Archive of Our Own

Crowley was sure no one in all the nine hells would believe him, but he actually liked vanilla sex. Quite a lot. He’d had his fair share of more “exciting” sex, of course, as a dominatrix in pre-War Berlin. He’d even enjoyed it. It was what was expected of him. 

That was more or less what he had told Hell, when they came asking about that particular hobby. He was just encouraging humans to succumb to their pleasures of the flesh or whatever. He had sort of believed it himself. But looking back on it with a bit more clarity regarding morality, purity, heaven, hell, etc, he could see that what he was actually doing was making humans feel good. Because he liked it. Because he loved humans and he wanted to make them happy. 

It was still a difficult thought to swallow, but he didn’t feel the need to deny it anymore. He knew what he was: A shitty angel, but a much worse demon. 

Still, he’d gotten tired of doing what was expected of him. He’d gotten tired of being in charge. Of touching and never being touched. 

It wasn’t like that with Aziraphale. Aziraphale loved to touch Crowley, loved to take Crowley in his arms, praised him for the sounds and the faces he made while he was vulnerable. 

Yeah, the “normalcy” of the sex he was having with Aziraphale was definitely not the problem. That anyone at all saw him and wanted to touch him was unbelievable. That that someone was Aziraphale, the angel he had wanted since the Fall, was nothing short of a miracle. The sex wasn’t the problem for Crowley. He would be perfectly happy doing it for all eternity. 

The problem pertained to what Aziraphale wanted. In particular, it had to do with a certain look Aziraphale got in his eyes sometimes while he and Crowley were having sex. Crowley identified it as a sort of hunger. Like he didn’t want to “make love” anymore (as he so often called it). Like he wanted to fuck. Crowley wasn’t sure how else to think about it. 

Oh, but the look didn’t bother Crowley. Not at all. As much as he loved the tender sex, it was thrilling to see Aziraphale look at him like that, like he was the finest delicacy imaginable. Something he wanted to devour.

It was what came after the look that bothered Crowley. The look itself only ever lasted for a second, before it would be chased by a distinct look of fear. Then, like flipping a switch, Crowley would watch Aziraphale shake off the hunger and return to whatever he was doing. 

It was the fear that bothered Crowley. The hesitation. 

It bothered him because he wanted his angel to feel safe and comfortable all the time, obviously. Crowley could barely manage it when Aziraphale stubbed his toe, for fucks sake. 

But there was also the way Aziraphale’s fear made Crowley feel. All the things it reminded him of. The things that had frightened Aziraphale in the past, and all the scars that fear had left on the both of them. 

Crowley had seen this fear a hundred times, this particular restraint. It was the fear of being wrong, being bad, disobeying, the fear of falling, really, and of being defiled. He’d seen it in the garden, at the Globe theater, at meetings in the park, in the Bentley outside of the bookshop in SoHo. 

He had seen it in the moments before every rejection. Holy water, Alpha Centauri... 

It was the same fear that Crowley had seen when he pulled away from kissing Aziraphale for the first time. 

To put it lightly, it was a turn off. 

To put it less lightly, it made Crowley feel like Aziraphale was getting ready to spit out something devastating before disappearing. Again. 

It really wasn’t fair. Aziraphale had put in a whole lot of work to prove to Crowley that he really did love him and wouldn’t leave again, but when Crowley saw that fear, he braced himself. He couldn’t help it. It felt like shit. 

And Aziraphale was scared. 

So Crowley resolved to fix it. 

This was easier said than done, though, in particular because now that they were actually having sex, this whole train of thought was really the furthest thing from his mind. 

There were just lots more important things to think about. Like how soft Aziraphale’s hand was, moving up and down around his cock. And how the angel was kissing his neck, getting a little messier every second, all the while whispering sweet, sinful things in Crowley’s ear, calling him all sorts of names that made Crowley shiver. Darling. My love. Beautiful. All interspersed with smooth, deliberate strokes to Crowley’s cock and kisses on his neck, jawbone, temple, right on the snake tattoo where Aziraphale knew he was sensitive, Crowley, I can’t wait to see you come, you look so beautiful like this, for me, my sweet demon. 

