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At the first drop of oil against his skin, Crowley sighed deeply, burrowing further down against his chair. The setup was simple – a table and chair in the centre of the room, nothing more. His bare feet were comfortably settled flat on the wooden floor. Grounding. He knew from experience it was important. A soft, well-worn pillow pinched from Aziraphale’s sofa was trapped between his chest and the high back of the chair, cushioning all of the sharp edges as he sat facing backwards and finally allowed himself to relax.
Of course, he wasn’t completely relaxed, not yet. Crowley’s senses always felt heightened in times like this, practically shivering in anticipation. For several endless minutes he’d been listening to the soft sounds of Aziraphale moving around the room, humming a few bars of Sondheim as he checked the table, just like he always did. Oil, matches, candle. They were always there, just the same each time, but the routine was reassuring to them both. And now, finally, he was getting started.
Aziraphale’s hands ran smoothly down Crowley’s back, confident and firm. He all but melted under the touch. It came out as a low, contented hum.
“Is that alright, dear boy?”
There was a distinct warmth to Aziraphale’s voice, matching the warmth and certainty of his hands on Crowley’s back. The oil, strictly speaking, was a necessity, intended primarily for safety reasons, but he’s always enjoyed spoiling Crowley occasionally. For a demon, he was remarkably restrained when it came to indulgence. Aziraphale relished the chance to massage at his lover’s shoulders, work out some of the knots and tension down his back as best he could. It took a unique type of stress to cause this kind of reaction in a creature capable of becoming nothing but spine, but then, Aziraphale supposed, the apocalypse was a unique kind of catastrophe. When he kneaded away at one particularly sensitive spot and felt the knot dissipate, Crowley gave an appreciative moan.
“Thanks, Angel,” he murmured, voice a little muffled by the way he was leaning over, face buried in his arms. Aziraphale beamed, stroking softer now, making sure the oil was evenly spread over all of Crowley’s back and shoulders.
“Any time you want, my love,” he replied, and pressed a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head. “I’m going to get the candle and the matches now, if that’s alright with you?”
“Mm. Please.”
“Alright. I’ll be right back.”
Crowley felt Aziraphale step away, felt the empty air behind him, and he missed the closeness dearly but he knew that he would return soon enough. He readjusted himself a little in readiness.
Aziraphale struck the match close to Crowley’s left ear, not close enough to be a risk but certainly close enough for him to shiver at the sound. His reaction was hardly subtle. A self-satisfied smile formed on Aziraphale’s face. He spoke as he waited for the candle wax to melt a little, musing aloud.
“You do make such a pretty picture, Crowley, all open like this. I love to see you relax.”
“You could certainly do a little more to relax me.”
Aziraphale chuckled.
“All in good time.”
All in good time, but good time wasn’t long. Aziraphale was satisfied with the buildup of melted wax in the candle now, and murmured to Crowley, “May I start?”
“Please,” came the earnest reply.
When the first drop of wax hit his skin, Crowley hissed. The first time it had happened Aziraphale had been alarmed, but now he knew it to be a sound of appreciation, a response but not a protest. He had other things he could say if the pain did get too much.
“Beautiful,” said Aziraphale, adding another drop of wax for every word of praise. “Radiant. So kind, so clever. Unique. Patient. There is so much I love about you, my dear, so much to be appreciated. So much to praise.”
It was difficult to say if it was the words or the sensation which made Crowley squirm in such a gratifying manner. A small constellation of wax spots was beginning to form on his back, which sparked a memory for Aziraphale.
“Would you still like to visit Alpha Centauri together?”
“Don’t like the worms,” mumbled Crowley. His words were ever so slightly slurred, a soft hiss adorning the end of the sentence, familiar signs that he’s beginning to sink down into somewhere warm and inviting. It’s something Aziraphale will always cherish. “’sides, you’re here. All I wanted.”
“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, desperate affection swelling in his chest. He tilted his hand again to pour a little more wax and Crowley moaned, his back arching against the heat. Between him and the cushion, he was clearly aroused, but they both knew that’s not the point of this. Not right now, at least. Once it was over, and Crowley was brought back to himself, Aziraphale would be more than happy to stroke him smooth and gentle and whispering endearments into his ear, to fuck him if he asked, any way he asked, but for now he simply relished every moment and every drop of wax against Crowley’s skin.
“Burnsss,” he hissed at a particularly persistent string of drops
“Too much?”
“More, pleasssse.”
Crowley squirmed, his breathing growing heavier, and Aziraphale did exactly as he asked. The wax traced lines now, more than drops. Aziraphale’s brow furrowed in careful concentration. It took effort; love and trust were rolling from Crowley in waves, almost intoxicating in their sincerity. One line at a time, the picture began to build up. With increasing layers of wax the sensation lessened from a sharp heat to a dull, soothing warmth, melting every fragment of the tension away from Crowley’s body. Aziraphale smiled as he admired his work.
The wax on Crowley’s back sketched out the approximate shape of two wings.
The demon was practically boneless in the chair now, muscles loose and limp. Aziraphale let him enjoy it for a few minutes longer, indulging in the occasional kiss pressed to Crowley’s head, his shoulder, his neck. The intimacy of the moment spun around them like a cocoon.
“Crowley, my dear,” he murmured after a while, “I think we’re done now, yes?”
“Five more minutes,” Crowley replied, earning a fond laugh. Aziraphale took a slightly firmer hold of his shoulders and eased him softly upright.
“Come now, let’s get this cleaned off you and go to bed.”
Crowley gave a small grumble of protest but offered no resistance, leaning into Aziraphale ever so slightly more than necessary. With a careful touch, Aziraphale cleaned off the wax from Crowley’s back, soothing him. It left a scattering of soft wax curls on the floor. Those would be cleared away easily enough the next morning.
When he was satisfied the wax was gone, Aziraphale kissed Crowley again; his cheek, the corner of his mouth, the tip of his nose and then, finally, his lips. Crowley melted like warm wax into his embrace.
“Bed?” he muttered against Aziraphale’s lips.
“An excellent plan, my dear boy.”
It was a short walk to Crowley’s bedroom, and he collapsed eagerly on to the mattress, burrowing in under the covers. Aziraphale tutted fondly and took a few extra moments to take off his clothes, folding them neatly on a chair. When he joined Crowley in bed, undressed except for his underwear, Crowley wrapped around him eagerly.
“I love you, Angel,” he said quietly, voice muffled against Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale smiled, tracing the outlines of the wings he had poured earlier that evening against Crowley’s back. His breathing was already beginning to even out, golden eyes falling shut.
“And I you, Crowley.”