handsome enough to tempt me

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/52424758.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandoms: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Relationship: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Anathema Device,
Newton Pulsifer
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teacher
Crowley (Good Omens), College | University Student Aziraphale (Good
Omens), University Lecturer Crowley (Good Omens), Older Crowley
(Good Omens), Younger Aziraphale (Good Omens), Age Difference,
Banter, Thirsty Aziraphale (Good Omens), Library Sex, Semi-Public
Sex, playing fast and loose with ethics here, Top Crowley (Good
Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Taboo Romance, Clothed
Sex, Crowley Has a Large Penis (Good Omens), Size Queen Aziraphale
(Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Crush on Crowley (Good Omens), my
apologies to all the librarians out there
Language: English
Collections: O Lord Heal This Gift Exchange 2023, Top Crowley Library
Stats: Published: 2023-12-21 Completed: 2023-12-27 Words: 13,671 Chapters:
2/2
 handsome enough to tempt me
by Phoenix_Soar

Summary

Aziraphale has spent an entire semester pining after a handsome older student with beautiful
red hair who had caught his eye the moment he saw him in their university library.
Aziraphale is too scared to approach him, so he keeps putting off actually talking to his crush.

Until the moment he walks into his introductory English Literature class the following
semester and realises that the mysterious stranger isn't a fellow student after all...

Notes

This is my gift to the ever delightful Aji (angelsnuffbox), for the O Lord Heal This Gift
Exchange 2023!

Aji asked for a Teacher Crowley/Student Aziraphale human uni AU with the only prompt
being "go wild". I tried my best - and ended up with this nerdy, horny mess XD I hope you
enjoy, my friend, love you so much!

Also so much love to my beta chamyl who put up with A Lot from me hhh. Thank you,
Cham, I don't deserve you!

CW: Exactly what it says on the tin. Please READ THE TAGS! Egregious and unapologetic
breaking of ethical codes galore! It's not tagged a taboo romance for nothing. Please take care
of yourselves and avoid if this content squicks you out.
 Chapter 1
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

‘Oh, thank goodness it’s Monday! I thought the weekend would never end.’

Half a year ago, those weren’t words Aziraphale Fell would have imagined himself uttering.
Relieved though he’d been to be accepted into the prestigious University of Tadfield on a
partial scholarship, and possessing every determination to graduate with honours in his
chosen field of Creative Writing, the harrowing ups and downs of tertiary education took its
toll on even the most studious of students. Weekends couldn’t come quick enough.

Then the second semester rolled around and with it, an introductory module on English
Literature. Abruptly, Aziraphale’s outlook on undergraduate life had taken an unexpected and
drastic upturn.

Mondays were the best .

‘Dude, that’s gross.’

Aziraphale ignored Anathema’s typical response to his proclamation, which was punctuated
by an affirmative sound from Newt. His friends’ recent exasperation with him was teasing
and, one might even say, warranted; but he was too giddy with anticipation to care as they
made their way across campus towards the Faculty of Arts building.

‘He’s giving another one of those stupid biweekly assignments today, isn't he? Or is that next
Monday?’ Anathema wondered, popping her gum.

‘It’s today! And they are far from stupid, my dear,’ said Aziraphale with a happy wiggle of
his shoulders. ‘He has a brilliant mind!’

‘Ugh, gross- er . God, how do you even?’ Anathema rolled her eyes goodnaturedly.

‘Actually, didn’t you say his lectures are pretty, um, dope ?’ Newt spoke up, the Americanism
not so much rolling off his tongue as encountering a cliff-diving accident.

‘I’m not calling his classes gross. I’m calling the besotted lost cause over here—’ Anathema
ignored Aziraphale’s indignant squawk, ‘—and his unforgivable chirpiness at eight on a
Monday morning gross.’ She paused, smirking. ‘Oh yeah, and that he’s lusting after our
ancient professor.’

Aziraphale harrumphed. ‘He’s not a professor yet, technically.’

‘’Kay. Ancient adjunct, then.’

‘He’s thirty-seven!’
‘That’s what I said. Ancient,’ said Anathema smugly while Newt exclaimed, ‘Wait, he’s
thirty-seven? But aren’t you, like, twenty-one this year?’

‘So? That still makes me older than you both,’ Aziraphale sniffed.

‘You say that like you weren’t in nappies when we were.’

‘To be fair, the love of Aziraphale’s… loins… is pretty damn hot,’ Anathema conceded with
a laugh as they arrived at the entrance to the FA building.

Aziraphale lifted his chin and stalked ahead while Anathema paused to peck Newt on the
lips. He handed over her bag and sprinted back the way they’d come towards the Computer
Science hall on the other side of campus—‘What, I think it’s sweet he wants to walk me to
class even though it makes him late,’ Anathema had said defensively the first time Aziraphale
raised a quizzical brow—leaving her to hurry inside after Aziraphale.

She caught up to him at the doorway of the Literature hall where they found the front rows
already occupied, the room abuzz with more students than the typical numbers for a Monday
morning. Aziraphale was miffed but unsurprised; such had been the case for this particular
module for the past three months.

‘God, they can’t all be as thirsty as you, can they?’ Anathema had half-groaned, half-laughed
a few weeks into the semester when the student turnout had seemingly continued to increase.
Months later, the situation was unchanged.

‘We ought to have set off sooner,’ Aziraphale grumbled, eyeing the empty benches further
back with resignation. ‘All the best seats are taken.’

‘This is a lecture, sweetie, not the movies,’ Anathema snickered.

‘It’s better than the cinema,’ Aziraphale sniffed.

‘You flatter me, Fell. And I’m contractually obligated to agree but, just between us, I draw
the line at the classic Bond films.’

Aziraphale and Anathema whirled around, the former with his mouth slack and heart leaping
against his ribs.

‘Oh! Mr Crowley… Good—good morning!’

The older man framed in the open doorway, tall and slim and his all-black ensemble and
artfully styled auburn hair contrasting starkly against the cream and ash palette of the lecture
hall, crocked an amused brow at Aziraphale’s stammered greeting.

‘Again, I’m supposed to agree but let’s be real here. No morning that begins before at least
ten-thirty is a good one. Especially on a bloody Monday.’

Mr Anthony J. Crowley—‘Now before you all start asking, ’s just a J but eh, I’d rather you
lot call me only Crowley. But apparently that’s not the done thing, or so the dean tells me’—
tipped his head down so that they could see light brown eyes wink above the frame of
expensive Valentino sunglasses. ‘But don’t go tellin’ Professor Dagon I said that, yeah? Not
even a sabbatical would dissuade them from hunting me down for such blatant disrespect
towards their Lit course.’ His mouth curved in a wicked grin.

It was ridiculous that such casual gestures and playful words should make Aziraphale’s
cheeks flame so. He tried not to bite his lip, unable to take his eyes off Crowley. How could
the good lord make anyone so devastatingly handsome? It was profoundly unfair.

Beside him, Anathema was laughing. ‘See, even Mr Crowley thinks it’s too early and he’s the
one who gotta teach this class. Unlike this weirdo.’ She nudged Aziraphale with her elbow
and then her expression turned sly. ‘Hey, teach, did you know…?’

Sensing that whatever comment she had in mind would be the death of him, Aziraphale
began to interject but didn’t get a word out before Crowley closed the door behind him.

‘Thanks, Bookgirl. Good to know at least someone gets pleasure out of my waking up at
bleeding six in the morning to be here. Off you pop, then.’

Face still hot, Aziraphale glowered at Anathema as they hurried past their peers, who were
perking up excitedly at their lecturer’s appearance, to take a seat at an empty bench. ‘I can’t
believe you almost said that!’

‘That? And what’s that? You don’t even know what I was gonna say,’ she said, chortling.

‘Whatever it was, I still can’t believe you!’

‘I’m sure Mr Crowley would’ve appreciated it.’ She nodded at where Crowley was setting up
his computer. ‘You’re, like, his fav.’

‘Excuse me?’ Aziraphale’s jaw dropped.

‘Yep. He actually bothers to remember your name, doesn’t he?’

‘And how does that make me his “fav”?’ he demanded, his prim tone putting sarcastic air
quotes where his firmly folded arms wouldn’t.

‘I mean, duh. I participate just as actively as you but he still calls me Bookgirl—’

‘Well, you did drop that humongous book of so-called prophecies on his foot.’

‘—and that’s when he’s not yelling hey you, mad American woman at me because he never
remembers our names,’ Anathema finished, rolling her eyes. ‘Except yours. Although,’ she
added with a twinkle in her eye, ‘the man has no idea just how much pleasure you get from
his classes, huh?’

‘Anathema, my dear.’ Aziraphale took out his notebook and clicked his pen, turning stoutly
to face their lecturer who had turned on the overhead projector. ‘Do shut that wretched mouth
of yours.’

Thankfully, he was spared whatever naughty retort Anathema had the next second.
‘Right, you lot, top of the mornin’ to ya an’ all that! Welcome to another accursed Monday,
you know what that means, yeah?’ Crowley clapped his hands together and grinned toothily,
and the sight might have credibly ignited a wave of swooning if not for the dreaded words
that followed: ‘It’s flash essay time.’

The majority of the class groaned, Anathema included, while the rest whooped. Aziraphale
rested his chin in a palm and sighed dreamily.

Goodness, were Mondays the best.

~***~

Aziraphale’s first sight of Crowley had been in the university’s library during his third week
—and he made the mistaken assumption the other was only a fellow student.

There Crowley had been, immersed in his laptop at a desk surrounded by a veritable wall of
fiction, frowning in concentration and dragging frustrated fingers through the prettiest red
hair Aziraphale had ever seen. The very picture of a frazzled uni student with deadlines to
meet.

He was older than Aziraphale, clearly. Perhaps a postgraduate pursuing a Master’s. Or

maybe, Aziraphale had mused as he tried not to stare at the striking stranger from where he
was sitting a little ways away, the man was an undergraduate like him. It was becoming more
common for people to pursue higher studies even later in life, after all.