Crowley really didn’t mind how the sex was going at all. He was all curled up in Aziraphale’s thick arms, pleasure rolling over him, letting Aziraphale make him feel loved, and maybe actually he wouldn’t say anything at all. It wasn’t as if Aziraphale didn’t like the sort of sex they were having now. Crowley was sure of that, they had both worked so hard for it. It was just that -- 

And then it happened. Aziraphale’s hand on Crowley’s arm tightened, ever so slightly, almost unconsciously, and pinched Crowley’s skin. And Crowley, feeling it, loving it, and looking Aziraphale in the eyes, let out a little whimper. 

Aziraphale’s eyes darkened, just a little, and his jaw clenched. Like he was salivating. 

Crowley watched his breathing change, coming more rapidly, and as always, in this first moment Crowley felt a surge of excitement. 

Then, Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrowed, and he quickly buried his face back in Crowley’s neck. All the while, his hand had kept moving deftly around Crowley’s cock, barely faltering for a second. 

Crowley’s nerves spiked. 

“Mm...angel,” he started. 

“Mm,” Aziraphale responded, running his tongue along Crowley’s jaw. 

Crowley took a shuddered breath. Focus. “Um, y’know that, like, fuck. ” Aziraphale had started swirling a wet thumb around the head of Crowley’s cock and it was fucking distracting. 

“Hng,” Crowley grunted articularly. “Um, I’m saying, um, y’know, right, that you could...well, you don’t have to...” 

One of Aziraphale’s hands had made it into Crowley’s hair and he was making little motions, right on the base of Crowley’s neck, where he held all his tension, and it was sending little tingling sensations all down his spine to accompany the pleasure radiating from his cock. 

“Mmmmmm ‘m saying that you don’t have to be so gentle with me,” Crowley got out, finally. 

Aziraphale’s hand stopped moving and Crowley pressed his lips together to keep from whining. 

Aziraphale lifted his head to look at Crowley. 

His lips were pursed in concern. “You don’t like it?” 

“No, no,” Crowley said. He was squirming a little now that Aziraphale’s touch was gone. “I mean, yes. Yes, I do like it, y’know I do. Lots and lots. Quite a bit, actually. I’m just saying that if you wanted, you could be...rougher. If you wanted.” 

Crowley couldn’t track the look in Aziraphale’s eyes, his face was almost blank. It made Crowley grip the sheets a little tighter, bracing for something. 

“I could never hurt you, Crowley,” he said quietly. 

“Right. ‘Course,” said Crowley. “Yep, absolutely. That’s settled then. Great.” 

Aziraphale resumed his motions, and Crowley tried to relax. 

For the next several days, Crowley tried to convince himself that he’d imagined the look all along. He knew he had some lingering paranoia and trust issues from the early stages of their relationship (if you can call 6000 years in “early”), so maybe Aziraphale was perfectly content, and Crowley was just looking for things to be worried about. 

They had sex a few more times as usual, with Crowley playing the pillow princess until his turn was up to take Aziraphale in his mouth, or his ass, or whatever else Crowley felt like manifesting that day. He tried not to look for the hunger, or for the subsequent panic. 

And he probably could have kept ignoring it, if not for the incident with the hair. 

The thing was that Crowley really, really enjoyed getting his hair pulled. It was half the reason he had ever grown his hair long in the first place, not that he could ever really find anyone to indulge him. But anyway, they had been lounging in the bookshop. Crowley was lying in Aziraphale’s lap, trying not to doze off while Aziraphale read him Wordsworth.

“‘Which with its steady cadence’,” Aziraphale was reciting, “‘tempering our human waywardness, composed my thoughts to more than infant softness, giving me, among the fretful dwellings of mankind, a knowledge, a dim earnest, of the calm that nature breathes among the hills and groves.’ Isn’t that lovely, Crowley?”

“The loveliest,” said Crowley, sleepily.

