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Invocation:
n. the act or process of petitioning for help or support
n. a form of possession
“Hey angel?”
“Yes, love?”
“I’d like you to bind me.”
Aziraphale didn’t even look up from his dessert. “I’m almost finished; I’d be happy to oblige as soon as we’re home.”
Crowley swallowed, distractedly tracing patterns on the tablecloth. “No, angel, I mean bind as in summon me, via ritual.”
This time, Aziraphale dropped his fork onto the plate with a clatter. Looking directly at Crowley, he scanned the demon’s face for any hint of hesitation. “Darling, are you absolutely sure? This is so much more than handcuffs or ropes.” He took Crowley’s hand in his on top of the table, squeezing it tight. “You will truly be at my mercy with no ability to free yourself.”
“Angel, if there is anyone I would trust to do this with, it’s you.”
Aziraphale smiled gently at him, blue eyes still holding a hint of concern. “Even so, we’re using a safeword just in case. If anything, at any point, doesn’t feel right to you, please use it.”
“Of course,” Crowley agreed, bringing Aziraphale’s hand to his mouth and lightly brushing his lips over the knuckles. He loved watching the way such a simple touch could send shivers down his husband’s spine. “Same one as last time?”
“Whatever you choose, though I really don’t know why you insist on using ‘ducks’.” Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Rhymes far too closely with a few other choice words you usually say when I have my cock in you.”
Crowley grinned. “Believe me, angel, unlike autocorrect, I will never mix those two up.”
“You fiend. Now, tell me what I’ll need to summon you and I’ll make sure I have the materials on hand. And as for when, shall we set a time or should I bind you without warning?”
Crowley felt a tug in his abdomen at the thought of being suddenly brought to heel at his angel’s whim. “The latter, definitely,” he hissed, fighting the sudden rush of lust the thought inspired.
“Wonderful.” Aziraphale picked up his fork and tucked back into his cake, eyes closing in sheer delight.
And just like that, the plan was made.
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The summoning itself came as a minor surprise. Despite being prepared for it to happen at any moment, the sudden change of location, even to a place as familiar as the backroom of the bookshop, threw him for a moment. Crowley dimly registered the pentagram he was standing on, binding runes scrawled around and through it, all encompassed by concentric outer rings of candles and salt.
Something felt distinctly off about himself. The quiet undercurrent of demonic magic that overlaid his human corporation had vanished; pointed claws threatened to slice his palms, and he could feel extended fangs pricking his bottom lip. Long red waves brushed against Crowley’s shoulder, and he suspected there was no white left in his eyes. The sense of reptilian wildness that accompanied his demonic form settled just underneath the surface of his thoughts, making his blood run hot in the warm room.
Additionally, he felt constrained. Compressed, as if his skin had suddenly shrunk a size while the rest of his body remained the same. A taut layer of power had settled over him, waiting for instructions.
The sharp spike of lust that struck Crowley at that realization made his vision blur.
“I hope this invocation hasn’t plucked you from anything important,” Aziraphale said from the shadows beyond the reach of candlelight, his expression neutral. Crowley loved this, his husband’s ability to don a mask of indifference and detachment that betrayed none of the love they shared. It was a masterful move, simultaneously causing a jab of doubt in Crowley’s heart and an immediate answering determination to do whatever it would take to make that mask slip.
“Not at all, angel,” Crowley drawled, adding just a hint of attitude to his tone. “What can I do you for?”
Aziraphale’s expression didn’t budge. “I can confirm it will be the other way around this evening.”
Crowley grinned, but the angel was having none of it.
“Now, if I understand correctly, I can command anything I want of you for a single task, correct?” he continued on, as detached as if he were doing his taxes.
“Thas’ correct.” Reptilian sibilance colored his speech. “Sso you should be very exact in what you assk of me.”
Aziraphale paused as if he hadn’t been turning this over in his mind for the past few days, letting his gaze hungrily roam Crowley’s black-clad body.
“I am going to fuck you, and you will not climax until I have taken my pleasure in full.”
The shudder of desire that ran down Crowley’s spine at those words was so strong he almost unfolded from his hip-jutted stance. Despite trying to play it cool, the evidence of the effect the angel was having on him was clear as day. Aziraphale noted it dispassionately.
“Remove your clothing and hand it to me.” A slight buzz of magic raced over Crowley’s skin at the command. Crowley smirked, snapping up a miracle to speed up the process. Immediately, it felt as if he'd passed his hand through electricity, as if the magic had gotten stuck at the tips of his fingers, and his stomach clenched in realization.
There was absolutely no way out of this if Aziraphale didn’t give the word. He’d known; that was the whole point of this exercise, wasn’t it? But the thought of being spellbound and the reality of it were two very, very different things. And the latter came edged with a silver tang of fear that Crowley fucking relished.
