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Word Count: 2776
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Summary
(Heated)
With Aziraphale having been a Principality, he'd have had to have fought in wars. Specifically the front lines. Scars tell a lot about a being...especially when Crowley sees them for the first time.

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Coats were quite pleasant.
They kept you warm.
They kept you secure.
They kept you clothed.
They were stylish.
They were practical—

The list goes on.

Aziraphale loved his coat dearly. He'd been wearing it for centuries and refused to change his sense of style anytime soon. The article of clothing seemed to be attached to him— except for the fact that it wasn't.

As much as Aziraphale would like to miracle the jacket as part of his flesh and blood, he couldn't bring himself to do it.
To the angel, it would feel like a replacement, and of such a dear friend.
It was hardly an option.

It was very, very rare when Aziraphale would decide to part with his jacket, regardless of if it was the span of five minutes or five hours, it was a rare occasion indeed.

This was one of those rare occasions.

It seemed a lot of things were slowly being forgotten after the-apocalypse-that-didn't.

Long-time rituals.

Relationships.

Friendships.

Parenting.

Which side you were on— specifically Heaven, Hell, Humanity—

Or the left side of the bed.

Aziraphale stared up at the gold eyes that seemed to scan and rescan his entire being as if hungering for it. Which, in all fairness, it wasn't a bad comparison.
This being said, Aziraphale was still entirely clothed, other than previously said coat, with how stiff and consuming it had been it was only an unwanted obstacle, the demon was simply too overcome with the fact that finally.

Finally.

Six thousand years and finally.

What was a first step of friendship, a bound, was now a lunge.

A lunge into something new and quite truthfully unlike friendship.

Lust was truly the best word for it.

Lust and bliss.
Bleeding into each other so it was nearly impossible to figure out where one feeling ended and the other began.

Crowley leaned down and pressed his lips to Aziraphale's, sending sparks flying from the angel's lips then throughout his face.

Aziraphale's eyes fluttered closed and his moved his hands from where they lay, fidgeting at his sides, to tangle them in Crowley's fiery red hair.
It was passionate kissing for what felt like centuries, and truthfully, maybe it was.

Crowley continued to press and repress his lips to his angel's, taking a few moments to gaze upon his angelic features before going back for more.

Aziraphale was all too happy to allow the demon to pepper his jaw with delicate kisses that led down to his neck and his collarbone until he reached the collar that first obstacle that was Aziraphale's bow tie.

Crowley let out a needy whine and slowly sat up, pulling Aziraphale up with him but the collar of his undervest.

Aziraphale's legs were in a sloppy sit with Crowley in his lap, holding him by the front of his vest before toying with the bow tie.

"Much too many layers for my taste." Crowley murmured, voice low and hoarse.

"I'm quite positive we can fix that, my dear." Aziraphale tucked a stray piece of hair behind Crowley's ear.

That bit of consent was all Crowley needed to reach back and snap the bow tie off, throwing it somewhere to be forgotten until later.

The demon's spindly finger's then moved to the buttons along Aziraphale's vest, fingers twitching as they unbuttoned each one at a nearly painful pace, keeping eye contact with the angel whilst performing this stunt.

Aziraphale merely rolled his eyes with a smirk.

Crowley returned the smirk before finishing up with the buttons and pulling Aziraphale closer by the collar of his blue button-up, allowing the other to do the work of shouldering off the vest.
He used his free hand to grab said vest and drop it off the side of the bed.

Crowley sighed sarcastically, "Three layers?" He moved forward and kissed Aziraphale on the jaw, murmuring against his skin as he placed yet another kiss not a moment later,Really, Angel?"

Aziraphale could hardly control himself, his mind fuzzy as Crowley began kissing down his chest with every button he undid.
He was lost in the feeling.
Not just in the current pleasure but in the satisfaction as well.
The satisfaction that this being. This wonderful celestial body before him was now his and, in turn, he was Crowley's— not in any form of objectifying himself, but in a way of partnership. A vow that said that they were loyal to each other. They were each others' worlds.
Each other.
Their loyalties.
Their loves.
Something both had longed for for much longer than anyone truly should, for good or for evil— but sides didn't matter anymore.
They were on their own side now.
For real this time around.
Nobody else but them in their own world that was, to Crowley, Aziraphale; and that was, to Aziraphale, Crowley.

Crowley trailed his hands up Aziraphale's shoulders to wrap around him neck and smile, genuinely smile, at the angel.

Aziraphale could only give a weak, lustfully loving smile in return, "What?"

Crowley shook his head before moving back to kissing down from Aziraphale's jaw to his neck.
His hands took hold of either side of Aziraphale's now-unbuttoned blue shirt and slowly slipping it off his shoulders.
His kissed from Aziraphale's neck to his chest, earning that of a squeak from angel, prompting him to continue until he reached the angel's middle, kissing from there to his sides as tiny, positive noises left the angel's mouth.

The kissing abruptly stopped when Crowley reached Aziraphale's side.

