Chapter Text
Modern solution, Anathema had said.
Aziraphale supposes he could give it a try.
He grabs his laptop from its spot at the bedside table and places it on his bed. The sleek silver of it looks out of place over the pressed, crisp white sheets. Heavy, pulling creases at the corners, instead of sitting neatly on his mahogany desk like it usually does. Another sign of how utterly odd this evening is proving to be.
He could have moved to his office downstairs, sat at his wingback with whisky in his hand to sand off the nervousness that reeks through, even if he's only intending to watch tonight, trying the shape of this new choice. But the subject is rather intimate to mix with the same space he usually uses for work. Glueing it to the phantom memory of excel files and Teams. It feels transgressive to expose himself so fully to parts of his home that house other angles of him.
So, the bedroom it is.
There's a part of Aziraphale that flushes pink at the idea of what he's going to do. A part of him that still holds the trembling unsurety and the threadbare doubts. That zig-zagging, sawing ache that cuts under his breastbone, ever since Gabriel left him.
A disarray of spiking anxiety, deep in his belly, when his gaze lands back on his laptop.
At forty, Aziraphale has never done anything remotely like this.
Through all his life, Aziraphale has tried to fit in, to be the alpha society expects him to be, despite his own wishes. He has a job that pays well. A boring, grey job at a faceless company where he's nothing but a cog in a well-oiled machine. Respectable enough, though, that he'd caught the attention of an omega like Gabriel. Aziraphale still remembers their soft beginnings, the beat of his own heart when Gabriel had told him he wanted him. Tall, handsome, incredibly difficult to please, with a scent richly pleasant, Gabriel had felt like the wedge that Aziraphale's life needed to feel whole, a reassurance that somehow Aziraphale wasn't so different, so off-kilter, such an abysmal alpha. Before Gabriel had spent the following six months slowly chipping away at Aziraphale's confidence, making snide remarks each time Aziraphale decided to show a bit more of himself. The spread of his stamp collection, the whole catalogue of his romance books, his predilection for sweet pastries. Until he'd been pushed away every night, across the expanse of a bed that felt more and more like a battlefield.
Aziraphale isn't lying to himself anymore. Any interest on Gabriel's part had quickly faded, once he'd realised that Aziraphale wasn't the sort to claw and kick his way up the corporate ladder as many other alphas would. That hoping for Aziraphale to be brash, loud, and cocky was useless. He’d finally ripped them apart by spending his heat with an alpha who had gotten a promotion in Aziraphale's company - a woman that Aziraphale himself had introduced him to at the last Christmas party, no less.
After the first shocking ache, Aziraphale had inevitably wondered how much of the last six months had been real. If anything had. If there had been a dearth of love from the very beginning. If perhaps all that had mattered had been the weight of the pence in his pocket.
Gabriel's memory still twinges inside Aziraphale's ribcage like a bruise that won't fade. No matter that logic has eased the bulk of heartache, when Aziraphale cards through the reasons he's better off. He's still tender around the edges.
And quite desperate, now that his rut is approaching like a freight train. Just a month and a few days left, and he'll be left with nothing but a drive of want and lust and a necessity to fuck. It's terrible. He hates the whole biological angle of it.
Aziraphale isn't ready to date again. To put himself out there, searching for another omega to spend his rut with. He's never done it before, having suppressed his ruts for most of his life. He isn't ready for either casual or serious. For the bouquet of a strange scent soaking his sheets, his skin, the very air in his lungs. For an alien touch. Just thinking about it nearly makes him break out in hives. But nature is a contrarian bastard, sharpening that possessive streak the more he approaches ground zero, making him feel like a beastly alpha three times a year, ruts that come like clockwork.
