Archive of Our Own ^beta

Crowley hadn't thought seriously about sex clubs in years. There was that few months several years ago when the reform allowing them to operate openly had passed and the media had covered both the leadup and fallout with lurid interest. At the time, they'd been in a serious, if ill-advised and ultimately doomed, relationship with the sort of partner who had clutched their pearls at the whole concept. But then the majority of Polite Society had decided to ignore the newly minted institution, and with the advertising chokeholds the initial and subsequent reforms levied, it went back to being a mostly word-of-mouth industry and largely passed out of Crowley's mind.

But the knowledge had been merely set aside, not buried. And in the intervening time, Crowley had fallen in and out of several more loves and relationships. Now, they were reaching an age and level of weariness that even the thought of going on the pull at a regular queer club or bar made them want to take a nap. Between the nonbinary thing, their predilection for the sort of roleplay that past partners had raised judgmental eyebrows at, and their tragic tendency to trip headlong into intense emotions far faster than their paramours, their sex life was complicated. Even still, it wasn't until Anathema had made a passing mention of her and Newt's membership at a sex club, and Crowley had quipped they should probably look into one of those, that the matter had finally come to a head.

"You should," Anathema had said. "I think you'd enjoy it. Far less beating around the bush than the usual spots. Unless you're into that, of course." She'd smirked at Crowley's flat stare and then dug around in her satchel for a business card. "Come to mine. It's one of the bigger ones, but well respected."

"You just want the referral bonus," Crowley had snarked back. Anathema had just toasted them with her teacup.

Crowley had hemmed and hawed over it, in part because the Garden of Delights was one of the bigger ones, and a little bit of research had confirmed Crowley's suspicions that that meant even more paperwork and indemnification clauses and codes of conduct than what was even required to meet barebones licensing requirements. The logistical overhead that came with managing both a bigger space and client base, or some such rot. But then, Anathema had dragged Crowley in on a tour of the huge building, and Crowley had gawked and quietly thrilled at the number and variety of grottos and types of play they facilitated, and somehow by the end they'd come up grumblingly ensconced in one of the comfortable lounges filling out enough forms to make their head spin.

So far, they had no regrets. The couple of fabulous encounters they'd had in the Forbidden Fantasies grotto alone was worth the headache and cost of becoming a member. But Crowley was determined to get their full money's worth, and also curious to a fault, which meant they'd been branching out. The Casual Encounters grotto had yielded a satisfying few, well, casual encounters. They'd also buzzed through the Gaming Hall Grotto, but they were pants at billiards, and too many of the other games people were eager to play centered on stripping, which made their eye twitch to think about doing with an audience.

Their membership packet had also come with a voucher to a select number of large-scale events the Garden routinely held. Which was how Crowley had ended up lurking just inside the entrance of the Chestnuts Grotto on a Friday evening kitted out in Ancient Rome theme fancy dress, so fashionably late they'd almost missed the event check-in cap.

Now, looking at how many people had already started partnering up and staking claim to various pieces of prime real estate in the large room, they wondered if it might have been better to have sucked it up ten minutes ago and waltzed in like they owned the place. As it was, they were at a loss where to start and hoping they didn't look as overwhelmed as they felt.

The room was dominated by the central sex pit, where the lion's share of the people were currently getting situated on the various surfaces available for fucking. There were multiple groupings of mattresses, sofas, benches, or sturdy chairs arranged like arms of a starfish around central pillars topped with baskets of sex aids and spare slip covers. These were interspersed by short rows of ceiling-mounted sex swings. And toward the back, there was a cluster of ceiling-suspended, cloth-sided privacy tents. Ringing the pit was a narrow, low-raised tier of floorspace lined with chairs and sofas of various size, where people were lounging either solo or in small groups, eyes trained on the spectacle below. The final, highest tier was substantially wider and hosted everything that wasn't strictly about fucking: the bar, the buffet, the first aid station, and a couple of lounges intended for cooling down and aftercare.

There were people absolutely everywhere in all states of dress, most wearing the on-theme costumes the club had provided. The noise was a physical thing: talking and laughing dominated for the moment but was quickly being overshadowed by the wet slapping, grunting, moaning cacophony of sex, all underpinned by the strains of something throbbing and instrumental being piped in through the speakers.

"First orgy?" a knowing voice asked in a commiserating tone to their right.

Crowley turned their automatic flinch into a roll of the shoulders, like they were just adjusting the lay of their stola. A short man had sidled up to their side, dressed in a simple toga held up at the shoulder by a bronze broach minted with the Garden's logo. Propped against his hip was a cloth-lined wicker basket overflowing with single packets of lube, prophylactics, a variety of individually wrapped cheap sex toys, bottles of water, and small packets of wet wipes.

"Nyeh," Crowley said, not willing to commit to anything more incriminating.

The employee, undeterred, flashed a friendly smile. "No worries if you're not quite ready to wade in. Don't have to wade in at all, of course! If you like, you could start out at the buffet, or swing by the bar and have a drink, bump elbows with folks not yet down in the pit, see who you meet. Or, you could take it all in from one of the lookie-loo seats." He did a quick scan of the room. "Lookie-loo level is a bit full already, mind, but… Oh! There, see that bloke with the white hair?" He pointed diagonally across the room.

It took a moment for Crowley's gaze to travel all the way, distracted as they were by the writhing mass of increasingly unclothed revelers getting the orgy into full swing, but they finally spotted a man lounging alone on a two-seater. He was daintily slurping back what looked like oysters on the half shell as he watched the central pit with the sort of polite interest that seemed better served for polo matches than an orgy.

Crowley grunted an affirmative and nodded.

"He won't mind me telling you he's an experienced member," the employee confided. "Very polite. Fabulously clever. An excellent seatmate to have while you're getting your feet under you. Especially if you, perhaps, opted to take the online orientation instead of the in-person," he said with an airiness that missed the mark if he was trying not to sound like he was making judgmental assumptions about Crowley's life choices.

"Is that so?" Crowley enunciated carefully after they'd unlocked their jaw.

The employee hummed an affirmative. "All set on your purpose, boundaries, and cravings?"

Crowley skewered him with a look, and he blinked back up at them guilelessly with a picture-perfect customer service smile in place.

"Took the bloody online orientation, didn't I?" Crowley drawled in lieu of snapping. One didn't snap at customer service toadies, no matter how annoyingly prescient.

"Great!" he replied without any apparent irony. "Need anything from the basket?" He waved a flourishing hand over the goodies at hand.

"Nope," Crowley said, and thought maybe it came out a little too sharp, so muttered a garbled, "Cheers," and sauntered away to put a full stop to the interaction.

They started making a beeline toward the oyster guy, realized that might make them seem a little too keen, and instead veered sharply over to the bar.

The standard drink selection was… fine. But the on-theme specials looked interesting: two different types of spiced wine, several interesting non-alcoholic options, and a "Do As The Romans Do" diluted merlot that wasn't subject to the usual alcoholic-drinks-per-hour caps. Crowley ordered a cup, tapped their membership band to the proffered bade reader, and stalked away.

Oyster guy was still without a seatmate, thank God, when Crowley slinked their way closer and paused to observe.

He was nibbling on some sort of dried fruit stuffed with… something. Looked a bit dodgy to Crowley, but oyster guy seemed well enough pleased. His eyes kept fluttering closed and his chest rising and falling with what looked like sighs of contentment with every bite. To be honest, he looked like a man enjoying the overtures of a quality blowjob. And yet, with all the willing orifices in attendance, here he was sat alone in orgiastic raptures over the fancy sex party's fancy buffet. Crowley thought they might have ended up sidling over to his divan out of sheer curiosity even if they hadn't already been pointed over. Overall, he didn't look like he would try to jump Crowley on sight, which was enough for Crowley to be going on with at the moment.

When they were close enough to be confident they'd be heard, they cocked a hip, quirked an eyebrow, and plastered on their best shit-eating grin. "You here for the orgy or the food?"

The man startled and stared up at Crowley with wide eyes, looking a bit like a spooked sheep with the cherub cheeks and froth of pale curls on his head.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "I beg your pardon?" His tone was perfectly polite and posh, but the hand holding his plate shifted subtly, blocking the curve of his belly from view.

Well, shit. Put their foot right in it.

Crowley opened their mouth and despaired as about half a dozen clarifications tried to escape at once, none of which made it past the initial vowel stage. They could feel their ears burning even as they jerked their hand up into some sort of spasmy shooing motion, like they could bat the offending words away.

"No—no—I didn't mean it like that," they finally managed. "Just, you look like you're having a grand time already, and you haven't even…" they flung their arm out to indicate the sunken pit several yards before them, where naked, glistening flesh was beginning to surge and subside in earnest as thematic body drapery fluttered to the floor like horny flower petals.

When the stare being leveled at them remained coolly unimpressed, they decided shamelessness was the better part of valor.

"It's my first time," they blurted out and cringed. "At an orgy, I mean. Not with—Look, one of the staff said I should come talk to you. Pegged me for a newbie straight off." They forcibly stopped themselves and took in a deep breath through their nose. "I'm sorry. I swear, I didn't mean anything nasty by it. I was just surprised, s'all. I mean, who comes to an orgy for the buffet? Apart from you, apparently." They winced with their whole body and took a huge gulp of their wine. Right, diluted. They couldn't even get drunk to dull the pain.

But something in that tragedy of a monologue must have resonated, because oyster guy was looking at them now with something closer to bemused pity, and maybe even curiosity, than banked hostility.