Although, it wasn’t lost on Aziraphale that despite looking older, the man’s style of dress was
more in line with the flashy bastards aged around Aziraphale’s generation. Ripped dark jeans
and a sleeveless black turtleneck that hugged him like a second skin, revealing toned arms
with lean muscles, pale and freckled, and a glimpse of a dark red thatch under his arms—oh,
that beautiful auburn hair was natural, then, Aziraphale realised with an inexplicable blush. A
black jacket was flung over the back of his chair and a fancy pair of sunglasses rested on the
bridge of his nose even though they were inside and the sun had already set.

It was rare for a man to immediately grab Aziraphale’s attention, much less someone whose
outward appearance was the polar opposite to Aziraphale’s preferred bookish wardrobe.

Still, he couldn’t stop looking. And as the days bled into weeks and months, he grew no
closer to figuring out what the stranger’s field and level of study were since he only ever
came across him in the library. He never saw him, not even in passing, around lecture halls or
the FA building in general.

‘Maybe he’s in a different field. You can’t see much of him if his classes are, like, in a whole
other place,’ Anathema had offered after she and Newt got wind of their friend’s new crush.

(A “crush”, honestly! Aziraphale had protested such a juvenile term, they weren’t in primary
school , for heaven’s sake. Not that that argument had dissuaded his friends in the slightest.)

‘Not in my field, though, I don’t think. I’ve never seen the bloke in the Sciences faculty,’
added Newt helpfully.
‘Thank you both, but I can’t see how he could be surrounded by classics and literature in
general and not be at least English-adjacent.’

‘Spying that hard on him during your little library jerk offs, are you?’ Anathema teased.

Aziraphale had refused to dignify that with a response. Nor had he gone along with it when,
inevitably, his friends began to urge him to stop merely staring and actually approach the
stranger.

‘Oh no, no, absolutely not! I couldn’t.’

‘Do you expect to jump his bones without actually talking to the guy?’ Anathema had said
dryly. ‘It’s been, what, three months and you don’t even know his name yet!’

‘Excuse me, Anathema Device, when have I given the impression that I wish to jump his
bones ?’ Aziraphale huffed, ignoring the rest of her rather valid point.

‘The Pavlovian boner you pop every time we walk into the library and he’s not even there.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘It’s gotten kinda embarrassing, frankly.’

‘Plus,’ Newt added before a pink-cheeked Aziraphale could argue, ‘you can’t find out if he’s,
I dunno, married or something unless you speak to him.’

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide.

‘What? He definitely looks the age to be married, you can’t deny that.’

‘Yeah, Azi, let’s not turn homewrecker just yet,’ Anathema giggled.

‘He…he’s not wearing a ring,’ Aziraphale said faintly.

Anathema just burst out laughing while Newt shook his head in bemusement. ‘Wow. Just…
wow. Yeah, you definitely need to talk to him.’

Still, Aziraphale had remained against his friends’ well-meaning advice for the longest time.
While the thought of “jumping his bones”, as Anathema had ever so eloquently put it, was
indeed titillating, he couldn’t imagine the redhead being receptive to any such advances in the
slightest.

It wasn’t just a matter of self-confidence or lack thereof on Aziraphale’s part either. Beyond
giving a curt direction to a lost student or two, Aziraphale had never witnessed the man spare
a speck of attention to anyone that approached him. And there certainly had been a good
handful who had dared to breach the great wall of literature around his desk with flirtatious
smiles and coy invitations to coffee.

Not a single advance had been met with anything but the cool stare of those impenetrable
sunglasses.

How relieving. And utterly dejecting. Aziraphale would just have to make do with enjoying
the stranger’s alluring presence from afar.
The singular moment when Aziraphale decided to break that resolution happened during the
final week of his first semester. He had been engrossed in last-minute revisions at the library
with Anathema and Newt, when the unmistakable crash of falling books ripped apart the
silence.

Everyone in the vicinity started, eyes snapping to a shell-shocked first year who stood frozen
halfway to the circulation desk, hands still held aloft as they gaped at the pile of books
scattered around their feet. Aziraphale recognised them as one of his Creative Writing
classmates, Muriel Scribe, usually ever so bright and full of cheer. Until the stress of finals
had gotten to them.

The inevitable breakdown building up over the past weeks finally burst free. Aziraphale,
along with a few other students, made to get up when Muriel buried their face in their hands
and dropped to their knees, sobbing uncontrollably. But before anyone could reach out to
help, the sharp clack of heels on the tiled floor drained the blood from their faces. As one, the
students all sank back into their seats.

‘What is the meaning of this?! You— our books !’

Hardly anyone dared to look at the chief librarian whom they had all learned very early on to
never cross.

‘How dare you, these books are worth five times your yearly tuition! Quit your snivelling and
pick them up at once or I’ll have you banned for the rest of—!’

‘Now, now, Michael, you can stand to be a wee less sour, y’know. ’S exams week, kids need
a break.’

Peeking up, Aziraphale’s jaw slackened when his beautiful redheaded stranger emerged from
between the aisles, laptop bag slung over one shoulder and mouth curled in a wry grin that
looked anything but friendly. His voice—and goodness, Aziraphale had never properly heard
it before—was low and deep and cutting.

Oh, good lord.

‘That’s Doctor Michael to you, you disrespectful—!’ began the chief librarian furiously, the
gaunt cheeks of her severe face reddening.

‘Think you’ll find earning a doctorate and earning respect are mutually exclusive, Michael,’
interrupted the man. Aziraphale had to stifle a gasp while Anathema snorted into her palm.
‘’Grats on the first, by the way. Heard you barely clinched it with a thousand page drivel
disguised as a dissertation.’

Ignoring Dr Michael’s outraged intake of breath, the man knelt beside Muriel who was
shaking like a leaf by then, hands clamped over their mouth to muffle their crying. ‘C’mon
now, deep breaths, deep breaths. There you go, just like that. You’ll be all right. Just dropped
a few books, no harm done.’ He began to gather them together, turning each volume under
Muriel’s nose. ‘See, not one loose leaf.’
Sniffling, they wiped their cheeks and looked up at the older man, eyes still shining with
tears. ‘Oh, oh, yes, than—thank you. Awfully silly of me, to be like this. Who cries over
something like—?’

‘Nah, don’t do that.’ The stranger grabbed the last book and helped Muriel to their feet. ‘I
know what exam week is like. Been there, done that. In fact, we all have and can sympathise .
Ain’t that right, Doc-tor Michael?’

For the first time, Aziraphale saw him push up the sunglasses into his hair, revealing light
brown eyes that seemed to shine like golden gems under the white lights. They fixed Dr
Michael with a challenging glare.

She scoffed contemptuously but, to everyone’s surprise, turned on her heel and left without
another word. The man glowered after her but then ducked his head, squinting at the floor; as
if the light hurt his eyes, Aziraphale realised. The sunglasses returned to their usual spot.

‘There, all good, then.’ Clapping his hands once, he grinned at Muriel. ‘Take my advice, put
those away for tonight and sleep. Makes a world of difference. Goes for the lot of you,
actually,’ he added, raising his voice to address the students scattered about. Aziraphale’s
heart did a funny thing inside his chest when the man’s hidden gaze swept over his table.
‘Take it from me, none of you’s acing any exam dead on your feet like this.’ He turned back
to Muriel. ‘You all right?’

They nodded with a watery smile, holding the books to their chest. ‘Yes! Yes, thank you,
er…?’

Instead of supplying a name, the man gave a jaunty two-fingered salute and sauntered off.
Aziraphale’s wasn’t the only pair of eyes that followed him all the way out the library doors.

As soon as he disappeared, excited whispers broke out among the students. Anathema
nudged a dazed Aziraphale with an elbow. ‘Did we all just see that guy clapping back at Dr
fucking Michael or is the sleep deprivation getting to me?’

Newt whistled under his breath, eyes still on the library doors. ‘No, yeah, okay, I see it,
Aziraphale. Your crush is, um, he is pretty sexy, isn’t he.’

Anathema chuckled while Aziraphale blushed up to his ears. ‘Really, Newt? Right in front of
my salad?’

‘Oh dear, I’m sure Newt would never betray—’ Aziraphale began.

‘I’m only kidding. He’s right,’ said Anathema. ‘I can see why you’re so thirsty for that dick.’

Aziraphale gasped. ‘People might hear you!’

‘And if you’re still not gonna talk to him, me and Newt’s just gonna have to suck that dick
ourselves.’

‘Needs must.’ Newt nodded.

‘Oh, hush, both of you!’

Despite their teasing, Aziraphale couldn’t deny that his friends did have a point. In the course
of mere minutes, months of attraction to the stranger’s handsome appearance—simple and
straightforward—had abruptly tipped over to, well, potentially lusting after him as a person
as well.

Well. Darn. Rather inconvenient, that.

‘Oh, very well !’ He resisted the urge to throw up his hands. ‘I’ll do it. I shall… talk to him.
After exams, obviously. Assuming he would even give me the time of day,’ he added huffily.

‘Finally,’ Anathema and Newt both groaned in unison.

Aziraphale put his nose back to the grindstone and told himself firmly that he would think no
more on it, at least not until he’d handed in his final exam paper on Friday. After that, he
would hurry to the library and approach the man with the red hair and… well, what was the
worst that could happen anyway? Receiving a dead look over those sunglasses and scurrying
away with his tail tucked between his legs, just like every other person? It could be worse.

As Aziraphale’s luck would have it, it was indeed worse.

There was no red-headed stranger to be found when Aziraphale, his courage buoyed by post-
exams euphoria, entered the library on Friday afternoon. There was no red-headed stranger to
be found seemingly anywhere on campus, even by the time they received their results and the
university closed for break.

‘There’s always next term,’ Anathema said reassuringly over celebratory drinks at their
shared student flat.

‘Yeah, he’s probably gone home for the hols,’ added Newt.