It had been Anathema who’d brought him a possible solution. Hiring a cam-worker omega whom Aziraphale could latch onto while in rut. Someone who could soften his situation without the host of odd scents and unfamiliar touch. Someone who could soothe him with gentle words and sensual imagery during the three days his rut would last. Someone who, under the guise of money, would declare themselves his, if only for a moment. Convenient, if nothing else, without the added complications of long-lasting attachments and the awkwardness of saying goodbye on creased, soaked sheets that would smell of sex afterwards.
Apparently, it's a service with great success among touch-averse and anxious alphas, according to raving reviews on multiple web pages, including alphainthenow.com.
But tonight. Tonight Aziraphale is only watching. Taking advantage of the public streaming to suss out the terrain. He isn't even sure he'd find an omega appealing just on the basis of looks alone. Aziraphale is no stranger to porn, but the connection behind his relationships has always run deeper. Want fueled by and hinged on the crushing tide of his heart for a partner.
God, is it too late to suppress his rut? He knows it is. His hands are shaking, dotted with sweat. Aziraphale bites down on his lip, smells the rancid burn of his own bergamot scent.
He swipes his mobile unlocked, checking the name of the cam-worker Anathema had recommended.
AJ, a link and three !!! marks.
Aziraphale isn't sure how this whole thing will work with the divide of a screen and the lack of hands skimming on skin, but he's ready to give it a go. The other option would be to hole up in his flat, maddened with lust. Craving a now-wrecked connection.
He flicks his laptop open and types up a search on Google, clicks on the link, and gives his credit card info when required. His fingers push the keyboard with a trembling sort of anticipation. It gives reality to the whole thing, pulls it into the frame of his everyday life. He is doing this.
There's sweat spreading like a film under his white tee and his beige pyjama bottoms. Skin sticky with it, more than probably washed pink. Thank heavens he isn't the one showing his face tonight. His hand slides and trembles off the central mouse pad of the laptop to rest on his thigh, when the page finally loads to a design in black and gold snakes and cherry red letters.
AJ will be with you soon.
A video block with an added chat. There must be two hundred people already logged in, and dozens more joining. Lines of text tossed, one after another, that Aziraphale registers like blurred pop ups. AJ seems to be a very popular streamer.
Aziraphale can feel the frenzied race of his heart in his temples. The heat of his blood as it thumps along his neck, under his armpits. Oddly, under the roof of his mouth too. Why is he in such a state?
Right. Because it's new. Because it escapes the safe complacency of Aziraphale's dull habits. Because red and black and gold are so far out of the hue of his taupe life.
He glances at the throw of sky outside his window, where a wedge of sun is blazing up the borderline of the soft horizon. Smearing crimson across the otherwise deep blue canvas. It's an evening like any other. Average and not distinct from a hundred more he's spent dithering over choices in this exact room, with its cream walls and sensible furnishing.
Well, he's choosing right now.
The video flickers from black to stunning white like a tilted camara finding its focus, and then AJ is fully on screen.
Aziraphale is quite aware of the jolt of heat in his stomach. Good lord, Anathema knows him so well.
AJ grins at the camera. All lissom curves and long lines, a wavy gleam of rust-dark hair loose around the round slope of thin shoulders, and the sparkle of what seems to be a silver ring piercing the plump pinkness of a bottom lip. It's a bad-boy act that could be tacky, but works perfectly for him.
It's that vixen face.
Light falls on him in clear, soft strokes. Makes him inviting, real without trying too hard. Aziraphale's awareness is suddenly bombed out with the realisation that AJ is gorgeous, the smiling quirk of his mouth impossible to ignore. And of course he would be. He wouldn't be so popular otherwise.
"Hey there." AJ's voice is a lilting rasp of smoke. His red lips curve in an attractive smirk that flashes white teeth. "How are we doing tonight? Had lots of fun during the weekend playing with all the toys you lot bought for me. Feel so good today."
Aziraphale breathes in. Doesn't miss the pale throw of AJ's lovely neck when he tips it just so. Unmarked, and long enough to allow several rows of kisses and the soft hold of a palm around it. For anyone who'd be lucky enough to touch him.