“It gets better,” Aziraphale continued. “‘When, having left his mountains, to the Towers of Cockermouth that beauteous River came’ -”

“Cockermouth,” said Crowley.

“I know dear, but listen,” Aziraphale said, and reached to turn the page. As he did so, the button of his sleeve caught in Crowley’s hair, and, far too excited by the verses of Wordsworth, Aziraphale didn’t notice and pulled harshly. Crowley, dozing off and a little horny thinking about Cockermouth, towers, and coming rivers, moaned. Just a little, in his defense. But before Crowley even really noticed what he’d done, Wordsworth’s Prelude had been thrown fully across the room and Aziraphale had pulled the button out of Crowley’s hair only to replace it with his fingers, pulling deliberately and with a strength that Crowley had never seen Aziraphale use. Within seconds, Aziraphale was straddling Crowley and using his hair to pull his head back so that he could kiss his exposed neck.

Crowley thought he might be dreaming. It felt so fucking good . There wasn’t a trace of the angel’s restraint left as he grinded his hips against Crowley, passionately sucking on his neck and pulling his fucking hair.  

Crowley reached out a hand to wrap around the back of Aziraphale’s neck and bucked his hips encouragingly. “Fuck, angel, yes, ” he hissed. 

And then it stopped. 

Aziraphale untangled his fingers from Crowley’s hair and rolled off the couch, falling to the ground with a thud. 

“Angel?” 

Aziraphale stood, and Crowley saw the terrible, unmistakable fear in his eyes. Looking exactly like someone had just asked him about his flaming sword. Looking like he’d just been kissed by a demon. 

Crowley’s hands went numb. 

“I’m so terribly sorry,” Aziraphale said, and left the bookshop. 

It took Crowley awhile to sit up. He could feel his hands shaking a little and he clenched them into fists, staring at the spot where Aziraphale had been standing. 

“What the fuck,” he whispered to himself. He felt a little storm of anger, embarrassment, and indignation brewing in his chest, but the reflex wasn’t quite strong enough to keep the dread from poking through. 

A voice began murmuring in the back of Crowley’s mind, familiar and buzzing. 

Well, it’s happened now, hasn’t it? Pretty stupid of you to think you could trust him, after everything. Pretty stupid of you to have ever trusted him, but you always have been a miserable excuse for a demon. A real demon would have protected himself. It’s your untameable, disgusting weakness that lets you get hurt like this. 

Crowley knew this feeling. He knew this voice. 

He had been living with Aziraphale for years now, but it barely amounted to a fraction of the six thousand years he had spent thinking thoughts like these, the six thousand years he and Aziraphale had spent exchanging biting words and pushing each other away. 

For six thousand years, it was a cosmically, divinely affirmed truth that they could not love each other. 

Such things don’t fade easily.

In moments like these, the bookshop began to feel like a church. The home that he and Aziraphale had built together became foreign. 

Crowley sat on the couch, hugging his knees and jerking his head around, looking everywhere for some hint that he was welcome here. Two dirty mugs on the table. His favorite blanket across the chair. A few of his plants hanging in the window. 

See? he thought. Fine. Everythings fine. It’s not like that anymore. You’re welcome here.  

But it was the same room. 

Crowley’s body held the memory of the tears on Aziraphale’s cheek dampening his own, knowing he should pull away and not being able to, the horror on his angel’s face, like Crowley had venom in his mouth. 

His love, the voice said, is consecrated. You have no place in it. 

The mugs, the plants, the blanket. 

Your love, your longing, is hellfire. He cannot withstand it for long.   

Crowley clenched his jaw. “Right,” he said aloud. “We’ll see about that.” 

The voice continued to whisper to him as he climbed the stairs to the flat above the bookshop, taking familiar jabs at every wound that Crowley had. Idiot. Pathetic, lovesick demon. Too fast. Too late. Unloveable and unforgivable, he doesn’t even like you. 

When Crowley reached the bedroom that he and Aziraphale shared, he promptly lowered himself down to floor level and reached under the bed. He pulled out a wooden chest. 

