Work Text:
July 2006
Anthony walks through the house shedding pieces of clothing as he goes. Hot and sweaty, he heads directly upstairs to take a shower.
“Anybody home?” he calls as his black t-shirt hits the rug. “Dagon? Michael?” He toes off his left trainer and then his right, leaving them in the middle of the foyer. “Muriel? Eric?” Tosses his socks aimlessly in a sacrifice to the gods, never to be found again. “Aziraphale?” This pause is longer. No response as Anthony goes up the stairs, so when he gets to the top, he slips his running shorts and boxer briefs down in one movement.
None of his housemates should be home for at least an hour. And if they are? Fuck ‘em. It’s his house, too, and he’s allowed to be naked.
Solitude. That doesn’t happen much in a house with six people, but sharing rent is a necessity straight out of uni. It’s their first summer after graduation, and they’ve all decided to live together to save money. Really, it’s an excuse for Anthony to stick close to his best friend, Aziraphale.
Before getting in the shower, he stops off at his room to retrieve the CD he’d started burning before his run. It had taken all night for the torrent to download, and he’s dying to listen to Muse’s new album.
Pirated music in hand, Anthony struts down the hall to the bathroom, secretly wishing Aziraphale would come home early and catch him naked as a jaybird. What a phrase, that. It’s exactly the sort of thing Aziraphale would say, too. Hopefully hungrily and immediately before deciding he’d like to be more than friends.
Not that he likes to brag (he does), but Anthony is hung, and he happens to know for a fact that Aziraphale is a size queen (such a chatty drunk). One glimpse of Anthony starkers ought to do the trick, right? He decides to linger a bit, just in case, but Aziraphale doesn’t appear.
Popping the CD into the player he keeps in the bathroom, he turns on the faucet. Holding his hand in the water while he waits for the temperature to be perfect, he wonders if Aziraphale will ever see him that way, as a potential lover. Maybe he doesn’t think about Anthony like that since they grew up together? That would be the worst, like a black cloud over the sun, like cold metal bars where his ribs used to be, holding his heart as an unwilling prisoner. But he’d understand. All he’s ever wanted is to be by his best friend’s side, no matter what.
When the water is warm, he steps into the spray and washes quickly. Anthony considers wanking in the shower since it might make tonight easier, but he decides against it. By the third song, he’s drying himself off and sauntering back to his room to put on his silk boxers, tightest black jeans, and the smallest Queen t-shirt he could find. It’s a woman’s size small, and fits him like a crop top. Perfection.
Experimentally, he combs his long red hair down in front of one eye. No. He tucks it behind his ears instead and applies dark kohl around his eyes. To complete the look, he adds chunky, lace-up boots. Then he prepares the house for its first party, which consists of sweeping a pile of clutter into a closet, turning down the lights, and acquiring alcohol—quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol.
All of their friends who moved to London are in attendance. It’s almost midnight, and the house is packed. Anthony’s had three beers, enough to silence his inhibitions but not enough to be drunk. It’s time to approach Aziraphale, who has been mingling with different people all night. By now he must have made his way through all their guests. The man is such an angel, always making sure that no one feels left out. It’s one of the things Anthony has always loved about him.
Tonight, maybe he’ll finally tell Aziraphale that. If he doesn’t lose his nerve. Again.
His angelic best friend is wearing his usual tan trousers and waistcoat combination, although he has foregone the bow tie this evening, having declared it too formal for a house party. Instead, he’s undone not one but two buttons on his shirt, revealing a tuft of blond chest hair that has been driving Anthony mad since he first glimpsed it.
Right. Moment of truth.
On his way to talk to Aziraphale, Anthony starts Black Holes and Revelations and picks up what he decides will be his last lager. Unless this goes down like a lead balloon. In that event, he’s getting absolutely sloshed.
“Enjoying the party, angel?” Anthony asks as he sidles up to Aziraphale and wraps an arm around broad shoulders. Aziraphale flexes his bicep under Anthony’s firm hand. Damn, how is he so fucking strong?
“Tickety-boo, my dear. Sandalphon here was just telling me about his last trip abroad.”
Tickety-boo? Uh-oh, angel in distress. Who the hell invited Sandalphon anyway? It must have been Michael, because the man had definitely not been on Anthony’s approved list of invites.