Aziraphale smiled and nodded with more enthusiasm than he felt as they clinked their glasses
of cheap wine together. Yes, he could wait a little longer. Surely the beautiful stranger in the
library would be waiting for him next term.

And he was, indeed—but not in the library.

On the very first day of their second semester, Aziraphale and Anathema turned up for their
introductory module on English Literature—and the former nearly fell out of his seat when
an all-too-familiar black clad figure with auburn hair slinked inside the lecture hall. Instead of
joining the rest of the students on the benches, he dumped his bag on the teacher’s chair and
greeted them with a disarming grin.

‘Morning. I see that, let’s see, one, two… whoa. A whopping eight of you made it, to a
Monday eight a.m. no less! More than I expected, I’ll be honest. Well done and welcome,
nerds.’ He folded his arms and cocked his hip against the teacher’s table. ‘As you musta been
informed, Professor Dagon is taking a sabbatical so, lucky you, I’m the adjunct assigned to
cover their introductory Lit course this semester. Name’s Anthony J. Crowley.’
Mouth open, Aziraphale exchanged shocked glances with Anathema.

‘So. You all survived your first term, huh? Excellent, but don’t get cocky just yet.’ Crowley’s
grin widened, toothy and just a touch wolfish. ‘’Cause now, you gotta get through me.’

And as Aziraphale gaped in disbelief at the mystery “student” he had been pining after for a
good half year, Anathema leaned in and whispered, sounding just as stunned, ‘OK, so maybe
you shouldn’t talk to him, after all.’

Well. Darn.

What drove the final nail into Aziraphale’s lovelorn coffin, though, was when their new
lecturer kicked off the class asking what they considered were the most romantic classics in
English literature—and after an excited chorus of ‘Wuthering Heights!’ from at least three
students, proceeded to give the most scathing review of ‘one of the worst depictions of so-
called true love in the history of fiction’ that Aziraphale had ever heard.

As the class stared open-mouthed after his monologue, half of them scandalised beyond
measure, Crowley looked around them with a smirk.

‘Some of you disagree with me, yeah? Good. Remember that. That’s my first lesson for you.’
He pointed a finger at them. ‘Every reader’s perception of a story is unique, which means if a
billion people have read Wuthering Heights, a billion different versions of Wuthering Heights
exist. Some of you think Heathcliff and Catherine are the ultimate story of tragic lovers; I
think it’s one of the unhealthiest forms of obsession ever put on paper. And I bet some of you
just said meh at the end and moved onto another novel—and that’s the energy I want from
you lot during this module. Because hey,’ he leaned back against his desk and flashed them a
broad grin, ‘what’s the fun in all this analysing and debating and critical thinking without a
fight breaking out every now and then, huh? Keeps things exciting.’

Amidst the mix of giggles and uncertain chittering this proclamation evoked, Aziraphale
turned to Anathema and, in half anguish and half glee, whispered,

‘Oh dear. I… I think I might have fallen in love just now.’

And as Anathema groaned and hissed things like ‘Azi nooo’, ‘our teacher jeezus’ and ‘you’re
hopeless’, he returned his full attention to Anthony J. Crowley and bit his lip, trying to
suppress a dopey smile.

Well, what do you know? A man after his own heart.

~***~

In the months since meeting their unconventional but charismatic adjunct lecturer, mixed
reactions of fascination and bewilderment to their course content or assessments ended up
becoming the norm. Such was the case again this Monday.

Aziraphale was still processing the theme of their assigned flash essays, which Crowley had
just announced to stunned silence, when a student raised his hand from a few rows ahead.
‘Mr Crowley, did you… did you just say to write about our—our hot takes on the classics?’
he asked with a disbelieving chuckle.

Crowley folded his arms. ‘What, too difficult for you, avocado?’

‘It’s, um, it’s Eric Daemon actually, sir, and—'

‘Sorry, still not good with names. But yes, give me your hot takes, as the kids call it these
days. The fierier, the better.’

Crowley began to pace back and forth as he addressed the class, jabbing a thumb at the
presentation slide behind him; it was an image of Munch’s “The Scream” turned into a
meme, complete with dramatic noir filter and a caption in bold Comic Sans: WHAT DO YOU
MEAN OSCAR WILDE WAS A BUMHOLE?! If Aziraphale weren’t so distracted by their
strange assignment, he would be laughing in delight. That Wilde callout—a “hot take” indeed
—was absolutely correct.

He couldn’t have imagined it possible to want Anthony J. Crowley even more, and yet here
he was. Stupidly perfect man.

‘Give it a good think. You got any so-called controversial thoughts on a widely beloved
classic? I want to hear it. Some deep, dark, unpopular opinions you’d rather hide for fear of
getting cancelled by the literature world? Tell me all about them in your salty little flash
essay—oi, you, I can hear you grumbling over there! If yours truly can spend months on end
in a library doing his PhD dissertation, then you can bang out a mere thousand words in seven
days to explain why, I dunno,’ he glanced at his slide, ‘why Oscar Wilde was apparently a
bumhole or something.’

Aziraphale giggled along with the rest of the class, half-entertained and half-bemused—
which wasn’t a rare response to Crowley’s sessions in general.

‘I don’t know if being cancelled is something we ought to strive for, actually?’ spoke up a
boy, something Wensleydale, Aziraphale thought he was called.

Next to him, Pepper Moonchild was squinting at their lecturer. ‘I’m a bit confused. Are you
looking for a specific kind of interpretation, Mr Crowley?’

‘No. It could be your take on anything. Like—’

‘Like if I said the Mariner’s punishment was overly disproportionate to his sin?’ Anathema
asked loudly, jostling Aziraphale as she shot her hand into the air.

Crowley looked curiously up at their bench. Aziraphale tried not to squirm, face going warm.
It was always a bit overwhelming to have their lecturer’s full attention, even if by proxy.

‘Mariner…? Ah, right! The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, yeah? Coleridge.’ Crowley
snapped his fingers, nodding. ‘Damn, haven’t given a thought to that poem since forever. But
yes, go on, Bookgirl.’
‘Right, so.’ Anathema cleared her throat. ‘Is it controversial of me to say—he killed the
albatross for sport, right? Killed an innocent creature for no reason and got punished for it.
Justly so, yes. But… I think he was forced to suffer too much.’

Crowley raised a quizzical eyebrow while Aziraphale scoffed. Oh, the dear girl, he adored
her but he did not agree.

Anathema sat up straighter and ignored him. ‘Like, the Mariner had to carry the burden of the
deaths of all his fellow sailors—none of whom, by the way, deserved to die for his sin—and
then he went through emotional and physical and psychological torture for days until he’d
served his penance and could return to land. But even then, he wasn’t entirely forgiven, was
he? He’s gotta keep serving penance for the rest of his life. He made a mistake, a horrible
one, yeah, but it doesn’t seem fair that he can never be at peace even after redemption.’

Crowley was nodding along with a thoughtful expression. ‘Hmm, yeah, I can see where
you’re coming from. What did you think was the lesson Coleridge was trying to impart there?
With the albatross and the rest?’

‘Oh, er…’ Anathema blinked, taken aback. ‘Don’t kill living things or else?’

‘Make that a li’l more Ye Olde Times and a lot less Gen Z.’

‘He…’ Her brows drew together in consternation, ‘His message was that every living thing
matters because God created them and they all deserve to be loved and treated with
kindness.’

‘Do you agree with that sentiment? Regardless of religious beliefs, mind.’

‘Of course?’

‘And d’you remember when the Mariner was able to return home?’

‘After he blessed the water snakes,’ replied Anathema, looking confused.

‘Right. His first display of reverence for God’s creations after killing the albatross. So, in a
way, would you say all that suffering actually helped make him a better person?’

‘I… Damn. But it’s more complicated than that!’

Aziraphale couldn’t help but chuckle into his palm. ‘Oh dear. He’s rather clever, isn’t he?’

Anathema elbowed him.

Crowley was laughing as well, not unkindly. ‘Thanks, Bookgirl. This is what I meant. I hope
this little demo has helped everyone understand the assignment now?’

‘But sir,’ Wensleydale said, ‘what if you don’t agree with our hot take? Won’t we fail
automatically?’
‘Nah. That’s not the point here. Varying literary interpretations and opinions are legit—if you
can explain the reasoning behind your stance. Like, for example, don’t just tell me Lady
Macbeth is a misunderstood little meow meow and leave it at that, yeah? Tell me why you
don’t think she is a true villain.’

‘Then, our hot take can be on anything?’ asked Muriel eagerly amidst a round of laughter.

‘Keep to classics, obviously. Preferably the list of titles you were given last term. But
otherwise, yeah.’

‘So I can rant about how Romeo and Juliet is not a romance?’

Crowley snorted and propped himself on his desk. ‘Pretty sure Shakespeare himself was with
you on that, buddy, but yup. Go wild. For instance, maybe you have strong thoughts about
who really should have ended up with whom at the end of Twelfth Night—’

‘Antonio should’ve got his gay happy ending with Sebastian!’ yelled a voice from
somewhere behind Aziraphale.

The room broke into laughter and noises of agreement.

‘Justice for my man Antonio!’

‘Olivia whomst ?!’

‘There you go, that’s the spirit,’ Crowley snickered. ‘Or like, deep down do you think that
Miss Havisham in Great Expectations was actually justified in the way she raised Estella? Or
say, you feel like Gatsby deserved his lonely death at the end? Maybe you secretly believe
there’s an Austen man who trumps Mr Darcy from Pride and Pre—’

‘MR KNIGHTLEY!’

A hush fell over the room. Aziraphale slapped a hand over his mouth, face turning red. He’d
been yelling before he even realised.

Crowley’s gaze found him, and Aziraphale could practically feel the weight of his piercing
eyes even through black lenses.

‘Knightley, eh? Care to elaborate?’ Crowley tilted his head to the side.

