r0ocifer

[r0ocifer]

Inspired by fanart posted by Fledglinger on AO3. I don’t plan on sticking to some cannon aspects of the show hope no one minds. Also gets NSFW.

The first letter came almost six months before the laudanum incident. Aziraphale was skeptical when he’d picked it up. Who had sent this letter? How did they know his name? His actual name? How did they know where he lived? Crowley wouldn’t tell anybody, right? ‘Don’t be silly Aziraphale, despite Crowley being a demon, he would not do such a thing.’ Aziraphale’s mind was racing with more questions than he had answers to.

Aziraphale stared at the letter cradled between his fingertips, breathing deeply trying to calm his nerves. Finally he reached out to his desk to grab his gold letter opener, inserting it in the corner just under the flap, pulling up and sliding it across the envelope, ripping it open. Aziraphale pulled the paper out, unfolding the neatly creased letter as delicately as a tiny lily, cradling it. Aziraphale wasn’t sure why he cared for this letter as if it might spontaneously ignite in his hands, but something about this letter felt precious, as if it was an attempt at friendship.

As Aziraphale read through the letter, he’d found this anonymous writer was truly a magnificent one. This note was so elegantly written, he wondered if Jane Austen had written him. Although he did write her some appraising letters about her work, he doubted it was her. This letter was flirtatious and adoring. Whoever had written him was head over heels for him. Aziraphale was flattered, quite frankly. He’d never felt so admired by anyone. This anonymous author was so emphatically and enthusiastically enamored by him.

Aziraphale found this letter too beautiful to toss in the bin or to burn it, and so, he held onto it. Stuffed in a box and hid in his desk it sat. More letters would join it, but this was one that Aziraphale cherished the most.

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Sometime in the 1920’s

Years went by and the letters never stopped coming in and Aziraphale never stopped sending them, He looked forward to these letters every week. These letters had revealed something in him he’d tried to hide for years. An enormous guilt hidden away in his darkest parts of him. The human parts of his human corporation, the need, the arousal, the desire.

Aziraphale had never seen this person but was absolutely enamored by them. Their writing, their ideas, their humor, it was fascinating to read all their thoughts. Aziraphale was not ready for what this letter would contain however. It was filthy, lewd language and explicit language with extravagant detail, but absolutely beautiful.

“ Dearest Aziraphale,

I hope do not judge me and stop writing but I find I would much rather be perceived as a woman. I know this is unheard of and outrageous but you have always been so understanding and I do hope this isn’t any different. I wish I could meet with you in person, but I fear if you were to see me you would panic and we would become strangers. I find myself waiting for your letters every week, doing nothing but watching out my window looking for the mailman.

Sometimes when I cannot sleep I reread some of your letters and imagine your voice whispering gently in my ear. I imagine your hands trailing over my body, caressing every inch of my skin. I imagine your lips on mine, biting my lips as we kiss. I imagine my hand as your’s, caressing my most intimate areas, pleasuring me, touching me, making love to me.

God I wish we could meet and make love all night long. We could drink expensive wines and listen to music and dance the evening away, and as the stars come out it could start with a gentle kiss. Just one, but soon it would turn into something special; fervent kissing, a longing for an each other soon satisfied as we kiss and make love to each other all night. In the morning we could eat a lovely breakfast and share passing kisses.

-Until my next letter, dearest Aziraphale. “

Aziraphale was stunned by what he had read, but he wasn’t disgusted like one might think. This letter was a first for this kind of subject matter but not unwelcome. In fact his corporeal form had actually found that he quite enjoyed this letter. Aziraphale stared at his un-angelic reaction to this letter he thought that maybe he’d write a similar letter back. After all Aziraphale had developed a, what was the new slang? A crush, of sorts, on his anonymous pen pal.

“ Dear friend,

I most certainly do not mind your change of presentation and identity. I am honored that you would share such an intimate detail about yourself with me. Speaking of intimate, I quite enjoyed your writings about a night of pleasure between us.

We could indulge in glasses of Cabernet and snack on some Eccles cakes. You once mentioned you’re a fan of blues music, maybe I could find a record of your favorite blues groups? We could dance around my book shop, with music softly playing in the background as the sun sets. As night goes on, we can share a kiss or two, starting innocent enough, soon becoming more wanting. Kissing down your chest, touching anywhere I can reach.