AJ's kneeling on the glossy creases of burgundy sheets, long legs at an open angle that pulls at the hem of a criminally short leather miniskirt that hikes, scrunched higher with each slow shuffle he makes closer to the camera. There's a tattoo around his left thigh that the leather isn't covering anymore. It shifts with the flexing movement of AJ's leg, but Aziraphale catches the scaled lines of a snake. An ouroboros drawn in blackwork and some shading, with the head peeking into the inner facet of that beautifully soft, bare thigh.
Aziraphale's never been particularly attracted to tattoos, has none himself. This one, though, snatches his attention unlike any other. Character, perhaps. Or maybe because it's a glimpse to AJ's own preferences.
AJ's hips are narrow, his nipples pink under see-through cloth. God, he's irresistible, even through the screen. Aziraphale can understand the gaggle of alphas fighting for his attention in the comments.
At least he now knows the attraction is there, on his part.
Of course sex is the business here, with a level of artificial allure. But Aziraphale hadn't expected the brutal confirmation of it to be so affecting, for the thin stretch of AJ's chest and the flat of his stomach under his mesh crop top to feel rich and heavy in Aziraphale's bloodstream. His breath comes ragged, cock pushing a bit against his pyjama bottoms already.
Everything about AJ is tempting. And perhaps it's stupid, but Aziraphale is completely gone on the shimmering glow of those eyes. They must be amber, light brown. But the light turns them golden, a light ring glinting off them and making them almost feline. They pierce through Aziraphale, magnetic. As if each word was personal, aimed, and intimate. Even if he knows it's not true.
AJ's gaze locks on the camera without straying. But the fantasy is good enough that it almost feels as if Aziraphale is the bullseye. Gabriel had rarely held his gaze for more than five seconds during the last months, making Aziraphale feel as if he was drifting away. A spot on the painting nobody cared about.
And though it's his job, and not remotely what he intends, AJ's focus feels grounding.
Suddenly, he understands why AJ's so appealing. Knows the rut service will work just fine.
He wants to laugh into the room out of pure relief.
AJ tips his head to the side and falls back down on the bend of his legs, almost sitting. He smiles wider. Broader, so confident. Tongue playing with his lip ring, knowing it's there and aware of the wreck he'll cause with it. His skirt tenses around his thighs until the leather pops up a bit. "Been thinking about you all since last Monday. Did you miss me?"
Yes , Aziraphale wants to say even though he hadn't even known AJ ten minutes ago. There's a messy chaos in the chat. Lines pushed up by people typing quickly.
Aziraphale reads them in a swish of eyes.
CommanderShagMeWell: missed you and your tight arse so much, baby
HellishKing : you look gorgeous, darling. Blew some loads to your name. Wanna fill you like you clearly need to.
CrimsonWar: yes. Don't make us wait. Show us your tits
OneAvocadon't : hope you had a great weekend AJ!
Aziraphale frowns at the brash words from most of the chat. Blushes at how crass many of them are with AJ, demanding and pushing.
But AJ only smiles. Perks of having the upper hand and knowing it, possibly. No one can make him do anything he doesn't want to, no matter how hard those alphas - him included - crush their keyboards. Must feel refreshing.
"So, you wanna see me naked tonight, or nah?" He spreads an elegant palm under his crop top, grazing a nipple with a thumb and gasping before dropping it down. Aziraphale sucks in a breath, heated all over. "Not really feeling the love in the air."
There's a ping. And then another. A slew of dinging beeps that Aziraphale almost misses are people tipping AJ to take his clothes off.
HasturLaVista: play with your tits
LeagueDuke: go slow, want to see you lose it
HellishKing: you really are missing on my cock, darling. I could suck your pretty tits until you'd be begging
WitchBitch : work that lip ring, love!! Love it when u bite your lips!!
