to him gush about things was well implied.

Aziraphale's cheeks pinked happily, a small smile creeping onto his lips. It was the most animated Crowley had seen him since well before his five-month nap. "You know, I really think I'd like to have a nice sticky toffee pudding and tea," he said definitively. "I know that seems like such a silly thing to want, but there's something so heartening about familiar creature comforts, wouldn't you agree?"

Crowley gave him an encouraging smile, leaning back against the sofa and propping his chin up on one hand. "Why don't you tell me how it tastes?" He prompted, and that was all he needed to have Aziraphale well and truly distracted, even for these precious few hours they got to spend alone with each other.

"Well, there certainly wouldn't be any miracles whatsoever involved at any level of the preparation," Aziraphale said with great distain, and Crowley threw his head back, laughing despite himself. "I'd want it made with fresh Medjool dates, the end product holds moisture better, I find..."

Chapter Text

Gabriel returned that evening with all the inevitability of the tide, sweeping Crowley up off his feet and leaving Aziraphale to hurriedly trail along in their wake. Aziraphale couldn't shake the feeling that Gabriel had only intended to take Crowley to bed, this time, what with how he'd only addressed Crowley in his invitation to the bedroom, but he couldn't let himself willingly sit on the sidelines again. He'd only just begun to cobble back together Crowley's faith in him, he couldn't bear to disappoint him so soon.

His conviction didn't make it any easier. His forced moans still wavered dangerously close to sobs as Crowley was made to eat him out with no effect. Gabriel pounded incessantly into Crowley's arse, and Crowley desperately searched for some shape that he could twist his tongue into that might bring Aziraphale pleasure.

Despite Crowley's best efforts, Aziraphale knew that there was no way his body would cooperate. He couldn't help but feel like his earlier conviction was failing him, knowing that he had to be disappointing Crowley like this.

Aziraphale fisted his hands in the sheets, not daring to twine his fingers in Crowley's hair. He'd gathered that Gabriel had something of a fondness for stroking it and gathering it up in his fist, and Aziraphale didn't know if he'd be able to bear doing anything to Crowley that would just remind him of Gabriel.

Their eyes met briefly, and Aziraphale immediately looked away, shame flooding him at the desperate, pleading look on Crowley's face.

Who was he kidding? There was nothing he could do in this situation to make Crowley feel better about things. The only thing he could do was to not actively make things worse, what with how his body seemed determined not to feel anything pleasurable about Crowley touching him in all the ways he'd wanted him to for centuries.

Aziraphale felt tears stinging at his eyes at the injustice of it, his breath growing more laboured as he fought to keep himself from sobbing. He leant into it, letting his breathing become shallow and uneven, eyes closing and fists tightening further in the sheets as his faked moans climbed in pitch.

Something in the way Crowley gripped gently at his thighs let him know that Crowley could still tell he was faking it. Crowley licked into him regardless, ceaseless even as Gabriel picked up his pace, spilling into Crowley with a groan as Aziraphale pretended to topple off the edge into an orgasm.

Crowley's mouth went soft against him, not withdrawing even as the rest of him trembled. Gabriel made a satisfied sound, patting Crowley's flank before pulling out and miracling away the mess he'd made.

"Why don't you and Aziraphale keep going," Gabriel suggested. "I'll join you again in a bit."

Crowley trembled a few moments more, then moved his mouth away from Aziraphale's clit. Aziraphale cracked his eyes back open and looked down, heart clenching at the sight of tears shimmering along the waterline of Crowley's glassy eyes. Aziraphale's gaze was drawn down a little further, to the hard jutting line of Crowley's cock leaking with precum, and Crowley looked away in shame.

Wordlessly, Aziraphale opened his arms to Crowley, unsure of what croaky mess of words might leave him if he tried to speak. He needed to offer Crowley some sort of sign that he wasn't repulsed by Crowley's body acting beyond his control, didn't think any lesser of him for it, and couldn't think of anything other than to open himself up to an embrace.

Crowley looked back up again at the movement, saw Aziraphale waiting for him with open arms, and his face crumpled. With Gabriel still observing behind him, though, it was clear he knew he only had one option, and he fixed his gaze on Aziraphale's shoulder as he slowly crawled forward.

Aziraphale reached out for Crowley's face once he was close enough, gently drawing him into a kiss. Crowley let out a near-sob, mouth moving helplessly against Aziraphale's, desperately seeking a solace that was out of reach of them both.

By all rights, Aziraphale should have been able to taste himself on Crowley's tongue. Instead, all he could taste were miracles and tears, Crowley's body shaking where it pressed up against Aziraphale's.

Aziraphale reached down, his own hands shaking as he gently took hold of Crowley's cock and guided him into place, his cunt already stretched by one of Gabriel's earlier miracles. A low whine punched out of Crowley's chest at the touch, hips jerking forward once before he was able to steady himself into a slow press in.

"Aziraphale," he whispered brokenly, and Aziraphale kissed the words out of his mouth, trying to let him know that he was still loved, that this moment in no way diminished what they shared.