Slowly moving downward, I would ravish you with my mouth. Kissing you all down your effort, tasting you as much as I can. Carrying you to the bed, kissing on the way, where we can spend the night laughing and loving all through the night. Finally we can resign to a night of rest, tangled in each other’s arms.

- Until my next letter, dearest friend “

Aziraphale didn’t mean to work himself up with this letter, but couldn’t ignore the strain against his pants much longer. As Aziraphale finished his “naughty” letter, he slowly pulled his trousers down and wrapped his hand around his effort. Aziraphale had never tried this before, only heard about it from some humans he’s made friends with long ago, but it magnificent. Slowly he began to stroke down his length and continued writing working himself into a frenzy, and as he signed the end of his letter, he finished in his hand. Quickly he miracled away the mess and put the letter into the mail.

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Crowley didn’t expect a response. How could she? Aziraphale was an angel and something as vulgar as the last letter might have sent him into shock. But oh, Crowley was so happy when she’d received a letter, didn’t even care if it was a rejection letter or damning her to hell (not that she already hadn’t been). When she’d started reading the letter, she’d expected Aziraphale to ignore the contents of the last letter. What she read was a surprise and an absolute delight.

Crowley had decided to manifest a different effort with her new identity, and had found this one was very easily pleasured. As Crowley had read through the letter, she’d started by just rubbing herself through her pants. The friction wasn’t enough to satiate her body, not with what Aziraphale had described doing to her.

‘Oh god’ Crowley quickly ripped off her trousers and silk underwear, rubbing her fingers through her folds, sinking two fingers inside of herself. As she’d read on, picking up the pace with her fingers, she’d imagined Aziraphale’s hand inside her, taking her apart. He fingers would be nothing compared to Aziraphale’s mouth. Crowley rode her fingers fast and hard, wishing Aziraphale could watch, circling her clit with her thumb. As she’d read finished reading the last of Aziraphale’s vulgar fantasies, she’d spilled on her fingers with what almost sounded like a growl.

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Some time one the 1960’s

Aziraphale had proposed the idea. Why not meet after all these years? It would be lovely! They could meet at a lovely restaurant, talk over wine, maybe go back to the book shop and have some fun? His pen pal had not been such a fan of this idea though. Did he, Aziraphale’s pen pal had decided he wanted to be seen as a man again,l and explaining to Aziraphale what gender fluidity was, already have someone in his life? Was Aziraphale just his little secret?

Aziraphale had voiced these questions and his hurt in his last letter to her. Aziraphale was ready for rejection, to lose this perfect relationship he’d built over the century. The night he had sent out what he thought was his final letter, he’d cried himself to sleep and drank three bottles of the cheapest wine he could find.

When Aziraphale checked the mailbox that morning, his heart had sunk. The letter was staring at him, the letter telling him that their time writing together was over. Aziraphale sank into his desk chair, hands shaking. He slowly unfolded the letter and started reading:

“Dearest Aziraphale,

I’m sorry I had made you feel rejected, unwanted. I haven’t thought of anyone besides you since we started corresponding. I would love to go on a dinner date with you. I’m afraid that if we do meet though, you may reject me.

Nevertheless I want to meet. I want to touch your face, kiss your lips. Meet me at The Ritz at 9 p.m. tomorrow night. Wear your best clothes and we’ll have a fun time. I’ll be sitting in the back, with a bottle of Chardonnay on ice.

I’m for the short letter, but I’m afraid I have no time for myself or my favorite people anymore.

- your dearest friend”

‘Oh’ Aziraphale had barely whispered, hardly audible. He did want to meet? Aziraphale was over the moon excited about their ‘dinner date’ as he phrased it. Aziraphale decided he wanted to get and new outfit for this dinner date, after grabbing his wallet and locking up the bookshop, he was off on an adventure.

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After searching for a few hours, Aziraphale settled on a brown pinstriped suit, with his cream tartan collar shirt. Aziraphale was a fan of modern day suits but this one felt like it was made for him, with no miracles needed.