"I'm Crowley," they managed and started to stick out their hand to shake before thinking better of it and twitching a limp-wristed wave instead. Did you shake hands at an orgy? They couldn't remember seeing anyone doing so, but then everyone they'd passed by so far had seemed like they already knew each other, even if only by acquaintance. Lots of hugs and kisses of varying levels of intimacy. But like hell were they going to get that close that quickly.

Oyster guy glanced at Crowley all over again, giving them just about the bitchiest, most blatant once-over they'd been subjected to outside the streets of SoHo. They resisted the urge to sneer but couldn't help reflexively slouching so far into one hip they threatened to tip sideways. They knew they looked good. Their tall, lanky frame wore the glorified drapery that was their costume well, and they'd taken care to curl their usual cockatoo pompadour into period-appropriate ringlets held back by a golden laurel headpiece. Whatever judgment he reached, though, Crowley couldn't quite read. He simply arranged his expression into a polite smile.

"My name is Aziraphale," he replied and held out a hand to shake.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Crowley lurched forward a step to meet Aziraphale halfway. The moment their hands clasped—Aziraphale's palm warm and fingers enticingly plump—Aziraphale's gaze flickered downward, and Crowley abruptly remembered the existence of common play bands with an internal facepalm. They both had the green "I'm here for a shag" band and a pre-consented touch hue of red. But, unlike Crowley's "non-sexual only, thanks" pink, Aziraphale's was the middle-ground magenta that meant he only drew the line at unexpected gropes at the nipples and genitals. Intriguingly, they both also met the club's requirements to qualify for the coveted purple "bareback buddy" bands. But where Crowley also had a pronouns band declaring their preference for "he/they" today, Aziraphale had nothing. Crowley's heart plummeted into their gut in nervous anticipation. The discrepancy could mean nothing, but it could also mean everything for how the next few minutes would go.

Like he was reading their mind, Aziraphale gave their hand a comforting squeeze and said quietly, "I use he/him pronouns, in case you were wondering. To be honest, more out of habit than any sort of allegiance, which I suppose is why I tend to forget to pick up a band." He flashed Crowley a tiny grin, expression open and hopeful.

Oh, no, was that supposed to be a "look, we're both genderqueer!" smile? Or just a "don't worry, I'm a trans ally" smile? Fuck, why was this so hard?

"I am sorry if I came across a little curt just now," Aziraphale went on, eyebrows drawing in soft and contrite. Then he pursed his lips into a rueful pout. "I suppose I was feeling a bit defensive. I did come for the food," he confided with the gravity of the righteous.

Crowley's jaw sagged with surprise—and a tiny bit of outrage, if they were being honest—as Aziraphale squeezed their hand once more and let go. They sputtered for a second before shoving the lip of their cup in their mouth and gulping to avoid sticking their foot in it yet again. Supposedly, this imp of a man could help them. So, probably, they shouldn't needle him for making them feel awkward.

Aziraphale clutched the plate of nearly demolished nibbles closer to his chest and lifted the pert little tip of his nose even higher into the air. "Petronius does remarkable things with oysters, but management likes to keep the menu in the Feasting Grotto reliable, so he doesn't often get to experiment. When I saw in the newsletter that the buffet for this month's theme orgy would include oysters, I couldn't pass up the opportunity."

It was too ridiculous; Crowley had to laugh. And, unfortunately, they were so off balance with everything going on that it came out in the unattractive, barking cackle they usually tried to channel into something more cool and ironic. But Aziraphale didn't look put off. Oh, he was making a show of looking pouty and prissy, but he was also casting sly glances their way, and there was a trembling upward tug at the edges of his mouth that suggested he was having fun.

"Fair enough," Crowley conceded, finally starting to feel a little more on top of the ball. They could do banter. "I suppose you can't get this sort of view in the Feasting Grotto, either."

Aziraphale's whole demeanor lit up like a solar flare, and he sat up and waved a hand in excited emphasis. "Exactly so! Why, this is positively a steal of an experience: endless, impeccably prepared food, reasonably priced wine, and a marvelous floor show." His smile sharpened into something that edged on feral. "And since I'm considered an Experienced Play Partner, I received a discount to attend."

Crowley snorted. "What, like no cover charge for ladies at a bar event?"

Oh, he had dimples when he smiled that smugly. "Something like that."

"And here you are, making a meal out of the literal instead of the figurative oysters," Crowley observed with growing delight at the apparent deviousness lurking under the lamb-like exterior.

Aziraphale gave a full-body wriggle of delight. "I've played them for suckers!" he agreed, packing a whole drag show's worth of camp into the delivery. He patted the open spot on the seat next to him with the warm air of a dowager aunt favoring a debutant attending their first ball. "But I'm the charitable sort. I wouldn't turn away someone in need of a bit of guidance in their first foray. You're welcome to join me."

Crowley realized they'd started to chew on their lower lip and made themselves stop. Despite the rocky start, there was a spark of something here. They weren't sure what kind of spark, yet. Aziraphale came across gayer than a maypole, but presentation could be complicated. (Case in point: Crowley.) He seemed kind enough, and certainly had enough of a bastard streak that Crowley didn't think they'd get bored. And anyway, this was part of their grand experiment testing all the different sorts of waters the Garden had to play in. At worst, Aziraphale would turn out to be a pillock and Crowley would move on. But more likely, they admitted to themselves grudgingly, they'd get a few pointers and a boost of confidence before wading deeper into the fray.

"Yeah, what the hell," they decided out loud and then all but flung themselves onto the empty cushion.

Aziraphale raised his glass to them in a cheerful salute and grinned. "That's the spirit. Ok, so, did they say why, exactly, they pointed you in my direction?"

Crowley groaned and dropped their head back against the sofa cushion. "Look, I know the thingy said first-timers should go to the in-person orientation, but who has time for that?"

"Ah," Aziraphale said, with a wealth of understanding. "Yes, that is, I'm afraid, something you'll want to keep in mind for future. With an event this large and without a specific theme—in terms of kinks, I mean—to organize around, most people do come in pairs or groups. The in-person gives you the chance to mingle and feel out potential partners in advance."

"Yeah, I'm getting that, now," Crowley grumbled.

"I take it you're not the gregarious sort?"

"Not with… this," Crowley admitted with a self-deprecating sneer. "S'complicated."

Aziraphale touched their forearm briefly with his fingertips. "Oh, no need to look so discouraged! I can give you the lay of the land, the who's who. A leg up when deciding who you might like to approach, if that's what you're wanting." He paused and tipped his head curiously. "Is that? What you're wanting? To find someone to approach?"

Crowley squinted at him for a moment, wondering exactly how he meant that last bit. There had been a tone there in his melodically posh diction. Aziraphale gazed back at them earnestly, absently popping one of the dark, wrinkled fruit things stuffed with what looked like honey-drizzled cheese into his mouth.

"I don't know," Crowley admitted after a fraught pause. "I've not done something like this—jumping right into it without much of a chat beforehand—before. I mean, except for a few private things. But with that, it was all matched up ahead of time, you know? Knew exactly what was coming."

They kept the wording deliberately vague to let him assume they meant the more standard arranged private encounters. People could get weird when they learned Crowley got off on rape roleplay and other consensual non-consent type encounters. That was a third or fourth date topic, if ever. Not that this was, technically, a date, they reminded themselves.

Aziraphale nodded encouragingly. "And what about your purpose, boundaries, and cravings?"

"God's sake," Crowley grumbled and rolled their head on their neck restlessly with a disgruntled growl.

"You couldn't have completed the orientation successfully without sharing them," Aziraphale pointed out placidly, and it was unfair that he looked kind of hot when he was being sanctimonious.

"Shit, yeah, all right, my purpose is to discover whether I'll even get on in an event like this," Crowley griped, "and my boundaries are anyone who has one bigoted word to say about my gender and presentation. Also, ngk, no anal receiving. I maybe forgot to do the deep clean while getting ready," they mumbled into their cup.

Aziraphale made an encouraging noise and waved them on.

They blew out a long breath. "And I guess my craving is… to get off? Look, I don't have high hopes for this, if I'm being honest."

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully to himself. "And your main worry is about the likelihood of finding a partner, or partners, who will be respectful?"

Crowley shrugged. "Seems like most everyone already knows each other or is fine to dive right in. And… let's just say I've had people make assumptions about what they think I want based on how they think I look. I like to feel people out before getting down and dirty. Easier to avoid nasty surprises that way."

Aziraphale cut them a speaking look, as if he understood that aggravation all too well. "That, I can definitely help with. But,"—He held up an officious finger—"before we dish, we must… dish!" he declared, holding up his freshly empty plate and grinning at his own terrible pun. At Crowley's flat look, he clarified, without any apparent self-consciousness, "I need to refill my plate and my cup." He tipped his head toward their empty glass. "Do you need another drink? Some nibbles?"

Another drink, definitely.

"Maybe," Crowley said. "Any recommendations?"

There was that megawatt enthusiasm rolling off of him again. "Oh! I could put together a plate for you, if you like. What sort of flavor profiles do you prefer? Do you have any allergies? I've sampled just about everything, and what I haven't I recognize from the standard menus in the Feasting Grotto. There are some standouts, but also a few flops to watch out for."

Crowley wanted to find the offer patronizing, but Aziraphale really did seem just that excited about the food, cheeks flushed and fingers flexing in anticipation of selecting the best morsels for their shared enjoyment.

And, even though they knew it was probably unwise to get attached, as Aziraphale playfully coaxed their preferences on "nibbles" from them, Crowley could feel themselves becoming reluctantly smitten by the playful bitchiness, the unabashed support, and the kindness they were getting the sense likely undergirded it all.

