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If he was to be quite frank, he’d admit there’s little to complain about. They sure haven’t spared any money on this batch of scent blockers. They’re cotton, organic, hypoallergenic and all that jazz, so they don’t do much to irritate the skin.
Crowley’s problem is that they’re overly effective and he’s still too unaccustomed to not smelling either his own or other people’s scents all day. It makes his brain itch, as if all the specialized centres in it are getting snuffed out with the lack of use. It sure makes these skin-breathing breaks necessary, otherwise he’d feel as if he’d turn into a Beta.
Crowley is out for one of those, standing by the side entrance, having his life-saving dose of sips, scrolls and allowing the skin around his neck to finally be itself.
Only to get yanked out of his temporary bliss by a person invading his space.
“Buddy, you know anyone working here?”
It’s a tall, corporate looking Omega in a grey suit. He’d be rather good-looking to Crowley’s eyes, like that main actor from the Mad Men show, if it wasn’t for the appalling sense for other people.
The guy is looking everywhere around the building, or his mobile, except at Crowley, despite the fact that he’s standing almost in Crowley's face. So of course that he hasn’t noticed that the man before him is in his white waiter uniform, having a break by a hotel side entrance.
That he most likely works in.
“Sadly, yeah,” Crowley still replies, eyeing the other Omega with repulsion. There’s an air of someone involved in an illegal act about him.
“Oh, good.” Crowley gets rewarded with a superficial look. “I need a table in your restaurant, pronto.”
Crowley rolls his eyes, but the prick doesn’t notice. The clientele of the five star establishment are not known for treating the staff as anything more than ghosts, but this one expects Crowley to just abandon his well earned time for rest and go do what he was supposed to do himself – make a bloody reservation.
But! If experience has taught Crowley anything, it is the following – pricks in need, get generous indeed.
“So, we’re fully booked, huh?”
The restaurant area of the prestigious Nine Circles hotel is as sought after as its spa centre. Crowley swears there are rows of fad lovers pointing their cameras at their extravagant looking plates all day round, as if on a conveyor belt.
And, when Hastur’s not around, there’s this spare table with a perpetually upright ‘Reserved’ sign for situations like this. Furfur and Crowley share the special income for that place.
“Yes, it’s full, why do you think I’d be talking to you otherwise?” the suit guy comments with pompous frustration. His phone pings, and he starts typing, obviously very capable of having two simultaneous conversations of questionable quality. “And I need a table for two right now, or I’m screwed.”
So, either a forgotten anniversary, or an ‘I’m sorry’ date. Crowley tries not to imagine what kind of a person has been tricked into calling this sleaze a partner, as his brain would explode.
Either way, Crowley couldn’t care less, so he gets ready to sell his goods, and sell them well, break be damned.
“Alright,” Crowley says lightly, as if the Omega was as aimable as that group of little old ladies that comes every other Thursday for their round of tea and gossip. “I’ll see what I can do. But this will cost you extra.”
As if transactions like this one is his second nature, the tall Omega buries his hand into his pocket, looking for loose change. Except that this guy’s loose change is as high as the entire contents of the restaurant’s tip box.
“Here,” he pushes two fifty pound bills into the other Omega’s ready hands. They’re neatly folded, obviously fresh out of an ATM. “The name’s Archer. Make sure it’s ready in ten.”
You can bet Crowley will make sure the spare table this pair is seated at belongs to his section this afternoon.
And he will make sure the prick’s date is a living hell.
***
The other man stands out from the crowd so starkly that Crowley almost trips as he approaches the seated couple.
Firstly, he’s dressed in such a vintage looking suit, with an actual bow tie, that one can easily be fooled that he’s on his way to a convention of some sort. A few patrons from the surrounding tables are already sneaking their phones to take a picture of the eccentric. But, as he approaches, Crowley sees all the worn-out bits over the brown vest, attesting to the owner’s decades long love for the outfit.
The same can be said for a brown leather briefcase placed on a chair next to him.
Overall, it’s this upright, polite looking, beige person. He’s well kept, all blond and curly, making his entire exterior look kind of drained of contrasting shades. And Crowley knows – such people, more often than not, compensate for the lack of color with personalities.
Right now, it’s hard to pinpoint the personality in question, as this blond is casting nothing but kindness at his Omega company – who couldn’t be more different from him in terms of both exterior and manners. The corporate guy is sitting in his expensive suit, and modern shoes, with his focus pinned on his pricy smartphone.
Much like most of the guests.
And most importantly, the blond man is not wearing scent blockers! They are all the rage with the rest of the dining hall to such an extent, that Crowley’s nose gets hit with a scent of the man with such intensity that for a moment he thinks that Furfur placed an air freshener nearby when he wasn’t looking.
It’s an Alpha. Smelling just the way he looks – all warmth and sunshine.
A bit dismayed, but still set on his initial living-hell intent, Crowley stops by the man’s side and gets into his automated professional mode.
“Good afternoon,” he says with a dutiful little nod. “My name’s Anthony, and I will be your waiter for today.” He offers the leather bound menus to the guests. “May I get you something to drink, while you decide on the food?”
The most shocking event happens, the one that occurs only every other Thursday, when the little old ladies are around. The Alpha patron looks, actually looks Crowley in the eyes, taking him in as an entire person.
Crowley’s inner Omega freezes, as if caught in the act.
“Good afternoon, Anthony,” the Alpha’s round cheeks go up, to make the eyes shine with welcome Crowley certainly hasn’t earned by merely introducing himself. The Mad Men guy doesn’t even blink, but keeps staring at his phone.
Unaware of the effect the treatment has made on Crowley, the Alpha accepts his menu with both hands.
“I would certainly need some time to decide,” he says and opens the booklet to take a look. “What does one order in this kind of an establishment anyway?” he comments in a playful tone, but almost to himself.
The Alpha then turns to his partner. “You really shouldn’t have gone through all this trouble, Gabriel.”
Only then does Crowley notice a tense little look the Alpha casts around. He clearly doesn’t feel comfortable in this setting, with all the flashy people with all their flashing phones, making videos and posting them with locations. What was the Omega prick thinking? You don’t take a man wearing an old fashioned suit where your corporate arse feels comfortable.
You take him to quaint little restaurants, where they serve homemade food. Where nobody wears scent blockers and the waiters smile genuinely at you. And where the owner comes over to greet you as their regular guest, maybe even offers you a desert free of charge.