AJ's eyes flit down, probably to the chat, and his smile turns into a smirk. That little bend up of a corner that seems to show how much he relishes the attention. He doesn't seem bothered by the filth tossed at him, unbuttoning his mesh top with confident fingers. Shucking it off his shoulders with a curving roll of muscles. Has Aziraphale ever looked at anything so intently? He's sure he hasn't. Right now he can see the dips and shadows of lean pecs and taut abs, the beautiful rise of tight, pink nipples. And he's going a bit breathless at the whole sight.
"You lot are terrible." AJ's voice is playful. Slightly thready. His hands slide up his flushed, toned belly, trailing up the bump of ribs until his thumbs flick back and forth over those flat nipples. "Ever since I said they were sensitive, you really like to torture me, don't you?"
Aziraphale's hands fist his thighs, cock stiff and hot, pressed to the cloth of his underwear. It's been so long since he's pleased himself, he can feel the touch-hungry thrum of his own body in how hard he is. AJ's throat jerks on a swallow, stomach jumping when he pinches his gorgeous tits, drawing them red, plucking and rubbing them swollen.
A groan tips off Aziraphale's mouth. Damn. His belly feels tight with heat.
" Ah . Fuck. Feels good. Could do this for hours . Could tease myself, make myself come just like this. Only because you asked."
General you that somehow makes the chat go into a riot. Aziraphale ignores the lines of text entirely.
The woosh of AJ's breath is caught in stark relief by a microphone that must be professional quality. It adds to the impression of proximity, of imagining this is only between two people. As if he was pouring the words directly into Aziraphale's ear. It's silly, he knows it is, but the following scattering of soft whines coming from AJ do nothing to wash away the feeling. Neither does the heavy-lidded gaze he throws at the camera through lashes that look thick and dark.
Aziraphale's own hand is a hard push of intent over the indecent tent of his front. He doesn't want to do more, though, not right now. Watching was the purpose, not pleasure. More by accident than purposely, his eyes flick back to the chat, catching half of the messages without really registering the users.
> … Wish I could rake your tits with my teeth…
> … and give me your arse, darling…
> … fucking juicy…
He can't really blame the people there for wanting to put mouths, hands, skin against AJ's. Though the bluntness still prickles a bit. He's always wished alphas could be a little less animalistic.
He isn't expecting the moment AJ pushes two fingers into the crimson-stung plush of his mouth to suck and wet them. Closing soft eyelids while his lips shift around the digits in a mocking of a far less innocent act. Absolutely, completely enjoying it. Bonbons, biscuits, scones. Aziraphale's sure he's never enjoyed anything as much as AJ seems to be enjoying the slip of his fingers over his own lips.
Makes him want to have a taste too.
A shot of arousal courses so strong through Aziraphale's nerve endings, it leaves him with a breath as shaky as his thighs. He wants to touch himself so badly. AJ doesn't linger, wrenching eyes open, pulling out his fingers to then spread the pad of them over his small nipples, leaving them shiny. Aziraphale's face burns with welled-up blood, his belly tingling. And then AJ's head falls back on a shattered groan, teeth clicking over the silvery band of his lip ring. Lord, he looks so gone on pleasure, it's a delight to see.
There hadn't been many opportunities in which Aziraphale had allowed himself to enjoy something so freely. Aside from his books and his baking, his life is neatly spare of indulgences. Soft spots that never seemed to be ideal for someone like him. This, though… Aziraphale thinks it's the most honest pleasure he's had in years, and he isn't even participating in it fully.
Aziraphale's hunger smoulders, watching AJ's naked thighs and twisting waist, the beautiful parting of his mouth and the way he sucks at his lower lip, making his lip ring jiggle with flicks of tongue.
It's good, it's perfect. Works marvellously in that liminal space between desire and detachment that Aziraphale needs. Knowing that AJ is a gorgeous tableau that's perfectly unattainable. Aziraphale is more than ok with that.
AJ pants, thready, smiling, so open. "You wanna keep going? C'mon, you know what to do. Do it with style."