Still, not so smitten that they didn't keep a beady eye fixed on Aziraphale the entire time he meticulously worked his way across the buffet spread, occasionally plucking up this or that and placing it on one of two plates he had balanced across his palm and forearm. There wasn't much fear of mischief, with the amount of Garden employees on hand assisting with food and drink, but seeing how a potential partner interacted with staff was always enlightening. And here Aziraphale was grinning and chatting with one he apparently recognized—a young woman with a blue bob and black lipstick. When he reached the end of the table, the employee cheerfully took the plates from him and started heading Crowley's way as Aziraphale bustled off toward the bar.

"Here we are," the woman said as she walked up and held out a plate with an artfully laid out sampling of finger foods. "He said this one was for you."

Crowley took it with a mumbled thanks and snuck a glance over toward the bar, where Aziraphale was saying something apparently clever enough to make the bartender laugh.

"He's popular," Crowley observed, oh-so casual.

The woman blinked and then smirked. "I have a Garden Portal on me, if you want me to pull up his member profile for a look. Save you coming up with an excuse to visit the loo to get at the ones in the hall."

"Yeah?" Crowley asked, a little taken aback at the ready offer of assistance, though they supposed they shouldn't be.

"Sure, never hurts." With smooth motions that attested to finely honed muscle memory, she set down the other plate on the open seat and flipped up the holstered tablet hanging from her belt. "What's the name?"

"Um, Aziraphale."

"Here we are." She angled the screen for Crowley to have a look. "Course, definitely helps that he's got an unusual name—only the one hit. If there's anyone else you want me to look up and you don't have the last name, it might take some scrolling."

"Cheers," Crowley muttered, attention locked on the screen. There was Aziraphale's digital face beaming up at them next to neatly laid out snippets of information about what preferences, limits, and biographical facts he'd chosen to share with all fellow members. Crowley barely paid them a glance, however, as his star rankings had them riveted. "Bloody hell, is there anyone who hasn't rated him five out of five on all points?" they squeaked.

"Those are high stats," the woman agreed, voice trembling with laughter. "Oops, and he's headed back this way. Shall I jog on?"

Crowley flapped a hand and warbled out an affirmative and another thanks. "Experienced member" the other employee had said; an "excellent seatmate." Also, apparently, one of the most popular members of the whole bleeding establishment, at least when it came to good communication and "overall satisfaction." And Crowley was not going to be intimidated by that information; they weren't.

"Hello again," Aziraphale said and held out a fresh glass of diluted wine for Crowley to take.

"Ta," Crowley said faintly as they took it and then focused very hard on not downing the whole thing in one extended gulp.

"Have you tried anything yet? No? Oh, I recommend starting with the honey cake. It has the subtlest hint of cardamom, which you might not be able to pick up on without a fresh palate."

The chatter washed over them like a balm, and Crowley found themselves picking up the honey cake from the plate balanced on their lap and taking a nibble as instructed. It was dense and rich against their tongue, surprisingly complex in flavor, and absolutely like nothing they would have expected to be eating at an orgy.

"S'good," they managed around the bite in their mouth and then quickly washed it down with a sip of wine.

Aziraphale beamed. "It is, isn't it? Now, follow that with a bit of the fried cheese there. No, that one, there, studded with the rosemary—trust me." He smiled at them expectantly, eyes bright with enthusiasm.

"Oh, fuck," Crowley groaned around the bite. "You weren't kidding. What's ol' Petronius putting in this stuff? Incredible."

Aziraphale wriggled his shoulders in delight and plucked up a morsel off his own plate to pop in his mouth. Unlike Crowley, he waited until he swallowed to reply, fussy bastard. "I would say he's wasted here, but apparently he and Madame Tracy—that's the owner—go way back, and he's happy as a clam."

"Well, aren't you a font of interesting tidbits," Crowley drawled and dutifully sampled the olive tapenade on a bit of crusty bread that Aziraphale pointed out to them.

Aziraphale preened, looking smug as a cat with the cream. "One happens to hear things, that's all." He nodded out toward the undulating crowd below. "Now, let's give you a proper introduction to the space, shall we?"

He didn't know everyone, of course, but he knew a lot of people, either personally or by reputation. And those he didn't, he made shrewd observations about based on how they were behaving and interacting both with their partners and the crowd at large. How to tell who might be open to someone new asking to join in versus those subtly signaling they were already locked in for partners. Which people he knew preferred a straightforward approach and those who liked a bit of coy back-and-forth before any hands-on requests or invitations might be issued. There were surprisingly few people he warned them off of outright, and those he did almost all fell under the heading of "dreadfully heteronormative for you, I think, based on your stated concerns." He really was like the dowager aunt holding court at the ball, dishing out juicy gossip hand in hand with practical advice.

"That's Gabriel, there—the tall fellow with the jaw, you see? Fabulous cock; personality like a tin of expensive hair wax."

Crowley choked on their mouthful of wine and then cackled once they got it down. "Oh, yeah?" they egged him on.

Aziraphale cut them a sly glance, lips pursed in a slight smile. "It's quite the tragedy, truth be told. He has two modes: ready to plunder your love grotto with his throbbing, manly staff, or bawling like a baby as you mercilessly grind him under your heel. Absolutely no in between. But if either of those scenarios happens to be what you're into, it's apparently a transcendent experience."

"I'll pass, thanks."

"Hmm, probably for the best. The person giving him what for? That's Beez. Ze doesn't much like to share in a setting like this."

Crowley tore their gaze away from the tableau of what looked like a greek statue getting the pegging of his life from a short, angry-looking person covered near head-to-toe in fishnet hosiery and leather straps and eyed Aziraphale speculatively.

"Tell me to bugger off if this is too personal, but… how many of these people do you have the dirt on because of firsthand experience?"

Aziraphale took a long sip of his wine, but Crowley couldn't quite tell if it was a stall due to discomfort or just for dramatic effect.

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," he demurred, finally, and flashed Crowley an impish smile.

Fuck, he was cute. And he smelled incredible. Some sort of citrusy cologne anchored by muskier base notes. Crowley kind of wanted to press their entire face into his neck to get a closer whiff.

As it was, they were intensely aware of how close they were sitting, now. After the plates had been set aside, they'd naturally bent toward each other so Aziraphale could provide his observations and advice at a discreet volume. There was still a respectful handspan of cushion between their hips, but their arms were pressed together snug. Every catty murmur was accompanied by a puff of warm breath, usually against the bare skin of their upper arm, but sometimes against their cheek or their ear when Aziraphale turned his head toward them to conceal the movement of his lips from the crowd.

A warm flush had started building in them over the past several minutes, some alchemy of the inescapable, unapologetically carnal visuals and noises of the seething crowd of bodies below them and Aziraphale's dryly filthy, bitchy commentary.

Crowley didn't think Aziraphale was unaffected, either. When they glanced over, his face was flushed and pupils a little blown, lips shiny from not just the wine but how often he'd been licking them. And they had started recognizing a little hitch in his tone that differentiated when he merely thought someone was performing well and when he personally found the performance stimulating to watch.

Equally, however, Crowley had noticed he tended to get that catch in his voice when watching groups of men, or at least groups where everyone had a penis. They wished they'd paid more attention to the listed preferences on his profile when they'd had that glimpse earlier, but they couldn't remember if his profile had even had his gender preferences listed. But, based purely on observation, and his tendency to have more salacious details about the men he pointed out, it seemed very likely Crowley just wasn't his type. Which wasn't a surprise, but definitely a disappointment.

They sighed long and squirmed in their seat, increasingly horny and finally feeling like they wanted to do something about it, but frustrated that probably that meant getting up and looking for a partner. Even with Aziraphale's tips now in hand, it was going to be work and the inevitable discomfort that accompanied putting themselves out there for consideration and judgment.

Unless… maybe Aziraphale wouldn't mind if they snuck a hand under their stola and tunica and rubbed one out. That was likely acceptable etiquette at an orgy, right? Side-by-side wanking? Probably, they should ask. Aziraphale seemed to be winding down on his proactive commentary, anyway. With their libido checked a bit and a surge of lovely hormones, the need to go on the prowl wouldn't feel so daunting, surely.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said gently, pulling them from their spiraling thoughts. When they looked over, they found him looking at them with a wry smile on his face. "My dear, I can't help but notice you seem like you might be ready to wade in. Please, don't feel you have to linger on my account."

They blushed violently and scowled at the way it prickled all over their body. "Trying to run me off?" they snapped and then sneered at their own snappishness. Aziraphale had been fabulously kind; he didn't deserve their irritated lashing out over hang-ups that weren't his fault. "Sorry, sorry—" they immediately said.

Without thinking, they put their hand on his thigh, whether for reassurance or a pitiful attempt at preempting him from leaving, they couldn't say. The follow-up apology caught in their throat, though, as they watched Azpiraphale suck in a sharp breath and his eyes flutter shut. The previously lax muscles under their hand tensed, and when they looked down, they saw an unmistakable twitch in the toga-covered bulge between Aziraphale's legs.

Crowley snatched their hand back at the same time a very unattractive squawk broke free of their throat, then immediately wanted to fling themselves off a small cliff in embarassment. What were they, a blushing ingenue? It was a boner, for god's sake. Likely just a simple matter of right stimulation at the right time, nothing more.

"I'm so sorry," Aziraphale breathed out, voice and expression painfully contrite. "Please excuse the rudeness of my unruly body. I know you're not interested in a liaison with me. I promise I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable. I've tried to be discreet."

Hold on. What?

"What?" Crowley barked. "You," they accused, "have been looking at penises this whole time! I know I haven't exactly spelled it out, but I don't have one of those under all this."