Gabriel finally finds it worth it to lift his eyes off the screen to reply, “Come on, sunshine.” Crowley swears that if the prick hadn’t put on the blocking pads of his own, his scent would get all hollow with boasting. “It’s our anniversary. Nothing wrong with splashing out a bit on my Alpha.”
Valuable bits of information for Crowley. So, it is an anniversary, which doesn’t necessarily exclude an apologetic arse licking. The blond does look like one of those traditional folks, where gentleman gestures, such as paying for a meal, are reserved for the Alpha in the relationship.
All the blond does now is make a polite nod. “Of course,” he says.
“So take whatever you want,” Gabriel finishes and almost instantly his attention is lost to the messaging. “My treat.”
Crowley waits, with his hands clasped behind his back, thinking that he’d go berserk if he was on this kind of a date. Imagine your partner spending what was supposed to be your quality time together texting someone else. And this saint just hums and takes a look at the rows of words before him, looking as benevolent as before.
Well, good thing he’s got Crowley on his side.
“May I,” Crowley feels inspired to say, “offer a suggestion?”
“By all means, dear Anthony,” the Alpha almost beams at the mention of help.
“Are you interested in starting the celebration with some wine?” the Omega waiter gallantly.
The Alpha gives this some thought. “It’s a bit early, but… You know what,” he decides. “You’re right. It is a special occasion. What do you suggest?”
“They say Châteauneuf-du-Pape is amazing this time of year.”
The Alpha bursts into laughter, making all sorts of satisfied feelings chime inside Crowley’s chest. Gabriel may not appreciate the joke, but he seems to be knowledgeable about expensive treats. He secretly bulges his eyes at Crowley, adding more to his satisfaction.
“Sounds capital, old boy,” the Alpha chirps, looking unaware of the fact that his boyfriend is downright glaring at the Omega waiter. “I’ll have a glass.”
“Mineral water,” Gabriel mumbles, and in his head Crowley already selects the most pricey one for him.
“But I have no idea what to order for the main course,” the blond continues, thumbing through the pages. “Any recommendations?”
Of course.
“White truffles came in this morning, fresh,” Crowley takes over a bit of the Alpha’s posh tone, as well as the ability to completely ignore the seething corporate guy. “I can say the same for the caviar.”
The list goes on, and Crowley is the master of not seeing the way the paying patron is hunting for the prices of the dishes that simply pour out of his mouth, but that’s not all an act.
The Alpha’s attention is... invigorating. He can absolutely smell the bottomless charm that radiates out of his plump body. He wonders if that was what the shallow jerk saw when he met this absolute angel. He then wonders if they are married, and the horror of it almost reaches his face, but he manages to school it into its regular working lines.
That would be such a horrible injustice to this angel, and Crowley will shove it to the back of his head to be forgotten.
Once he turns to the less agreeable guest, Crowley has to concentrate really hard in order to memorise his choices. Satisfaction is shining from the Alpha on his left, practically scrambling Crowley’s brain waves.
Anyway, he makes it to the bar without tripping over his own ankles. He takes a few more orders from the tables of his section, but he does those on autopilot. The moment the drinks for the spare table get ready, he’s at it.
The only pair of eyes free from the screen practically lights up at his approach.
“Thank you,” the Alpha chirps as Crowley serves them their individual glasses.
Gabriel takes his overpriced mineral water and sips it with a disdainful air, the mobile never leaving his hand. Crowley makes a dutiful step back. The Alpha admires the colour of the wine in his glass and comments, “Lovely,” at it.
To Crowley’s endless surprise, the man then looks him in the face. With an elated expression, he raises his glass to – Crowley. The waiter. The one that recommended the wine, but still.
Not his partner. Who he is celebrating an anniversary with.
The amazement makes a smile spread over Crowley’s face. He makes a bow at the Alpha and the man has his drink.
“Exquisite,” he says, and Gabriel murmurs something intelligible, most likely concerning the wine’s features other than quality.
Crowley’s so happy that his waiting spot is right by the odd couple’s side. He finds his place by the wall, next to the service table and places the plate over it. He pretends to be scanning the crowd for anyone needing his support, but actually, all his senses are turned towards the spare table with the full force of his entire brain.
“I actually have,” the Alpha’s voice comes, gentle and slow, like that of the best storytellers, “a little surprise for you, Gabriel. But, I think I’ll show it to you after the meal.”
Crowley sneaks a glance at the Omega’s expression, and he’s very happy he hasn’t missed this scene. The square face is shifting colour, as if trying to reach the shade of the Alpha’s drink.
Swiftly, the man forgets his anger at Crowley, and casts a desperate look his way, stuttering. “Yeah, of course. I too have a surprise for you. Ahm?” he adds hopefully.
Fortunately, Crowley is nothing if not vigilant. He grabs a flyer from the table and holds it steadily so the man can read.
“Full service!” Gabriel manages. “It’s Full service.”
As if on a prearranged cue, Crowley reaches the Alpha and bows offering the flyer. “Nine Circles’ ultimate spa day,” he declares in his best customer service voice. “You receive a suite of your own and it comes with a series of customized services.”
“Oh, my!” the Alpha coos at the flyer in his hands. “Gabriel, you shouldn’t have.”
But this has been too much of a close call for the idiot, so he hasn’t recovered yet to start checking the prices. “Not at all,” he booms, his face cooling a bit. “Choose whatever you want.”
“So many options,” the hazel eyes make patterns over the words.
“Yeah, just, ahm,” the Mad Man remembers to add a disclaimer, “don’t pick couple things. I have this meeting tonight. At seven,” he adds, looking elated.
Too elated. And, for once the Alpha reacts.
“What kind of a meeting, Gabe?”
He does not sound accusatory enough for Crowley’s taste, though. But, this does force Gabriel to think of another quick reply.
“It’s a-a stockholder meeting.” He wrinkles his nose. “Horribly boring things.”
But this does nothing to divert the Alpha’s attention from him. What’s more, he sounds very interested in the topic. “Which stockholders?” he asks further.
This makes his prick partner confused on top of being dismayed. “The, ahm, the Americans, of course.” His eyebrows go up with relief.
“Oh,” the Alpha nods kindly. The Omega’s telephone chimes, and he simply adds. “Of course. The Americans.”