Carved into the top of the chest was a heart, and inside the heart, a snake with angel wings.

Crowley opened it, and pulled out the first thing that his hands touched. 

It was a first edition copy of Nixon’s Cheshire Prophecies. Crowley knew what the contents would be, but he opened it anyway. On the first page, (after signature from Mr. Nixon himself, of course) was a note in Aziraphale’s handwriting.

My dear Crowley, it read. As you well know, in your hands is one of the books that you saved during the Blitz in 1941. When you arrived in the Church to rescue me from the hands of those Nazi fiends, I was surprised, but only momentarily. You, selflessly and consistently rescuing me, had at that point become somewhat of a constant.

But after the bomb fell, and you revealed to me that you had saved my books, only then was I truly astonished. Not because you had done something so kind (again, this has always been characteristic of you), but because you had done something that demonstrated such a miraculous understanding of what mattered most to me. I had never before felt more seen. I knew then, as I do now, that I love you. I always shall.

Crowley stroked the spine of the book, and held it to his chest for a moment before placing it on the floor next to him. The next object that he grasped was a bullet, one that he knew had once been in the mouth of the Miraculous Mr. Fell. Attached to it was a little card, which read, again, My dear Crowley: You have always been the being that I trusted most in the universe. I hope one day to earn from you the trust and certainty that I felt when you aimed a rifle at my head.

Crowley laughed and tossed the bullet back in the box. All the objects in the chest were of a similar vein: An oyster shell. An Elizabethan coin. A red Phrygian cap. Receipts from the Ritz. And each had attached to them a label or inscription, explaining their significance.

When Aziraphale had first arrived back in Crowley’s life, when he returned to London after the great conflict between humanity and the celestial/occult forces, he came bearing this box. An archivist through and through, he had felt that the best way to show Crowley that he could trust him was to provide comprehensive, cataloged evidence of his love. When he had first received the box, Crowley had scoffed and refused to open it for several months. Now, it had its place living under their shared bed, just above the bookshop, where Crowley could fish it out whenever he needed.

The buzzing voice in his head was quieted. Lying, he’s lying, it whispered periodically, but it wasn’t able to drown out Aziraphale’s voice, coming from the chest, whispering, I love you. I love you. I love you.

Aziraphale didn’t return until later in the evening, which, admittedly, scared the shit out of Crowley. But he kept the bullet in his pocket as he went about his evening routine, and it quieted his anxieties. As the sun began to set, it occurred to Crowley that Aziraphale would want dinner when he came home. So he placed an order to the Indian place nearby (curry for the angel, and a few pieces of naan for himself) and began to pace the floor of the bookshop, chatting with his plants absentmindedly. 

He hadn’t been at it long when the door chimed, and Aziraphale walked in. Crowley stopped pacing and looked at him. He looked worried, which sent a little spark of fear through Crowley, but then he took a step forward and opened his arms, and Crowley realized he had misinterpreted the look. He wasn’t worried, he was apologetic. The two expressions looked similar on Aziraphale. 

Crowley strode over to him automatically and fell into Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley, and they stood in the doorway, holding each other, for almost a full minute. 

“So sorry for leaving, my love,” Aziraphale began, his voice muffled against Crowley’s hair. “I only needed some time to collect my thoughts. I rather...I rather startled myself.” 

Crowley nodded against his shoulder. “S’okay, angel.” 

Aziraphale stroked the back of his head. “I do hope I didn’t frighten you. You know that I love you.” 

“I ordered Indian,” Crowley responded, and Aziraphale laughed, his breath tickling Crowley’s neck. 

“Right-o,” Aziraphale said, stepping away from the embrace. “I suppose we’ll talk after we eat.” 

The food arrived miraculously quickly, and they ate in mostly comfortable, if slightly tense silence, while sharing a bottle of wine. Aziraphale had miracled some Velvet Underground to play on the radio, clearly the beginning of an apology. 

As they finished, Aziraphale dabbed the corners of his lips with his napkin and placed his hands on his thighs. This, Crowley knew, was his “we have business to address” posture. 