At that, Aziraphale's expression of contrition folded sharply into a bitchy moue of displeasure. "I have leanings, to be sure, but I'll have you know I enjoy partners with all types of bodies and genders." He sniffed—actually sniffed like a snobby aristocrat in a period drama making a disdainful point—and then glared at them. "I know how I come across. But I'll thank you not to make normative assumptions. I happen to find you very attractive. And I've been trying to be a gentleman about it! Since you obviously—"

"I really want to fuck you," Crowley blurted out, and couldn't even enjoy how poleaxed the confession made Aziraphale look because they were too busy trying not to combust with embarrassment. For fuck's sake, they knew how to be cool! Where the hell was their game face tonight?

"Oh," Aziraphale squeaked, followed by another "oh" imbued with the inflection of an entire monologue. He visibly rallied himself. "So, we're—! That is, we're of a, a similar mindset on the, the topic," he babbled and squeezed his wine cup tight to his chest. "In which case, I suppose, it would make sense for me to ask if you'd like to, to indulge in, um, carnal relations?" His eyes were widening with horror with every passing syllable, his already light voice tripping up into the stratosphere, as though he was watching himself crash his own car. "With me, I mean?"

Perversely, the more unraveled he looked, the more Crowley's nerves settled. There was a certain bleak comfort in realizing you were interacting with a fellow disaster bisexual (or whatever label Aziraphale embraced). And Aziraphale didn't even have the excuse of being the new kid at the orgy. How embarrassing for him! Obviously, Crowley needed to tug on his pigtails some more.

"Carnal relations?" they echoed back in his posh diction, but put their hand back on his thigh and squeezed to take most of the sting out of it.

Like a magic trick, Aziraphale's spine straightened, and his fretful expression flattened into something bitchier.

"I think we've both just had an object lesson on the need for clear communication," he snipped. But, after a moment's pause, he raked his gaze up and down their body with obvious heat.

"I want to sit on your dick," Crowley fired back. "How's that for clarity?"

Aziraphale sucked in a sharp breath but recovered quickly and slouched against the back of the divan, holding their gaze with clear challenge in the rise of his eyebrows. "I'd say, there's more than one way to sit," he parried, consonants bitingly crisp. "Which way do you prefer to face? Do you want to be penetrated? If so, immediately or after some foreplay?"

Fuck, the word "penetrated" should not sound as hot as it did in his plummy accent. They were blushing like crazy, nerves jangling with a rush of excitement and arousal, but Aziraphale had managed to bypass their hardwon, cultivated wariness in these spaces and directly access the part of their brain that liked to drive fast, ask provocative questions, and let strangers tie them up and make them come so hard they nearly passed out.

They slithered up onto their knees on the divan and kneeled facing him. "You're the expert," they goaded. "The gourmand. And it's your dick. What's the best way to experience sitting on it?"

"Will you want me to use a condom, or no? I'm comfortable with either, but I do have a nice little trick for if we go au natural," he offered with a coy fluttering of his lashes.

Crowley squinted at him, and he returned their regard with calm patience and all evidence of being perfectly content to leave the decision up to them. Objectively, Crowley knew what their choice probably should be. The requirements for a bareback buddy band were rigorous but not foolproof, and any system could be gamed. And, star ratings aside, this wasn't like their prenegotiated encounters, where they'd been able to request and been granted individual proof of testing and other reassurances before making their decision.

On the other hand, Aziraphale and his purple band were a rare find, and Crowley fucking loved the feel of going bareback.

"No condom," Crowley decided abruptly. "What's this trick, then?"

Aziraphale's eyes glazed over a bit, and he smiled faintly. "It might be most affecting if I just show you. If that's all right."

"Do it," they commanded.

He flashed a bright, feral grin at them and then made a twirling motion with his forefinger. "Turn around, lean back against me. Wouldn't want to miss the rest of the floor show, after all."

He grasped them by the hips to help steady them as they turned and swung a leg over his lap, and Crowley had a moment of sensory deja vu at how much they liked the feel of his thick fingers spread wide over them. But when they tried to sit, he held them up.

"Hold on, before you get comfortable, would you be so kind as to lift your skirts up for me?"

Crowley tossed a smirk over their shoulder. "Getting right to the point, then?" they drawled as they began the precarious process of dragging their skirts up while kneeling.

"Not exactly," Aziraphale said tartly. Apparently satisfied that Crowley wouldn't sit right away, he began hiking the skirts of his toga up as well.

Crowley was a little disappointed that with the combined mess of fabric in the way, they couldn't get a good look at what he was working with before Aziraphale's hands were back on their hips, this time guiding them down carefully. He arranged them so their arse was pulled back snug against his lower abdomen, legs spread wide over his spread thighs. He encouraged them to lean back until their torsos were flush, and he was able with some effort to hook his chin over their shoulder.

"There, comfortable?"

"Can't help but notice a lack of dick to be sitting on."

Aziraphale tutted and fussed with spreading Crowley's skirts back out to cover their legs. "Patience, please," he admonished and then, seemingly satisfied with the arrangement of everything, wrapped his arms around their waist and gave them a gentle squeeze. "Now, let's turn our attention back to the proceedings, shall we? What are Gabriel and Beez getting up to now?"

Crowley rolled their eyes but didn't complain further. Now that they'd stopped moving, the subtle lewdness of the position was creeping up on them. Aziraphale's thighs were thick and sturdy beneath them, forcing their own legs obscenely wide so the lips of their cunt naturally spread open. But, because he'd resettled their skirts over their legs, the way Crowley was bared was a secret for only the two of them. The pocket of trapped air was quickly growing warm and humid, their bare skin where they were pressed against each other a little damp. And Crowley could tell from the angle they were sitting that their cunt was positioned directly over his crotch. They couldn't feel him yet—his erection must have flagged at some point—but if and when he did get hard, the way their hips were stacked, his cock would butt right up against their opening. That meant, if they got wet enough and he got hard enough, it wasn't impossible that he'd stiffen right up and into their waiting, dripping hole.

"Oh, shit," they breathed out as the possibility, the anticipation, hit them square in the crotch.

"Hmm?" Aziraphale asked but barreled on when they shook their head. "Where were we? Right, doesn't Beez look glorious like that? Thrusting away. Gabriel's getting quite the pegging, isn't he? Goodness, look at that flush on his chest. Ze must be hitting his prostate with every thrust. And look at that throuple next to them. See how the older gentleman is whispering what must be all sorts of salacious things into that young man's ears as he holds him upright? Looks a bit like how we're sitting, doesn't it? Except, of course, he's getting his nipples positively tortured while his lady friend is riding him. In rhythm, too—how stimulating that must be. Can you imagine, Crowley? Getting pounded, over and over, and every time, your nipples get a sweet little pinch?"

They could, and they were imagining just that, the bastard, and they couldn't help but huff a laugh at how blatant he was. Going right in for the kill, but speaking with a tone like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. The combined effect was leaving them feeling a little bamboozled with arousal. Shit, but heat was starting to pool low in their belly with prejudice, their clit pulsing with the need to be touched. Argh, and now they were starting to clench down around nothing and squirming with it.

"Having a little trouble," they replied, voice breathy. "Imagining. Maybe a hands-on demonstration would help."

"If you insist," Aziraphale said, demure and polite, and then, instead of going straight for their tits, like a normal fucking person, wriggled his hands up under the back of their skirts and spread his hot, plump hands over the bare skin of their belly. "We'll be discreet, hm? No need for anyone else to know what's going on under here."

And, oh, that was… that was unfair, that was. That he remembered they said they didn't like people making assumptions based on how they looked, about what they'd like or what they might or might not have under their clothes. It was one of the reasons they'd ultimately decided on the stola instead of the toga, even though they generally preferred wearing clothes designed for men in public spaces. They hadn't wanted to have to deal with any potential confusion or disappointment. It was also one of the major reasons they liked to stay mostly dressed in these open play areas, because the state of their very queer gender was difficult to convey with only their body and a pronouns band. But here Aziraphale was keeping it so the rest of the room would have to take their chosen presentation at face value.

"Yeah," they agreed, voice a little clogged, and they found that they could not spend another moment without feeling the cotton fluff of his ridiculous hair under their fingers, so they brought a hand up to bury their fingers in and hold tight.

He sucked in a breath and turned to press his face tight to their neck. "Do you like to be marked up?" he murmured against their skin. His hands were drifting up their torso with glacial slowness, making their tits tingle in anticipation.

"Yeah, yeah, neck's real sensitive. Go to town," they encouraged and then hissed as his fingertips brushed the delicate undersides of their breasts at the same time he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to their neck and sucked. They grabbed at his hip with their free hand and arched back into him, tipping their hips and throbbing vulva down in search of something, anything, that might provide a bit of needed friction. The tip of his hardening cock caught briefly against their outer lips, and they let out an embarrassingly horny noise at the way it made their entire pelvis pulse with need. "God, would you hurry up," they begged, feeling unaccountably strung out for all that he'd barely done anything to them yet.

Aziraphale hummed and feathered his fingertips around the sides of their breasts, skirting the edges of their areolas. He lifted his mouth from their neck and murmured, "What are they doing now? Would you tell me, please?" before latching onto a new bit of skin to lave with his tongue and nibble delicately with his teeth.

Crowley forced themself to focus back on the literal orgy going on before them. They found the throuple again. The woman was leaning over the younger man's shoulder now to trade lazy kisses with the older man, who had switched at least one hand to palm at her chest. For the first time, Crowley noticed he was slowly rocking up against the man sandwiched between them.