He poured all of his energy and attention into the kiss, doing his best not to focus on the gentle press of Crowley's cock into him, how the sensation ultimately wasn't so dissimilar to when it was Gabriel doing it, instead.

He focused on the kiss, drinking in every whimper and moan Crowley made, as if he were taking every bad feeling Crowley was having about this into himself, so that Crowley wouldn't have to feel it quite as badly. He imagined a world where that would actually be enough – that the actions he was able to take would actually work to properly protect Crowley, rather than the progressive series of compromises they'd both had to make that only served to redistribute the harm between them both.

He imagined being able to take anything Gabriel could throw at him with complete stoicism. He imagined Crowley being grateful, but not burdened by the crippling guilt Aziraphale himself had felt, when he'd needed Crowley to protect him at the start.

He imagined Crowley being safe.

He imagined Crowley being proud of him.

He was so focused on trying to channel those emotions into the kiss, that it took him far too long to notice another rhythmic sound behind the slick press of Crowley's mouth against his – Gabriel, watching them both, stroking himself back to full hardness.

Aziraphale broke away from the kiss and turned his head towards Gabriel before he could stop himself, gaze caught like a deer in headlights.

Gabriel smiled at him, clearly taking the shift in Aziraphale's attention as an invitation.

"I know you’re a fan of just watching, sometimes, Aziraphale, but personally I think there's something to be said for getting properly involved," Gabriel told him, before moving closer and promptly slipping himself easily back into Crowley's still-stretched hole. Crowley choked on a moan, shoulders tensing at the intrusion, and Aziraphale clung helplessly to him, kissing away the fresh tears forming at the corners of Crowley's eyes. "Yeah, that's better," Gabriel groaned, already grabbing Crowley's hips and fucking steadily into him.

Crowley, meanwhile, let his own thrusts still, even though he seemed to realise that would only make Aziraphale feel the echo of Gabriel's thrusting all the more keenly. Aziraphale reasoned that Crowley couldn't be far off from reaching his own end, and was trying to stave it off, sure that Gabriel wouldn't grasp the concept of overstimulation to stop once Crowley finished.

Sure enough, it was only a matter of minutes before Crowley's breath began to hitch, hips beginning to press forward almost of their own accord. His shoulders hunched, his expression crumpling, and Aziraphale took Crowley's face between his hands once more, kissing him to swallow the jagged sounds tumbling from his lips.

Crowley clutched the sheets by Aziraphale's head, pressing their hips flush and sobbing into Aziraphale's mouth as he came.

Gabriel groaned behind Crowley, presumably enjoying the feeling of Crowley clenching tight around him. Aziraphale tried to shove the thought out of his head – to leave no space in his consciousness for Gabriel and his pleasure, and focusing instead on the trembling demon in his arms, on offering whatever small comforts he could to soothe the overstimulated whines being poured into his mouth.

Crowley's elbows gave out and he collapsed more fully against Aziraphale's chest, pulling his mouth away from Aziraphale's in favour of hiding his face in the crook of Aziraphale's neck. Aziraphale let go of his cheeks, instead letting his hands settle comfortingly against Crowley's back, being sure to keep his fingers well clear of the bruises mottling his neck and shoulders.

He tried not to think on how thorough Gabriel must have been, for Crowley to have this many love bites so soon after waking from his long slumber.

Crowley gasped wetly against him, hot breath and tears condensing on Aziraphale's collarbone. His hips still twitched forward in time with his whimpers, Gabriel still using his body to chase his own end. Aziraphale did his best to soothe Crowley, and not feel entirely useless as he did so.

It seemed to take an eternity for Gabriel's pace to finally stutter, but inevitably it happened, his body bowing forward so that he could bite down on Crowley's shoulder as he came. Crowley let out a thin little moan, burrowing his face a little deeper against Aziraphale's neck.

Another moan left him when Gabriel pulled out of him a few moments later. Shakily, Crowley pulled himself out of Aziraphale, too, and Gabriel snapped his fingers to clean all of their bodies.

Aziraphale clung stubbornly to Crowley, knowing that if he let him pull away, Gabriel would probably insinuate himself between the two of them, and Aziraphale didn't think that either of them could stomach that, at present.

Instead, Aziraphale gently tipped Crowley onto his side, angling to have the least amount of available bedspace behind Crowley so that Gabriel would be forced to lay down alongside Aziraphale, if he didn't just leave first.

Of course, Aziraphale wouldn't be that lucky, and soon had Gabriel snuggled up against him, making him keenly aware all over again of how naked he was. It made him ache in a way that none of Gabriel's miracles would ever be able to prevent.

He supposed he really ought to be feeling some sense of physical frustration by now, having been subject to so much sexual touch with no hint of personal satisfaction.

Instead, the thought of touching himself even once Gabriel was gone – let alone asking Crowley to do it for him – left him feeling so nauseous that he almost threw up, bile rising in his throat and only staying down with a considerable amount of effort.

He wondered whether this whole experience, being kept captive and at Gabriel's mercy, had broken him for feeling any form of pleasure. He wondered whether there would ever be any hope of fixing him, if they ever even escaped.

