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“You’ve never? Not once, in six thousand years?”
Aziraphale huffed.
“Well, I’ve never much had the occasion, to be honest.”
“Angel. Hickeys are the best. You’re walking around, showing everyone that someone wanted you, wants you. Every time you look in the mirror, there’s a reminder of what happened. Gets me all tingly just thinking about it.”
“Hmm,” Aziraphale put his wine down on the table and gazed at Crowley, comfortable on the sofa. “You should give me one.”
“Hngk,” Crowley managed, only spilling a sip of his wine. “What? Now?”
“Yes,” Aziraphale smoothed his hands down his front and adjusted his tie. “I’d quite like to see what all the fuss is about.”
“Oh yes, let me just ravish my best friend, then,” Crowley scoffed. “Buttoned up to the nines, aren’t you, it’s not like I can even reach your neck.”
“I do have other skin on my corporation, you know.”
And before Crowley’s brain could completely shut down at the implications of that, Aziraphale was rolling up his sleeves.
“Can you put one here, on my wrist? I can hide it that way, if necessary.”
The grandfather clock ticked seconds by.
“You’re serious. You want me to-to-”
“Suck on my skin until it bruises, apparently. Well? Will you?”
And there was no planet, Earth or otherwise, where Crowley was going to say no. He stood from the couch and crossed over to Aziraphale’s chair, as collected as one could possibly be in such a situation, and knelt beside him. He thought he could hear a slight hitch in the angel’s breathing when he took the proffered arm.
“You’re sure?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale gave a small nod.
“Does it hurt?” Aziraphale asked quietly.
“Not even a bit.”
Crowley gently turned Aziraphale’s arm over to reach the sensitive, thin skin near his wrist. He ghosted his fingers over the area, then flicked his eyes up to the angel’s.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, and then he lowered his mouth to Aziraphale’s warm skin.
He kissed it first, reverently, forgetting himself in the moment at being allowed to touch and taste and have, then grew bolder and laid open mouthed kisses over the skin until it was damp. He reached out the tip of his tongue and traced where his lips had been, tasting the salty tang of Aziraphale’s skin. Crowley bared his teeth the slightest and gave a tiny, painless nip to Aziraphale’s wrist, and froze when he heard a small whimper. He looked back up at the angel to make certain he should continue.
Aziraphale looked utterly wrecked. His pupils were blown wide and he stared down at Crowley with fire in his eyes. He licked his lips and swallowed.
“Don’t stop.”
Warmth bloomed in Crowley’s chest, and he kept his eyes locked on Aziraphale’s as he placed his lips back on his wrist and started to suck. Aziraphale gave a stuttered breath but didn’t move his arm away, instead watching in wonder. Crowley’s bites became harder under his open gaze, his tongue running over the abused skin in between each sucking kiss, until the demon was content that there would be a sizable hickey left behind.
He gave one final lick to the skin and sat back on his heels, examining his work. There was indeed a lovely purple mark blooming on Aziraphale’s skin now, and the angel was staring down at it in awe. Crowley felt something possessive clench in his stomach at the sight, and did his best to tamp it down.
“There,” he said into the quiet of the room, standing again. “Now you know.”
Aziraphale twisted his wrist this way and that, to catch the mark from every angle, before slowly rising to his feet. He gazed down at the mark incessantly, taking a small step until he was standing directly in front of Crowley. Then his eyes darted up at Crowley’s lips, still wet with spit, and it was like a dam broke. He crashed their lips together and wrapped his arms solidly around Crowley’s middle.
“Finally,” Crowley said against his mouth, heart full near to bursting, and slid his arms around Aziraphale just as tightly.
They kissed until they were giddy with it, trying out every way they could of slotting their mouths together, tasting one another, until Aziraphale pulled apart just far enough speak into the space between them.
“My dear,” he said, bumping his nose against Crowley’s. “I do believe you should give me more of those. Immediately.”
“Where?” Crowley asked breathlessly, and Aziraphale smiled wickedly.
“Surprise me.”