"Oh shit," Crowley wheezed, "I think he's maybe fucking him? Or about to? Ah—" they gasped. While they'd been distracted, Aziraphale had taken their tits fully in hand. He pinched their nipples between his first and middle fingers and pulled them taut at the same time he massaged the rest of the scant flesh. At the same time, they felt his hardening cock nudge up against their cunt. They strained their hips forward, chasing the contact. Aziraphale huffed hard against their neck and rolled his hips up against them, rubbing his stiffening length up against the entire length of their exposed vulva. The first pass was sticky-clingy with too much friction, but with every subsequent roll, more of their arousal spread between them, slicking the way, and soon he was gliding up along the hot cleft of them, cockhead butting up against their clit with every thrust. He moaned against their neck and plucked at their nipples and fucked up against them, and it was all Crowley could do to hold on for leverage and writhe.

"What are they doing now?" Aziraphale asked again, sounding winded, "Is he fucking him properly, or is it still just a tease?"

Crowley whined and peeled their eyelids back open, fighting for focus. "He's, um, yeah, looks like, ah, giving him a pounding now." They huffed out a frustrated breath—they could practically feel their heartbeat in their cunt, they were so fucking empty—and tried to tip themselves into a better position so they might be able to catch the head of Aziraphale's cock and get him to slip inside. "Any time you want to be doing the same to me would be really fucking great," they gritted out and then growled in frustration as with the next roll of Aziraphale's hips the blunt head of his cock caught briefly against the dripping opening of their cunt and then skidded off and up to rub hard against their clit.

"Oh, well, if you insist," Aziraphale replied, husky and giddy, and then slowed down and hitched his pelvis just so. And then, suddenly, he was nudging up right against their hole, the head popping in and then out again.

Crowley moaned and tipped their hips down so far they thought they might dislocate something, but it would be worth it because, finally, they were sinking down onto Aziraphale's cock as far as the position would allow, and relishing in the way it filled them up and dragged firm and hot against the sensitive spot that lay just behind their clit.

"Good lord," Aziraphale groaned against their throat and then surged further upright, leaning them forward in his lap so they were able to sink down on him to the root. He held them there for a long moment, keeping Crowley pinned against his chest with his grip on their tits. "You feel sublime, my dear," he murmured into their ear.

"Yeah," Crowley agreed, feeling a little punchdrunk at how easily he'd moved them both. "Can you fuck me properly now?"

"Of course," he agreed, breathless, and shifted forward to get his feet properly braced against the floor. Crowley caught an extremely turned-on noise in their throat, sounding only a little bit like a dying waterfowl. "Tell me when you're close," Aziraphale requested, and then moved his hands down to their hips, got a good grip, and started pounding up into them.

Their stifled moan took flight, and Crowley flung their arms back, scrambling for purchase against the back of the divan and digging their toes and knees into the cushions so they could match his rhythm and ride him properly.

"Shitshitshit," they whined as they heaved themselves almost bodily up and down with his help, meeting every upward thrust with juddering, equal downward force.

Aziraphale moaned and pressed his forehead between their shoulder blades. His grip on their hips likely wouldn't leave bruises, but it was tight enough to make their blood boil. He could probably toss them around like a rag doll, which was knowledge that normally made Crowley a little twitchy outside the structured confines of a CNC scene, but for some reason they felt nothing but the euphoria of realizing your partner could absolutely keep you upright even if your legs turned to jelly. Which, unfortunately, was exactly what was starting to happen as every smacking, forceful drive of Aziraphale's cock into their cunt at this angle rubbed them exactly the right way from the inside to send them hurtling embarrassingly fast toward orgasm.

"Oh fuck, you fucking bastard, you're going to make me come, oh my fucking fuck," they wheezed, muscles starting to short out and legs getting progressively more noodley as the heat building in their crotch began to spread outward, upward.

Aziraphale groaned low in his throat, buried himself deep, and then held them there, switching to a grinding pulse instead of a thrust. Crowley barely had a chance to open their mouth and demand what the hell he thought he was doing—they were so close, how dare he stop—before he snaked one hand up to grab the nearest tit and the other down to drag up some of the mess of moisture from where they were joined up over their clit. He leaned back hard, dragging them with him into an obscene arch. The way the position made his dick press deliciously against their inner walls, threatened to have him pop right out if they moved wrong, was insanely affecting. They froze and panted out a few curses, body caught in horny limbo as their orgasm still loomed on the horizon but they could no longer risk moving to try and get it there. But Aziraphale was still carefully grinding his cock up into them, making them feel every fraught centimeter press in and out, and plucking at their stiff nipple as he fingered their clit like a virtuoso. It was all they could do to keep breathing and tremble through it as the fever finally broke and washed through them in pulsing waves.

"Should I keep going, or do you need a break between?" Aziraphale asked, voice strained.

Crowley barked a mildly hysterical laugh. He was still rock hard inside them, clearly fraying at the edges, but already planning out their second orgasm? Why couldn't they get this lucky with partners outside this porny play land? First their mercifully sadistic, rumbling-voiced angel in the Forbidden Fantasies grotto, and now this sweet-cheeked, poshly camp bastard.

"Break, break," they warbled and clamped their hands over his through their stola to bring the teasing to a definitive stop. But when they collapsed back against his chest in relief, the angle of their hips changed just enough that his cock popped out, leaving them shatteringly empty. Crowley wasn't proud of the needy whimper that eked out of them, but it was some consolation that Aziraphale muffled a matching, pitiful noise into their shoulder.

"Should I—?" he gasped

"Yes, yes, get the fuck back in me. Just leave off the tickling for a minute, that's all."

It took some creative shuffling, but they scooted back up onto the sofa enough for Aziraphale to recline at a better angle for dick-sitting with sufficient lumbar support. This time, there wasn't any messing about; Aziraphale simply guided them by the hips to help them sink back onto his cock with all efficiency. They both gasped as Crowley settled. He was blood hot and thick pressing in against their orgasm-plumped inner labia and walls.

Aziraphale nuzzled into their neck and spread his hands wide over their belly, enfolding them close and cozy against his chest with his arms. And, with a satisfied sounding sigh, pressed a firm kiss to their neck. He tucked his chin back over their shoulder so his temple was pressed snug against their cheek. "My dear, you feel simply divine gripped around me, and I'm in no rush. I would like nothing more than to give you as many orgasms as you'd like as you ride my cock. What do you think?"

"Shiiiiiit," Crowley hissed and couldn't help rolling their hips to feel the delicious firmness of him squeezed inside them. They were warm all over and still faintly tingling from their first orgasm, and it really wouldn't take much to get them worked back up again. Especially when everywhere they looked, their senses were being flooded by high-definition, surround-sound pornography. "Yeah, let's do that."

Aziraphale hummed and flexed his fingers against their belly. "Is it all right if my hands wander? Nowhere ticklish, for now, I promise. You simply feel so scrumptious."

"Um, sure. Knock yourself out," Crowley agreed.

"Wonderful," he practically purred in their ear and began lazily trailing his fingers over their belly with the sort of lingering attention that spelled an obvious tease. "See anyone interesting down there?"

Oh, so they were going back to playing that game again? Crowley flashed hot all over in anticipation and grinned before glancing over the assembled mass of undulating bodies.

There, a man sprawled across one of the makeshift beds on his back, head tipped back over the edge so another partner could carefully feed him their cock while a woman bounced on his dick—backward so she could make out sloppily with another woman knelt between the man's legs.

Nearby, on a long sofa, four people squeezed in together to sit, chatting amongst each other and sipping from bottles of water with the hands they weren't using to lazily pet and finger the woman laid out across the length of their laps, who was panting and writhing and clearly about to shake apart from the absentminded attention.

Too many couples to count fucking each other in a variety of positions across just about every surface type on offer in the pit.

But there, a small grouping that was taking an apparent breather between rounds, hydrating and passing around damp flannels for spot cleaning. Amongst them was a luxuriously soft man with a veritable pelt of hair on his torso who was leaned back against the chest of a partner of indeterminate gender. The partner's head was bent as they sucked love bites into the man's neck while running their fingers through his body hair, smoothing it out from the muss it had apparently been worked into from activities previous. It looked comforting and comfortable in a way that could tip into something obscene at a moment's notice, if the way the man's eyes were occasionally fluttering closed was any indication.

"There," Crowley breathed and discreetly drew Aziraphale's attention to the proper group.

"Ah, well spotted," Aziraphale said. Already, his hands were moving up to mimic the pattern of the couple. He gently raked the backs of his fingers down over the front of their chest, clavicle to bellybutton, over and over, following the pattern set by the inspiring couple. True to his promise, though, he kept his fingers spaced to avoid touching Crowley's nipples. It was still enough to make Crowley squirm, though. They hissed softly and rocked their hips up and down, using Aziraphale's cock like a scratching post for their fractious pussy.

Aziraphale let out a shuddering sigh but didn't help. Instead, he moved down to their belly, mimicking combing smooth and then immediately ruffling a much more substantial happy trail than Crowley boasted.

"You aren't giving me any hickies," Crowley accused. The man was tipping his head to the side, now, chest beginning to rise and fall more heavily. Crowley reached up and back as he did, and two sets of hands buried themselves in a head of hair, one thick and mousy brown and another curly and white-blonde.

"I wouldn't be able to see," Aziraphale murmured and suddenly swept his hands up to cup the undersides of Crowley's tits. But where the man across the room arched his back and moaned as his partner started playing with his nipples, Crowley got plump fingertips hovering just shy of touching. Their nipples twinged and tightened viciously with phantom sensation.

"God, fuck, I don't care, touch me already," they whined, shoving their chest out shamelessly while simultaneously grinding down on Aziraphale's rock hard cock. They used the grip they had on Aziraphale's hair to forcibly angle his face into their neck.