The teeming sound of beeping comes, welcome. Round after round after round. And AJ dips thumbs beneath the waistband of the skirt. Two hands dragging the fabric down with a rolling sway of those gorgeous hips. Watching the inching-down of buttery leather feels like exquisite torture. There are the red stripes of lacy knickers, and then the soft length of delightful naked thighs being revealed in slow motion. The ouroboros tattoo teases Aziraphale's vision. And he finds his own thumb rubbing a circle across his thigh as if he could trace the black curlicues of the snake.
At this point in his life, Aziraphale's far from religious. Nonetheless, he finds himself thinking of Milton and Genesis, and the reason behind snakes' bad rep. Must be the tempting carved in its scales, the glossy stroke of its body. Though that seems more a people's problem than the animal's guilt.
AJ must've practiced the twist, the elegant turn of knees, because he lifts his legs in an effortless pull, until the skirt is a thing of the past.
Aziraphale's breath feels hot where it puffs and falls down on his own lips.
A soft smack rattles through the soundline. And with it, Aziraphale's heartbeat bumps up until he fears he's going to need to head to the A&E. Cause of emergency: chronic blue balls, god, he's about to shake apart.
AJ hooks thumbs under the red strings that rest on his hips and pulls again. Lets them bounce back against the skin with another silky thud.
"Tight, aren't they? I think red is so much more my colour than black. What do you think? Should I make a poll?" He sinks teeth into his bottom lip and smiles, "Maybe for next time."
Aziraphale hears himself groan low.
There's a furor of dings coming from the chat.
Where he's sitting, Aziraphale shuffles, pulling his pyjamas and pants down his thighs. How much longer can he pretend he isn't doing this? His cock bobs hard against his stomach, pulsing, his hand curling around the warm shaft. He's completely ignoring the chat, though the bulk of text has slowed significantly.
AJ trails a hand up to his chest again, splaying it open, then skimming it down to curve it over the bulge where his cock and balls are trapped by red lace. Every tiny, whispery noise coming from his mouth is picked out by the mic. Each swoosh of air and swirl of breath. Each gasp and rough moan and clipped-out whine. Drives Aziraphale even more flesh-drunk, desperate for the outcome of this whole evening.
And then AJ chuckles. "Said I had a surprise for you. Can you guess what it is?"
The noise of the tipping goes in crescendo.
Scooting round, AJ ends up kneeling over backwards. Lord, he has dimples. Small but obvious dents on the skin that seem to beckon one to press on them, to find out how well your thumbs would fit. And that arse. God above. Firm and round, with a deeper curve at the base of AJ's spine than Aziraphale was expecting. It's delightful, and even though he gets to bite at sachertorte every Tuesday in his favourite café, he's never wanted to sink teeth into something more than right now.
"Ah."
Aziraphale's fingers squeeze at the silky heat of his cock. Thumbs at the bead of slick that wets the crown.
The veneer of distance is fracturing away.
Just in front, contained in 14 inches of screen, AJ rises up on his knees. The mattress dips underneath him, the strong, rippling stretch of muscles of his back glowing with sweat. The lights are an indulgent wash, beautifully highlighting the pinch of AJ's brows when he tips his face over his shoulder and reaches behind him. Spreads himself, pulling the thong to the side, to show off the top of a plug that glints with a jewelled green end between the give of his buttocks.
"Fuck."
Aziraphale very decisively growls. Can't help it. Heavens, he sounds like such an alpha.
"How does it look?" AJ's voice skitters up when he presses down on the plug, burying it deeper. His eyes are trained on the camera, holding a sex-drunk iridescence in the golden fleck of the iris that knocks all the breath out of Aziraphale. "It's a bit on the short side, but it still feels amazing."
I'm watching you , he seems to telegraph, and I want you to watch.
"Lovely. It looks lovely." Between his teeth, Aziraphale's lip aches when he nicks it harder. Why is he even answering? He pumps his cock lazily, feeling the smooth glide of the skin under his palm. Not enough to ramp up the pleasure.
