Good Omens: Fic: "Behind the Wheel"

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Title: Behind the Wheel
Fandom: Good Omens (TV)
Rating: T/PG-13
Length: 1,084 words
Content notes: Aziraphale/Crowley post-canon. Fluff and Romance. 
Author notes: for the "take the wheel" prompt.
Summary: Aziraphale just wants to take things slow.

Aziraphale never asked Crowley to drive the Bentley. Crowley had joked about it at one time, but Aziraphale only gave him a glowing smile and patted his hand.

“I prefer to ride, my dear,” Aziraphale replied, and though he was sure the angel didn’t intend it, Crowley had taken that statement in another way. He had gasped then, masking it with an awkward cough before increasing his push on the gas. His friend braced himself, grabbing onto the door and back cushion on the seat. He smiled warily at him.

Crowley stretched out his arm, his hand brushing against Aziraphale’s head as he drove. Absently, he didn’t even realize that he was caressing the soft, delicate curls on the angel’s neck. Only when Aziraphale shivered slightly that Crowley moved his hand.

The angel looked disappointed.

*

Weeks rolled into months after the near-apocalypse, and their respective employers were still radio silent, leaving them alone and probably finding other things to do rather than bother them. Crowley took advantage of it, though Aziraphale was still cautious. Still, it didn’t stop him from spending time with the demon, and sometimes they both got lost in it.

Being with Aziraphale was the best thing Crowley had ever known, and he wanted to drown in him. He wanted more, and he wanted to test boundaries and break rules. He itched and craved for Aziraphale, all of him - his touches, his laughter, his bright smiles and even his ridiculousness.

Every time Crowley gained more precious time with Aziraphale, he only wanted more.

*

That night they’d been drinking. A lot. Aziraphale was giggling, rambling about some historical time where he’d been involved. He’d been so drunk he called Marco Polo a wanker and explained in great detail, with a list and all, why it was fact and not opinion.

Crowley guffawed, the smile never leaving his face as they entertained each other with stories and emptied bottles of ages old liquor.

They came to one bottle with only a swig left, and before Aziraphale could go unearth more, he looked at Crowley with a bright smile and rosy cheeks. He looked positively irresistible, and Crowley wanted to bury his face into those cheeks. Aziraphale motioned to the last of the liquor.

“After you, my dear,” he said politely giving him the last drink. Just like driving, Aziraphale would rather give Crowley the keys. He’d rather give him the lead on their walks, the last drop of booze, and the courtesy of first dibs on every indulgence. 

“You’re too good to me, angel,” Crowley slurred, taking up the bottle. 

Aziraphale tittered, more happy to oblige is friend than take another drink. He watched him, fidgeting, waiting and staring at Crowley with interest. 

Crowley took the last sip, leaving too much of the drink on his lips. They felt far too wet, and he resisted the urge to lick the remnants that remained. Aziraphale continued to smile at him, but Crowley noticed there was something wanting in his gaze.

Did he want the alcohol or did he want…?

Crowley leaned forward and he felt the angel tense as he lightly rubbed his lips over Aziraphale’s, leaving some of the residue of the alcohol before he pulled away.

“Crowley, my, my,” Aziraphale said softly, clearly flustered but he did not look upset. In fact, he watched Crowley rather dreamily.

Crowley snorted a laugh. “I’ve been hanging around you too much. I’ve developed this odious talent for sharing.”

Aziraphale continued to fidget in his seat, patting and smoothing down wrinkles on his clothes that weren’t there. His smile looked eternal. “It’s a good talent to have.”

“It’s only for you,” Crowley said, as if to say ‘fuck everyone else, because I only care about you,’ which was true, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment. His friend was eerily speechless within the tense moment. It occurred to Crowley that he still wanted something, and the demon had a general idea of what it was. Aziraphale, however, was too rigid to say it. It almost seemed out of his nature to request something that would change his role, to take the reins of something he was content to let Crowley initiate. 

“Spit it out, already,” Crowley said impatiently. “You’ve given me that look since we were in the car. You said you only liked to ride. Don’t act like I didn’t know what you meant.”

Aziraphale gave him a coy smile. “Oh, that.”

“Then do it. Take charge for once, angel,” Crowley said, leaning over the table closer to him. 

“If you’re certain…” the angel said.

“As long as you are,” Crowley prodded.

Aziraphale leaned closer. “I know that I’m an angel, and you’re a demon, and we are fundamentally different, but I’ve had these thoughts of us since we stopped the end of times, and well, I can’t help but be curious and wonder if I actually indulged in these ideas…”

“Oh stop yammering already, angel!” Crowley said. He wanted to say ‘kiss me, already and take me to bed’ but he wanted it to be Aziraphale’s choice.

“Well, then, here goes…” Aziraphale stood up from the table and took Crowley’s hand as he stared into his sunglasses. When Crowley was on his feet, Aziraphale delicately took off the glasses so he could stare into his eyes. 

Of course the angel was a romantic about this.

Crowley sucked in a breath as the angel leaned in and met his lips. He closed his eyes when Aziraphale pressed firmer against him. He waited, letting the angel take his time, but wanting to push forward and capture his tongue, dragging it all over him in a torrid frenzy.

Instead, Aziraphale explored him, tasted him, and then lightly pushed into Crowley’s mouth. He felt the angel’s hand grab his coat, pulling them closer together. Soon, as minutes began to grind further, Aziraphale’s tongue explored, and he began to consume him, his mouth feeling like it was everywhere, and the demon remembered he didn’t really have to breathe, but he tried, because it relieved some of the tension he had.

When Aziraphale pulled away and grinned dreamily at him, Crowley carded his slim hands through the angel’s hair. 

“You’re so slow,” Crowley teased. Aziraphale smiled coyly again.

“I like to take my time and enjoy things,” he answered.

“You mean to torture me, then,” Crowley said as Aziraphale took his hand. He tugged him toward the bedroom.

Aziraphale chuckled, looking smug. “It’s what I do.”

END

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