“Yeah,” Gabriel frowns and shrugs and scoffs and adds. “Those time zones are killing me, I’m telling ya’. But you knock yourself out.”
Unlike the blond, who’s looking all poised and dignified, Crowley is so pissed at the arsehole before him that he wishes the hotel offers some other services that he could offer the Alpha. A professional hitman, for example.
Because, you don’t get to walk around folks, observing and listening, while at the same time they treat you as if you were invisible, without picking up a few rather useful people-reading skills.
This guy’s a cheater. And he’s arranging a rendezvous tonight at seven. In front of his partner. On their anniversary. Typing with impressive speed and badly suppressed eagerness.
Crowley’s finger lands on an item on the flyer, as if it has a will of its own.
“I warmly recommended this for you, sir,” he utters, then remembers he should mind his face and unclench his teeth. “It’s our most sought after deluxe service.”
It's impossible, but Crowley’s emotions must have found a way to bleed out of the blockers. The cuffs as well as the collar on his uniform are designed to suppress that exact occurrence. It is yet another thing the hotel offers to its patrons – a modern-era feature. An experience of indulging their many senses with everything but, perish the thought, the scent of the employees.
So their illusion of being alone in their tiny spoiled worlds can be complete.
But the Alpha’s nostrils flare for a moment and he raises his head, pinning Crowley, who’s leaned closer, to the spot. Luckily, the Omega waiter’s survival instincts kick in, making all the training he’s been through worthwhile. His mouth starts working automatically.
“This treatment is combined with a massage using creams infused with world class caviar extracts. They nourish, hydrate and rejuvenate the skin, while at the same time...”
And so on and so forth.
Luckily, the Alpha has either decided to take pity on him, or he has actually caught an interest in Crowley’s babbling.
“You know what, dear fellow,” he straightens his posture. “I believe that I will choose that. You say they come to my suite? I think I’ve deserved a bit of pampering after the past rather exhausting weeks.”
Crowley regrets that pouring laxatives in the Omega’s order would bring too much negative attention to the establishment, as the prick pretends he is so involved in his Alpha’s life that he knows what he means by the latter. “Of course you do,” he makes a plastic grin.
“An excellent choice,” the Omega waiter, on the other hand, replies to the Alpha in full honesty. “I’ll go make the booking for this afternoon right away. Would the gentleman care to give me his name?”
“Oh, yes, apologies,” the Alpha smiles guiltily, as if he normally introduces himself to his waiters, but has forgotten to do so on this occasion. “It’s Aziraphale Fell, my dear.”
Receiving the name, as well as the endearment, sure works like a charm to soothe Crowley’s temper. He thanks the Alpha and excuses himself.
He sure needs the walk, if for nothing else than to banish the aggravated tones out of his scent which, it seems, has found a way out of his uniform. He phones the parlour with the details, takes a few more orders, but can’t help but think about the entire situation.
Sure, Crowley’s been involved with embodiments of egoism himself, but he never used them for anything else but sex. That’s until he realised they were selfish in bed as well. But, being in a full blown relationship with one? The very thought makes him want to heave.
And this Alpha? He looks so nice, not at all a type that can handle cheating well. Is he at all aware of what kind of an arsehole his Omega is? But if he is, why does he put up with that? He doesn’t look like that desperate type that would forgive infidelity just to keep a partner.
He smells so stable. With that silent type of confidence. And he’s paired up with the likes of Gabriel?
What the hell is wrong with this world?
With plates of the spare table food finally ready, Crowley braces himself and gets into his server mode. He has to remind himself not to rush though, as his legs seem to have forgotten that he’s got multiple things to balance with and just want to get to the epicenter of happening as soon as possible.
The Alpha, Aziraphale – such a unique name! – greets him with familiarity, as if Crowley is his house guest. Crowley has this outrageous hope that the Alpha likes the artful way his food is arranged, and that he truly enjoys the taste. He hopes Gabriel chokes on his soup, as well.
For a change, the Omega prick leaves the mobile phone on the table, screen up, but on the side of his bowl Aziraphale cannot see without craning his neck. Aziraphale is busy admiring his meal and thanking Crowley as if he’s personally hunted down, foraged, prepared and arranged the food items on his plate.
Satisfied, Crowley retreats to his waiting post and takes his usual stand, conveniently facing the couple of his interest. It’s also handy for taking in any compliments the Alpha might produce once he starts eating.
Ask and you shall receive. The Alpha doesn’t really direct any words of praise to the waiting Omega, but he does make quite a spectacle the moment morsels start finding their way into his mouth.
His entire body melts. Oh, he must be quite a foodie, Crowley thinks and finds himself noting the discovery down, as if he’s found a way to a treasure island. The most gourmet deserts the restaurant has to offer start listing inside his brain, as well as a few accompanying Ports.
What the Alpha does next is to initiate an actual conversation with his company.
“Gabriel,” he starts, his voice taking a serious tone, “when did you last hear from your mother?”
The prick groans. “It feels like she’s at my throat every day.”
“No, I mean,” the Alpha corrects himself, “when did you actually return her call?”
For once, Gabriel tilts his head and looks at his partner. “Did she try to reach you again? You see, that’s the problem with keeping that prehistoric landline in your bookshop. She always knows where to find you.”
“I don’t mind talking to her, whatsoever,” the Alpha corrects yet again. “As a matter of fact, I really admire her. But the way you treat her...”
The topic poses nothing but an annoyance to prick. He just waves it off. “If you like listening to her old lady rumbling, be my guest. I have more important things to do than indulging her whims.”
The Alpha shakes his head. “You should really invest some effort, Gabriel. You even leave her messages unseen for days.”
But the Omega just refuses to see other people’s point of view. “So what? What’s she gonna do? Leave me?”
He bursts into an obnoxious laughter, which the Alpha finally – finally – meets with dissatisfaction. He knits his eyebrows, but lets the sounds die out on their own.
“Do you believe,” he does comment, “that a person is worth an effort only if they threaten to leave you?”
Crowley perks his ears up, hoping the conversation will take that exact direction. But no reason will reach Gabriel today.
“Look. She needs me more than I need her. Who else is going to run her company, huh? One of her book club friends?”
The Alpha does not comment, but the way he lowers his eyes at his plate with disapproval is loud and clear for at least one person around. The other one continues.
“Beside, even if she,” and the jerk has to take a break to chuckle before he continues, “fires me! I can start a company of my own in a month, just like that.”