‘Gosh, um…’

‘It’s quite the bold claim, and a daring one at that. Go on, then, you’ve piqued my interest.
And made some enemies too, seems like,’ he added with a snort.

Aziraphale flushed harder when he found a disconcerting number of eyes glaring daggers at
him from around the room. But the only thing that mattered was Crowley’s gently
encouraging smile, his expression full of intrigue.
‘I… I mean, Mr Darcy certainly is an exceptional Austen man, for reasons everyone who are
preparing to smite me this very moment already know, I’m sure,’ began Aziraphale with an
awkward smile at his frowning peers. Then, turning to Crowley with more earnestness, ‘But
the thing with Mr Knightley is that, see, Emma isn’t an enemies-to-lovers tale like Pride and
Prejudice. It’s friends-to-lovers; and it’s one of the most understated and exquisitely
presented relationships Jane Austen has ever written, in my opinion.’

A fine eyebrow quirked above the frame of the sunglasses. ‘Hmm. Go on.’

‘Mr Knightley brings out the best in Emma in a way no else accomplishes, just like how she
brings out the best in him,’ said Aziraphale passionately. His hands waved through the air,
gesticulating without realising it as he gushed, ‘He is never blinded to Emma’s flaws, unlike
so many other characters including Emma herself! But he also has always seen the best in her
and loves her—in his own silent way for the most part because, well, what’s a Regency
romance without some repressed feelings? If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it
more and all that.’ Aziraphale had to pause and giggle there; that damned quote always made
him feel so giddy. ‘Oh but, but the real winning factor here? It’s how he gently nudges her
towards being a better person and doesn’t hesitate to call her out whenever she crosses the
line. I think those are highly underappreciated characteristics of Mr Knightley! He is the ever
present best friend who’s always there for her when she needs it, and his friendship runs as
deep as his romantic love for her, and he…’

Aziraphale trailed off, catching himself when one of his more excitable gestures nearly
thwacked Anathema on the arm. It was then he realised how much he was rambling; the
entire class was looking at him, and Crowley—

Cheeks warming, Aziraphale cleared his throat. ‘So that’s… yes. This isn’t a beat down of
other Austen male leads, obviously. I just… I feel that Mr Knightley should take the
pedestal.’

‘I see,’ drawled Crowley, his tone oddly wondering. ‘And you’d rank Darcy second, then?’

‘Wentworth, actually!’ Aziraphale lifted his chin, half-daring anyone to counter that. ‘I might
even go so far as to say Persuasion is Jane Austen’s true magnum opus, but I expect that
would count as a different hot take. ’

Crowley laughed, a loud and full-bodied sound he rarely unleashed. ‘Well then. That’s an
interesting outlook for sure. You’d definitely create waves among certain circles of Austen
fanatics.’ Folding his arms over his chest, he grinned up at Aziraphale, his expression openly
pleased. ‘Always knew there was a reason I liked you, Fell. Nicely done.’

Aziraphale could have sworn his heart actually froze for a split second.

Anathema bumped her foot against his and muttered under her breath, ‘See, I told you!’

‘Hush.’

Crowley had turned back to the class, snapping his fingers. ‘So, you all got what I meant?
Fell’s take just now is an excellent example.’
Aziraphale’s blushing smile crumpled when someone muttered, ‘Even if his take is blatantly
wrong? After all, there’s a reason everyone has heard of Darcy unlike Knightley or
whatever.’

Aziraphale twisted in his seat to see Carmine Warmonger looking back unflinchingly at their
lecturer. When Crowley frowned, she said, ‘It’s a fun exercise, sure, but if we’d written
anything but the expected answers back in school, we would’ve failed Literature.’

Crowley paused for a long moment, narrowing his eyes. ‘By chance, Red, your secondary
teacher didn’t encourage you to rewrite the essay samples you were given in class instead of
actually studying the source material for your Lit exams, did they? Because, sidenote, that
would’ve been plagiarism, first of all, and anyone who pulled that shit in their GCEs
would’ve barely scraped through.

‘That aside, the point here is to do away with that sort of unoriginality. It’s not about what
your tenth grade teacher or some “professional” essay told you to think about a work of
fiction. I’m asking what you thought of it. Fell did just that. Bloody brilliantly too.’

Carmine sniffed but didn’t make any further remarks. Even if she had, Aziraphale probably
wouldn’t have heard anyway as he gaped at Crowley, heart throwing itself against his ribs.

Crowley clapped his hands once. ‘Right, so we all sorted? Any essay ideas you want to
bounce in the meantime?’

‘I’ve just thought of the perfect topic!’ exclaimed Eric. ‘Listen, listen! My absolutely sizzling
burn-the-roof-of-your-mouth take is…’ He looked around the lecture hall dramatically. ‘Mr
Collins from P and P was so totally right!’

Someone gave a very loud, very offended scoff.

‘About boiled potatoes!’ Eric hooted, throwing back his head. ‘Name a more exemplary
vegetable , I dare you!’

‘Ha!’

‘Ugh, Daemon, I swear…’

‘Oi, bonehead, you know that line wasn’t in the book, right?’

‘Gasp! How dare you!’

‘…did you just say gasp out loud?!’

As the class descended into the typical chaos of a discussion, Anathema nudged Aziraphale
with her foot again.

‘Guess your topic for the flash essay is all set, huh? Mr Crowley practically passed you
already.’

‘Hmm?’ Aziraphale said, watching Crowley talking and laughing with the rest.
 She sighed. ‘Seriously, dude? Keep up that puppy love stare and you might actually vanish
the poor man’s pants by the power of horny alone.’

Aziraphale didn’t look away. ‘Pants as in trousers or pants as in underwear?’

‘…Yes.’

Chapter End Notes

So I did study Literature but not at college level + I can only guess how college/uni
Literature sessions are like = yes I am bullshitting my way through all the nerdy parts so
don't @ me lol

They are all building up to serving a singular smutty purpose anyway XD

The second and final part will be up soon, in a day or so at most! So stay tuned <3
 Chapter 2
Chapter Notes

I said I'd update this within a day and then life kicked my ass. What else is new >.>

But anyway, this fic is now done and I owe another shout-out to my beta Cham for
putting up with me and doing her magic on this second and final part <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Despite his admittedly strong opinions on the matter, Aziraphale was not doing his flash
essay on Why Mr Knightley is Obviously the Supreme Austen Man, Thank You Very Much .
Instead he spent a couple of days jotting down and striking out other possible topics in his
notebook. By Thursday, he had them whittled down to two.

Which would be more attention-grabbing, he wondered. Making a bold declaration about

why Persuasion ought to be considered Jane Austen’s greatest work, like he’d mentioned in
class? Or giving the spotlight to one of the more neglected side characters, namely Charlotte
Lucas and why her marrying Mr Collins was the smartest decision made by any one person in
all of Pride and Prejudice?

Perhaps he could just write both, he mused. Earn some extra credit with Mr Crowley, if he
was lucky.

‘You’re doing… what?’ exclaimed Anathema when they met up with Newt in the library on
Friday evening to work on their respective assignments. A student at another table shushed
her and she lowered her voice, ‘But why wouldn’t you just write the Knightley thing? You
already impressed Mr Crowley with that one.’

‘Exactly! So he won’t be as impressed when I submit the same thing again, just in a different
medium,’ Aziraphale whispered back.

‘OK…? I mean, one would think that the full marks practically guaranteed for your
Knightley rant would be the greatest incentive here, but OK.’

‘Wait, so you’re doing double the work for no reason?’ Newt asked, immersed in whatever
computer sciency thing he was doing on his tablet (it had crashed only three times in the past
hour; quite the improvement).

‘Triple, technically,’ Anathema sighed.

‘It’s manageable! And it’s not for no reason,’ Aziraphale hissed, looking up from editing the
conclusion of his Persuasion essay for the fifth time. ‘I obviously need to put in the work if I
am to—’
‘What, get sexy old Crowley-senpai to notice you?’ Anathema cackled loudly.

‘More like Crowley- sensei to be accurate,’ Newt grinned.

‘Heaven’s sake, keep it down!’ Aziraphale looked around wildly.

Thankfully there were no red-headed lecturers in sight. They were sat at one of the quieter
tables further back in the library, and at that time of night, only a handful of students were
still around; a few were glaring at a still chortling Anathema.

‘Relax, will you? He’s been gone for at least an hour.’

Aziraphale blinked rapidly. ‘Wait, I didn’t even know he was here.’

‘Yep. He was browsing one of the bookshelves behind you. Think the PhD is kicking his ass,
from the look of it.’

‘Ana…’

‘Hey, I didn’t wanna distract you from your work.’ She shrugged. ‘You were so absorbed in
making your essay aka love note practically perfect in every way to woo your way into
getting fucked.’

‘That was a terrible impression,’ Aziraphale deadpanned, ignoring the last of her words.
‘Please don’t do that ever again.’

‘Hey!’

‘It wasn’t very good, love,’ agreed Newt, still clicking away on his tablet.

‘I take it you don’t wanna get laid after our date tonight?’

Newt looked up. ‘Your Mary Poppins impression was practically perfect in every way, Ana.’

‘Dork,’ she chuckled fondly and kissed his cheek. Aziraphale rolled his eyes. ‘Speaking of
our date, we need to get going anyway if we want to beat the Friday rush to LaHa Tacos. I’m
starving and I don’t want to wait in line.’

Aziraphale vaguely waved goodbye when Anathema and Newt gathered their things and left,
with a reminder that the library would close soon. ‘Yes, I just need to clean up this bit and I’ll
head home too. Have fun.’

His mistake was opening the draft of his second flash essay after completing the first. His
intention was to only skim through the main points, but he soon found himself elaborating
here and there until, quite inevitably, he was entirely caught up in laying out why Charlotte
Lucas was the most level-headed character, who made the most sensible decisions, in the
entire novel.

He only tore himself away to look up a quote in his well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice.
That was when he noticed a green cloth pouch left on the table amongst his belongings.
Anathema’s, he recognised. Worried that she had forgotten something important, Aziraphale
rang her mobile.