Well. If he was broken beyond repair, shouldn't he at least be able to focus on protecting Crowley as much as he could, to eke out whatever meagre usefulness was left to him? Wasn't what he was doing now, acting as a physical barrier between Gabriel and Crowley, as Crowley had so often done for him, at least a good start?

Too late, he realised that because Gabriel wasn't curled up against Crowley's back, Gabriel was instead able to look down at Crowley directly.

"I've noticed that you haven't been seeking me out as much, recently, Crowley," Gabriel said. "Separate from Aziraphale, I mean."

"Haven't I?" Crowley asked, gaze darting ever-so-briefly to Aziraphale. "I hadn't noticed any change. Just, y'know, Aziraphale getting more involved in general, and that's what you wanted, right?"

"Well, yes," Gabriel conceded, "but you were the one telling me how Aziraphale likes to go slower, remember? I can see what's happening here." He smiled benevolently, turning his gaze to Aziraphale. "There's no need for jealousy, here, Aziraphale," he said. "I know you must be trying very hard, but this is just something that I'm better at providing Crowley with than you are. It isn't anything to be ashamed of."

Aziraphale couldn't even be properly furious with Gabriel's audacious stupidity, because it was the only thing keeping Crowley from being turned into a puddle of demonic goo.

Not to mention, under the current circumstances, he was actually somewhat right – it was far easier for Gabriel to bring Crowley pleasure than it was for Aziraphale, at least whilst they were still being kept trapped here.

Maybe it was something he still wouldn't be able to do, even if they escaped.

"I'm guessing from the fact that you haven't said anything that I'm right," Gabriel said, a rueful expression on his face. "I know you want me to be able to fully feel your love, too, Aziraphale, but you don't have to push yourself so hard. You can go at your own pace, you know, no need to rush it." He winked. "Just not too slow, huh, champ?"

Gabriel couldn't know how deeply those final words cut, and Aziraphale just nodded, unable to speak. Gabriel gave him an encouraging squeeze before pushing himself upright, getting out of bed and summoning fresh sets of clothing for them all. "Glad we had this little talk, after, but I've got to head back to work. I'll be in my office if you need me."

With another wink, he left the room, door shutting quietly behind him.

"…I'm sorry," they both said at the same time, and Crowley let out a wet, hopeless little laugh.

"Why on Earth are you apologising, Aziraphale?"

"Just the situation in general, I think," Aziraphale told him. "Don't worry, I'm not blaming myself for the actions Gabriel is taking." He bit his lip, but ultimately couldn't stop himself from asking, "Is that what you were apologising for, as well?"

Crowley let out another awful, bleak laugh. "You know what I was apologising for."

"I certainly hope it isn't because you were forced to feel pleasure that you didn't ask for," Aziraphale said, striving to keep his tone light and even. "I should hope that I've established well enough by now that I understand that it's a trauma response for you, and that no part of me believes this is something you actually want inflicted on you."

"Not me I'm worried about having things inflicted on," Crowley muttered.

"Crowley," Aziraphale sighed gently, "anything you're forced to do to me is included in that statement. I know it isn't something you want to be doing, not whilst we're here. I promise I won't forget that, and that's something I want you to remember, too."

Crowley plucked fitfully at Aziraphale's sweater. "Can you promise me something else?"

"What is it, Crowley?"

He took a shaky breath, fingers twisting against the fabric. "Promise me that you don't hate me for having part of me that likes it enough to... react the way I do," he said in a rush.

Aziraphale brushed his hand over Crowley's cheek, stroking his thumb over the serpent's sigil by his ear. "Crowley, I could never hate you," he assured. "I promise I have never hated you, not even when everyone else I knew would have told me that I should."

Crowley took in another shuddering breath.

"Can we just… lie here for a bit?" he asked, voice soft and gaze averted. "Just feels like if we don't move right now, it's a bit easier to pretend that none of this is happening."

"I certainly don't have any objections," Aziraphale replied, looping an arm loosely around Crowley's waist as he snuggled closer. Crowley hugged his arm around Aziraphale before relaxing, breath steadying as he rested his head against Aziraphale's chest.

They were silent, but it was companionable – Crowley had been right; if Aziraphale looked down, focussed on absolutely nothing but the flame-coloured crown of curls atop Crowley's head, it was almost possible to believe that they were back on Earth, that none of this was happening.

The illusion was tenuous at best, but it managed to hold – at least, it managed to hold until Crowley spoke again.

"I'm going to have to go visit him in his office."

Aziraphale fought to keep his arms from going protectively rigid around Crowley's body. "What? No! Absolutely not! He just had you!"

"Didn't mean right this second," Crowley murmured. "But I will have to, before long."

"You don't need to face him alone!"

"You heard him as well as I did," Crowley said softly. "I really do have to."

Tears stung at Aziraphale's eyes. "I thought we had agreed to lie here and pretend a while," he said, hating how pitiful and small his voice sounded.

"'M sorry," Crowley said, resting his head against Aziraphale's chest but not looking up at him. "It was nice, pretending for a little bit, but I didn't want to just spring it on you and then immediately leave to…" He faltered. "Do the deed."