Time for a patented Anthony rescue. Leaning close to bright blond curls, he whispers into Aziraphale’s ear. “I’ve got you. I won’t leave you on your own.” His friend smiles brightly as Anthony turns to Sandalphon. “Sorry to steal him away. Important host things happening in the kitchen. We’re almost out of whisky! Can you believe it?”
He doesn’t give Sandalphon time to respond before taking Aziraphale by the hand and dragging him through the kitchen and out into the lounge-turned-dance-floor. It’s packed full of people dancing to “Starlight.”
“Thank you, Anthony. That man has always been insufferable. I couldn’t get away.”
“Any time,” Anthony answers, swaying to the music. “Wanna dance?”
The song ends, and “Supermassive Black Hole” starts. Anthony chugs the last of his beer, setting the bottle down on an end table next to—but not on top of—a pile of books. He then raises both hands over his head and begins twisting his hips in what he hopes is an enticing manner. Aziraphale laughs but stands stock-still as Anthony dances circles around him, shaking his assets. Anthony’s back is to his friend while he shimmies, and he’s about to give up and ask if Aziraphale wants to sit down when two strong hands land on his waist.
Oh shit. It’s really happening.
They’ve danced before, sure, but not like this. I thought I was a fool for no one. Ooh, baby, I’m a fool for you. Anthony cranks the undulations up to maximum when Aziraphale grinds against him in the dark room.
After resting his hands on top of Aziraphale’s, Anthony moves one of them over his exposed midriff and slowly up, underneath his shirt. By the time the fourth song on the album is about to end, Aziraphale’s erection is rubbing on his arse. The fact that he caused that makes Anthony harder than he’s ever been. He surreptitiously adjusts himself, tucking the head of his cock into the waistband of his jeans. They’re low-rise, so he hopes nothing pops out. Just to be safe, he turns around to face Aziraphale. At least that way only he’ll see it happen.
The next song is slower, so he drapes his arms over Aziraphale’s shoulders. They don’t look at each other’s faces, aiming, at least on his part, for plausible deniability later. They sway a bit as Aziraphale caresses Anthony’s back. Experimentally, Anthony touches the nape of his friend’s neck. Eyes closed, Aziraphale’s mouth drops open. Figuring he must like that, Anthony does it again, even daring to lean in and brush his lips against the shell of Aziraphale’s ear.
“Together we’re invincible,” Anthony sings quietly. The next song is rowdier, and it’s clear that Aziraphale isn’t sure exactly how they should dance to it. Missing the slower ones, Anthony says, “Want to sit down?”
Nodding, Aziraphale pulls him to the nearby sofa, where he sits down and tugs Anthony down to straddle his lap. It’s the corner seat of a large sectional, so there’s plenty of room for his long legs. Burying his face in his best friend’s neck, Anthony breathes in the smell of tea and books and jasmine shampoo as he grinds shamelessly against thick thighs and soft belly and—oh, there it is—Aziraphale’s thick cock.
Perfect soft lips kiss Anthony’s neck as he grabs the back of the sofa for leverage and rolls his hips. The music is loud, so most likely no one else can hear Aziraphale’s little moans and whimpers, but Anthony can. He’ll be hearing them until the end of his days, actually.
More than anything, he wants to get Aziraphale alone, to tuck themselves away in one of their rooms and do this properly, but he’s also terrified of breaking the spell they’re under. Anthony feels exposed—even though when he looks around the room no one is watching them. They’re all focused on dancing or kissing or drinking. Still, his pants are riding down his arse, and in a moment of clear thinking, Anthony pulls a large, grey blanket from the back of the sofa and drapes it over both of them.
With the blanket over their heads, it’s a bit warmer, but the fabric is breathable. The dim light from the room comes through a little, so he can still see the smile on his friend’s face. Like this, chests and hips and legs all touching, they’re closer than they’ve ever been. He feels lit up from the inside. It only gets better when Aziraphale scoots down and leans back a bit, meaning that Anthony can really grind down on his cock, rolling his hips slowly and firmly. Even through layers of fabric he relishes hot press of Aziraphale’s hard length against his.
“Fuck,” Aziraphale whispers.
Hearing Aziraphale swear sends a thrill though him, on top of the building pleasure, the rush of want and need, the urge to get as close as possible.
The friction of the waistband of his tight jeans behind the smooth fabric of his silk boxers is creating a fucking amazing friction, and judging by the deep breathing and occasional expletives from Aziraphale, he’s experiencing similar sensations.