Aziraphale shuddered a laughing groan and obligingly fit his mouth over their pulse point and sucked. He also brought his hands fully to their tits, first palming them and then lightly scratching over their nipples with blunt, well-manicured fingernails. Crowley moaned approval and, when it became clear Aziraphale wasn't going to help any further, began rising up on their knees just enough to be able to start shallowly fucking themselves on his cock.

Across the room, things were getting more heated between the other couple as well.

Crowley rasped out, "They're p-pinching his—" and Aziraphale immediately took their nipples between thumb and forefinger and began plucking. "Faster, f-faster, good, like that, yeah," they panted. "Oh, god, they're moving a hand down, now, slow, yeah, just, um, teasing right at the top of his bush. Kind of—ah—yeah, tugging a little, stroking around the base of his cock, not touching it yet."

Aziraphale whimpered and surged up to meet Crowley's next downward thrust before stopping again with what seemed like real effort. Instead, he moved to another spot on their neck to begin worrying at a new patch of skin and kept up teasing Crowley's nipple with one hand while lightly tugging and petting the hair covering their mons.

Their clit was throbbing in a way just riding Aziraphale's cock couldn't distract them from anymore. Crowley tugged fretfully at his hair and grabbed his wrist in a vice grip through the fabric of their outfit so they could better direct the hand at their cunt. "Shit, need you to rub me right the fuck now. They aren't stroking him yet, but I can't wait," they confessed and then dissolved into moans because now Aziraphale's gorgeous hand was petting them, circling and rubbing. Crowley fumblingly fit their fingers over his through the fabric and showed him just how they liked it. He whined and suddenly darted his hand from their nipple down to grip them tight by the hip, halting their thrusts. Crowley realized he was trembling under them, breathing hard through his nose as he diligently worked either a fourth or fifth love bite onto the canvas of their neck.

"You close?" they guessed. "You don't have to stop." They were starting to tremble themselves. Each movement of their joined hands working their clit jerked the fabric of their tunica over the sensitive skin of their thighs, drawing them closer and closer to the edge.

Aziraphale wrenched his mouth away from their neck to protest in a wrecked-sounding voice, "You first."

He kept whimpering to himself and starting to thrust up into them before holding back and redoubling his efforts at getting them off. And now that they were both holding relatively still, Crowley could feel his cock twitch inside them and the occasional slither of moisture leak out from where they were joined. He had to be positively drooling with precome, holding on to his composure by the skin of his teeth. The obvious desperation was kind of delicious.

It was also surprisingly affecting, to know he was holding back for their sake, to ensure they'd stay nice and full through this next orgasm. One that was barreling down on them now.

When Aziraphale dragged the hand that had been gripping their hip back up to fondle their tit again, it was all over. Within a minute they were coming in harsh pulses that they could only bear by grinding down hard on Aziraphale's cock. He groaned and ripped his mouth away from their throat to press and roll his forehead against the blade of their shoulder. He was shuddering full body now, taking deep, gulping breaths and letting them out in slow, shaking streams of air that were deliciously chill against their heated flesh.

Crowley took pity on him and took pains to slow the grinding of their hips to a halt. At the same time, they tugged Aziraphale's hand away from their crotch, settling it low over their belly with a reassuring pat.

"You all right back there?" they asked, too breathy by half for the glib tone they were aiming for.

Aziraphale squeaked an affirmative and clutched them close as he brought himself back to order, cock achingly hard and twitching within the grip of Crowley's swollen cunt.

"Sure you don't want to come?"

"Not yet," came the muffled, warbled response.

"Cause two's plenty generous, for me. Don't have to hold back on my account."

"Oh, but it's your first time at an orgy!" He sounded like he was finally getting his bearings back again, though he still hadn't lifted his head from their shoulder. "Should have oodles of orgasms."

"And you only the one?" they countered doubtfully and decided he seemed stable enough it was safe to melt fully back against his torso again. He obligingly gathered them closer and finally lifted his head, but only so he could press the bridge of his nose and eyes tight against the side of their throat. Faint tremors occasionally wracked his body.

"The hazards of a combination of advanced age and having a penis," he sighed, and the breath gusting over the back of their sweaty neck made them break out in gooseflesh. "I can't usually manage more than the one in such a short span of time."

"Advanced age," Crowley scoffed, but they found themselves scritching the short hairs in the back of his neck comfortingly with one hand and hugging his arms around their waist with the other.

Aziraphale giggled, the sound a little manic, and arched his neck back into their touch. "Oh, that feels lovely, my dear. Do feel free to tug as much as you like—ah—" He thrust up into them so suddenly, following their abrupt grip on his hair, Crowley felt a bit like a lewd puppeteer. "Yes, jolly good," he whimpered, "I meant to say once I'm a bit less on a hair-trigger."

"Whoops," Crowley drawled, feeling more smug than sorry. "Hey, just a thought I had, but are you actually holding back so I have the benefit of your hard cock to sit on? Or, are you using my cunt to edge yourself?"

There was a suspiciously pregnant pause before Aziraphale chuckled weakly. "Those aren't mutually exclusive aims, are they?"

"You bastard," Crowley crowed, giddy and fond. "'As many as you like,'" they parroted back in his plummy accent. "Fuck off," they laughed. "Like it's so selfless of you. Like you aren't doing it just as much for the sake of your own jollies—I heartily approve, in case that's not clear. Fucking brilliant bit of image management. No wonder you're so popular."

Aziraphale huffed against their neck. "Yes, I admit, I don't usually advertise my true aims. But do you know how difficult it is to find a partner in the common play areas who's good at edging? Best take care of it myself."

"Oh, that sounds like a challenge," Crowley said, the thrill of competition zinging up their spine. It was a surprise, then, to feel Aziraphale freeze up behind them.

"It… it wasn't meant as one," Aziraphale said, tentative and a little fretful. "I was mostly joking. I know how much patience and effort it takes, to do it well."

Anger sparked, furious and sudden, in the back of Crowley's throat, and they scowled down at the people below, wondering who had put the idea in Aziraphale's head that his relatively vanilla kink was Too Much for a bloody sex club with multiple grottos dedicated to different types of hardcore play. They squeezed the back of his neck.

"As much patience and effort as it takes to get someone off multiple times, I'd wager," they countered, taking pains to keep their tone airy and playful. "It's up to you, of course, but I fancy taking a crack at it."

"Oh! Well… I suppose, if it would please you," Aziraphale said, sounding a confused mix of anxious and greedy. "But I simply must insist on giving you another spot of ecstasy, if it won't be too much for you."

"A spot of—?" they started, incredulous, before swallowing back the urge to tease harder. They didn't quite know well enough whether it would goose him out of his anxiety or send him spiraling faster. Instead, in a lighter tone, they replied, "Well, I'm not going to say no to an offer like that."

Aziraphale noticeably relaxed and pressed a friendly kiss to the ball of their shoulder. "That sounds like an agreeable compromise."

Considering at this point Crowley could probably cough funny and have him back on the brink, they thought they were getting the better end of the deal.

"Speaking of," Aziraphale went on, cheerfully oblivious to Crowley's increasing despair over his probable encounter history, "do you need anything before we get started again? Some water? A nibble?"

"Nah, I'm good," Crowley said, and then more pointedly, "unless you need something."

"No, no, I'm quite keen to keep going," he said, and then chuckled a little self consciously. "Are you very tender? Should I avoid touching your clit for a while yet? Or, oh, is there a different term you'd prefer? We sort of skipped that part. My apologies. I'm a little out of practice in the open play areas, myself. No cheat sheets to read out here," he chuckled, a little fretful.

It took a moment for Crowley to recalibrate after the rapid topic shift. "What, you mean like calling it a cock instead?"

"For an example," Aziraphale agreed. "Or whatever you like best."

Crowley blew out a long breath and went boneless against him again. "Oh, I couldn't tell you, to be honest. Changes so much, partner to partner, situation to situation. I never know until a specific partner tries a specific term, how it will hit. Haven't run into any situations where any particular term is just plain wrong, though."

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully and began to knead at their belly, working his way over their hips and down to their thighs. "Shall I give it a go? Switching things up? And you can tell me if it's working for you or not?"

"Switch away," they conceded grandly. Given how many patently ridiculous words he'd made sound erotic in his posh bastard tone already, Crowley liked their odds. They wanted to do something cheeky, like give a little bounce, but Aziraphale's erection had finally flagged a bit during his anxious spell, and they worried he'd slip out if they didn't keep absolutely still.

"Hmm, and you're ready to be touched again?"

"Yes, yeah, go for it," Crowley hissed, and then, with a stroke of brilliance, thought to dig their fingers into his hair again and give it a good tug.

Aziraphale gave a gratifying moan, and even more gratifyingly began to stiffen back up within them. In what had to be an act of retaliation, he immediately plunged his fingers down, spread in a v shape, and palmed their entire vulva around the breech of his cock. Crowley pressed into the touch, suddenly ravenous for friction.

"My dear, you are a menace," he breathed and used his other hand to reach up to give their nipple a quick pinch, making them moan embarrassingly loud. "But such a lovely one. I am quite enjoying our time together, you know. And especially this gorgeous thing, here." He crooked two fingers and slipped them up into their cunt alongside his cock, making them squirm at the feeling of being overstuffed. "Such a warm, welcoming hole for me. And this sweet bit up here…" He dragged his fingers back out and up to where they desperately needed to be petted again. "Your clever little cock," he crooned hot in the shell of their ear, and yes, all right, that was definitely working for them. They whined and tugged on his hair again just to hear the way it made his breath shudder before he started talking again. "It's quite the fat little number," he observed and pinned it between two fingers before using a third to drag back the hood. "I should quite like to get my mouth on it sometime. Give the head a proper suck."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Crowley wheezed, feeling a little lightheaded by how fast all the blood in their body was rushing down to throb through every last inch of their crotch. "Yeah, s'working."