That evening Aziraphale could hardly focus on his books, only the dinner date planned for tomorrow night. Aziraphale thought about trying to sleep like Crowley had once told him about, but it was no use. With Crowley on his mind he’d realized that hadn’t seen each other all that often anymore. The last time was in 1941 after Aziraphale asked him to shoot at him with no experience in firearms. Aziraphale wondered if he should reach out and check on Crowley, but then again he was the ‘enemy’ after all, he couldn’t just call him and enquire about his life. Could he? That night in ‘41 did feel romantic, and Aziraphale didn’t hate it, that was the scary thing about it. Maybe that’s why Aziraphale decided to keep his distance for the next 20 or so years, fears of those fealings returning.

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Crowley couldn’t sleep. He was tossing himself back and forth across his bed, desperate to escape the feelings of fear and doubt clouding his mind. He had his outfit laid out for three days, he’d just had to work up the courage to send the letter. Its was a silk turtle neck paired with a deep red corduroy jacket and pants. Crowley had bought that set to hopefully impress Aziraphale, maybe it would distract from the fact Aziraphale and him were trading erotic letters for decades.

Crowley had cried to the drag queens at his favorite bar for weeks about asking Aziraphale out on this dinner date. He ugly sobbed at 2 a.m. choking down a lemon drop cocktail about Aziraphale to those girls. They even helped him write the last letter. The no time to himself part was a lie Crowley had added later so as not to offend his angel. Crowley spent most of his time writing letter for Aziraphale, reading letters from him, or crying with the queens at the bar.

God he sounded pathetic just thinking about it. At some point in his self pitty party, Crowley decided that he needed to bring his angel a gift, and he knew exactly where to get them. Crowley had found the perfect shop for what he should get him, and even thought it may be midnight, he was getting this gift.

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It was 8:47 p.m., Aziraphale had just arrived at The Ritz and was already sweating through his suit jacket. ‘Um hello, uh yes, so I am here to see a friend? He said that he’d be in the back with a bottle of Chardonnay on ice?’ Aziraphale was stumbling over his words and he’d hadn’t even met his friend yet. Thank God, literally not blasphemously, that the host knew who he was talking about and led him to his table. As Aziraphale walked over to the table, he’d noticed his anonymous friend was in a lovely burgundy corduroy jacket and pants set. A shag cut that mirrored John Lennons.

Aziraphale sat down, not looking up at his dinner partner until he was fully sat and comfortable in his seat. Who he saw was not who he’d expected. ‘Crowley?’ ‘Hello there Angel.’ Crowley looked ashamed but happy. Was Crowley the one who was sending him those letters. Crowley, the demon, was the one who he sexually corresponded with? Was this just some game to him? Crowley didn’t even mean a word he wrote to Aziraphale, while he had pored his heart and soul into every letter. He centered his life around those letters and Crowley just, wanted a laugh?

‘Crowley!’ Crowley winced. He knew that his Angel would be distraught, but he still wasn’t ready for the whisper shout of anger that had left Aziraphale’s lips. Crowley knew that this might just end as a Greek tragedy. Two star crossed lovers, one pretending to be someone else, the other oblivious, and when it finally comes out that they’d known each other this whole time, it would end in hellfire.

‘Crowley, you tricked me! You had fooled me into believing someone out there in the world, who didn’t know who was or what I looked like, loved me. You convinced me that I was worth praising. Obviously now I see that you just needed a laugh, something to keep you occupied. Well I hope this is as fun for you, I will be going home now and I’m taking the wine with me.’

Crowley was stunned. A joke? A laugh? ‘Aziraphale wait!’ Crowley was following the angel out of the restaurant, throwing money for the wine at the host as he left. It was raining now, it would ruin his jacket, but he couldn’t care any less.

‘Aziraphale stop! You’ve got it all wrong!’ ‘I’ve got it wrong? Please do explain to me how I’ve got it all wrong. Because from my standpoint, it looks like that hell needed to point in the scorebook and so you decided to tease the angel that was on earth just for a laugh!’ They had moved to an awning that in front of a nearby shop, ‘For a century and a half? Angel, I sent you those letter anonymously because I was scared. For heaven’s sake I’ve loved you since the crucifixion, before that even! I knew you wouldn’t reciprocate my feelings because you were scared because we’re on opposite sides! That night in 1941 was when I started to work up the courage to tell you it was me who was writing you! Hell I cried about it for 2 weeks because I was so scared!’ It was out now and Crowley didn’t know if he wanted to vomit or cry. Possibly both.