"I don't want you to," Aziraphale said pathetically, knowing what a broken record he was being. How many times had they had this sort of conversation? How many times had they come to their inevitable conclusion?

"I know, angel. I don't want to either, but it'll just be worse if I don't. He isn't exactly subtle, and I don't know that I'd like to see how he reacts to me not doing it, when he's already made it clear what he's expecting of me."

Aziraphale stared at the ceiling and blinked very hard, the crushing weight of his inadequacy bearing down on him.

"It's for the best," Crowley said pleadingly, and Aziraphale's chest shuddered. "I'm… I'm really sorry it has to be this way."

"I'm sorry too," Aziraphale choked out, clutching Crowley to him fiercely and wishing that he'd never have to let him go – but knowing that the choice wasn't his to make.

Chapter Text

Crowley's feet felt leaden.

At his insistence, Aziraphale had gone off to the library to read. Not that either of them thought he'd get much of that done – Crowley could very clearly picture Aziraphale sitting there, staring endlessly at the same spot on the page of an open book, knowing what Crowley was being forced to endure a few doors away.

The inevitability of it didn't make it any easier, though, and Crowley dragged his feet, making his slow way to Gabriel's office.

He almost couldn't bring himself to knock, imagining instead retreating to the library, curling up against Aziraphale and listening to him read poetry. Tempting as it was, though, he knew it wasn't ultimately in his best interests. Sickening as the thought of offering himself up to Gabriel being in anyway good for him was, Crowley knew that it was true, in its own horrid way. He would be better served by ingratiating himself to Gabriel, further endearing himself, rather than breeding any sort of discontent. A happy and satisfied Gabriel was far more likely to be a reasonable Gabriel.

He reached the door, and forced himself to knock without thinking too hard, lest he manage to talk himself out of it.

"Come in," Gabriel called out. Crowley swallowed and obeyed.

A smile lit up Gabriel's face as he turned away from his desk and saw Crowley standing in the doorway.

"Crowley! I was hoping you'd come to me soon," he said, still beaming. "You've had a think about what I said, then? You'll come to me more often?"

Crowley nodded, feeling a lump in his throat.

"Good. I know you've told me about how Aziraphale likes to go at a slower pace on these things, I don't want to put too much pressure on him. Especially when I'm better at giving you what you need, anyway. He understands that now, doesn't he?"

Crowley nodded. "Yes, we... we had a little talk after you left. He gets it."

"Great!" Gabriel beamed again, standing from his seat with his arms wide in invitation.

Crowley accepted it, accepted the inevitability of what would be done to him, and Gabriel's arms folded around him, mouth descending on Crowley's.

"Let's see if I can't give you what you need, huh?" Gabriel murmured against his lips, and began kissing him slowly.

It didn't take long before he could feel Gabriel stirring to attention against him, the involuntary gasp he made at the feeling making Gabriel take hold of him by the waist, keeping their bodies close. Crowley found himself hardening in response at a frankly upsetting speed, hips twitching forward to press his cock against Gabriel's as he was kissed deeply.

Gabriel pressed him up against the desk, grinding their cocks against one another before pulling away from the kiss to drop his hand to Crowley's belt. A quick miracle saw it instantly undone, trousers vanishing and leaving Crowley bare from the waist down. Gabriel's hand shifted, circling around Crowley's cock and giving it a slow stroke. His eyes were hooded as he watched Crowley gasp and buck up involuntarily into the curl of his fist.

Despite the reaction his cock was having to the proceedings, Crowley still hated the fact that Gabriel was touching him, that Gabriel could bring him to this state so quickly. One of his arms swung out in an involuntary movement, some part of his hindbrain briefly taking over with the desire to shove Gabriel away from him. At the last second, he managed to soften the motion, turning it into a trail of fingertips up Gabriel's arm before clutching his shoulder for balance.

Gabriel grinned, taking the motion as an invitation to return to kissing, his unoccupied hand pressing flat against the desk to let him better balance himself against Crowley's body.

"I think I'm in the mood for you using your mouth on me, does that sound good?" Gabriel murmured against his lips, and Crowley nodded. Gabriel glanced down to where he still held Crowley's cock, the way the tip was already wet with precum, and frowned. "I don't want you making a mess of my floor, though. Why don't we make things a little neater, hm?"

He stroked down, and down, and the familiar sensation of Crowley's cock being shrunk down into a vulva took hold. Crowley gasped at the increased sensation of thousands of nerve endings coalescing into one sensitive bundle, a quiver running through his thighs as Gabriel stroked gently at his clit.

No matter how many times it was done to him, the sense of violation it brought was the same every time.

Just when he began to come to grips with his body being forcibly altered against his will, Gabriel conjured a dildo plug in his spare hand. It was a pale lilac with an opalescent sheen, and Crowley had a sneaking suspicion that Gabriel had modelled it based on his own cock. "I thought we could use this one, too," he said with a pleased smile, mistaking the humiliated flush on Crowley's cheeks for interest. "I know you're not a fan of wearing one of these when I'm gone for a while, but I thought you might like it when I am here, and you're using your mouth on me instead. I know how much you like being filled up – and this way, you won't be left feeling empty."