"I'm so glad to hear it," Aziraphale purred, switching between toying with the hood and rubbing the pad of his finger firmly up and down the underside of it. Then the bastard rearranged his fingers to grip the whole thing between thumb and forefinger, paused to mirror the hold with his other hand on Crowley's nipple, and began to gently tug both in lazy time with gentle upward thrusts of his own cock. "Do you think you can come just from this? From me tugging on your fat little cock?"

The one-two punch of not just hearing him call it their cock, but to realize he was deliberately manipulating it like one, had Crowley writhing on his lap and biting back a howl. They didn't know if they could get off like this—the stimulation was almost too direct for what their poor, abused nerve endings could take at this point—but god they were already jolted back up to that space where everything was feeling hot and urgent again. He was almost terrifyingly good at winding them up.

Time to get a bit of their own back, they decided.

"Fuck, wait, I want to turn around," they warbled.

Aziraphale made a surprised noise but helped them hold up their skirts and keep their balance as they turned and sank back down into him as quickly as possible. He smiled up at them, something a little uncertain in his gaze, and Crowley grinned back with too many teeth.

"Got more leverage this way," they said with wicked glee, then braced their elbows on his shoulders, buried their hands in the hair on the back of his head, and started to ride him in earnest.

They pulled his head back, baring his throat, and Aziraphale's eyes practically rolled back in his head as he groaned surprisingly deep in his chest, Cupid's bow mouth dropping open in what looked like horny shock. Crowley didn't have the breath for a full cackle, but they managed enough that his eyes popped back open and he flashed a feral-looking smile through half-lidded eyes. He grabbed them by the waist and helped guide their rhythm and timing into the sort of deep, teeth-clattering thrusts that made an obscene slapping noise and hit their little cock against the soft roll of his belly just right with every downstroke.

Crowley watched Aziraphale's face avidly, looking for signs he was getting close, for when they would need to hold him back from the brink. He smiled back up at them, pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, looking like a debauched angel with his curls hanging limp and damp over his forehead. A darker flush was slowly rising up from his neck, and his thrusts were starting to get a little erratic, breaths a little deeper. Now, Crowley thought, and on the next downward thrust of their hips sat down fully and pinned his hips with their knees.

Aziraphale blinked in surprise, and then a whole parade of emotions danced across his face in subtle flutters of his mouth and eyebrows: confusion, shock, wariness, and then slowly blossoming delight. Crowley smirked and then gave his hair a good tug at the same time they clenched tight around him and ground down on his lap. His jaw sagged around a punched-out moan, and his eyes fluttered briefly closed.

"My dear, what are you—?" He cut off with a yelp as they did it again. He sucked in a sharp breath, looking a little wild around the eyes. "Is this…? Ah."

"Me edging you?" Crowley supplied helpfully as they rolled their hips. "Yeah, looks like."

They let him have a little longer to breathe this time, to collect himself a little, then lifted up almost all the way off him and sat back down, hard, with a double tug to make up for it.

"Oh, fuck," Aziraphale whined, hands scrabbling for purchase on their back. The tendons on his neck stood out with strain as he panted and struggled not to come.

"Ooh, too close that time?" Crowley guessed, and Aziraphale nodded frantically. "Noted."

They ran their fingers through his hair soothingly until he looked a little less like he might shatter if they so much as looked at him funny. Then, they gathered a fresh handful of curls and got right back to torturing him by careful, maddening increments. Aziraphale whimpered and whined and kneaded desperate little handfuls of their back and thighs and arse as he let them toy with him. He looked up at them with a sort of befuddled adoration, like he couldn't believe his luck. Crowley stubbornly ignored the flustered pride it inspired in them. Sometimes you just had amazing sexual chemistry with someone; it wouldn't necessarily mean anything once the orgasms were over.

Speaking of…

"Think you can handle getting me off without coming?" they challenged. "I'm not going to hold back. I will squirm and make it bloody difficult for you."

Aziraphale breathed out a laugh, which did unfairly attractive things to his arched neck. He pressed his head back into the grip of their hands and regarded them with lust-blown, half-lidded eyes.

"A gentleman never reneges on a promise," he murmured and lazily dragged his hands up their thighs until he was able to use his thumbs to spread their labia even more obscenely wide around his periodically twitching cock. "However, I would beg a favor and ask that you lean back a bit. Brace your hands behind you on my knees."

Oh, that would put more pressure on the sensitive bits on the inner front wall of their cunt. Clever, since he was probably still too on edge to thrust. They eagerly complied, which had the added effect of putting their scant chest on display, their stiff nipples prominent even through the layers of fabric.

"You are a vision," Aziraphale sighed as he got to work slowly teasing their clit with one hand and petting the full length of their arched torso with the other. "Temptation incarnate." He gently fondled first one breast then the other, and groaned in tandem with Crowley as his renewed attentions made them squirm. "What sort of touch do you need at this stage? Heavier or lighter? Any tips or tricks you can share? I know going for a third without the aid of a toy is perhaps a bit of hubris on my part."

Crowley grunted, distracted by the hazy, flushed feeling of heightened arousal once again building within them. But his point was well made, so they sighed and leaned more to one side so they could balance on one arm and bat his hand away from their cunt.

"Probably best you let me take care of this part, honestly," they panted and, after a perfunctory swipe south for some moisture—good lord it was a veritable swamp where they were joined—immediately got down to business. "Could you play with my tits? You can be real mean to them."

"Of course!" Aziraphale agreed happily and promptly gave their nipples the sort of firm pinch that had them howling in approval.

With that, they were off to the races, Crowley pulling out all the stops to drive themselves to orgasm with brutal efficiency with the added spice of Aziraphale exploring all sorts of ways to pluck and pinch and roll and flick their tits to drive them to distraction. Crowley watched him watching them and marveled at the intensity of his focus as he seemed to devour every moan and grimace and bitten-off curse they made as they got closer and closer. Their control was starting to unravel, and they began rocking up and down on his cock again, nearly sobbing at the perfect way it rubbed them from the inside, poured gasoline on the fire building within. Aziraphale clenched his jaw and braced his head back against the sofa. His eyes slammed shut, and he even seemed to be muttering something to himself as he clearly fought not to come.

Crowley wondered at his iron control. They'd never been able to hold back an orgasm in their life. Once they were there, they were there.

"M'close," they panted, "ah—almost there. Hold on. Just hold on. You can, mm, do it. Just—ffffffuck—a little more." And then it was washing over them, waves of pulsing heat that made them curl in on themselves and clench and grind down onto the absolutely perfect pressure filling them up, giving their body something to hold onto. Aziraphale left off playing with their tits and instead encouraged them to lean into him and brace themselves on his chest as they swiveled and circled their hips and fingers in diminishing increments as the orgasm finally dissipated. Crowley gratefully mashed their face into his neck and slumped against him fully as their body temporarily gave out. And oh, yes, the citrusy musk of his cologne only improved with a little sweat and heat, though they resisted the instinct to lick. Sadly, cologne never tasted as good as it smelled.

Aziraphale was still painfully hard and trembling so violently his teeth were practically chattering. Still, he ignored it to wrap his arms around them and rub broad hands up and down their back soothingly.

With what felt like an inhuman amount of effort, Crowley planted their hands on his chest and pushed themselves up just enough to get a good look at his face. He favored them with a shaky smile and an absolutely manic look about the eyes. There were tears glistening, and his lips looked almost bruised from how hard he must have bitten them. The sight filled Crowley with an unsettling amount of fond possessiveness.

"Look at you," they breathed, and it came out sounding awed and proud. "Held on through all that. Fucking incredible." They smoothed the curls stuck to his forehead back from his face and rubbed away a few tear tracks with their thumb. "What do you want now?" they asked, hushed and probably a little too tender. "Ready to come, or do you want to keep going a bit longer?"

Aziraphale looked on the verge of sobbing, but also a little like he wanted to squeeze Crowley in happiness until they popped. The protective urge to fist fight whatever previous partner made him feel like his preferences were too much work surged once again, and Crowley channeled it into finger-combing his curls up into wild, stiff peaks.

"I can honestly say I don't think I could handle anymore," he confessed, sounding gleefully scandalized.

Crowley preened at that and sat up straighter. "How do you want to finish, then? Just like this?"

His face folded into concerned creases. "Oh, but your poor thighs. I'm sure they must be absolutely on fire by now," he fussed and started a gripping, rhythmic massage.

Crowley conceded the point with a bob of their head. "Sure, yeah, but I don't really think it's going to take much, do you? I can handle it." They worried their lower lip a moment, wondering if they should mention the other thing, before deciding to trust he wouldn't care. "And to be honest, I almost always prefer to be on top."

Aziraphale smiled. "Well, I won't argue if this will be more comfortable for you. And it's not like it's a hardship, lying back and letting you do all the work." He grinned up at them and batted his eyelashes like a proper coquette.

"Oh, no you don't," Crowley fired back and guided him by the forearms to put his hands back on their hips. "You're absolutely helping." They started rocking up and down, hissing at the delicious ache in both their thigh muscles and swollen cunt.