‘What’s up?’ said Anathema on the third ring, her voice mixed with the sounds of clinking
cutlery and faint conversation. Already on her date, then.

‘You left behind something, dear.’ Aziraphale wedged his mobile phone between his ear and
shoulder so that he could tug open the pouch’s drawstrings. ‘I hope this doesn’t have your
student ID or bank ca—oh!’ He stopped quickly, cheeks pinking at the sight of the pouch’s
contents.

‘No, I have my wallet on me. Hang on, let me see what I… ah shit.’ She groaned. ‘It’s my
little green bag, right?’

‘Mm hmm.’

‘Well, fuck.’

‘What’s wrong?’ Aziraphale heard Newt ask in the background.

‘I forgot the condoms and lube in the library.’

‘Well, fuck,’ Newt echoed. ‘Is it too late to—?’

‘Yeah, it’s about to close. Hey, Azi, hold on to those for me, OK? Finding those boysenberry
rubbers wasn’t easy.’

‘Mm hmm,’ he repeated, trying to sound noncommittal. His cheeks were on fire.

‘Do we have any condoms left in the flat?’ Anathema returned to Newt.

‘Nope, we’re all out… I think we still have some lube in my room though.’

‘Great. So pegging is on the table for tonight, then?’

Aziraphale ripped the mobile away from his ear with a strangled sound, but before his thumb
could jab the end call button, a sad 1% battery flashed and the screen went black.

Well, at least he was spared the agony of learning even more unwanted details about his
friends’ sex lives. Seriously, that girl! No discretion whatsoever.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t packed his phone charger; not that it mattered, he should probably
get going before the library closed—

As if on cue, the entire place plunged into darkness, leaving Aziraphale blinking in the
orange-ish glow of the sparse emergency lights; barely enough to see anything by. Oh
goodness, what time was it, it couldn’t be that late surely!

He clicked open his laptop. 21:04 glared judgmentally at him from the bottom right of the
screen. The little Wi-Fi icon had also gone dark, the university’s free internet connection
switched off for the night. There went his hope of sending a message for help through a
desktop app as well.

Darn, he really ought to have stuck to his original plan of editing that second essay
tomorrow!

‘Erm, Dr Michael?’ he dared to call out as he leapt to his feet and haphazardly began to stuff
his laptop and books in his bag. ‘Are you—are you still in here? Please wait for me!’

There was no answer. If anyone were still by the circulation desk, it was entirely likely they
couldn’t hear Aziraphale from this far within the well-stocked, and subsequently vast, library.
Damn it.

‘Dr Michael! Mr Sandalphon?’ Aziraphale tried again, leaving the student tables and
hurrying down the dark aisles as quickly as he dared.

He fumbled with his mobile, searching for the flashlight feature before he remembered.

‘Oh, bollocks—aaah!’ Aziraphale nearly screamed when he rounded yet another bookshelf in
what he thought was the general direction of the entrance, only to crash headlong into
something tall, thin, and sturdy enough to send him careening backwards.

There was the sound of a winded grunt. Something grabbed him by the wrist before
Aziraphale fell on his rear, tugging him forward until he was steady on his feet. He blinked
up at the shadowy figure, heart still racing in shock and fear. The dim light was just enough
to make out sharp, familiar features.

‘M—Mr Crowley!’

Light brown eyes, free of sunglasses in the relative darkness, squinted down at Aziraphale
with equal surprise. His mouth quirked up in a small grin. ‘Well, well, if it isn’t Mr
Knightley’s knight in tartan armour.’

Aziraphale flushed at the gentle tease, mind blanking as to a proper response. ‘Yes, hello, um,
Oscar Bumhole Wilde?’

As soon as the words left his mouth, he cringed to himself. Oh god, what was wrong with
him?

But Crowley was full on cackling, head thrown back and unselfconscious. ‘And I still stand
by that, I’ll have you know.’ His laughter died away slowly, and his expression sobered. ‘On
a more serious note… Please don’t tell me you’re also locked in here.’

‘Unfortunately, it seems I am, sir.’

Aziraphale’s gaze dropped to where his lecturer was still holding his wrist. Crowley made an
apologetic sound and let go. Oh, Aziraphale thought, disappointed. That had felt rather
nice…
With an exasperated sigh, Crowley adjusted the bag slung over his left shoulder and,
crooking a finger at Aziraphale to follow, started weaving his way through the labyrinth of
shelves again.

‘Typical. I bet it was good ol’ Doctor Michael who was on closing duty tonight. Because
everyone else, even that slimy Sandalphon, does their rounds before shutting everything
down. As they bloody well should. There’s always a chance some poor exhausted sod has
dozed off with their nose in a keyboard while dreaming of setting fire to their dissertation.
And then woke up to a dead library and an even deader phone.’

‘Oh no, it’s the same with my mobile as well,’ said Aziraphale sympathetically. ‘But you
really should rest more, sir. Teaching while researching must be taxing enough already.’

‘Aww no, you should’ve told me that before I made it my whole career,’ Crowley chuckled.
And then, ‘Oh shit,’ when they finally emerged onto the main seating area to find the
circulation desk unmanned and, further down the room, the glass doors closed with an
imposing length of chains locked around its handles on the outside.

Crowley stalked to the doors and shook them for good measure, cursing under his breath. The
chains rattled but the lock didn’t budge.

‘Fuck’s sake, that Michael.’ Heaving an annoyed sigh, Crowley turned back and threw
himself into one of the chairs, dropping his bag on the table. ‘You said your phone’s dead
too? Bloody brilliant. At this rate, we’ll be here ’till ten tomorrow. Or do they open at eleven
on the weekends? Eesh. You don’t think this place is haunted, do you?’ he added with a dry
laugh.

Aziraphale winced, not at the possibility of any paranormal activities but the even more
horrifying prospect of spending a whole night in a hardwood chair; the only feature he
disliked about the library. For all its prestige, Tadfield University did need to do something
about its lacking student comforts.

Crowley’s presence was sweetening the deal a whole lot, though. He approached the table
and, after a moment’s hesitation, boldly pulled out the chair right next to his lecturer’s.

Crowley was eyeing the doors again. ‘Hmm, wonder if old R.P. Tyler is on the night shift? If
luck’s on our side, we just might escape.’

Aziraphale didn’t particularly relish the thought of any interactions with the most
cantankerous janitor on campus. But if that was the only way to freedom…

‘So, what about you, Fell?’ Crowley interrupted his glum thoughts. ‘What was your ticket to
landing this cosy one night at the library deal? Fell asleep on a book too?’

‘Er, no, I was working on the flash essays for your class, actually! And well… I lost track of
time,’ Aziraphale admitted, a little shyly.

‘That invested in my silly little assignment?’ Crowley threw him an amused look. ‘Flatterer
as always, Fell.’
‘Oh no, your assignments are never silly, Mr Crowley! They’re thought-provoking and so
very exciting!’

‘Yeah?’ Crowley seemed a little taken aback by the open enthusiasm.

Aziraphale nodded earnestly. ‘Yes, they’re the best! And hence why I must put every little
effort into perfecting them.’

‘And not because you’re trying to woo your way into getting fucked by the sensei?’

The words were muttered under his breath, but in the dead silence of the library, Aziraphale
heard them like they’d been yelled right in his ear.

His breath caught in his throat audibly.

Crowley’s eyes widened. ‘Shit. I… shit.’

Aziraphale stared, jaw slack, as Crowley half stood from the chair, dropped back down, and
repeated it again. Somewhere between running away and trying to explain himself.

‘Shit, I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry, Fell, I shouldn’t have—!’

‘You heard us earlier,’ breathed Aziraphale, less a question and more a statement. ‘I didn’t
think you were there.’

A string of incoherent consonants was followed by an agitated, ‘I was on the other side of the
shelves near your table looking for the annotated Kubla Khan and—never mind, not
important. Point is, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. ’S just… Bookgirl’s voice carries, y’know?’

The heat in Aziraphale’s cheeks heightened, a touch of mortification colouring the utter
shock overtaking his whole body. Goddamn it, Anathema.

‘Anyway, I’m sorry, Fell. You should’ve never had to hear me say that,’ Crowley continued,
talking fast, his eyes flicking between Aziraphale and everywhere else.

Aziraphale would later blame it all on the sheer surreality of the moment, because before he
could stop himself, he was blurting out, almost desperately, ‘I’d be more than happy to hear it
again! Sir.’

It was Crowley’s turn to stare in speechless disbelief. Aziraphale resisted the urge to look
away from those piercing eyes, more golden than ever under the orange emergency lights.

‘Fucking hell. You’re serious.’

Aziraphale exhaled, nervously wringing his hands together. ‘Anathema, she… well, she’s not
wrong that I go the extra mile for your class at least partly because I… Well, I do like it when
you notice my work. Notice… me .’

Heavens, but he didn’t think admitting that out loud to the object of his affections would give
him such a rush. He pressed his palms to his hot cheeks, forcing himself to keep looking into
Crowley’s stunned eyes.

‘Unbelievable,’ mumbled the redhead, breaking eye contact. He snagged the zipper of his bag
between thumb and forefinger, tugging at it aimlessly. ‘As if a lovely thing like you has to do
much to get my attention anyway.’

Aziraphale gasped softly, and he was sure the sound of his galloping heart could be heard
across the library. ‘Mr Crowley…!’

Groaning, Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘’Nother thing I should’ve kept behind my
stupid mouth.’

‘You think I’m… lovely?’ The last word was barely a breath of air.

Dropping his hand to his lap, Crowley fixed him with a half-glare. ‘Between that angelic face
and witty brain, what’s not to like? Still, best if you forgot I said any of that.’

‘I… I don’t think I want to, sir.’

‘Fell…!’

‘Do you… do you want me, Mr Crowley?’ Aziraphale whispered in a rush, any and all filters
scattered to the winds.

‘Jesus hell.’