The angel raised an eyebrow as Crowley tried to regain his composure, pasting the smirk back on while he disrobed. As clawed fingers reached out to hand the jacket off, his fingers brushed against the invisible wall of the salt circle and were rejected, as if a field of energy pushed them backwards. Crowley tried again, pressing with more force this time, to no avail. He was completely trapped within its bounds, even under command.
Aziraphale stretched out an arm and took the jacket from him, the magical barrier nonexistent to its maker. With more care than Crowley had ever taken with his own clothes, he draped each subsequent garment over the back of a plush chair, until at last the demon had stripped himself of every item.
Crowley had been naked countless times around the angel, but this was different. Now, as the floorboards creaked beneath his bare feet and his cock stood red and leaking under blue-eyed scrutiny, he felt a depth of vulnerability that he hadn’t since standing in Hellfire.
Aziraphale stepped forward, still clothed as usual with the exception of shirtsleeves that had been rolled up to his elbows. Blonde hairs on the back of his hands caught the candlelight, shimmering in the dim room. “Come to the edge of the circle.”
Magical current snapped through him again. Crowley ignored it as he stepped forward, so close to the edge of the circle that he could feel soft tufts of heat from the candles on his ankles. Unblinking, Aziraphale captured Crowley’s gaze as he reached across the salt circle and began to languidly stroke the demon’s cock.
Crowley bit back a moan but couldn’t hide the involuntary gasp. His eyes fluttered shut as a strong hand firmly, but indifferently, continued to work him until his diaphragm was regularly hollowing out with the deep breaths Crowley had to take in order to remain on his feet. He tried once to reach out for Aziraphale, a force of habit, and was rejected by the magical barrier between them. Without a fistful of shirt or flesh to grasp, he was left standing alone, hands contracting with bursts of pleasure as the angel continued his ministrations.
Crowley could feel his testicals drawing up, readying for a release that wouldn’t - couldn’t happen, and his muscles went rigid with the tension of false expectation. The strangled sound that escaped him at this point wasn’t dignified, but it was honest, and Aziraphale took minor pity on him.
The angel stepped back into the shadows, leaving Crowley with equal parts relief and regret. He heard the rustle of fabric, and moments later, Aziraphale returned, fully nude. His expression may have remained impartial, but finally, Crowley could see the evidence that their proceedings were affecting the angel as much as they were him.
Crowley moved backward to allow Aziraphale room to cross the barrier, and then the blonde man placed one hand on Crowley’s shoulder and pressed down. “On your hands and knees.”
The power in that simple gesture was clear. Aziraphale had always been strong, but now - now it was interlaced with the compulsion of the binding. Crowley tried to disobey, attempting once more to fulfill his usual roll of the disobedient bratty bottom, but he physically couldn’t. It felt as if the enchantment was dragging him down, forcing him into position, like a gangly, demonic puppet. A very turned on gangly, demonic puppet.
It was the hottest thing Crowley had experienced. Ever.
Crowley maintained eye contact as he lowered himself down, watching for any hint of emotion on his lover’s face. He was given none.
He had never been on the floor of the bookshop without layers of plush carpets before. Within moments the sharp angles of his knees and palms against the hard surface began to hurt. He savored the ache as Aziraphale gave him his next commands.
“Spread your legs further apart.” Crowley didn’t move fast enough, so the binding did it for him, as if hands had pushed his thighs wide. Warm fingers gently traced up his cock, cupped his balls, and circled his hole before gently pressing in. Crowley hadn’t heard the pop of a cap for lube, yet suddenly he was slick, and the pressure gave way as well-adjusted muscles relaxed.
They had done this hundreds, maybe thousands of times at this point, and yet the feeling of being breached always sent jolts of desire down his spine.
Aziraphale took his time, methodically opening him up as if they had all the time in the world, as if Crowley wasn’t already desperate to be fucked through the floor. And then finally, finally, he felt the broad blunt head of the angel’s cock push against his entrance and inch by inch slide into the tight heat.
With measured strokes, Aziraphale began to move inside him. Every nerve ending sang as if his cock was a bow drawn across strings, the ripples of sensation flowing across Crowley’s skin and back again.
A shift, and suddenly a cock dragged against that spot, deep inside him. “Oh yes, just like that, angel-”
Immediately a hand clamped over Crowley’s mouth, pressing tight against his fangs. “None of that power bottom behavior tonight.” Aziraphale pulled out almost entirely, then slammed back into Crowley with such force that his elbows buckled. “Do you know how aggravating it is when you disobey me? When you put me in charge and then undermine my wishes and make demands as if you’re in the position of authority?” He continued the punishing rhythm, taking no notice of Crowley, who was frantically trying to find purchase with his hands so that he wasn’t shoved face first into the candles.