Struck with the realisation that they haven’t kissed, not ever, Anthony needs it more than anything. He starts first with Aziraphale’s jaw and then the corner of his mouth. Then, softly, his mouth. As soon as their lips meet, they become a sloppy mess of tongues as they try to get as close as they possibly can. Aziraphale’s palms are on the back of his head and his arse, respectively, and Anthony moans into his mouth as a spurt of precum soaks his pants.
It’s the hottest kiss he’s ever experienced, made even hotter by the fact that they’re hiding under a blanket in a room full of their friends, all of whom seem completely oblivious.
“Anthony,” Aziraphale moans into his mouth as they devour each other. “Oh, God, Anthony. I—”
Anthony grinds down hard onto Aziraphale’s lap, and his angel, his best friend, the love of his life, makes a sound like a choked-off sob. One hand pulls Anthony’s hair and the thick fingers of the other dig into his arse. Aziraphale freezes.
“What’s wrong, angel?” Anthony asks against his cheek, breathing hard. He could come just like this, but not if Aziraphale isn’t enjoying it.
“I—erm,” Aziraphale says. “I—finished, Anthony. I’m sorry. I wanted to last for you, but you’re so good at this.”
Anthony’s mind races, processing the information. It takes him a second since all of his blood is elsewhere, but eventually he gets it. Slowly, he slips a hand between their bodies, untucking Aziraphale’s shirt.
“Are you telling me,” Anthony says, slipping under the waistband of trousers and boxers, “that you came in your pants?” He doesn’t need Aziraphale to answer, as the evidence is all over his fingers.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“That is so fucking sexy,” Anthony says, bringing three fingers to his mouth and sucking them as he rolls his hips again, no longer holding back. Aziraphale wanted him so badly that he couldn’t stop himself from coming. He wanted Anthony that badly. The taste of Aziraphale on his tongue, that salty evidence of his want, drives Anthony right to the brink. He grinds shamelessly against his best friend’s soft belly, fingers pressing down against his own tongue.
Right before it happens, he feels the head of his cock slip free of his damn low-rise jeans. With every thrust, the fabric rubs against his crown, and it only takes a few passes for him to come harder than he ever has. It gets everywhere, in his pants, on his stomach, on the front of Aziraphale’s rucked-up shirt.
“Oh my God,” Aziraphale whispers as he pulls Anthony’s fingers out of his mouth so he can kiss him slowly and deeply. The final song on the album is playing. Believe we could be glorious. I need to believe, but I still want more. “You’re amazing.”
Everything is soft and his best friend is kissing him again, slowly and full of promise. Is this real life?
“Fuck me,” he breathes between kisses.
“That can be arranged,” Aziraphale says, “but not right away.”
They both chuckle; then Anthony remembers where they are and what they’ve done.
“Shit, angel, we’re in the middle of a party with come all over us.”
Slowly, he uncovers their heads so they can look around. No one seems to be paying them any attention, thank goodness.
“We require clean clothes at a minimum,” Aziraphale says. “Ideally a shower as well.”
“Follow my lead,” Anthony says, standing up and using the blanket to shield Aziraphale so he can make himself presentable. “That was… Shit, angel, can we do that again?” Anthony wraps the blanket around them both, and they make their way to the stairs.
“Yes. Yes, I think we should. I’m not sure I’ll survive if we don’t.”
If he could have his way, Anthony would kick everyone out of the house right this second so that they could be alone. “Let’s put an end to this party, angel, and we can talk about that.”
“No need, dear,” Aziraphale responds. “There are four other people in this house who can play host to our guests. Let’s get you cleaned up. You’re filthy.”
“Oh, as if you’re squeaky clean,” Anthony says with unruly affection in his voice.
Aziraphale grins, a devious gleam in his eye, and his gaze lingers on Anthony’s crotch. “I never said that. Let’s wash up, darling. I’m dying to get a proper look at you. It seems I’ve been missing out on some big things.”
“Ah, I knew you were a size queen! So, you’re going to ogle me and wash me. What else do you want to do to me, angel?”
“After that, I’d like to go to my room and snuggle. My door has a lock, unlike yours.”
How does Aziraphale always know exactly what he wants? “I’m going to cuddle the fuck out of you, angel. I hope you’re ready.”
It’s muffled, but a song from the soundtrack of the best night of Anthony’s life plays a second time. Ooh, you set my soul alight.
“My dear, I’ve been ready for a long time,” Aziraphale says, closing the bathroom door behind them.