Aziraphale looked like he wanted to get the last word in, but he was so on edge that all he managed was a thready moan. Crowley braced their hands on his shoulders again and started to really work him, changing up the speed and depth until he was writhing and barely able to focus on helping take some of their weight. When he started whining their name, eyes squeezing tight, Crowley settled into a steady, rolling thrust, riding him hard from root to tip, over and over, until he cried out and shuddered beneath them. He practically sobbed with the force of it, and Crowley, spent as they were, flushed hot all over when they realized he was coming so hard they could feel the pulsing jerks of his cock inside them. But, between one moment and the next he was laughing wetly, an almost beatific expression of joy suffusing his face as he moaned and moaned and moaned as it just kept going. Crowley rode it out, transfixed. The force of his pleasure and obvious happiness for it was so affecting, they unaccountably felt a little hot behind the eyes.

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley's hips to keep them from rising up again at the last of it. He tugged lightly at their elbow with a faint, "do you mind?" Crowley found their throat unexpectedly too full for words, so simply shook their head and let him tug them down onto his chest for an afterglow cuddle.

A couple minutes later, after quite a lot of happy sighs and petting of Crowley's back and arms and thighs, he murmured, "Do you like a bit of kissing?" His voice was meltingly soft and thoroughly debauched.

Crowley considered for half a second—kissing was a hit and miss activity for them, but they decided they wouldn't mind if it was Aziraphale—and then turned their face up from where they'd hidden it in his shoulder and lifted their chin in mute permission. Aziraphale beamed down at them, face still flushed and creased all over with laugh lines, and slid a hand across their jaw into the short strands of their hair. He nuzzled his mouth and the pert tip of his nose against their cheek as he adjusted the angle of both their heads more comfortably, and then he fit his lips over theirs and began to leisurely take them apart with his mouth. He kissed superfluously, hedonistically. Like he was taking deep draughts of honeyed wine from the blessed chalice of their mouth or something equally poetically devastating. Crowley made a noise like a dying animal, grasped the front of his toga frantically, and did their best to match him. On the whole it felt dangerously close to what Crowley had always speculated being made love to must feel like.

Fuck him. "A bit of kissing," Crowley's foot. Of course the "I couldn't bear to give you anything less than three stunning orgasms" darling of the Garden would consider this ruinous act of romantic siege warfare "a bit of kissing."

And fuck Crowley, because they were really, really fucking into it. Had been into just about everything they'd done together tonight. And Crowley was painfully aware they had fallen fast and fallen hard for people in the past who had shown them not even half as much consideration as Aziraphale had done tonight. But, historically, their tendency to speedrun romantic entanglements did not work out for them. Either they were too intense too fast and scared people off, or discovered too little too late that the person, once better known, was actually a massive knob. That was supposed to be part of the benefit of a place like this: clearer boundaries for their own head and traitorous heart. Not that it seemed to be working. Hell, they were already half in love with their sadistic angel from the Forbidden Fantasies grotto, and they'd never even seen his face or knew what he was really like outside of the character he played for their roleplay. They really didn't need to be rushing headlong into yet another crush. Not so quickly, anyway.

So, when they came up for air, Crowley didn't dive back in for more, or wrap him up in all their gangly limbs like an octopus, or suggest he come back to their place, or any of the other intense, clingy, too-fast things they wanted to do. Instead, they did the sensible thing and suggested they get cleaned up and drink some water. A little bit of space should help, they reasoned.

Aziraphale agreed readily, still giddy and beaming from his orgasm, and cheerfully went to fetch them drinks and a fresh plate of nibbles while Crowley raided the supply basket next to their sofa and wincingly sponged off the veritable pint of accumulated fluids from between their legs and along the insides of their thighs. Bloody hell, sex was gross.

When Aziraphale returned to sit, he left a hair's breadth of space between them as he settled, and Crowley tried to be glad for it. Space was good; space would give them time to think instead of just feel.

They distracted themselves by knocking back half the tall glass of water Aziraphale handed over in one go and then stuffing a fresh honey cake in their mouth directly after. Aziraphale, by contrast, was dainty in the way he alternated little sips of water with nibbles on his own cake, though he didn't appear to be casting any judgment on their differing approaches. His general demeanor was still suffused with what seemed like goodwill toward all mankind or some shite, and the gazes he kept shooting Crowley were fond and a little mischievous, like they were in on a shared secret.

"The fifteen-minute warning went off while I was fetching our refreshments," he said as soon as Crowley had washed down the last swallow of their cake. "Is there anything else you'd care to do together in that time? Either here, or we could retire to the breather lounge, if you want a little distance from the final hurrahs going on down there."

The crowd below was thinning out as people who were done for the event started to drift to spots on the uppermost tier or even left altogether via the back exit of the hall. Those who were left, however, were racing against the clock, and the energy and moaning and wet slapping sounds had reached a fever pitch. Crowley found the sight much less compelling now that they were so thoroughly sated, but it wasn't off putting.

"Nah, I'm good," they replied with a lot more nonchalance than they really felt. They'd decided, when the temporary lack of Aziraphale's immediate presence and the grim banality of trying to scrub come out of their pubic hair with a wet wipe had lent a bit of mental clarity, to play things cool. They were not going to come on too strong, or leap face-first into potential disaster, damn it. They were going to be super chill, leave the door open for future encounters, and then time would tell if these throbbing feelings of attraction were meant to settle into something that could survive beyond the heady rush of an orgy.

Aziraphale hummed in reply and turned to face the crowd again, still working on the last of his cake.

One thing was still nagging at Crowley, though.

They nudged Aziraphale and waited until he looked over to ask, "Earlier. Why were you so convinced I didn't want, what was it, 'a liaison' with you?"

Aziraphale blinked owlishly at them and then flashed a distinctly embarrassed grin before dropping his gaze to where his hands were tapping a silent rhythm against the edge of his water glass.

"I was very aware that you only approached me because I was pointed out to you by staff. It's not the first time the staff has sent people my way, whether for simple company or counsel or because they think we'll be a good match. But it didn't seem that you were looking at me as a potential partner, just as a source of information. And, my dear, you were scowling at me an awful lot." He glanced back up at them, and his nervous smile stretched into something more confident. "Although I'm beginning to think that might just be your default expression," he teased.

Crowley fought the downward curve of their mouth back into level neutrality. "I have no idea what you mean," they said flatly, and found it easier to tip their expression up into a smirk when Aziraphale giggled in reply.

"I'm quite pleased with the way it worked out," he said quietly a moment later, his expression unbearably soft. "I mentioned before, I'm a little out of practice at open play events. But even still, I can't remember the last time I had such a wonderful time at one."

Crowley could feel the heat of their blush flare, and they self-consciously fought the reflexive urge to scowl. Aziraphale seemed to read the struggle on their face, though, and grinned.

"Would you, perhaps, like to join me in the Rainfall Grotto, after this?" he asked. "We could help each other get more thoroughly cleaned up. Then, um, maybe visit the Feasting Grotto for a glass of real wine."

The mental image hit Crowley like a brick between the eyes: The glistening slick of water over skin, the slip-slide of soapy hands over sensitive flesh, the haze of steam lending everything a soft-focus feel. At best, they would end up trying to fuck him again immediately. At worst, they'd say something too intense and needy. Adding alcohol to loosen their tongue would only guarantee disaster.

They rolled around some vaguely apologetic vowels in the back of their throat before saying, "Nah, I'd rather go solo. You know, decompress. And I've got an early start tomorrow. Should head straight out."

Aziraphale's little smile remained fixed as he nodded and turned back to his plate. "Of course," he said, polite and understanding.

Crowley tapped the side of their glass. "But, maybe I'll see you around the Garden? I've been exploring the other open play grottos. Might run into each other, have some more fun."

"We might indeed," Aziraphale agreed, "have some fun." He finished his water in one long swallow and rose from the sofa. "I hear the showers calling my name, so I'd best be off. Unless, um, you need anything else from me?" He looked almost expectant.

Crowley mutely shook their head, not entirely sure what he might want, and not trusting themselves not to blurt out something ridiculous if they gave themselves half a chance. Aziraphale nodded to himself, thanked them again for "a lovely time," and excused himself with a perfectly genial smile.

It was only later in the locker room, when Crowley was trying to resist the urge to pet Aziraphale's virtual face as they registered their encounter in one of the Garden portals and gave him five stars on all counts, that they saw the little "connect with member" prompt and realized they'd forgotten a crucial step in their master plan to get to know him better.

"Oh, fuck me," they said out loud and then sneered at the startled look of the person changing next to them.

They hadn't asked if he wanted to connect in the system, which would give them the option to passively share their planned play events with each other. With as big and busy as the Garden was, Crowley didn't like their odds of seeing Aziraphale again anytime soon without some judicious calendar stalking. But that was one thing that had stuck from orientation: you weren't supposed to send a request willy nilly; you were supposed to wait and ask permission after an encounter.

"Shitshitshit," they muttered under their breath and, without giving themselves time to overthink it, sent a connection request and opened up a private chat thread with him.

Hey forgot to ask if we could connect. Forgive me the horrible faux pas of sending the request anyway. Definitely want to be sure we can arrange for more fun.

There, that was all right, surely. A little presumptuous, but in retrospect this had to be what Aziraphale been alluding to right before they'd parted. He'd probably hesitated to ask himself since they'd just begged off his suggestion of an after party. So, the connection request was probably hoped for if not expected, given how well they'd gotten on. Should work out.

Within seconds, they received a notification that their request was accepted, and the little jumpy dots of an incoming message began bouncing in the chat window.

No forgiveness necessary. One can never have too much fun in their life!

Crowley performed a slow collapse against the lockers and groaned. Thank god. Then, after a prolonged moment of regathering their equilibrium, they peeked into Aziraphale's calendar to see what events he's made visible to his connections, and which they might arrange to run into him at.