“Did you think that tonight, of all nights, in this situation, you were going to get away with that insubordination?” Another reproving thrust.
“No, tonight you are at my whim and will take what I give you.”
Crowley uttered a ragged curse, the heat in his belly spreading through his veins like wildfire. If his release hadn’t been magically subdued, he would have come right then.
The angel returned to his steady strokes, exhibiting a sense of control and stamina that soon lulled Crowley into a trance state. He lost sense of time, deliriously existing within pleasure and softly glowing flame, the sounds of flesh on flesh punctuated only by Crowley’s moans of bliss.
Eventually Crowley began to tremble, the force of the impending orgasm in him pushing hard against the binding, so much so that the human corporation was beginning to strain under the warring forces.
“Would you like to come, Crowley?” Finally, a light at the end of this tortuous tunnel.
“Yesyes please, fuck, Aziraphale, anything, angel-”
He could hold on, he could do this, he could feel the binding starting to stretch and thin as Aziraphale moved closer and closer to climax, just moments now, just-
And then he was empty.
Aziraphale had pulled out completely, and Crowley whimpered at the loss of sensation and the aborted climax he had been chasing. He dropped down, head on his folded arms, as his body mourned the stolen relief.
“Fucking HELL, Aziraphale!”
“Yes, I rather suppose I was.”
The sound that ripped from Crowley’s throat was animalistic, full of fury and defeat. The ache of disappointment was bone deep, and he couldn’t help the sob that fell from his lips.
There was a hand on his spine, his hip; a softly spoken demand and the enchantment rearranged his limbs so that he was on his back, vision full of white curls darkened with sweat and shadows flickering on the ceiling.
A delicate mouth captured his, so tenderly that it chased away the frustration and discomfort that had overwhelmed him just moments before. This was a raft in the open ocean, his lifeline home, and Crowley let himself be lulled with gentleness back to a sense of center.
Before long the kiss deepened, becoming darker, edged once more with dominance. The angel broke away, a crystalline ferocity in his eyes, as he positioned himself over Crowley and slid home with a forceful snap of his hips.
Sensations that had ebbed came rushing back with a vengeance. Crowley wrapped his legs around the angel, throwing his head back as Aziraphale thrust into him yes right there only for a strong hand to catch and cradle his skull before it smacked against the floor, and yet not once did he break his rhythm. Crowley’s hands scrabbled for purchase on the angel’s broad back, and he must have broken skin the way he was grasping with his claws, but when he looked into his husband’s eyes he found only pupils blown wide with lust.
Aziraphale shifted his weight onto one forearm and reached down between them to grasp Crowley’s cock, twisting and massaging in time with the movement of his hips. Crowley keened, a desperate, almost painful sound, as the sensation exploded through him and chafed against the boundaries of the binding.
“Not much longer, love,” Aziraphale panted, sweat dripping from his forehead. He tightened the hand in Crowley’s damp locks, pulling his head to the side so that he could lick a stripe up the long column of the demon’s neck. “But I’m not done with you yet.”
With that he sat back on his haunches, grabbed Crowley by the hips, and began pistoning into him at a rate that would leave them both raw the next day. But Crowley didn’t care - he didn’t care about the bruises he would find where thumbs pressed tight against his stomach, or the scratches on his shoulder blades where they rubbed against wooden planks. He was riding a wave of pure ecstasy, his muscles tight as the edge of his orgasm halved and halved and halved again into infinitely, and then finally, blessedly and yet too soon, he felt a stutter in Aziraphale’s hips and heard a long groan of pleasure as the angel crested his peak.
And at the top of that peak, the binding broke and Crowley shattered into a thousand pieces. The dam holding his orgasm back released all at once, just as the magical force pressing around him vanished and each sensation within him expanded to fill the extra space. The combined intensity of it all had him arcing off the floor so high that strong arms wrapped around him holding him up, holding him tight, as aftershocks continued to wrack his limbs.
Crowley didn’t know how long it took for his breathing to return to normal or his heart rate to decrease, but when they finally did, he found he’d landed safely within a soft, warm embrace, his head still tucked deep into a sweaty shoulder, fingers tracing lazy circles on his back as they patiently waited for him to return to earth.
He felt lips move against his hair, a low rumble of a voice travel through the plush chest he was pressed against. “Alright, my love?”
“That-” Crowley swallowed, his throat scratchy from the cries his angel had wrung from him. “That was absolutely incredible. We are definitely doing this again.”
Aziraphale let out a soft huff of laughter. “Anything else you’d like to explore before I break the salt circle?”
Crowley laughed, limp with exhaustion. “You have energy left for more?”
“Well, there is one thing I’d love to try.” Crowley arched an eyebrow as Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “I could make you say something nice to your plants.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.”