As if finally hearing something worthwhile, the Alpha raises his eyebrows, which gets met with more arrogance.
“Yeah. So don’t you worry about old Gabe, sunshine. And stop talking to her, she’ll get too used to it.”
With a sour smile, the Alpha returns to his food and gives the subject a rest.
Crowley questions the existence of such God who would let this Omega lead such a comfortable life. What is She thinking?! The absolute prick like this having not one, not two, but at least three people who revolve around him without ever deserving such an honour.
What wouldn’t Crowley do to have at least one. Someone like this Alpha. Caring. Reliable. Very handsome.
So fucking unappreciated.
As if Crowley uttered these most inner thoughts out loud, the Alpha chooses this very moment to raise his head and meets Crowley’s gaze directly. He’s caught Crowley so off guard that for a few moments the Alpha can see everything in his eyes. Every single emotion.
Compassion. Concern.
Yearning.
But Crowley gets a hold of himself. He makes a mental equivalent of clearing his throat and blinks away. He pretends to be checking the dining hall, but even if people were howling his name he wouldn't catch that really. With his peripheral vision he does notice that the Alpha’s face is still turned towards him, and he can’t but reply.
There’s the gentlest smile on the man’s lips. His eyes are soft and knowing. Absolutely not pretending. And the man doesn’t have to, as Gabriel is eating with one hand and having a phone affair with the other.
Crowley knows that look. His abdominal muscles turn to stone at the realisation –
Aziraphale is interested. Not only checking, not merely considering. He’s very interested.
And Crowley’s body replies on its own.
Damn these tight fitting trousers, as Crowley fills them so obviously that he hopes that the table by his side hides the fact to at least a portion of all those camera happy guests.
The Alpha’s smile turns more smug at what he sees. Mercifully, he raises his chin and then lowers it down as he returns to his plate.
Not a few moments tick by as he turns to Gabriel.
“If you’d excuse me,” he says. “I will have to use the restroom.”
Too involved in whatever is happening over his screen, the Omega just sees him off with a noncommittal grunt, and the Alpha raises from his chair.
Crowley’s heart thuds as he catches a glimpse of what becomes uncovered from the tablecloth. Thankfully, the Alpha’s trousers are very loose fitting, allowing the leg to fall down over the erection, smudging its shape from direct detection, but Crowley has seen it.
As if this is a day like any other, the Alpha readjusts his coat, providing himself with a bit more cover, and starts walking towards the toilet. The path brings him past Crowley and he catches a satisfied little side glance pointed his way.
The Alpha says ‘follow me,’ without actually having to say ‘follow me.’
Crowley fucking shudders a yes. He lets the blond patron lead the way, some ten steps ahead and follows.
“Furfur,” he whispers as he passes by his colleague. “I need you to cover for me for a while.”
Furfur, a solemn looking Beta, wouldn’t be able to sense Crowley’s horniness in the air even if there wasn’t for the scent blocking apparatus all over him. Still, he casts a shrewd look Aziraphale’s way.
“Code F, huh?” he comments in full seriousness.
“Code F?” Crowley frowns. “Who the hell thought of a code...”
“Does it matter? What you’ve got?”
“Two tables will need a bill soon, and the prick at the spare table. You can take all the tips, but I don’t expect the prick to be generous.”
Furfur nods and Crowley scurries to catch up on the blond Alpha.
Fuck, his shoulders are broad. And his arse must be nice and meaty under all those layers.
Is Crowley really gonna give himself to the man now? A total stranger he only knows the name of? Yes, yes he is, there’s no denying it. He’s so wet between the cheeks that he’s glad that the Alpha is leading them out of the most densely populated area. He's already behind the door leading to the men’s room.
Crowley follows and enters the foyer first, adorned with seats, mirrors and potted plants. Four individual doors mark their separate guest toilet chambers. The slide on the doorknob of one on his right is red, marked occupied. The Alpha wouldn’t lock his stall shut without Crowley in there. This leaves the remaining three, with their doors unlocked and green as his choice.
Without even thinking, the Omega walks to the one the furthest to the occupied stall. He’s already at the door, when his nose confirms that he’s made the right choice indeed.
Crowley blows the remaining air out of his lungs and lets himself inside swiftly.
The air that greets him knocks him right up the sinuses. It’s permeated with Alpha pheromones, the ones let out before sex, calling forth just the right urges, just the right images inside the willing Omega’s brain.
The man is standing before him, his posture upright, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes sparkling a welcome.
Without turning around, Crowley closes the door with his back and locks the knob, which makes the red sign slide to its place on the outside. For the first time ever, he feels oddly grateful that the toilet is so bloody posh, made for selfies, shorts and reels.
They’re actually in another foyer, this one blue themed. Yes, there’s your obligatory basin with the mirror on the wall by the door. But there’s also an elegant chair and a shelf with towels and toiletries.
As this Alpha, all kind and energyzing, doesn’t deserve a fuck in a cramped up, stinky piss hole, right next to a pissoir and the actual toilet bowl. The latter is hidden behind yet another door.
An appreciative smile spreads over the Alpha’s face.
“I’m so glad you followed,” he says, his scent even letting out a little wave of joy.
Fuck, this man really sends all his messages right into his glands, so that even a foreigner with rudimentary knowledge of English could understand. It’s in sharp contrast with what Crowley can feel around his own immediate surroundings – which is absolutely nothing as his scent is thwarted out of leaving the insides of his uniform.
He starts undoing his collar in an instant, feeling smothered by the thing.
“Are you sure,” he asks the blond, “you wanna do this?”
Not that there’s even a flicker of a doubt in the angel’s scent. And Crowley is actually fine with the whole thing.
But the Alpha just chuckles at the words. His eyes are now pointed at the bit of the skin Crowley is unrevealing with hunger. As if drawn by a call, he starts approaching the waiter.
“I called Gabriel this afternoon,” he explains, his voice light and comfortable, “to officially tell him we were over. He probably heard my tone and remembered that our anniversary was around this time.”
Crowley stares at the man’s face with confusion. He’s got problems understanding the words right away, as the Alpha is getting closer, bringing all the musk with him, mingling it with Crowley’s own response which is finally free in the air by the glands at the root of his neck.
The hazel eyes are practically quivering, and Crowley can almost feel the weight of their attention right at the left side of his neck, where the bite is usually delivered.