"That's not all, y'know?" The keen that comes out of AJ's mouth embeds itself in the marrow of Aziraphale's bones. He watches that delicate hand tug out the end of the plug, pulling it, teasing open the red, wet rim of his hole around the thickest part until he's finally drawing it out entirely. AJ's whole back quivers, his free hand going up to thread into his own hair.
Face tilted in profile, he looks dazed.
Aziraphale bites his lip until it hurts. And just like that he understands another layer of appeal of AJ's stream. That no matter the professional mic and the high-end camera, it's how real AJ looks and sounds that seems to draw so many people into watching. Drawing from his memories, he realises he's never encountered that exact shade of blissed-out eyes, or the pout of a mouth held open on a moan that strikes so deep. And perhaps that's a bit on Aziraphale too.
AJ sinks down on his heels and bends a bit forward. Shows off the desperate clench of his hole spreading himself open. It gleams wet with what must be lube, pink at the edges where it's been stretched and kept full by the plug. Arsecheeks painted with damp stripes.
Aziraphale's knees give an honest-to-god wobble . He's on his bed. It shouldn't be possible and yet he feels his sinews jitter.
AJ now fully palms his buttocks apart and moans, rubbing a thumb where he's spasming all empty. "Yeah, used some lube. But I'm so wet too. That's also me. Been dripping for you for a while now."
Aziraphale can imagine the sensation of just being held tight by such a squeeze and his fingers tighten on a fold of his pyjama.
The whole room smells like hot whisky. It drowns the regular flare of vanilla and bergamot, his arousal pervasive all over. The fire in his belly is burning him up by degrees, now settled around his hips that twitch up. Impatient. Searching a clasp that isn't there.
"I'd do anything you want," AJ half whines, tucking his chin low, and Aziraphale's answering breath is too telling.
Anything you want.
Funny that the first image that comes to mind is the slow shift of lips on his, that lingers. That stays. But that's not on AJ.
The pings keep on coming though the chat is mostly silent. Aziraphale has a good idea why.
AJ is so very good. And Aziraphale can't help thinking how much better he'd be on one on one interactions. How caring, how attentive, perhaps. This is porn. No two ways about it, but AJ makes it feel so natural that it's almost like indulging in a necessity instead of something trivial. His pleasure is encompassing.
"So- said that wasn't all, right? Look what I brought to play with." He twists at the waist, flashing the bobbing length of a dildo between loose fingers. A perfect replica of an alpha cock that looks massive.
Is- Is he actually…
Aziraphale knows he's falling apart.
AJ guides the flared head between his arsecheeks, adjusts just so before starting to nudge it against his stretched, wet rim. He whines through the whole ordeal. He's so open, so damn beautiful with his slack jaw and sheaves of his damp hair falling down his shoulders.
Aziraphale's fingers squeeze at his cock while he goes tight-chested. He's pleading. So quietly that he doesn't realise it until there's nothing in his ears but the filthy slick push coming from the speakers as AJ goes down bit by bit. The whole thing makes Aziraphale's belly swoop hotly. He wants. Good lord, he wants .
The dildo sinks maddeningly slowly into AJ's body. His buttocks tense, wrist shaking, and his sounds are all beautifully strained, bursting free. Aziraphale is pumping himself, steadily, until he's nothing but live wire. One more push, one more slippery inch of dildo, until finally AJ is fully breached. Sitting down on the thick pressure of that fake cock, the delicate angle of his toes curling where they angle outwards.
He groans. "Ah, fuck. Fuck ." He doesn't bounce, doesn't lift and drop down. There's only the languid rocks of hips and the grinding sway of that delightful arse pushing down. Down. Down . Exquisite. Until only the base of the dildo is visible between AJ's lush buttocks. Until only the silicone knot remains out.