‘Because I want you. Obviously.’

In the unbearably long moment of silence that followed, with Crowley gaping at Aziraphale
as if he had manifested wings and a halo, Aziraphale made his choice. Regardless of what
came next, they were already past the point of no return anyway.

Placing a tentative hand on the other’s knee, Aziraphale leaned in. Slowly, questioningly,
giving enough time for Crowley to turn away, to say no.

He did neither.

With a soft moan, Aziraphale pressed his lips to the other man’s in a kiss he had been
dreaming of guiltily for the longest time.

‘Oh god…’

The kiss broke for the briefest moment, sweet and chaste, a quivering tension caught in the
shared breath between their parted lips. Then Aziraphale was pressing in again, eager, harder,
and so very, very hungry.

It was heaven. It was hell. Their lips parted and reacquainted with increasing fire, and the
way their mouths fit together so perfectly, the shivering strokes of tongues against each other,
curious and tasting and then boldly daring to claim—it was divine and sinful and everything
in between. Everything that had puppeteered Aziraphale’s hand inside his pyjama bottoms
each time he lay moaning into his pillow after dark. Everything that had fueled those
countless late night fantasies about red hair and golden eyes and playful grins more wicked
than satan himself.

‘Oh god!’ Aziraphale broke the kiss, out of breath, and realised he was the one who had
blasphemed. Both times. He was on the very edge of his chair, both hands braced on
Crowley’s knees now, just shy of fully crawling into the older man’s lap.

Crowley was just as out of breath, eyes wide and lips glistening with the evidence of their
not-at-all-innocent kisses. He had never looked more handsome in Aziraphale’s eyes.

‘Fucking hell,’ he muttered, and his voice was low and raspy. The sound of it alone was
enough to send a shiver dancing down Aziraphale’s spine. ‘That… that was…’

‘Yes,’ Aziraphale murmured, eyes drawn back to that wet, enticing mouth. He’d barely
gotten a taste but oh, that dexterous tongue…! A most addictive vice, one he already knew he
would be craving again night after night. As he stared, the tip of that sinful tongue poked out,
wetting the seam of Crowley’s lips; lips Aziraphale now knew were slightly chapped but still
soft and deliciously warm.

Now that he knew , knew all these… these things about his lecturer that had only existed
within the reach of dreams before, how was Aziraphale expected to stop wanting?
Impossible, he wasn’t that strong.

Crowley was finally speaking. ‘We shouldn’t be doing this.’ His voice was still husky and
had the barest quiver to it, betraying the underlying uncertainty in that statement.

‘I won’t tell if you won’t, sir,’ Aziraphale said breathily.

‘I… I’m your teacher, Fell.’

‘And I am an adult. Sir.’ Aziraphale looked up at Crowley from under his eyelashes, biting
his lower lip. ‘I know what I want. And now you know it too. Do with it what you will.’

Crowley swore obscenely. For a second, Aziraphale feared that he was putting an end to,
well, whatever this was. But then, to his surprised delight, Crowley’s hands were on his waist
—they hadn’t touched him at all during those kisses—and he was being bodily dragged to sit
astride the other’s lap in the hardback chair, his thick thighs bracketing slim hips and his
awakening erection pressed firmly against a flat abdomen.

‘Oh! Oh dear, I’m quite heavy—!’

‘None of that,’ Crowley said roughly and his fingers were on Aziraphale’s sides, squeezing at
his pudgy love handles. ‘’S bloody perfect.’

Before Aziraphale could react to that impossible proclamation, there were strong arms around
his back, pressing him flush to Crowley’s chest. Their lips met again, hot and ravenous.

‘Fuck me, I shouldn’t be doing this,’ Crowley mumbled between messy kisses to
Aziraphale’s eager mouth. ‘Can’t believe I’m actually doing this.’
‘I—! I can't either,’ Aziraphale gasped, eyes sliding shut as Crowley trailed his warm mouth
along his jawline, kissing and nipping. ‘I didn’t think you’d ever —!’

Crowley hummed into his neck, and the waft of hot air made the sensitive skin there tingle.
‘You really wanted this that badly? Wanted me ?’

With a frustrated whine, Aziraphale rocked his hips, rubbing his tented groin on Crowley.
The friction, although far from enough, was still delicious and it wrenched another throaty
moan from him.

‘I hope—ah!’ Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s neck, eyes fluttering when
hands dug into his arse and encouraged him to roll his hips again. ‘I hope you find… this
evidence… convincing?’

‘Fact that you can still string together a coherent sentence, Fell, I swear…!’

To his joy and smug satisfaction, Aziraphale was also beginning to feel the press of a similar
burgeoning length against his arse. He ground down on Crowley’s lap, swirling his hips in
quick, hard circles and nearly bursting with pride and arousal when he could feel Crowley’s
cock swell by the second.

‘Mmf, bloody fuck!’ Crowley’s hands found Aziraphale’s waist again. They gripped him
tight enough to surely leave bruises through his cardigan, guiding the younger man into a
sensual grinding rhythm.

Every rock of their hips together was rubbing Aziraphale’s erection on Crowley’s stomach.
And Crowley’s own, even within the confines of tight jeans, felt thrillingly huge as it dragged
over Aziraphale’s buttocks. It made his mouth water as he wondered what it would feel like
to be speared open on that cock, taking Crowley inside his body the way he had been secretly
fantasising for months.

‘Nghh, Fell…! You feel… so good, so—fucking good…!’

Crowley tipped his head back, panting heavily as they continued to hump wildly against each
other. The long arch of his throat was gorgeous, a light sheen of sweat glistening over the
bump of his Adam’s apple; it begged for Aziraphale to put his mouth there, lick the salt from
his skin.

Crowley made a guttural sound when he did, one that rumbled right into Aziraphale’s mouth.
‘Hells, you…! Might come from just this, jesus…’

Oh, that was—! As tantalising an outcome as that would be, Aziraphale didn’t want this to
end just like that, not when tonight might be the only chance he would ever get to…

‘Oh no, please, wait…’ Biting his lip, Aziraphale slowed down his movements. Crowley’s
grip on his hips tightened in protest, but Aziraphale slid off Crowley’s lap, letting his knees
hit the cool tiled floor. ‘I’ve always wanted to…please, let me…?’
‘Fffuck,’ Crowley breathed, gaping down with a mixture of disbelief and awe as Aziraphale
pushed his thighs apart to kneel between them.

Aziraphale’s fingers rested lightly on his leather belt, thumb sliding down to press on the fly
of his black jeans; the zipper already straining under the impressive bulge underneath.

‘May I?’

‘I…’ Looking at a complete loss for words, Crowley waved one hand vaguely in the air;
Aziraphale took it as permission.

With utmost care, he opened the leather belt looped around black jeans and worked down the
zip. Crowley lifted his hips without being prompted, allowing Aziraphale to pull down the
dark denim and boxers underneath.

‘Gosh…’

Aziraphale’s mouth watered as he eased Crowley out of his clothes. Nestled in a thatch of
dark red curls, his cock was so much bigger than it had seemed through his tight jeans.

Aziraphale wrapped his fingers around it, loving the hefty handful it made; the soft
smoothness of its skin a delicious juxtaposition to how hard the length of it was, the warm
flesh pulsing with blood. He stroked Crowley’s cock slowly, entranced by the way the
foreskin pulled back to reveal the shiny skin of its head. Drops of precome were already
beading at the slit, and Aziraphale couldn’t resist the pull to lean in and lick up each dribble
meticulously with his tongue.

‘Oh, hell!’

Fingers wound through his hair, sending stinging pain through his scalp. Aziraphale glanced
up to meet Crowley’s wild gaze, aflame with a level of arousal that stoked Aziraphale’s ego
like nothing else. Those beautiful eyes followed each flick of Aziraphale’s tongue as he
greedily licked at the delectable cock he had been wanking himself raw over for most of the
academic year.

Aziraphale let his lips fully cover the tip of Crowley’s cock and gave a searing suck, relishing
the salty bitterness of his precome. With a groan that sounded like approval, Crowley ran his
fingers through Aziraphale’s curls, the touch gentler than before but still firm; just a tad
demanding. Humming, Aziraphale began to bob his head, slow and careful at first, then
gradually picking up speed, pulling his lips over his teeth and pressing the flat of his tongue
to Crowley’s cock, drooling messily over the thick length.

Goodness, but was Crowley… big. Unexpectedly, deliciously big. His cock stretched
Aziraphale’s mouth in a manner he adored, and it was so long that he could barely take in
half. That didn’t stop him from sucking and licking at where he could reach, letting his hands
provide pleasure where his mouth couldn’t reach.

What a wonderful treat. It made him consider just how obscene he would look were he to be
impaled on Crowley’s cock. His arsehole throbbed and clenched around nothing as he
wondered how wide his sensitive rim would be stretched, pulled so very tight and snug
around Crowley thrusting furiously into him. He could just imagine the state of his wet hole
at the end, left gaping and flooded with come, abused to overstimulation after Crowley was
done using Aziraphale’s all too willing body for his pleasure; and still, Aziraphale would
welcome more—!

‘Oh, fuck me, please!’ The plea burst out of him desperately as he pulled off Crowley’s cock,
eyes watery and voice hoarse.

‘What?’ said Crowley breathlessly, expression dazed.

‘I can’t ignore it any longer! Please, please, I need you to fuck me,’ Aziraphale begged
helplessly, hands already fumbling with the buttons of his own trousers.

Crowley groaned, his chest heaving from how hard he was breathing. ‘Believe me, Fell, I
bloody want to. Have you right here and now. But it’s not… we don’t have any…’

‘Oh, um…’ Not even the throes of passion could entirely fend off his embarrassment while
he stood up, reached over to fumble inside his bag, and withdrew a small green pouch.

Crowley’s stare was incredulous when a veritable pile of condoms and packets of lubricant
were upended onto the table beside them.

‘Really? You just happen to carry these around everywhere? Tart.’