“The actual anniversary,” the angel continues alternating between Crowley’s eyes and the gland, “was last month. He spent it with that lover he believes he’s been cleverly concealing from me.”
“Fuck,” is all Crowley can utter.
It’s amazing how aggravated he still feels about the prick cheating on this angel, as if he himself hasn’t just followed the man into a private man’s room for a booty call.
The Alpha’s nose flares and he swallows thickly, but then lets his smile turn warmer for Crowley.
“It’s alright, my dear,” he comforts the Omega. “I really needed that particular kick in the backside to start sorting things out.”
He must have had quite a lot of time to sort things out as his scent advertises nothing from the department of bitterness, but a lot from approval. Crowley’s very happy about that.
The Alpha takes the Omega’s wrist in his gentle hand and raises it to his eye level. He undoes all three buttons of the thick cuff, finally relieving the skin from all the pressure. More of Crowley’s scent starts dancing in the air, and Aziraphale welcomes it with satisfaction.
“I must admit,” the Alpha says, “that I wanted to torture Gabe a bit. So when he mentioned the anniversary, I just played along. And then you came in.”
With utmost respect, as if Crowley was a nobleman he wants to woo, and not a member of the staff who all but verbally agreed to a fuck, Aziraphale brings the bared out wrist to his nose and takes a breath with his eyes closed.
If there wasn’t for the strategically positioned pads, Crowley would fucking leak down his leg at the moan that resonates through the air. The Alpha pouts his lips, composing himself and only then does Crowley see his own fingers are trembling with excitement. He feels as if immersed into the Alpha’s very aura, as that is how intense his pheromones get.
Crowley gives in. He leans towards the man, feeling his knees are not his own, bringing himself lower to the otherwise shorter Alpha. The man closes his other hand around his back to hold him. When he opens his eyes, his pupils are as dark as wells.
“And you’ve been,” Aziraphale purrs, “nothing but sweet to me today, dear Anthony.”
When Crowley opens his mouth to react, he realises his voice is rugged, as if he hasn’t spoken for a week. “It’s Crowley,” he manages. “Call me Crowley.”
“Crowley.”
Crowley’s wrist reaches the Alpha’s mouth and he presses his lips against it in a sweet little kiss.
“You’ve been aware,” he asks, “of much of the situation, haven't you?”
Crowley lets off a nervous chuckle. “I was concerned for your sanity. The jerk was so bloody obvious.”
“Indeed,” the Alpha subdues a grin, as if trying to remain serious about a secret they’re sharing. “But, to be honest, you’ve actually stolen the show for me.”
This is when the hand on Crowley’s back gets serious. It pulls him forward, pressing against the small of his back to have his dick pressed tightly against a bulge in the Alpha’s trousers. Crowley grunts and wraps his arms around the man. Fucking hell, the thing is hefty, making him so animated that he starts kneading on it with his own.
The Alpha’s lips are on his ear now. He’s had a clean shave, Crowley can smell the aftershave and thinks that it compliments the Alpha’s natural scent with a bit of cedar.
“You’ve been so considerate,” the Alpha lays a kiss by his ear. “Indulging me so.” Then a kiss over his neck. Crowley twists a bit to reveal the path towards his gland, the international Omega sign of offering. “You’ve really made my day.”
Finally, Aziraphale closes his lips at the bottom of Crowley’s neck. Crowley squirms at the feel of the lips and the tongue, tickling there. The Alpha blows air through his nose, groaning and licking, coaxing the gland to open up more and let oils run freely.
Crowley’s all numb with horniness down south, listening to the man sucking, running the oil through those specialized organs inside his mouth, letting out muffled moans at the signals his brain reads from it. He never unlocks his mouth off the Omega’s skin and everything in Crowley breaks when he feels a bit of teeth, closing gently around the gland as if they can’t fight the urges.
Crowley can’t take it anymore.
He pushes himself off the Alpha’s front enough so he could start unfastening his own belt. Things are urgent, very urgent indeed, insisting that Crowley is to secure this male, even if it was for a single hasty mating.
The Alpha sighs at the sight and starts fumbling with his own trousers as well, but Crowley’s faster. He groans with relief, his brain insisting that things are finally right when he pushes the garment down his legs to let his pheromones run wild from that last, but very important, source.
The Alpha practically drools at the sight of Crowley’s cock, bobbing up, red and thick, but Crowley’s in too much of a rush to let the man take his fill. He is relieved of guilt knowing that Gabriel is to be given the boot, but they are pressed with time, so he helps the angel with his trousers.
Oh, fuck, the Alpha’s cock does not disappoint, all long, pink and a bit veiny with all the pressure it's endured. Its tip looks so hot and fragrant that Crowley can't help but let his hand add a bit of warmth to it.
It’s odd how he hasn’t even noticed that they haven’t kissed yet, it’s absurd. But Aziraphale remedies the oversight. He pulls him back near again and gives him a long, sound kiss on the lips. Not only does the Alpha allow all the intricacies of his mood to be sensed via smell, he also isn’t a bit shy about the sounds he makes.
His lips smack in Crowley’s ears, the Alpha’s breathing is very loud as his nose gets squashed by the Omega planting another kiss of his own. He lets his voice vibrate with relish in a moan, as if Crowley is as exquisite as the expensive treats he’s been serving the man.
“Let me have you now quickly,” he whispers into Crowley’s skin. “I promise I’ll enjoy you slowly later.”
As if every single one of Crowley’s instincts isn’t blaring inside his brain about just that. As nimble as he can, he swirls inside the Alpha’s embrace. He has to make a few steps aside, with the Alpha following his lead, so he can lean his hands against the wide surface of the basin.
This means Crowley will now have a perfect view of the Alpha’s face as he takes him from behind. And his expression is now of fierce concentration as Aziraphale takes a moment to push Crowley’s jacket up and reveal more of his arse for himself.
The Alpha wheezes through open mouth at what he sees, and Crowley suddenly realises what it is – the Alpha’s scent, his touch, his bare skin, they’ve been making him leak so profusely that a string of sleek has been stretching from his hole and now it cools the skin where it has touched his inner thigh.
It makes the angel a bit pink in the face.
His grip over Crowley’s hips gets rather tight, making him sigh at finally being handled. The Alpha’s hands just hold him secured and that’s when Crowley feels it.