“Shall we go upstairs?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley nodded, and they made their way upstairs until they were both sat on their bed. 

Aziraphale’s eyes lingered on the open chest at the foot of the bed, biting his lips with a frustrated expression. 

“Oh, dear,” he muttered. 

“Angel, it’s alright,” Crowley said. “That’s what it’s here for.”

Aziraphale nodded before taking a breath and beginning to speak. 

“Yes, alright,” he began. “I couldn’t be more sorry for what happened this afternoon. I have been wracking my brain and I truly do not know what came over me. I can only assure you that it will not happen again.” 

Crowley nodded. “It scared me. But it’s alright now.” 

Aziraphale made an uncomfortable noise in his throat and he rubbed his forehead. “The fact that I allowed myself to do something like that, without even asking permission, appalls me.” 

Crowley squinted at Aziraphale. “Hang on, are you apologizing for...what’re you apologizing for?” 

Aziraphale blinked. “For hurting you, naturally, Crowley. For,” he cleared his throat, “shall we say, losing control in that way.” 

“Ohh,” said Crowley. “Oh, you’re being stupid.” 

“Crowley!” 

“Right, sorry, wrongly put,” Crowley amended. “You’re, uh...sorry, angel, I honestly can’t think of a better word.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Crowley ran a hand through his hair, trying not to get frustrated. But this was so typical, Aziraphale was always making assumptions about what Crowley wanted, which were rarely accurate, and never seemed to take into proper account what Aziraphale himself wanted. It was exhausting. 

“I don’t want you to be sorry for that,” he said, standing to pace. 

“You don’t think I should apologize?” 

Crowley groaned. “Of course you should apologize, Aziraphale, for leaving, you idiot, and scaring the shit out of me, and, honestly, while we’re on it, for not fucking me on the couch, but that’s really a separate issue and you’re of course free to fuck me at your discretion. But I am mad about it ‘cause what you did was fucking hot .” 

“Crowley, I...” Aziraphale was looking more flustered by the second. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“ Yes.You. Do.”  Crowley hissed. 

He regretted it immediately. Aziraphale seemed to shrink into his body. His eyes dropped to his hands, which he began rubbing together methodically. Crowley sensed how harsh his eyes must look and reached instinctively for a pair of glasses that he no longer kept on him. 

“I don’t,” Aziraphale whispered. 

His eyes were wide, fragile, and terrified. Not for the first time, Crowley wanted to storm out of the flat, take the elevator straight to heaven, and beat the shit out of some angels. He could see in Aziraphale’s eyes all the terrible things they had done to him. All the comforts and pleasures that were shamed for six thousand years while Aziraphale lived on earth, then withheld from him when he went “home” to heaven. All the ways they told him he was wrong. Crowley could almost feel venom pooling in his mouth, he wanted to strike. 

But that fight was over. What was left was Aziraphale, on the bed, still a little broken. 

Crowley knelt in front of Aziraphale and put his hands over his, steadying their worried motions. Aziraphale didn’t look at him, but Crowley leaned his chin against the angel’s thigh and gazed up at his face anyway. 

“You do,” he said again, gently this time. “Angel, you do. It’s okay.” 

“It’s not okay. It’s wrong.” 

Crowley sighed and climbed up onto the bed, gathering Aziraphale’s body into his arms. He felt a gratifying release of tension in Aziraphale’s limbs as he adjusted so that he was sat cross-legged against the headboard, with Aziraphale in his lap. The angel’s head dropped to rest on Crowley’s chest, and a little wave of love expanded from that spot through Crowley’s body. He swallowed. 

“Angel...” he started. He still struggled, often, with comforting. It just wasn’t something he had ever been asked to do. Rescuing, that he could do. And reasoning. In general, he was more of a demon of actions than of words. He was only really able to do the comfort thing when he was either really drunk, really sad, or both. 

“Um, one second,” he said, and miracled a bottle of wine into his hand. He unscrewed the lid, pulled out the cork with his teeth, and chugged a solid half of the bottle. 