Crowley swallowed a bitter laugh at the irony, given how empty being used as a tool for Gabriel's personal satisfaction made him feel.

Gabriel's hand vanished from stroking gently at his clit, and instead shifted to cup one of his arse cheeks, urging him to move down from the desk and follow Gabriel down into his chair. Still clutching at Gabriel's shoulders, Crowley leant his forearms against Gabriel's chest to keep himself steady. He couldn't keep himself from gasping as Gabriel lined the dildo up between his folds, the silicone miracle-slick to ease the way.

Not that it really needed much help on that front. Crowley was so soaked that he was practically dripping even before the miracle.

Gabriel began to slowly ease it into him; Crowley's hips involuntarily tried to move away, but Gabriel made a soft, soothing noise at him, reaching his other hand around to press against Crowley's lower back, holding him in place as the toy breached him.

"There you are, I've got you," he murmured, gently and inexorably easing the toy further and further into him.

"Gabriel–" he gasped out helplessly when it slid the last few inches into him, stoppered by the flared base of the toy. Gabriel leant down to swallow the gasp out of his mouth, then clicked his fingers to summon Crowley a fresh pair of trousers.

"How's that?" Gabriel asked, drawing Crowley down fully into his lap, grinding up against him. The motion pressed against the toy, pressed it a little deeper inside him, making him let out a cracked groan. "That's comfortable, isn't it? Do you need me to make any adjustments?"

"'S good," Crowley managed, and Gabriel gave his arse a squeeze, smiling.

"Great," he enthused. "Why don't you hop down, then, let me know if you're still comfortable when you get down there."

Crowley nodded, clambering awkwardly out of Gabriel's lap, groaning as the movement made him all the more keenly aware of the massive toy shoved inside him. He slowly folded himself down onto his knees, a small rebellion in the fact that he kept his eyes focussed on lowering himself, rather than holding Gabriel's gaze.

He didn't let himself think too much about how pathetic it was that that felt like a rebellion.

As he got into position, he heard Gabriel undoing his trousers, cock already out when Crowley looked up again.

"You ready for me?" Gabriel murmured, giving himself a stroke. A small bead of precum glistened at the tip of his cock.

Crowley swallowed involuntarily, nodding again, then made himself lean forward, taking the head of Gabriel's cock into his mouth.

The too-clean taste of it was achingly familiar, salt and sterility laid out on his tongue as he began to suck.

He pressed forward slowly, lips stretching around the broad girth of Gabriel's cock. It had been a while since he'd done this – at least, since he remembered doing it, presuming Gabriel hadn't taken advantage during his long nap – and it wasn't long before his jaw began to ache.

He tried to keep to the same steady pace, hating the wet, messy sounds his mouth made when he went any faster. Even so, it wasn't long before Gabriel's hands slipped into his hair, guiding the speed and depth to which Crowley sank down onto his cock.

Control of the pace taken from him, Crowley flailed for something else that he could have some small modicum of agency over. His settled for tightening the seal of his lips around Gabriel's cock – yes, it would increase Gabriel's pleasure, which he was always loathe to do, but it also meant that Gabriel would be drawn to completion sooner. At least if nothing else, Crowley could still be efficient about it.

"Oh, Crowley, that's it," Gabriel groaned as he thrust deep, Crowley continuing to suck even with Gabriel forced all the way down his throat. "Oh, I've missed this, it feels so good when you do that, keep going just like that."

It was impossible to tell whether Gabriel meant he'd missed being able to fuck Crowley's throat when he'd been sleeping, or just if he'd missed the feeling of Crowley actively sucking him off when he'd done so. Either way, Crowley kept doggedly on, humming on occasion to try and speed things along.

It still felt like it took far too long before Gabriel's pace began to change, signalling that he was approaching his end. Gabriel stopped moving Crowley's head up and down, and instead shifted forward in his seat, grabbing at the edge of the desk before him for leverage as he began to rapidly fuck into Crowley's mouth instead. Filthy noises spilled helplessly from Crowley's slack, reddened lips from the depth and forcefulness of Gabriel's thrusts, until finally Gabriel collapsed back down into his seat, cumming down the back of Crowley's throat with a loud moan of satisfaction.

Crowley groaned and swallowed, mouth pressed flush against the crux of Gabriel's hips as Gabriel kept holding him down. He felt the stroke of Gabriel's thumb against the back of his head, fingers still gripping firmly at his curls, as Gabriel kept himself buried deep, savouring the hot, wet squeeze of Crowley's throat constricting around him.

"I really do love your mouth, Crowley," Gabriel murmured, not letting go even as he began to soften in Crowley's throat. "And you love using it like this, too, don't you, you clearly love doing this for me, holding me in your mouth like this. It'd be so nice if I could just let you stay here, like this, when I was working, don't you agree?" He sighed, still holding Crowley against him, as Crowley fought not to let his sudden terror show. "Yeah, that'd be a great way to keep you occupied, and I could still get my work done, everyone wins." He let out another wistful sigh. "Only, I can't have you near any official documentation, can I? Even if I doubt you'd be able to see much of anything from down there, there's still procedure. The rules are there for a reason, after all."