That majestic cock, parting his buttocks without a hand helping it. As if they were made on perfect heights for each other, the hot tip just reaches the hole and starts pushing in. Holy shit, Crowley’s folds simply unfurl for it and he lets a series of cut out cries, sounding like cough to his own ears as pleasure starts spreading up his spine.
The Alpha doesn’t stop, but drives fully inside until his hips hit against the Omega’s arse and he cannot push in any further. Crowley feels very well just what a beautiful girth he has received, and when the angel’s clothed belly lands over his back, oh! The weight of it appeases more of his instincts, making his legs lock where they stand so they can withstand the mating.
But the Alpha has stopped.
Aziraphale must be experiencing a short-circuit or something, as he wraps his arms around Crowley’s ribcage and squishes his face between his shoulder blades. It strikes the most unexpected notion inside the Omega – he looks so vulnerable like that, hidden from the mirror, but letting out the swirls of pure wonder for Crowley to smell.
And damn Crowley’s soul if he moves a muscle. For full ten seconds, he lets the man gather himself. Aziraphale is puffing into the Omega’s uniform, readjusting his own stance, his scent treating the Omega with so many lovely compliments.
It’s the sweetest moment Crowley’s experienced in sex.
When Aziraphale lets his face be shown, it’s all red from being pressed against the back.
“Forgive me,” he mutters. “Just... lost for words.”
“Then, show me,” Crowley utters in the mirror. “Alpha.”
And just like that, Crowley’s struck gold.
The Alpha’s hands return to their mating places at the hips, and the man starts pulling out until he reaches the tip. And starts fucking just there.
Oh, shit, this man’s well versed in Omegas. That’s Crowley’s sweet spot he’s targeting and he’s found it as if he can smell its location from Crowley’s scent too. It ruins Crowley’s plan of watching the angel’s face the entire time. His eyes roll and close on their own as everything in him rushes to that place where he’s receiving pleasure, ah, ever so expertly.
And this is a lover Gabriel has decided to replace?! More than ever it’s clear just what a blind man he is.
The angel has turned rather silent, true, but that’s because of unrushed voices coming from the other side of the door. But he hasn’t stopped the work of his hips, the pull of his hands, all these hot things saturating the air. Crowley’s decision solidifies with every well-aimed strike of the cock-head.
Crowley will be more than happy to take this man again later and find out just what sounds he makes when he’s getting sucked or ridden. Right now, the language of scent is enough, the one in which the man is so talented as if he’s made an entire vocabulary of it just to suit this occasion, just to please Crowley.
Crowley keeps his voice subdued too even though he wouldn’t care if they got caught at this very moment. Fuck, he’d face Hastur without a blink, he’d accept being laid off with a flick of a finger. He’d go home in triumph as he’s secured this one perfect Alpha male as a partner for at least a day.
And this male’s immediate intentions seem to be directed at one particular goal – he’s going to give Crowley a knot orgasm.
And Crowley’s fucking ready, made hungry with a long break in partners, turned on beyond measure by the expressive angel, turned silent by the circumstances. Yet, when the man lets out that Alpha-specific warning growl, Crowley feels his entire insides are trembling, moist, smooth, ready for the stretch. His glands let off more of the oil as a consent.
The man now allows his hips to be heard as he shoves the entire length into the Omega, once, twice, three times, until that special thin skin at the base of his cock turns loose, allowing the knot to pop out.
And, fuck, this man can weild a knot as well. Without indulging himself, the Alpha positions the bulge to inflate right against Crowley’s sweet spot to finish the work the tip has started. The sharpness of the stretch over the sensitive walls is just the thing Crowley needs to start howling.
But he doesn’t. He bites his lips, grunts and sweats and the Alpha does pretty much the same. He moans into Crowley’s back, his muscles jerking, his belly dancing. There's a certain intimacy in having a joint orgasm in secrecy, but Crowley doesn’t feel as if he’s been hidden by his partner’s shame.
Even if Gabriel himself barged in through that door, Crowley’s certain this Alpha would just growl at him to back away and continue filling him with his knot, his girth and his sperm.
Continue pressing down on him, continue applying the pressure against Crowley’s inner spot, continue prolonging his orgasm so he could keep smelling it, soaking it, like he is now.
Sadly, neither of them is in season, so this orgasm does not last for full ten minutes. Nonetheless, Crowley sighs, fully satisfied, more than a little proud that the knot still feels rock hard when he clenches his walls around. This makes the Alpha let out a little sensitive squeal.
“You downright demon, you,” he murmurs through a smile.
Crowley smirks just like that entity he’s been called. He smells that his little antics has squeezed out a bit of mixed fluid out of him and wonders if the Alpha’s trousers have suffered from the leakage. There might be a spare uniform in the storage in his size.
Not that Gabriel would notice a sudden change in their colour.
The Alpha kisses a compliment into his spine. He purrs and tries to pull out, but the knot is still so full, refusing to unlock from the Omega’s insides.
“Alright,” Aziraphale chuckles. “I think that’s not going anywhere just yet.”
Stunned, Crowley tightens his muscles again and confirms. If you want the most reliable proof that an Alpha really likes you, it’s that his knot won’t subdue that easily out of rut.
Without his permission, Crowley’s scent turns flowery indeed, so he tries to compensate by sounding smug when he says, “Wow. Now I might actually consider the invitation for later, Alpha.”
He fools no one about ever thinking of rejecting such an offer, and the Alpha shows it by shimmying his hips, pulling out more pleasure out of his walls.
“Thank you,” Aziraphale purrs. “Just, don't call me Alpha right now please. Or we’ll remain locked until Sunday afternoon.”
***
Aziraphale returns to the table feeling like a whole new person. Ironically, it’s a person Gabriel has been trying to grumble him into being.
“You should be more spontaneous,” Gabriel would scoff when their plans changed out of the blue.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” he would scorn while dragging him to an event which looked as if crafted to make Aziraphale feel uncomfortable on levels he had never deemed possible.
Well, it turns out Aziraphale can be both. It was just a matter of finding the right person who would pull the features out of him. And that was not Gabriel.
To be quite honest, right now Aziraphale is also a bit dismayed by what he has just done. He is a man who normally frowns upon indiscretion, true. But he’s not the least regretful about having the man.
Forgive him, but Anthony Crowley is a ten! And not just any ten. This is a kind of a person who speaks directly to Aziraphale’s soul, and he would have never forgiven himself if he had missed out on him.
