Never Explain Anything: A Crowley/Aziraphale Good Omens fanfic

Why complicate something that is really very simple?

***Fair warning, this entire chapter is pretty much sappiness and lovemaking.***

"Angel. Angel, roll over." Aziraphale felt a painful poke on the side of his ribs.

He was uncomfortable, which seemed unfair in such a ludicrously expensive bed. When had the mattress become so small and uneven and... bony... oh.

"This is lovely, angel, don't get me wrong, but it's also literal torture. Could you roll off?"

Aziraphale blinked his eyes open, and realised his vision was taken up with bare skin. Half a chest, and an arm... Oh, dear. At some point he had rolled fully onto the demon, face down, head on his chest, legs scissored together.

"I'm sorry. I must be heavy. And I think I was drooling on you," he added with some embarrassment.

"That's not the problem," Crowley hissed. He was lying very still, arms by his side, as if terrified to move. "Please, Aziraphale, this is agony. One of these days I will stop digging myself into holes, but for now, please just lie on your own side before I embarrass myself."

Aziraphale tried to move as carefully as possible, but his thigh brushed against the fairly obvious sign of how the situation was affecting Crowley. The demon said "Hrghnh," and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Should've taken female form," Crowley said breathlessly. "Less of a giveaway. Ah, Aziraphale, I think I need to go take care of this."

"Let me," said Aziraphale, before he had realised the words had come out of his mouth.

It was not often he had shocked Crowley, but the demon was staring at him with eyes so wide they were like yellow moons. "You what?"

"Let me take care of you," Aziraphale said, more firmly, thinking that maybe sleep did clarify things after all. "It's my fault you're in this state."

"Of course it is, but—angel, why now?"

"Because I want to make you happy." He was suddenly uncertain. "It would make you happy?"

"Oh, Aziraphale. My love. But—you've never even kissed me, and all of a sudden you're offering—"

Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him. He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing. His mouth seemed to know just enough all on its own, his lips moved and parted and his tongue brushed against Crowley's and then it didn't matter what he did or didn't know because Crowley was kissing him like he was drowning and Aziraphale was his only source of oxygen.

"Are you sure?" Crowley asked again, against his mouth. "You won't regret it and leave me and decide we're over?" He clung suddenly, as if worried Aziraphale would disappear already.

"I won't leave, I promise." Aziraphale's voice didn't sound like its own, it was hoarse and cracked, as if the kissing had broken it. "Ever again."

"I don't think I'll last very long." Crowley sounded nervous and apologetic, but there was also the breathlessness of desire, and it wasn't a real protest.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. I have absolutely no idea what to do, apart from the theory of the thing. I'm sure you have had much more accomplished lovers. I've never even—well, not even myself."

"Oh, angel. It's you. You couldn't be anything but perfect." Crowley took his hand and guided it between them. "And lovers is the wrong word, never had lovers, love never had anything to do with it, except... except..." His eyes were dilated with anxiety still, despite his hitching breath, despite the evidence of desire in Aziraphale's hand, Crowley's own hand controlling the strokes, almost a kind of intimate hand-holding despite the urgency and growing pace.