Aziraphale stood silent for what felt like another century and a half; in reality it was just 30 seconds. Aziraphale doesn’t know what possessed his actions for the next few seconds, not even God herself knew, but Aziraphale grabbed Crowleys ruined jacket and pulled him in for a kiss. It was quick kiss, barely more than a peck, anymore and they might risk getting beaten up or worse.

‘Angel?’ ‘You stupid, stupid fiend! I love and I had thought you’d never love me back. Crowley I love you one thousand times over, come back to my place please?’ ‘Anything for you angel.’

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For the next few hours they drank the wine they took from The Ritz. Passing kisses were shared, soft touches on the knee, the type of romance Aziraphale was a sap for.

‘Angel?’ ‘Yes dear?’ ‘Would you like to sober up and have that night we wrote about all those years ago?’ Aziraphale had sobered up and somehow miracled Crowley sobering too, before partially throwing himself at Crowley for a kiss. And they kissed and kissed, and Aziraphale carried Crowley up the stairs to the bedroom that Aziraphale had set up for Crowley to crash in so many years ago. They wanted each other, but also wanted to savor this moment.

Aziraphale set Crowley down in the bed straddling his waist as he pulled that sinfully tight turtle neck off of him. He couldn’t help but stare and Crowley for a moment, admiring him in every way possible. Crowley reaching up to undo the angels waist coat and shirt. Leaning back down Aziraphale, kissed his fiend again deepening it quickly. Crowley’s lips moving down Aziraphale’s neck and top his collarbone, biting, licking, sucking the skin that was there, he wanted the marks to last for a few days.

Aziraphale rolled them over so Crowley was on top to continue his lips downward. Slowly under his Angels belt and pushing them down, to reveal a lace pair of boxers. ‘Were you preparing for something?’ Crowley teased, raising his eyebrow seductively. Aziraphale turned a very deep red looking anywhere besides Crowley. Crowley pulled Aziraphale out of his underwear, and squeezed lightly on his effort, eliciting a moan from the angel.

After just a few strokes, Aziraphale was seeing stars and Crowley was ready to give his angel a surprise. One more surprise was waiting for the angel, as Crowley turned around to shimmey his pants down his legs, Aziraphale was present with Crowley backside barley cover by a black pair of panties hugging his sides. Crowley’s drag friends had given him the idea, suggesting it may ‘enhance the mood’ as they put it. And it definitely worked on Aziraphale.

Crowley climbed back on top of his new partner, continuing his earlier assault on the angel’s collar bones. As Crowley nibbled and kissed Aziraphale’s chest, he decided to commit a minor miracle. Pulling Crowley’s underwear down, and holding to slicked finger up, Aziraphale circled a finger around Crowley’s entrance. After a few seconds of teasing, he slowly inserted a finger. After a few minutes Crowley was whining for more.

When Aziraphale finally pulled his fingers out, Crowley all but jumped at the chance to ride his angel. Slowly sliding down the angel, throwing his head back in pleasure. These ‘natural born enemies’ had been starving for this for millennia, and now was finally time for them to not worry about sides and punishments, but to reveal in each other.

Crowley rode Aziraphale with a purpose, like God had made him for this. Sliding up and down Aziraphale with only one purpose, to pleasure this angel before him. Aziraphale wasn’t going to make Crowley do all the work however, grabbing Crowley’s hips and lifting them up before dropping him again, over and over again. Crowley’s eye were rolling back in his head when the angel grabbed his ‘effort’ stroking in slow, long strokes.

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The rest of the night mirrored the start, with pleasure and love written all over each other’s bodies. As they had settled down for the night Aziraphale had a question lingering in his mind.

‘Crowley?’ ‘Yes angel?’ ‘Why did you decide to wear panties for our date?’ ‘Well, I have made some friends who specialize in queer relationships, and they had suggested I wear something “sensual” as they put it, to enhance the mood. And so, these friends had found me that pair of underwear, and so if we were to make love, I would be ready.’ ‘Well I think you looked ravishing in them, darling.’

After that they resigned for the night and when they woke up the next morning, they made crepes and drank tea and laughed and lightly kissed each other while cooking. They continued to see each other, giving in to worldly desires and caring for each other, with worries about heaven and hell cast into the wind; forgotten about.