The fact that he met with Gabriel to end the relationship greatly eases his mind as well. Aziraphale has practically been single for weeks, he just hasn't informed the other party, waiting for the things to be complete.
Administration is a slow train, but it comes.
There’s the man, sitting at the table, shaking his leg with impatience. Too bad that Aziraphale will have to keep him put for a few more minutes.
“What took you so long,” he murmurs as Aziraphale takes a seat, but obviously demands no real reply.
“Oh, technicalities,” he still responds and Gabriel waves a waiter over for a bill, despite the fact that Aziraphale’s plate is barely touched.
The waiter is not Crowley, as Crowley’s off to change for the fresh uniform. Unlike Gabriel, whose brain doesn’t bother to detect another person’s scent on his partner, other people have noses and they wouldn’t really care for all the telltale mix of their fragrances.
The substitute comes over. A serious looking man with parting in the middle of his head and no-bullshit eyes. He hands the bill, discretely covered in a leather booklet, to Gabriel.
Aziraphale braces himself.
“All this?” Gabriel is really uncivilised enough to comment to the person, forgetting that he was the one who flaunted around with generosity. “For lunch and spa?”
Undeterred, the Beta offers the card reader to him. “Plus the tip,” he adds.
Aziraphale has to suppress so much amusement from his scent as Gabriel starts firing the beginnings of swears, but, luckily, doesn't finish any one of them. The Alpha refrains from reprimanding him. Hearing the card peep as it hands over the amount is a reward enough, he decides.
The Beta turns around and starts walking away, his posture upright and unfeeling. He nods to his fellow server who’s coming in to reclaim his post by the wall.
Crowley. Dear Lord, he’s so undeniably attractive, with his flat stomach and his broad shoulders. His red hair adds so much flamboyance to the white jacket, making him stand out from the rest of the faceless mass by that alone. His eyes of that unique colour of honey find Aziraphale’s with all the discretion in the world.
And then they crinkle at the sides with so much familiarity dancing on the brink of a tease that Aziraphale has to blink a responding smile away. He busies himself with a morsel of his food.
“What a fucking rip off,” Gabriel finishes his well-deserved outrage.
He then realises that Aziraphale isn’t done eating. He takes a deep breath, calms down a notch, and takes the excuse Aziraphale’s eating has offered.
“You can stay and finish the food. I have to go home and change for the meeting.”
Ah, leave it to Gabriel to make sure you shed even the last crumble of regret about pulling him by the nose all day.
“Change?” Aziraphale echoes, all halo, wings and innocence. “For the virtual meeting?”
This makes the Omega raise his head off the screen, caught red handed. Aziraphale has grown to enjoy the sight.
“Pftt, yeah,” he tries to hide behind a condescending frown. “My purple shirt looks better for the camera. It’s a business thing, you know nothing about that stuff.”
A perfect cue.
“That reminds me.” Aziraphale pushes his hand into his inner pocket. Accidentally, it stirs some wonderful scents out of his shirt. The ones singing of worth and virtues of a certain Omega male, watching him intently. “It’s time for that surprise I have for you.”
Gabriel tilts his head at the sight of what Aziraphale pulls out. A sleek rectangle in a beige casing, the one with a flap which makes a mobile device look like a book.
“You’ve stolen that from someone?” the Omega laughs, and for once, his reaction is understandable.
Aziraphale, by choice, is not a man of technology.
“No, it’s quite mine,” he replies and finds his glasses too.
With showmanship, he adjusts the spectacles over his nose and opens the mobile, sliding through his emails with his finger, making Gabriel quite amused.
“Please tell me,” he cranes his neck badly suppressing laughter, “you’ve got social media profiles now.”
“Perish the thought,” Aziraphale doesn’t falter whatsoever. “This is for business exclusively. There, found it.”
With this, he turns the screen towards his as-good-as-ex partner.
“This is the org chart that I currently have,” Aziraphale explains. “I don’t see those American stakeholders there. Do you?”
Of course, Gabriel’s face runs through a plethora of confused expressions, causing Aziraphale’s heart to start pumping mischief through his bloodstream.
He’s never thought that breaking up with someone could be this exciting!
“Your mother,” he continues as Gabriel is still just shaking his head, “sent it to me last week. Isn’t that an updated version?”
Gabriel doesn’t stop shaking his head, but this time he finds his voice. “My mother? Why would she send you the org chart of her company?”
“Ah,” Aziraphale lowers his nose and raises his eyebrows. “Because it’s now my company.”
Aziraphale waits to see anything akin to understanding inside Gabriel’s eyes, but they’re just blank. Just like when he tried to discuss literature with him at the beginning of their relationship. On the other hand, he can practically feel amazement coming from the direction of the wall.
Well, Aziraphale has really been looking forward to turning to paper for clarification. That is produced out of the trusty briefcase of his. It’s a folder with the wings logo Gabriel is bound to recognise, and it is holding your regular swad of sheets with printed pages.
“This,” Aziraphale speaks slowly so the man can understand, “is a contract. You know?” he makes a break for the words to sink in and confused rage to start raising. “A Purchase Agreement.” He leaves the document over the table and then takes out another. “The NDA. And... Oh. This is the Bill of Sales...”
“Waitwaitwait.” Gabriel grabs the first bunch from the pile and starts thumbing through it, staring at the signatures. “Are you telling me that mother’s sold the firm?”
“Yes.”
“To you?”
“Yes.”
Gabriel’s eyes are huge, if still not completely clear. “You?” he insists.
Aziraphale makes a slow bow. “Yes,” he repeats with patience.
Ah, here’s the rage, filling in all the emptiness ignorance leaves in its wake. “And where the fuck was I...”
“Language.”
“... when she was selling the company I fucking run for her?”
“Ragdale Hall spa, I believe,” Aziraphale provides. “But, let me check.”
Gabriel gawks at him with his mouth open as Aziraphale opens his handy little notes app. “I’ve kept track of all the meetings you’ve ignored. Mind you, as the new Director of Heavens Supreme, I won’t be tolerating that going forward.”
His reading glasses get employed with relish once again, as the Alpha reads out all the dates when he met with the company representatives to discuss the handover. Some of the instances are accompanied with names of resorts Gabriel visited for "conferences, meetings and kick-offs.”
“To your defense,” he concludes, “most of the invites you simply ignored without excusing yourself with an ‘obligation’.”