Crowley allowed himself to relax, fractionally. He could only begin to imagine the state Aziraphale would have worked himself into, if Gabriel had kept him in the office for what might well have stretched on into days without letting him out.

Then he felt the fear creep right back in, as he realised that the thing protecting him here – the fact that he was a demon, and thus putting him right at the bottom of any list Heaven might use to determine who could even be in the vicinity of their sensitive documents – did not at all protect Aziraphale. Clearly it wasn't something that Michael would ever allow, but what if Gabriel did what he apparently did best, and simply assume that it would be fine? Given that Aziraphale wouldn't be interacting with any of the documentation himself, what if it didn't occur to Gabriel that anyone might object? What if, the next time Aziraphale visited Gabriel's office, Gabriel just made him kneel down beneath his desk and warm his cock for days on end?

What if the only reason Aziraphale ended up going to Gabriel's office was because Crowley had fallen asleep again? What if Crowley slept through the entire thing, and never even knew?

Crowley trembled, wanting Gabriel's cock out of his mouth so that he could let out the heaving, terrified sobs he could feel collecting in his chest.

Gabriel clearly wasn't quite ready to let him go yet, though, still stroking Crowley's hair, still spinning wistful daydreams about being able to keep Crowley wrapped around his cock like a glorified sex toy. Crowley swallowed involuntarily to clear the saliva gathering around the soft, but still obscenely sized, intrusion blocking his throat. To his horror, he felt it twitch, Gabriel letting out a little grunt above him, hand tightening fractionally in Crowley's hair once more.

"Yeah, you liked the sound of that, didn't you?" Gabriel told him, voice gravelly, his cock steadily filling once more as he slowly rocked it in and out of Crowley's mouth. "It's such a shame that we can't, I'm really sorry, I can tell the idea was exciting for you. Tell you what, I've still got some time, why don't we just pretend for a little? No harm in that, so long as I get back to work when I need to." So saying, he forced Crowley all the way down onto his cock once more.

He couldn't quite seem to resist thrusting into Crowley's mouth on occasion, though, still rapidly hardening on Crowley's tongue. His thrusts were random enough to trigger whatever limited gag reflex Crowley had, saliva pooling in his mouth so readily that he was only a few steps away from actively sucking Gabriel's cock.

He hated the way that his body still reacted to it, feeling his underwear grow damp around the dildo shoved into him.

Inevitably, Gabriel forgot that he was meant to be letting Crowley act as a cockwarmer, ostensibly for Crowley's benefit, and eventually returned to full hardness as he fucked steadily down into Crowley's throat. Each thrust jolted through Crowley's body, making the wide girth of the dildo shift inside him in ways that made him involuntarily clamp down on it. Overwhelmed, Crowley clung to the edge of Gabriel's seat – still barely with the presence of mind to not cling to Gabriel's thighs instead, knowing that there was a line there between fooling Gabriel into thinking he wanted this, and actually wanting something to latch onto for comfort, that he didn't want to cross.

"Oh, Crowley," Gabriel groaned, briefly holding him all the way down before pulling Crowley off his cock. He took in Crowley's slack lips and dazed expression with hungry eyes, then snapped his fingers to clean the spit-slick mess of Crowley's mouth and vanish his trousers again, before urging Crowley back up into his lap. "I want to make sure you get filled properly, the way you want," he murmured, already reaching for the dildo and easing it out of Crowley's cunt. Crowley trembled, the broadness of it leaving him making his body ache at the absence. He couldn't help his slight whimper, and Gabriel pressed a consoling kiss to his cheek, snapping his fingers once more. Rather than the dildo vanishing, though, Crowley felt his arse be instantly stretched and prepped. His entire body jolted forward at the unexpectedness of it, hands scrabbling for the back of the headrest of Gabriel's chair.

Gabriel chuckled, wrapping one hand firmly around Crowley's back to hold him in place, as the other moved down to press the dildo against his freshly prepped hole. Crowley squirmed ineffectually, but Gabriel had him completely pinned, unable to escape the inexorable press. Gabriel made a hushing sound in his ear, holding him tight as the dildo was worked into him, inch by long inch. Crowley panted desperately, still reeling at the unexpectedness of the intrusion.

Finally, finally, it was nestled all the way within him, the wide, flared base both keeping it locked inside him, and keeping his cheeks spread wide. He couldn't help but arch his back at the sensation, his body warm where it pressed against Gabriel's.

Gabriel didn't let up, immediately pressing his own cock up against the folds of Crowley's pussy, giving his clit another brief stroke once he'd guided himself into place. The hand circled around Crowley's waist shifted upwards, curving over his shoulder and pushing down.

"That's it," Gabriel groaned as Crowley forcibly sank down onto him. He moved his hand away from Crowley's clit, and pressed the base of his palm against the small of Crowley's back, pushing him down the last few inches.

