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Tiramisu.
Cream sauce.
Extra avocado.
A deep-fried Twinkie on that ill-advised trip to America.
Aziraphale regarded his carnal costuming with a calculating dismay. Granted, too much angst over it might well lap over into Vanity, which for his kind simply wasn't done, and there were inarguably good reasons for wearing a body that wasn't exactly perfect as humans might see it (though of course they all
were,
after all, made in His image and all that, even if it sometimes came off as a tenth-generation copy riddled with transcriber's errors).
Still, Aziraphale looked at himself in the mirror (a rare enough occasion in itself) with a certain awareness that perhaps something about his shape was disappointing and displeasing, and that perhaps he wasn't treating his earthly vehicle with fitting (self-denying) care.
As Aziraphale poked and prodded at himself with a disgruntled expression, if he'd been less absorbed in his own imperfect self, he would certainly have noticed a pair of inhuman yellow eyes in the darkness of the hallway, catching the light and seeming to glow.
***
Crowley saw Aziraphale's face in the mirror all too clearly, and knew right away what it meant. Poor angel, caught up in his own negative version of vanity. Pity is not a demonic emotion, however. So he prioritised his second observation, the fact that Aziraphale was in his underwear.
Crowley stalked, his snakeskinned feet stealthy and silent. He stayed just to this side of the mirror, out of the reflection. Until it was time to pounce.
Aziraphale's yelp was
very
rewarding.
Crowley seized him from behind, leaving him no room to squirm away with his jump, lips settling on Aziraphale's racing pulse on that tender spot at the side of his neck, nuzzling then gently biting.
"You
startled
me," Aziraphale complained.
"Got tired of waiting for you to notice me," Crowley whispered, letting the unholy creaminess of one very honeyed and obvious lie tingle Aziraphale's aura.
"Does that mean you'd been watching?" Aziraphale said, with a very complicated sort of blush going on as shamelessness was beginning to overtake and defeat shame, which of course was Crowley's exact wile, and one that Aziraphale had long ago lost all capacity to thwart.
"Mmmm, and enjoying it. Think you're starting to as well." Crowley drank in Aziraphale's scent with his tongue (one of his favourites of its many weird uses).
"But I was---"
"Lussscious," Crowley said and pulled the angel's soft hair until that lush mouth came around to his, awkwardly. There really wasn't any way to say,
I saw you looking at yourself, chubby and lumpy as you are, and this body you wear
so
far removed from buff and shining angelic perfection, with all your little spots and hairs and your spare tyre, that the sight of you makes me
so fucking hard that I could kill somebody with my cock
if I'm not careful, because you look so deliciously human you really put the 'carnal' in 'incarnation.'
Or rather, there was, and that was exactly it, but it would mean Crowley would have to talk, and that wasn't what he was there for.
Aziraphale's sides were soft and solid beneath his hands. Crowley made a purring sound and slid his hands under that preposterous undershirt, savouring its stretch across the angel's flesh for a while. He'd make it disappear. Just not yet.
Yet another distinct advantage of ambushing Aziraphale at his sulk was that they were still standing before a mirror, which meant Crowley could enjoy the sight of Aziraphale's front while fondly and deliberately molesting his backside. He twisted his hands in the waistband of Aziraphale's pants, snapping them just a little as he pulled Aziraphale's rear hard against his hips, the better to demonstrate just what this sight and this feel were doing to him. He could pay attention to Aziraphale's shoulders - the gentleness of his mouth belying the fierceness of his grip - and still watch his very favourite of Aziraphale's bulges growing rapidly.
***
Aziraphale groaned and muttered a sound rendered completely unintelligible by his tongue reaching out for the warmth of Crowley's mouth.
And his eyes started to droop with the force of ignoring the mirror, the sight of the reddish flush spreading from his face to his chest, of Crowley's hands lifting his undershirt and caressing his pudgy belly, toying with his dark pink nipples, and then finally growing impatient and wrenching his white underpants down to set Aziraphale's erection free, springing purple and shameless from between his pale thighs.
With a demanding sound, Crowley laid an arm across his shoulders and pushed him down, the demon's other hand working at the muscles in Aziraphale's back where his wings weren't and headed downward, nails waking the electric nerves of his spine and parting the flesh of his arse, fingers going roaming in forbidden places, and a heated wet tongue followed them closely.
Aziraphale babbled, helplessly, in at least three long-lost languages, and looked up in the mirror again, just to see Crowley's darkened, intent face above him. He gladly took a position on hands and knees, waiting.
***
"I just...
you
...," Crowley babbled as he did something rough with his fingers, entering and preparing, his other hand groping Aziraphale's hip. "You just
feel
so..." He gave Aziraphale's arse a little slap, teasing himself, "And I'm just thinking how I just want to
spank
you....with my hips, while I..."
Aziraphale wriggled up against him.
"You know, like...
OH!"
With an impolite thrust. With no quarter given. With Aziraphale grunting deep in his throat as his body adjusted and started to move. With Crowley's fingers leaving red marks in the pale soft flesh of Aziraphale's sides as he used those ample levers to position the angel just right, plunging deeper, lifting him higher, following the inarticulate direction of Aziraphale's breaths and moans to find the perfect pace and angle of the mutual ride.
Aziraphale reached one hand back and fiercely grasped at the lean cords of Crowley's thigh, the bone of his knee. Sweat made his grip slide.
"Love your lush body," Crowley whispered, his hips bouncing off Aziraphale's rump as he plunged hard and fast, and his hand found the best place to grasp below Aziraphale's belly, a thick column of needy flesh in his hand.
"You like this?" Aziraphale choked, coming.
"Fuuuck," Crowley managed to hiss, skin slapping and cock exalting.
***
The next morning, Aziraphale was shocked to find that Crowley had risen first. And that there was breakfast in bed - with extra butter for his scones. Crowley smiled like a snake and fed him clotted cream from his fingers.