“The fuck,” Gabriel grabs his mobile with horror and starts fumbling with it. He then places the thing against his ear, seething with so much enraged disbelief that muscles start popping at the sides of his cheeks, making his jaw look even more square.
Aziraphale lets the automatic message provide his employee with the reply and casts a causal look Crowley’s way. He’s scanning the other patrons, but an incredulous smile is trying to fight its way out of his mask of professional restraint.
Aziraphale calls it a win. That, and the fact that Gabriel groans at his screen.
“She’s changed her number,” he explains. “And she’s out of town, I’m afraid.” He flicks his eyes down and up the man. Then adds the slap on the face. “You should have returned her calls sooner.”
“All of this,” Gabriel growls, completely missing the entire point, of course, “because I’ve never called? To punish me?”
“No, no,” Aziraphale takes his glasses off. “All of this because she needed someone to run the firm. Competently.”
And just as the Omega has started inflating in order to, most likely, spit fire at the Alpha, Aziraphale cuts to the chase.
“Muriel from Finances,” he says with the patience of a saint, “was kind enough to send me a report with all your expenses.”
Gabriel’s stare becomes glassy.
“I will be calling a meeting with you, first thing Monday morning,” he gets informed. “So you can explain some numbers to me. Oh, and Sandalphone’s from the team directly under you?”
Now he starts turning bright red. “Wha-what about him?”
“Oh, nothing,” Aziraphale waves him off. “It’s just that his name turns up in those reports alongside yours quite a lot.”
This is where Aziraphale’s own gaze shifts.
He turns towards his table companion and looks at him with concentration. Gabriel may be very bad at reading scents, but rather relies on how things look, so the Alpha makes sure that his look speaks for him too.
“I will be having a meeting with him as well,” Aziraphale warns, his voice now slow and heavy. Loaded. “And I better not find tonight's ‘7 o’clock team building’ in Monday’s financial report.”
Not much of Gabriel’s scent manages to escape his expensive suit, but a sudden gush of sweat on his forehead starts speaking clearly. It is sorrowful that only now this man who’s been calling himself Aziraphale’s partner for the past year remembers that exact fact.
And plays the wrong card.
“Aziraphale. Sweetheart…” he tries, pointedly staring at Aziraphale right in the face, like any bad liar does. “You didn’t really think that I...”
And he dares to land his hand over Aziraphale’s forearm. Which is actually the first time they have touched in the past three weeks. Aziraphale has been wondering what he saw in the man when they first met, he was so foolish. The attraction was there, sure, but it’s not as if that was a sufficient basis for a full relationship.
His seductive tone hand in hand with his sly demeanor now turn everything that was covert inside out, making the Alpha appalled at what he sees.
A warning growl vibrates in the air, and Aziraphale realises that it is coming from his own throat. Driven by a reflex, Gabriel withdraws his hand. Shocked, he stares wordlessly at the Alpha.
His now very former boyfriend.
“Your things,” Aziraphale utters, his eyes steely, “are in a box outside the bookshop. Better hurry before they get collected by the street cleaners.”
With this final goodbye, the Alpha leans back in his chair. Reading the dismissal well, and most likely regretting his clothes more than their relationship, Gabriel gets up from the table and rushes out of the dining hall, not looking either left or right.
It should be sad, but somehow it isn’t. Aziraphale isn’t sad or bitter. He’s not even angry at Gabriel about leading a double life as he was when he first found out two months ago. He was just being his selfish, superficial self.
Maybe Aziraphale would feel differently if it wasn’t for his own little adventure in the men’s room. Who knows?
But right now, things just feel right, and that is all. He takes a look and finds Crowley in his spot against the wall, watching him.
Oh, the absolute darling! How could Aziraphale not appreciate this marvel as his expressions, the ones he believes he hides well, feel like a balm to soothe everything in Aziraphale that is irritated or sore. His yellow eyes are staring at Aziraphale with concern. An actual concern.
Aziraphale sighs with loads of fondness, it’s proposterous. The smile that he then sends to the man is so genuine that he has to wonder – how has this person he knows for an afternoon come so close to him?
And he approaches, as that was an invitation.
With a respectful bow, the Omega brings his magnificent self closer to him. Aziraphale finds that one sharp fang on him ever so charming.
“That was quite something, angel,” the man says, his raspy voice doing things to Aziraphale’s brain.
That he will never know of.
“Thank you, my dear,” he responds in kind. “May I have the key to my well-earned suite?”
The Omega’s grin is huge. He produces the key from his pocket where Aziraphale saw it was kept.
“You’ve certainly earned it,” he says.
Aziraphale gives himself a moment to appreciate the angular face before him. It’s so curious how having a man does nothing to actually dampen his interest in him. Aziraphale now knows. He knows what this Omega feels like on his knot. He knows what he smells like when he’s aroused, when he’s having a peak, when he’s laughing his head off at Aziraphale’s bastard comments while they’re cleaning up after a love making session.
Aziraphale knows and he wants to know more.
“My shift,” the Omega says, his voice made of honey, “is over in fifteen. I’ll run home to refresh while you have your massages and stuff, angel.”
Aziraphale may not be done with Crowley, but he is done with the atmosphere filled with nothing in this place.
“Please don’t bathe,” he says before he thinks twice about it. “I want to smell you. I want to smell my scent on you.”
No, Aziraphale was wrong. Those eyes are of a colour of molten gold, and they quiver like the precious metal does in the fires of its berthing place. He says nothing, but his nod is so meaningful.
“And cancel the massage for me, please,” Aziraphale decides. “I actually don’t approve of using food items for cosmetics. It’s against my religion. But do bring a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape and two glasses, alright?”
Aziraphale will later congratulate himself on the move. He’ll repeat over and over again the way Crowley bows deeply, reverently. He then walks back to his post to wait for the remaining fifteen minutes of his shift to pass.
Aziraphale waits at his table too, treating himself with what has remained of his meal. At times he thinks about Monday. He makes plans about the meetings that await. About the entire adventure setting off in corporate waters would bring.
About the satisfaction of laying Gabriel off.
But most of the time he admires the waiter openly. His sharp features, his elegant lines.
The way he casts devilish looks at him from the corners of his yellow eyes.
And every time their gazes meet, the Omega adds a proud smile to his face.
And every time Aziraphale shudders when the man mouths a single word that nobody else sees.
“Alpha...”