But his tone was light and teasing as he pulled Aziraphale close. With deft hands, he pushed
down his beige pants and cotton underwear, making a sound of approval when Aziraphale’s
short fat cock bounced free.

‘They belong to my friend! I’m just pilfering them,’ said Aziraphale with a blush, toeing off
his shoes to ease down his trousers and pants.

He only managed to free his right leg before Crowley’s arms were on his body again, tugging
Aziraphale back to straddle his lap. He gasped at the feeling of Crowley’s cock pressed
against his, hot and wet.

‘Pilfering, huh?’ Crowley was saying, snatching up one of the lube packets. ‘I’m sure,’ he
said with a smirk, then ripped open the packet with his teeth—the sight might have made
Aziraphale’s arsehole flutter with anticipation—and dribbled lube onto his fingers.

Aziraphale stopped his hand when Crowley reached into the cleft of his buttocks. ‘Wait, I
meant it! I don’t… I don’t do this with just anyone.’

The teasing expression turned to surprise. His brown eyes softened. ‘I believe you. Not that
I’d think there’s anything wrong with—’

‘I know.’ Aziraphale lowered his gaze, cheeks pink. ‘But I just want you to know that I…
you’re the only…’ he trailed off.

‘Gosh, Fell.’
Aziraphale was swept up in a sudden kiss, Crowley’s lips hungry and insistent against his. He
was urged to lift his hips and then a slick finger lightly swirled over his rim, teasing and
testing, and finally sliding inside.

Aziraphale sighed happily. It was hardly a stretch, but he was immensely glad to be rid of that
empty feeling.

‘Oh my, yes! Like that…’ He rocked onto Crowley’s finger, long and slender and so very
nimble while it fucked him open, ever so often teasing at his prostate. When a second lubed
digit probed at him, massaging the tight pucker of his rim, he shook his head. ‘No, I don’t
need much more. Please just fuck me now. Hard. Like you mean it.’

Crowley raised an eyebrow. ‘You sure?’ he asked, reaching to snag a condom from the pile.
He hesitated. ‘I’m sure you noticed, but I, er, I’m not… small. Not even average.’

The nonchalantly offered statement didn’t hide the hint of pride colouring his voice. With a
cock that impressive, Aziraphale could forgive the smugness though. Especially since he was
about to hoard every ounce of pleasure that was about to be pounded into him. He felt dizzy
just thinking about it.

‘Yes, I’m sure. You see, my… well…’ With a coy smile, Aziraphale got off Crowley’s lap,
and with a pointed glance over his shoulder, turned to bend over their table. Pulling his right
cheek aside to expose his needy hole invitingly, he murmured, ‘Let’s just say my body is
closely acquainted with my fingers and nice fat silicone. Very, very regularly.’ He paused.
‘Especially this semester.’

‘Nghh, you’ll be the death of me,’ hissed Crowley. Aziraphale heard him tearing open a
condom, then the slick sounds of Crowley lubing up his cock.

‘I certainly hope so, But only a little— aaaah! ’

Aziraphale’s shout of pure pleasure rang across the silent library, one that was wrung out of
him again and again as Crowley, just like he had been requested, pressed his cock between
lube-slicked plump cheeks and fucked in hard.

It was better than all of those late night fantasies, better than what he had imagined mere
minutes ago. His arse stretching open on the blunt head of that gorgeous cock toed the most
exquisite line between pleasure and pain, a moment of sweet torture drawn out until the scale
tipped over to full pleasure.

And the intimidating length of it too, oh, goodness! Never had Aziraphale felt a cock reach so
deep inside him, not even the beloved toys he’d fucked himself on to nasty thoughts of his
lecturer for the past several months. The feeling of sheer vulnerability, of being utterly owned
when Crowley shoved inside him in a single, knee-weakening slide was addictive. It was
everything Aziraphale didn't know he wanted.

‘Yes, yes, yes—!’ Aziraphale gasped into the polished wood of the tabletop, a helpless
mantra to the rhythm of Crowley fucking into him. His slicked arse squelched filthily with
each rough thrust, his hole drawn deliciously tight around that big cock.
‘Oohh, fuck… you… you’ve no idea how good you feel around me.’

Crowley’s hands were back on Aziraphale’s hips, squeezing hard enough to dig his nails into
his sides. The sting of it added unexpectedly to the pleasure, making Aziraphale gasp.

‘So damn hot and tight and wet. Such a perfect ars—’

Crowley shuddered loudly when Aziraphale playfully squeezed down as hard as he could
around him.

‘Oi, you little bastard,’ Crowley choked out, huffing out a laugh. His hand came striking
down on Aziraphale’s right buttock, the slap sharp but not painful. ‘Giving me cheek.
Literally,’ he added with a breathless chuckle and a smack to his other buttock.

Aziraphale might have protested that outrageous little pun. He might have even fallen harder
for his lecturer, the silly man. But then the hands gripping his waist tightened and he was
heaved back onto Crowley with the next thrust, over and over again until he was half-
screaming and quite sufficiently distracted by the cock currently milking his prostate.

‘This what you wanted, Fell?’ Crowley grunted, his voice raw with breathless lust. ‘For all
these months? Being fucked like this?’

‘Yes, yes!’ Aziraphale moaned. Their table was jostling with how hard Crowley was driving
into him, the sound of his hips against Aziraphale’s arse wet and obscene. Music to his ears.

‘When?’

‘What?’ Aziraphale opened his eyes.

‘When do you think about it? About bending over and presenting this plush arse for me?’
Crowley leaned over him, pressing his back to Aziraphale’s chest, his lips brushing the shell
of his ear. His thrusting slowed to a deep, hard grind, sliding over that sweet spot inside
Aziraphale in the most delicious way.

‘Answer me, Fell.’

Aziraphale hadn’t thought his face could get any hotter. Biting his lip, he whispered, ‘When
I… when I’m in bed…’

‘That’s all?’ There was a hint of teasing in his tone.

‘And, um, in the… shower.’

‘Those are obvious answers, Fell. But,’ Crowley wound an arm around Aziraphale’s middle
and, for the first time, touched him where he was hard and positively dripping by now.
Aziraphale cried out when warm fingers wrapped gently around the short, thick shape of him,
smearing the precome oozing from his slit over his aching cock. ‘But as you’re aware by now
—not a fan of obvious answers, me.’ He ground harder into him. ‘So tell me the truth.’

‘Here! In the library!’ Aziraphale blurted out. ‘Since I first saw you—ah!’
‘Yeah?’ Crowley grunted, his hand relentless on Aziraphale’s cock. ‘When was that?’

‘The start of the first semester… It has been a long time,’ Aziraphale admitted, whimpering
with pleasure.

‘Hells… You been watching me in the library since then? With your little fantasies?’

‘Y—yes!’

‘How very fitting that we’re here now, then,’ Crowley chuckled, nuzzling at the nape of
Aziraphale’s neck. ‘Where else?’

‘Oh, please, I need…’ Between Crowley’s cock grinding inside him and his hand stroking
Aziraphale, his orgasm was just on the brink, he was so close…

‘I asked you a question, Fell.’

‘In… in class—oh god!’ Aziraphale moaned, eyes rolling back when the constant pressure on
his prostate sent dizzying waves of pleasure through him. ‘Your lectures, they…!’

‘Mm, really? I’m standing in front of the class imparting knowledge and you’re sitting right
there, thinking about riding my dick the whole time?’ His hand sped up on Aziraphale.
‘Naughty thing.’

Aziraphale bit his lip. ‘Are you going to punish me?’

‘What…?’

‘Surely your naughty student deserves to be thoroughly punished for such depravity… Sir ?’

‘Fucking hell! You… you can’t just call me that when I’m balls deep—shit!’

Aziraphale’s eyes flew open when Crowley abruptly withdrew from him, the suddenness of it
leaving him shaken and bereft.

‘Pull up your clothes, quick,’ Crowley hissed urgently at him, already doing up the flies of
his jeans over his condom-covered cock.

Dazed, Aziraphale straightened shakily, about to demand what in the heavens Crowley
thought he was doing, abandoning him half-fucked and right on the edge of a glorious
orgasm.

Then he saw movement further off, just beyond the glass entrance doors. The shine of a
flashlight.

‘Fuck!’

Aziraphale whirled around, fumbling to stuff his right leg back in his pants and trousers while
Crowley swept the pile of lube and condom packets back into Aziraphale’s bag. He had
barely managed to cover himself up when the doors were thrown open and R.P. Tyler’s
dreaded voice shouted,

‘Who goes there?!’

Crowley, already looking presentable except for slightly mussed hair, shoved the bag into
Aziraphale’s arms and walked forward. ‘Tyler! The man of the hour, just who I wanted to
see!’

‘Is that you, Mr Crowley…?’ The shine of the flashlight swivelled between the approaching
lecturer and Aziraphale, who was still by the table, discreetly trying to smooth down his hair
and clothes. ‘What in the bleeding hells are you doing here, it’s gone past half ten!’

‘Eh, you know how it is. You doze off for a wee bit and some useless librarian locks you in.
We’ve been stuck here since nine, me and my…student here.’

Crowley glanced briefly at Aziraphale when the latter finally approached them, his bag held
strategically to hide the front of his trousers (although he didn’t have much to worry about;
there was nothing quite like R.P. Tyler’s presence to instantaneously vanish an erection).
There was no hiding how dishevelled his hair was, though. Aziraphale could only hope that
R.P. Tyler wasn’t paying close attention.

‘Anyway, thank the stars you’re here. I’d kiss you but, eh, don’t really wanna. Nor do you
want me to,’ Crowley added with a laugh when the janitor puffed up with a disgusted
expression.

Before Tyler could reply, Crowley was sweeping Aziraphale out the door.

‘C’mon, Fell, let’s go before we get locked up elsewhere.’

~***~

They didn’t speak as they left the main building and crossed the campus towards the car park.
It wasn’t strictly the direction Aziraphale had to go, but he didn’t know how to break the
silence or what else to do except follow Crowley.