Aziraphale gave a small wine, "Crowley, dear-" His jaw set when he saw the grimace evident on the demon's face.
His brilliantly golden eyes weren't focused on Aziraphale.

Aziraphale silently followed his gaze and immediately grabbed the edge of sheets, attempting to pull them over himself, but they were tightly tucked into the bed — when they finally don't snap off the side such as when one makes a bed.

"Aziraphale-"

Aziraphale flinched upon Crowley using his given name and instinctively summoned his wings, the tips of them casting Crowley backwards, lightly, before engulfing the upper-half of the angel, Aziraphale slipping his feet under the mass of wings until he was completely under them.

Crowley stared with slight horror from where he had fell back to the bottom of the bed, watching the mass of trembling feathers - he cursed the fact that it reminded him of his plants which would now make him feel guilty every time they shook for the next month or so.
What he'd seen had surprised him in a way that he felt guilt.
He should have expected what he had seen and definitely not reacted the way he had...

The look of disgust that had been on Crowley's face was burned in the Angel's mind and he wished he could miracle himself out of the apartment, if it were possible to miracle his physical form elsewhere.
He could always leave and erase the demon's memory of him leaving...but something felt wrong about performing unconsentual miracles on Crowley that could be harmful.

His eyes...usually saucers of adoration when they gazed upon any part of Aziraphale had suddenly slitted into hate and discuss.

Aziraphale let out an involuntary whine.

Crowley wasn't quite sure he had a heart until he felt it break at that moment. His mouth opened and closed multiple times but nothing came out. There was nothing he could say- well, nothing he was willing to say aloud.

"Angel..." Crowley whispered. He had no idea what he'd say should Aziraphale respond.
His emotions were a raging fire at the moment.
Guilt.
Pity.
Love.
Anger.
Anger at whoever in the six circles of hell did that to his angel- seriously, which demon that was currently in the six circles of hell had done that to Aziraphale.

He recognized the scar.

It was the mark of a demon.

Should an angel attack a demon, scars that might be left by holywater May be left in place of mortal scars.
Should a demon attack an angel, dark scorch marks of that of a fire should scar said angel, and neither could ever heal without the forgiving touch of that who had inflicted the wound.

The battle of heaven and hell was one no demon nor angel had ever forgotten.
What had sent the demons to fall was the power of god, not the angels, but the angels had fought regardless.

For a battle that was so unforgettable—

It had been forgotten.

More specifically, The Who's and the what's.

It had, truthfully, been angels against angels, with those on the side of Lucifer taking on the ability to wound another angel and the other angels being able to do just that to those they were fighting.

Once fallen, however, the demons changed.
Their pasts, they could recall clearly, one of the many torchers of being fallen.
Their names had been forgotten.
Their faces.
Forgotten.
Both of their own and others.

Crowley only knew the names and faces of the angels that visited Aziraphale.

Aziraphale only knew the names and faces of the demons that had visited Crowley.

Both had forgotten the other side.

But while their memories had been sealed up...
The wounds had not.

Crowley hadn't been on the front lines of battle, he hadn't wished to fight, he only defended himself.

That being said, he'd mauled those who tried to kill him, but spared best he could...

This was all he could remember.

Aziraphale had a different memory.

As a principality, Aziraphale was at the front lines attacking and defending. He had been badly wounded after the battle and had never fully recovered since.

He hated to admit it but...he hadn't exactly enjoyed fighting. It was his sworn duty but he hadn't wanted to kill anything or anyone. So, he had made the mistake at cowering at blows versus attacking back.

This had left his back adorned in scars, fanning out to his sides and middle.

Six thousands years of such wounds being covered and a friend who had shown him nothing but adoration — along with clothes he hardly ever changed — had left him to forget that the scars existed...
Until now, if course.

He couldn't miracle them away.
He couldn't heal them.
He could only hide them.

Crowley pursed his lips together when Aziraphale didn't answer.

Aziraphale had vaguely processed his name but didn't respond.

"Aziraphale...I didn't-" Crowley couldn't find words. Instead he slowly advanced up the bed until he sat before the mass of feathers.
He ran a gentle hand along Aziraphale's impossibly soft wings.
He continued to do this over and over as he felt the angel relax under his touch gently.
He began to pet every individual feather and brush them all back into place after being ruffled.
His delicate hands then moved to trace the fold of the wings, memorizing every brilliant detail.

"Y've got...got...beau...mm..fl...wings, Angel." Crowley's face flushed at his attempted compliment.

There was a quiet ruffle as Azirpahle's wings lowered to reveal his eyes.

Crowley's eyes rounded with adoration at the other's face.

"...Did you mean beautiful..?" Aziraphale sounded quietly amused.

"Every bit of you." Crowley said quieter.

Aziraphale's expression darkened as he realized what Crowley was referring to. His wings began to close again.
Crowley let them close, and he didn't force the angel to open them.
Instead, Crowley summoned his own wings, wrapping them tenderly around the angel and pulling his fully engulfed form forward.