There was a feeling akin to relief as he was filled again, and it made his skin crawl. He could already tell that it wasn't going to take long for Gabriel to send him over the edge.

"That full enough for you?" Gabriel asked, breath hot on Crowley's cheek. Crowley's only recourse was to frantically nod, wary of what else Gabriel might do to him if he said no. "Good, it's so good having you like this."

He pressed two fingers against the base of the dildo, and Crowley let out a hitching gasp, body rocking forward almost of its own volition.

Gabriel moved the collar of Crowley's dress shirt aside – the fabric so fine that the bruises on his shoulder that Gabriel was now busy admiring had already been visible beneath it – and began kissing his way down Crowley's neck. He started to pump his hips up into Crowley, harder and harder, kisses growing more intense and full of teeth in tandem, until finally the incessant motions sent Crowley spilling helplessly over the edge. Gabriel followed eagerly after with another biting bruise to add to Crowley's collection, pulling Crowley fully down onto him as he came.

Crowley clutched a bit harder at the back of Gabriel's chair, arms shaking as Gabriel held him close.

"There you go," Gabriel murmured, one hand drifting down to circle around the plug and chuckling when Crowley jolted as he pressed lightly against it. "That's what you needed, isn't it? You love having all that attention dedicated to you, don't you?" He gently pressed against the plug again, making Crowley judder and moan. "It's a shame that you don't like wearing this long-term, I think it would have been good to help keep you full like you want." He smiled, lifting Crowley's chin to press a kiss to the crown of his head, the corner of his mouth, his jaw, one of the many bruises once again littering his neck. "Don't worry, though. If that doesn't work for you, then I'm more than happy to bear that burden for you, fill you up whenever you need me to." He gave the spare curve of Crowley's arse a squeeze, letting Crowley's head fall back down against his chest. "Doesn't that sound nice, hm?"

Crowley made himself nod.

"Great!" Gabriel gave the plug another small nudge. "Would you like this out now?"

Shuddering, Crowley nodded again, and Gabriel shushed the quiet moans he let out when Gabriel began to slowly draw the toy out of him, miracling it away into nothingness once he'd drawn it free. Crowley shuddered and gasped in his arms at the absence, hating the fact that he could find any comfort in the warm embrace Gabriel had wrapped him in.

"I'll have to get back to work in a little bit," Gabriel murmured, "but we can stay like this for a little longer still. You just relax, I've got you."

Crowley closed his eyes, arse aching and empty, his cunt still stuffed full of Gabriel's cock, wishing more than anything that he had the energy left to cry.

Chapter Text

"I've got some good news," Gabriel told them both.

Aziraphale tightened his hands into fists and plastered on a smile. It still felt as fake as it always did, but it was becoming easier to force. Was it really getting to the point where he was actually starting to get properly used to this? Was some part of him really starting to resign itself to the possibility that there would never be an escape, that this was what eternity would look like? "Oh?" he said, injecting his voice with false enthusiasm. "Do please tell."

"Uriel's going to come around to see you both!" Gabriel beamed. "She's been busy lately, but she's been able to carve out some time, isn't that great?"

Despite himself, despite the consistent pressing monotony of their imprisonment, Aziraphale couldn't help but let his hopes raise a little. With their access to the outside world so completely cut off, Uriel still represented the best chance they had of any external forces being able to assist them out of their capture. "Oh, that is excellent news, isn't it, Crowley?" Aziraphale enthused.

"Yeah. Grand," Crowley muttered, listless and eyes averted. In the weeks since they'd discovered Michael knew that their current circumstances were torturous to them, Crowley had grown increasingly despondent over their continued imprisonment, particularly given the frequency with which he was engaging in sex with Gabriel alone. At times, Crowley seemed more like a puppet being dragged through the motions, rather than a living, breathing thing.

Aziraphale felt his chest clench. He knew Crowley didn't have the same desperate faith that any of the Archangels were going to do anything other than cause them both harm. Aziraphale couldn't blame him, really – after all, there was already one Archangel actively aware of their torture, another unwittingly orchestrating it, and a third had proven himself largely disinterested in the entire proceedings. It didn't exactly set the best of precedents for the one remaining Archangel they'd interacted with.

But Aziraphale clung to that hope, still, that the uncertainty he'd seen in Uriel's interactions with them could be nurtured, urged into action. That she would step up and stand for what was right, rather than simply deferring to her colleague's judgement without question.

It was such a slim, fragile hope, he knew, but what else could he cling to? Heaven had done many terrible things, it was true, but surely there was some good still to be found there?

Aziraphale cranked up the brightness of his smile a few notches, his cheeks starting to ache. "Is it soon that she'll be visiting?" he asked.

Gabriel looked pleased at his apparent enthusiasm. "She'll be here later this afternoon – originally she wasn't going to be able to get away from work until later down the line, but she had some time open up today. She won't have time for a meal, but you and I can have something to eat once she heads back to work." He gave his eyebrows a little waggle. "In the meantime, though, there's a bit of time to spare."

Crowley wordlessly stood from the couch, spine stiff as he headed straight to the bedroom.