Despite the unceremonious conclusion to their—to what had just happened in the library, the
immediate memory of it still made his cheeks flush and his heart race; although, as the
silence between them dragged, his nerves were starting to rear their ugly heads as well.

Aziraphale eyed his lecturer. It was dark enough outside that Crowley had not put his
sunglasses back on, but he couldn’t make out his expression. Blank, from what little
Aziraphale could see.

Was Crowley regretting what they had done already? Despite how passionately he had given
into Aziraphale’s advances, how blatantly he had enjoyed having Aziraphale?

Well, he thought despondently to himself. Considering what they technically were to each
other in the university…
Yes, most likely Crowley was beating himself up for their night of lustful… fraternisation.

Aziraphale wasn’t, though. Not one bit. Perhaps some might say that was wrong of him, but
there it was. He’d loved every moment, cherished the miracle of being with Anthony J.
Crowley in the way he had so longed for but hadn’t ever believed possible.

He couldn’t regret it.

Aziraphale slowed down when Crowley fished out his keys—how anything could fit inside
those jeans was beyond him; or at least, it used to be until Aziraphale had witnessed exactly
what could fit in those jeans just earlier—and approached a car. It was black and rather pretty,
Aziraphale supposed, but clearly vintage, seeming almost like an automotive museum piece.
He didn’t think people still drove cars like that.

‘Oi, don’t insult my car.’

He jumped slightly, looking from the car to Crowley who was wearing a wry grin.

‘I didn’t say anything,’ Aziraphale said quickly.

‘Your mouth didn’t. Your face did.’

‘Oh, well…’

‘Relax, I’m not pissed,’ Crowley chuckled, and in the wake of that tense silence, the sound of
it was a relief to hear. ‘I know she looks ancient, well, she is , but nothing can beat my
Bentley. She cruises like a dream, don’t you, darling?’

He caressed the bonnet of the car as he made his way to the driver’s door. Aziraphale was
incongruously reminded of how that hand had stroked him not a quarter of an hour ago and,
oh goodness, he was completely and utterly ruined, wasn’t he?

‘Hop in, then.’

Aziraphale blinked. ‘Pardon?’

Crowley gestured at the passenger door. ‘It’s late. I’ll give you a ride to… you’re not staying
at the university hall, are you?’

‘No, I, er, I share a flat with my friends.’

‘OK, give you a ride to your flat then.’

Aziraphale hesitated, wringing his hands together. ‘Oh, that’s… you don’t really have to, I
can take the bus or walk even.’

Crowley raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s how it is, huh? You fuck me, then ghost me?’

Aziraphale nearly choked on his own saliva, gaping at his lecturer with wide eyes.
Crowley snorted but it didn’t sound unkind. ‘Just get in and take the ride, Fell. Already took
one tonight, didn’t you?’

Before Aziraphale’s thunderstruck brain could come up with a reply, Crowley slid into the
driver’s seat, then leaned over and threw open the passenger door. He met Aziraphale’s stare
through the windshield, waiting.

Well, at least Crowley wasn’t not talking about what had happened that night, Aziraphale
thought as he clambered awkwardly into the Bentley. The vintage door opened in the
opposite direction than he was used to, and he fumbled with closing it.

‘So, where to?’

Aziraphale gave the directions and Crowley nodded. No sooner than the former had fastened
his seatbelt did Crowley peel out of the car park. Aziraphale gasped and gripped the
dashboard; he didn’t know if “cruising like a dream” was the most appropriate description,
but the Bentley’s speed was certainly much greater than he would’ve expected from such an
old car.

Crowley glanced at him. The car slowed marginally, still faster than Aziraphale was entirely
comfortable with but it didn’t feel like he was sitting in a death trap now. He smiled
appreciatively at his lecturer.

‘Thank you, Mr Crowley.’

‘Eh, for what?’ He shrugged.

‘For slowing down—’

Crowley made a sound of disgust, but his expression was light.

‘—and the ride home. It’s very nice of you.’

‘Don’t call me that, ruin my whole reputation, you will,’ Crowley said, baring his teeth a
little. After a moment, he added, ‘Like I said, it’s bloody late. I’d be a total knob to let you
walk.’

‘Exactly. Like I said, very nice of you, so thank you.’ Aziraphale smiled primly when
Crowley groaned in exasperation.

The next several seconds passed in silence. The tension wasn’t as thick as it had been earlier,
but there was a heaviness in the air; clinging to the way Crowley looked straight ahead and
gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. Aziraphale watched his side profile, drinking
in the high cheekbones, the strong jawline, the set of his mouth.

‘And for tonight. It was… unfathomably lovely.’

Crowley’s expression didn’t change, but the bright flush creeping up his cheeks made
Aziraphale’s heart flutter with tentative hope.
When his lecturer didn’t reply, Aziraphale pressed on softly, ‘I hope that tonight was good for
you… as good as it was for me.’ Although he could have done without that mortifyingly
unsatisfying coitus interruptus .

Crowley hummed, tapping a finger on the wheel. ‘It was. Good, I mean.’

‘Oh, I’m glad,’ sighed Aziraphale happily.

‘Bloody risky, too.’

And there it was. Aziraphale took a deep breath; he wanted to be as clear as possible about
this.

‘Mr Crowley, if you’d rather tonight remained a—a one-off, as they say, I shall, of course,
respect your wishes. But… it’s important to me that you know, without a doubt, just how
much I wish to know you more.’

There was that familiar quirked eyebrow. ‘Mm, you’ve already gotten to know me extremely
biblically there, Fell.’

Aziraphale appreciated the light-hearted attempt at humour, but it wasn’t what he wanted
right then.

‘That too, certainly. But I don’t mean just… that. I… I should like to get to know you.’

Crowley glanced at him then, a look heavy with contemplation and surprise. The red in his
cheeks darkened.

‘You know it’s frowned upon, right? And that is putting it lightly, like goddamned feather
lightly. My job is as your teacher and you’re—’

‘An adult; old enough to make my own decisions,’ Aziraphale said, interrupting gently. ‘And
regardless of being your student, I can’t imagine you doling out special treatment for
anyone.’

Crowley snorted then, mouth quivering like he was hiding a smile. ‘Damn right. Doesn’t
matter how many times you suck me off, if you don't turn in your essay first thing Monday
morning, then it’s a big fat zero for you, Mr Fell.’

Aziraphale giggled. ‘Exactly. So if you were to agree to us getting to know one another more,
well, it’s just a matter of keeping it quiet, isn’t it? No more cosy nights at the library, for
instance,’ he added with a playful pout.

‘Fell…’

‘And what’s more, unless I’m mistaken, your adjunct contract for this Lit course ends at the
end of this semester when Professor Dagon returns. And so, technically …’ Aziraphale fixed
Crowley with an imploring look. ‘In a few months, you wouldn’t be my teacher anyway.’ As
if Aziraphale wouldn’t want him even otherwise.
‘ Technically, I am your teacher now,’ Crowley pointed out, though the corners of his lips
were quirked up again.

‘As established earlier, I wont tell if you won't tell. Sir.’

‘Mm hmm, we’re here.’

Aziraphale looked round, taken aback, as the car pulled up to the curb and, yes indeed, they
were there. Silence returned as the car idled in front of the flat complex, Aziraphale looking
at Crowley and Crowley looking at his steering wheel.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. He might as well. ‘Would you… like to come up?’

His lecturer chuckled, a little dry. ‘Really, Fell? Just waltz into your room in front of all your
roommates? Very discreet, that.’

All right, well, he did have a point. And… it wasn’t a no, period. That… that was something,
surely, Aziraphale wondered as he undid the seatbelt and opened the door—oh darn it, how
did anyone get in or out of this Bentley when the door didn’t swing in the direction it should
—

‘Fell?’

Aziraphale paused in the middle of trying to close the door without accidentally slamming
the weird thing. He leaned down and peered in. ‘Yes?’

Crowley was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel again. ‘You know my office hours,
yes?’

‘Yes, sir…?’ Aziraphale repeated slowly. He’d had them memorised since the first day—was
that odd and liable to scaring off Crowley even more than—?

‘As you’re probably aware,’ Crowley interrupted his nervous train of thought, turning to
meet Aziraphale’s bewildered stare, his face a mask of seriousness, ‘I don't see anyone
outside of that. Ever. It’s the one work rule for myself that I don’t break.’

‘I see?’

‘But…’ Crowley’s blank mask cracked with a soft smile. ‘You’re not just anyone and I…
could be persuaded to make an exception for you. If, you know,’ he shrugged, ‘you needed to
come see me and rant about… the perfect Austen man. Or something.’ He paused
meaningfully. ‘No one would interrupt us.'

‘Oh.’ Aziraphale blinked. And then, jaw slackening when the implications of exactly what
Crowley was offering sank in: ‘Oh.’ He blinked a few times before breaking into a blushing
grin.

‘Oh, yes, yessir, d’you know, I… I believe I have, um, a lot of opinions to vent with regards
to the perfect Austen man. So… I might take up a lot of your time.’
 Crowley responded with a lopsided grin that made Aziraphale go weak at the knees, and
wasn’t that feeling all too familiar.

‘Well then, I’d be happy to hear them.’ He grinned, toothy and wolfish. ‘Good night, Fell.’

‘Good night,’ Aziraphale chirped. Then, ‘ Sir.’

It was a joy to see the blush on Crowley’s face before he pulled away from the pavement.
Aziraphale watched the Bentley drive off at a speed that was decidedly inadvisable. Speed
demon.

Gosh, he couldn't wait for Monday.

Chapter End Notes

The way I said "oh this will be only 4k words" when I started writing this fic and then
got kicked up the arse by that final wordcount >.> I should stop being surprised, this
happens every time.

If you made it through this nerdiest thing I have ever written, thank you for reading! I
hope you enjoyed it and would love to hear your thoughts!

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