Aziraphale wound his wings tighter around himself, unconsciously, to make it easier to move him.

Crowley then cradled the other in his wings and held him like that.

"You can turn over." Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale currently still had his back facing away from Crowley.

"Angel..."

Aziraphale didn't verbally respond but rather fluttered the tips of his wings to show he had heard.

"I don't particularly like angels." Crowley smiled slightly.

"E-Excuse me?" Aziraphale sounded offended under the wings.

"You're not one of them any longer, Angel, I like you." He murmured.

Aziraphale let out a muffled squeak of a noise, "Why call me angel, then? If you don't-"

"Because, you're an angel. The term that humans use for it, that is...it's a name humans give to other humans to express that they're extraordinary...perfect, perhaps." Crowley mumbled the last part.

Aziraphale's throat grew tight and he moved one of his wings to reveal his face, looking bewildered, "You...You think I'm perfect?" He said this as if it was the most unbelievable lie on the face of the earth- no, the universe.

"Go- Sata- Yes, Angel." Crowley sighed.

Aziraphale's wings began to flutter, accidentally revealing how excited the Angel was over this.

"You're...Yes." This was all Crowley could say. He took a hand and gently placed it on Aziraphale's face.

Aziraphale blushed with a wide smile before reaching up and brushing little straggles of hair back, but mainly so he could caress the other's face, "Well, you own a mirror, dear, so you have plenty experience with perfect."

It took Crowley a moment of red features before he scowled, "Shut up."

"Mm." Aziraphale shook his head.

Crowley frowned then, "Aziraphale,"

The angel knew what was coming was serious if his name was being used.

"Why were you so afraid of me seeing?" Crowley squinted in confusion.

Aziraphale looked down, "You...you looked so...horrified..."

Crowley's wings dropped, "Oh...oh great...I'm- I didn't mean to...I just-"

"They're fairly gruesome, dear, and quite a shock, so-"

"No, no, no, it...it wasn't that...it was just...someone hurt you like that...how could someone hurt you like that?" Crowley whispered.

"Oh, dear...I'm afraid...I don't know..." Aziraphale whispered, rubbing a thumb on the demon's cheek.

"I think..." Crowley took a deep breath and shook his head, "Satan damn human emotions-" He looked at Aziraphale, "I think that you're beautiful, Angel.."

Aziraphale knew how hard it was for Crowley to express his feelings...and he couldn't help but smile...and turn his back to Crowley, spreading his wings out away to reveal it entirely adorned with scars. Large, painful scorch marks- well, they looked painful...Aziraphale had grown used to the buzz of a feeling they gave a few centuries after having them, and had since forgotten what it felt like to not have the feeling there.

Crowley looked at the back in anger and helplessness, "Can I...?"

Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley slowly traced a hand down the angel's back, wincing, before he gently placed his forehead between his shoulder blades. He pressed a gentle kiss to Aziraphale's back and murmured, "I'm sorry.."

"It's not your fault..." Aziraphale shook his head, moving a hand back to stroke Crowley's wings affectionately, admiring how soft they felt under his touch- softer than usual.

There was silence before there came a muffled gasp and half sob and Crowley seemed to leap away from the back.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to say something but Crowley responded first.

"Yes...yes, I'm- it is my fault." His voice was quiet and broken.

Aziraphale stiffened as the buzz was replaced by a tingle. He looked down at the only scar visible to him, the one on his side...it was glowing...glowing silver and then—

It was healing.

Aziraphale turned around quickly to look a Crowley, watching the demon look at him with true horror— not at Aziraphale, however, but at what he had done to Aziraphale...

What he had done.

Aziraphale's chest tightened and he desperately wished he could remember what had happened— but he couldn't.

He couldn't say anything except,
"Y-You?" The word came off angry with a crack that made Crowley flinch.

The demon staggered off the bed and dove to the door, staggering out.

Aziraphale shook his head, racing after the other as quick as he could, tripping on the sheets that his legs were tangled in.

When he finally reached the next room, he saw the open window.

And the silhouette of a man with black wings before they disappeared into the clouds.

He hadn't been angry at Crowley.
Aziraphale had been angry with himself for what he'd done to prompt the demon- then he would have been an angel- to hurt him...

"What in God's name have I done?" Aziraphale swallowed dryly as the windows slowly shut with the wind dying down.

He wasn't sure what had been worse.
The fact that for some reason Crowley had inflicted these wounds upon him as an angel.

Or that when the demon was flying away...

He could see the silver shine of black wings turning white.

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Don't forget to vote if you enjoyed this chapter, thank you!!
///Highkey me over here having never written any kind of make out session before or clothes being taken off or any of that shitzu— hope this was good??
Part 2?? Maybe?? Perhaps— comment if you want a part 2? If not that's okay too!!
If you didn't know, I'm in the middle of moving ((unexpectedly)) so writing is slow but I'm getting some down time to write!