Rutting down on the bed, AJ's hips shake, and Aziraphale thinks if there was really an alpha instead of a dildo, they'd have to be made of steel to endure so long.
God, just thinking about how much AJ can take inside has Aziraphale groaning again. He must feel so terribly full. But there's also a flicker of a thought. Of how savvy AJ is, having alphas slobbering all over him, but always with a boundary in sight. The reminder that none of them is causing this pleasure. That AJ gets to do things the way he likes, at his own pace, on his own terms. Might be here flaunting himself to rile them up all to high heaven because he wants to. They all could be aching with the need to trap and pin him down and chase.
But he belongs to no one.
Aziraphale doesn't know why he finds that confidence so enthralling.
The mic is picking out far more frayed moans and soft whines, rapid, stuttering. The bed rocks with the grinding that doesn't stop and clacks softly against a wall that holds a red marquee of the name of the stream.
Sin Strip .
"I like it better this way," AJ says, folding a bit forward with quiet bites of sound. His face is still tipped over his shoulder, and like this, his body is an excruciatingly gorgeous splay of sex and want, pulling attention to where he's stretched so wide open that the v of his cleft above the dildo is barely shaded. "Drags my pleasure deeper, pushes just where I want it. Makes me all desperate and- ah, fuck - and easy. I know you like me like this."
"You're beautiful like this," Aziraphale says. Mightily stupid. No one can hear him. He's tugging at his own cock in quick strokes, heat unspooling, explosive. He's going to come soon, so soon. Probably won't last three more minutes.
His knot is starting to swell.
He watches AJ rut down on that dildo until the muscles of his waist shake, thighs quivering where they're bent and the silicone knot pops inside him. It makes Aziraphale grind his molars to stifle a second growl. Two in one night. The bend of AJ's spine and his high cry tells the whole chat that he's coming, light lining up the curving bow of his soft mouth that keeps slipping out please, please, please…
Aziraphale can't stop the brutal slam of his orgasm. He spills all over his fingers, staining his pyjamas, with a moan that feels hot in his throat. Locks the muscles of his thighs and belly, knot obscenely blown wide just under his gripping fist. Heavens, he's out of breath. Pants through the boozy feel of a good orgasm that saturates every sinew of his body. When he finally refocuses on the screen, AJ is now wrapped in a crimson robe.
Gold eyes sweet and open.
"It was so nice to see all of you again. Stay tuned for more interesting things coming next week, and don't forget to subscribe to my socials to get news and all sorts of fun stuff!"
People are already leaving and others are typing crass comments. Aziraphale frowns at a few.
HellishKing : You should take my offer and invite me over to fuck you. You'd look so good writhing on my knot
AJ absolutely ignores it. Gives a few more goodbyes.
The noise of pings has finally stopped, and Aziraphale rushes to type a message and tip in before the streaming closes entirely. He debates on a moniker for a second. Picks one, thinking of his name and his family home back in Essex. Of the wings on the ring on his pinky finger.
EasternAngel : It was lovely to watch you. Thank you very much for the show.
Tips in a hundred pounds.
When he lifts his gaze back up from the keyboard, he thinks there's a curious crinkle around AJ's eyes. Before he waves goodbye and the stream is over.
Aziraphale falls back down on his pillows, satisfied, messy, and soaked through with sweat.
He's smiling. And far more relaxed than he's been in ages, even though his knot is still swollen and begging to be clamped on. It won't last.
He quickly types to Anathema, How do you always know?
The answer comes in 0.2 seconds , What?
Touching the remnants of his own smile, Aziraphale types back, AJ!!
Doesn't wait for an answer while he fills in the form and gives his credit card number one more time.
Out the window, darkness has blanketed the sky entirely, falling over a city that holds nine million souls within the grasp of its warrens of streets. For the first time in weeks, Aziraphale doesn't feel as withered, as crushed down to the bone.
And when he goes to sleep that night, after a shower, he dreams of black and red and gold.
Of a snake writhing in a verdant garden.