Aziraphale didn’t question it. 

When Crowley had sufficiently manufactured the warm and fuzzies, he hugged Aziraphale tight to his chest and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. 

“S’just one of those things, angel, I think,” Crowley said. “That feels wrong, not ‘cuz it’s really wrong, but ‘cuz they hurt you. Up there. They told you all sorts of things that weren’t true about what was good and bad. An’ you know that angel, I know you do.” 

“But Crowley, this is different,” Aziraphale said. “It’s not them telling me that I ought not to eat sushi, or some nonsense about what can be sacrificed for the greater good. I want to hurt you. I’m afraid it isn’t the same.” 

Crowley nodded. “D’you know I used to be a dominatrix?” 

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes, dear, I saw the ads.” 

“Mm,” said Crowley. “People paid me money to hurt them. ‘Cuz it felt good. And I did it ‘cuz it felt good, to hurt them and know that they wanted it. Feels good. Good feeling, there. It’s, uh...s’one of those things that neither heaven or hell really understands. Why humans -- and us -- why, um...” 

Crowley had to think for a moment. 

“Why sometimes things that feel bad feel good also. Not very heaven-y and hell-y. The ‘both/and’ parts of living on earth. S’okay though. S’not for them, it’s for us.” 

Aziraphale was silent. 

“Look, ‘m not saying that I think you have to go full fifty-shades on me — although — well, but anyway, ‘m just saying that I want you to do what you want, ‘nd I think you want…a lil’ more…” Crowley gestured vaguely.

“You’re quite right, dear,” Aziraphale murmured.

“Never tire of hearing it, angel.”

“The fact of the matter is that I am interested in what you’re suggesting. And have been for quite some time, I believe. Only it hasn’t always been…quite clear to me what I was feeling.”

“Oh?”

Aziraphale nodded against his chest. “For a long time I thought it was simply anger towards you, some natural violence that came with our...celestial designations. Which bothered me as well. I felt such an intemperate urge towards you, and the only way I could classify it was anger. Or, in my tamer moments, annoyance. It was only when I began to understand the intricacies of living in a human body — which wasn’t really until the Hellenistic period, mind you — that I realized what the feelings actually were. And it…it truly frightened me, Crowley. I thought I would Fall right then.”

Crowley was trying extremely hard to listen to Aziraphale’s very real and very important anxieties, which meant not cycling through a montage of times throughout history that Crowley had wished Aziraphale would slam him against a wall. He was trying very hard not to think about how it was possible that in those moments Aziraphale might’ve been thinking the same thing. And how might that have gone? asked Crowley’s dick. Not now , said Crowley’s brain.

“And I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said. “Had I known you wanted it...”

Crowley groaned and let his head fall back against the wall. “‘Ziraphale, it’s not about what I want, it’s…right, I’m gonna say something but I need more wine.”

Aziraphale sighed and handed him the half empty bottle. Crowley finished it off.

“Someday we are going to have a conversation about your relationship to alcohol, Crowley.”

“We absolutely fucking will not,” Crowley said and hiccuped. “Right, so, s’not ‘bout me being disssssappointed ,” he said, drawing out the sibilance as he did when he was drunk. “S’about your eyes. Your face, I mean. When we’re fucking. An’ you…and you want somethin’. Scares you. Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Crowley nodded. “I love you, angel. An’ I trust you. An’ everything. But when you…when you get scared like that. An’ you keep yourself from having what you want, ‘cause you’re scared, it just…ummm…makes me feel like…you’re about to… forgive me.”

“Oh, Crowley, my love,” Aziraphale said, in the voice he always took on when they talked about this. One that was almost more guilt than words and sounded like it was being dragged out of his mouth with metal hooks. “I am so sorry. So sorry.”

Crowley’s eyes watered. “Jus’ hurts too much. To see you look like that. That’s all. Jus’ want you to be ‘ziraphale. The bastard angel who’s apparently wanted to jump me for a few thousand years. Not the, um…not the Principality who… left. Want you.”