Gabriel watched him go with a slight smile. "Someone's a little eager," he told Aziraphale with a wink, then stood to follow. "Why don't you go read in the library, Aziraphale?" he said over his shoulder. "Crowley and I still have some catching up to do."

Aziraphale gripped so hard at the leather of the sofa that he was faintly surprised it didn't pop.

He didn't go to the library. Instead, he just stared hard at the bedroom door, and fantasised viciously about barging inside and throwing Gabriel across the room, putting himself bodily between Gabriel and Crowley so that Crowley never had to be touched by anyone in a way he didn't want ever again.

But Aziraphale knew how that would play out in real life. He knew that such an act of heroics would be doomed to failure – without access to his powers, he stood even less of a chance against Gabriel in a physical confrontation than he already would have. All he would accomplish was Crowley's destruction (and his own, if Heaven could get its hands on hellfire again).

So he was left with the door, and the unspeakable things happening behind it, as the seconds dragged slowly by.

He wasn't sure how long it took – Crowley was the one with the watch, and time passed so arbitrarily in this windowless prison without it – but eventually the door reopened, Gabriel looking satisfied, Crowley looking hollow-eyed with fresh bruises peeking out above the scooped collar of his newly-summoned sweater.

Gabriel smiled over at Aziraphale. "Finished reading early, did you? How was your book?"

"It was fine, thank you," he replied tersely. "I trust you enjoyed yourself, as well."

"I always do," Gabriel assured, giving Crowley a fond look. "You know how good Crowley is at what he does."

It won't be too much longer of this, before we find a way to escape, Aziraphale told himself, fighting to keep his breathing steady. Surely it can't be.

Gabriel glanced down at his watch. "Uriel should be here right about now, you both wait here, I'll be right back."

He vanished, and Aziraphale found himself breathing easier, if only a little. He shifted his focus to Crowley, the tense, unhappy lines of his face, the tired self-loathing carved into his body. "We will get through this, Crowley," he promised. "You never know, this meeting could even go well for us." He forced a laugh. "Could hardly go worse than the last one, after all."

Crowley didn't join him. "You say that, but I keep thinking that there's no way Gabriel could get worse, then he does."

Aziraphale swallowed, dropping his gaze briefly before looking back up again. "You're more than what he's making of you, you know," he said quietly. "I hope you still remember that."

"'M fine," Crowley said, staring stonily ahead. "If I'm only useful for one thing, at least it's something I'm good at."

Aziraphale felt his chest clench. "Crowley–"

The air vibrated, signalling the imminent arrival of two Archangels at the front door. Without the time left to offer a comforting word, Aziraphale took hold of Crowley's hand and gently squeezed as the front door clicked open.

Crowley's grip was limp, but he still gave Aziraphale the tiniest of squeezes back. It was a little alarming how much the small gesture made Aziraphale's heart soar.

"Here we are!" Gabriel said grandly, as if he were showing off one of the seven wonders of the world, rather than an angel and a demon standing awkwardly together in the middle of his living room.

Uriel's gaze fell on the livid bruises dotted along the bared skin of Crowley's throat, and her eyes widened in shock and concern, swinging towards Gabriel. "He's injured," she said, her brow furrowed. "What happened?"

Gabriel gave her a placating smile, clearly reading her concern as a worry that Crowley had been acting out, and required force to subdue. "Oh, no, he's been perfectly behaved, don't worry. He's a demon, he just likes more visual representations of love. He likes showing off who he belongs with, don't you, Crowley?"

Crowley's attempt at a smile was more a baring of teeth, the exhaustion and pressure sharpening his edges as he stared hard at Uriel. "Oh, yes, us demons are a bit more of a physical bunch than you angels," he said.

Uriel looked extremely discomfited. Aziraphale held his breath.

Was this it? Was this what pushed her over the edge into realising that none of what was happening here was consensual, that the very marks on Crowley's skin had been an assumption that Gabriel had made?

After a few moments, she dragged her eyes away from Crowley's throat, and back to Gabriel. "He asked for them, you said?"

Gabriel smiled again. "Oh yes, he's always very enthusiastic about it."

She nodded slowly. "Ah. I suppose demons really do function differently from angels, don't they?"

Aziraphale wanted to scream.

How was this not enough? How could she not see the tension in Crowley's body for what it was? How could she not see the desperation on his own face? How was it that the placid, vapid smile on Gabriel's stupid face carried enough authority to override all of it?

Aziraphale wasn't much use for the rest of the meeting, after having his hopes so thoroughly dashed.

The grey static that had dominated so much of his existence during Crowley's five-month slumber buzzed in his ears, drowning out everything else. Uriel directed some of her queries Aziraphale's way, and whilst he did answer them as best he could, as soon as he'd finished speaking, any memory of his response fled his mind, let alone remembering the question. He heard the sound of Crowley and Gabriel's voices responding to Uriel's questions through the woolly thickness of his ears, but the words didn't permeate, and he almost flinched at the heavy weight of Gabriel's arm being slung around his shoulder.

He blinked, his focus slowly returning, and he realised that the conversation was wrapping up.