Aziraphale quickly shifted so that he was lying on Crowley, chest against chest, and wrapped his arms around Crowley’s neck. In a moment, his fingers were tangled in Crowley’s hair with a force that was reminiscent, but not identical to that afternoon, and he began laying kisses on Crowley’s face and neck. Tears started to leak a bit out of the corners of Crowley’s eyes and before he could self-consciously brush them away, Aziraphale was kissing them off his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, my dear boy,” Aziraphale said in his ear. “I’m sorry, I was scared.”

“I know, angel, I know, it’s okay --”

Aziraphale pressed his forehead against Crowley’s and put a finger over his lips. “Sometimes I don’t realize how much I want something until someone, that is, until you point it out to me. I...I go through the day and don’t realize my choices aren’t actually mine. That they’re coming from the millennium I spent trying to make myself want only what Heaven wanted. And when I’m afraid, it feels right. When I deny myself pleasure, out of fear, I feel like I am being good. I am sorry.” He removed his finger from Crowley’s lips, pausing momentarily to run a finger across Crowley’s bottom lip. The warmth that shot into Crowley’s stomach was so sharp that he unintentionally purged half the alcohol from his system. He was dizzy for a moment, and his eyes slid closed.

“All I ever want,” said Crowley, savoring this moment of comfortable clarity. “Is for you to do what you want.”

“Is that right?” Aziraphale whispered. He was close enough that Crowley could feel his breath on his face when he spoke, but he still didn’t anticipate the kiss. Aziraphale’s lips met his smoothly, and Crowley felt Aziraphale firmly grasp his chin between his thumb and forefinger. Aziraphale was still mostly lying on Crowley’s chest, but while kissing him, he shifted to be more upright, moving Crowley’s body with him until he was up against the bedframe with Aziraphale straddling his left thigh.

Crowley moaned into Aziraphale’s mouth, and at the sound Aziraphale moved his hands back from Crowley’s face, into his hair. Slowly, his fists tightened with light but decisive pull. It was barely any force but Crowley immediately let his head be pulled back until it smacked the headboard behind them and Crowley gasped.

Aziraphale pulled back. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he said a little nervously. “I mean, making you hit your head. The rest I did actually mean to do. Are you alright?”

“Yes. Yes,” Crowley said, still breathing heavily. “Yes, that was fine with me. Good. Feel free to, um, slam things into me -- I mean slam me into things -- um, as needed.” Aziraphale nodded and began to lean in for another kiss. “But, but ,” Crowley continued breathlessly, placing a hand on Aziraphale’s chest. “I didn’t mean to be saying that you should -- we don’t have to do this right now. We can wait, or --”

Aziraphale interrupted him by pushing his shoulders up against the bed frame and kissing him. Roughly. Sloppily. A little angrily.

“Mmmm,” Crowley sighed against Aziraphale’s mouth, and then, as Aziraphale actually bit down on Crowley’s lower lip, it turned into a gasp, followed by a whimper.

Aziraphale pulled away. “I’m doing what I want.”

“Well, fuck, don’t let me stop you, angel.”

Aziraphale’s mouth moved hungrily along Crowley’s jaw, periodically nipping at the skin until he reached Crowley’s neck. Crowley swallowed, hearing and feeling Aziraphale’s breath shudder against the skin of his neck. Aziraphale licked him from his collar to his jaw in one, firm, fluid motion of his tongue, and then released a breath he had been holding onto the wet spot, making Crowley shiver down to his toes.

“But, um,” Aziraphale said close to Crowley’s neck. “Is there anything you wouldn’t want me to do?”

Azirphale’s hands were untucking Crowley’s shirt from his waistband as he waited for a response.

“Doubt it,” said Crowley, arching his hips to give Aziraphale more room to manipulate his clothing. “I want you to -- fuck, ” he gasped as Aziraphale slid his cold hands under Crowley’s shirt, cupping the folds of his stomach. “I want you to feel free to do anything that comes to mind. I’ll tell you if you do something I don’t like.”

Aziraphale tilted his gaze so that he was looking into Crowley’s eyes, and Crowley was sure he saw a hint of anxiety. 

“But Crowley, that’s too much. I don’t...I don’t know how to start.” 

“Right.” Crowley nodded and ran a free hand through his hair. “Again, we don’t have to do this right now, angel. We can wait.” 

“I don’t want to wait.” In Aziraphale’s eyes, there was a flicker of hunger. Barely anything, but enough to make Crowley break into a grin. 

“Well, fantastic. Excellent. We’re in agreement. Okay.”

Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s cheek with his hand and tried to soften his voice as much as he could (which admittedly wasn’t that much, especially now that he was mostly sober). “Hair pulling, obviously, yes. Bondage, naturally. Spanking, yes. Scratching, yes. Slapping,” Crowley licked his lips. “Yes. What am I missing?”

Aziraphale murmured something under his breath.

“Speak up, angel.”

“Choking,” Aziraphale said a little louder, avoiding eye contact.

Crowley felt a rush of blood to his dick. He swallowed. “ Yes. But I’ll have to show you how. For anything else, let’s burn that bridge when we get to it.”

Aziraphale nodded. “This is...difficult.”

Crowley was still cupping Aziraphale’s cheek, but Aziraphale’s eyes were cast down, and his face was red. Crowley stroked his cheek, and Aziraphale’s hand rose up to clasp around Crowley’s wrist. Crowley could see that Aziraphale was trying to steady his breathing. Meanwhile, Crowley was going deep into his mind to try to access a well that he hadn’t pulled from in some time. Buried, somewhere, behind a door that he had only ever really opened to irrelevant, sexually repressed humans, was a fairly proficient seductress. It wasn’t an aspect of himself that he had ever been particularly inclined to show Aziraphale. Crowley preferred to seduce Aziraphale the old fashioned way: with 6000 years of odd favors and constant pining. But he felt, now, that Aziraphale would appreciate the little push. Crowley stretched his neck to one side, and exhaled.

“Aziraphale,” he said in a low voice, looping his finger behind Aziraphale’s bow-tie, and pulling. Aziraphale’s eyes snapped up. Crowley moistened his lips slowly, and, in a breath that was almost a hiss, whispered, “What do you want?”

Aziraphale’s hands were on Crowley’s chest immediately, shoving him back up against the headboard and letting his fingernails dig in around Crowley’s collarbone. Aziraphale was pressed up against him, stomach to stomach, staring at Crowley intensely. And there it was: that darkening in Aziraphale’s eyes. The anger. The hunger. And there was no fear.

Crowley smiled. “That’s it, angel.”

Aziraphale didn’t respond. He was busy rapidly unbuttoning Crowley’s shirt, and, quickly finding it tedious, he ripped the shirt open without hesitation. A couple buttons went flying, and neither Crowley or Aziraphale paid them any attention. Aziraphale roughly pulled the shirt down, off of Crowley’s shoulders, letting his nails drag along Crowley’s arms, leaving marks like stripes. When the shirt was at Crowley’s wrists, Aziraphale moved his hands to grab Crowley’s waist firmly before bringing his mouth down to Crowley’s shoulders. He alternated sucking and biting at the skin on Crowley’s shoulders, collarbone, and neck, leaving red spots and the beginning of bruises.

Crowley couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. It was all feeling, Aziraphale’s hands and nails against him, intermittent bursts of searing pain that shot straight through his body and registered wholly as elevated, piercing pleasure. He was sure he was making noises, fucking obscene ones at that, but all he was thinking about finding a sure spot on Aziraphale’s body to grip onto as the sensations pulsed through him. He landed on Aziraphale’s biceps, soft but girthy, and gripped them as tight as he could.

“Aziraphale,” he registered having gasped. It was a plea, definitely, but Crowley couldn’t tell you what for. Aziraphale’s nails were digging into Crowley’s hips, scratching along his back, and Crowley’s legs were kicking.

“Fuck. Fuck ,” he was saying, and just as it was starting to be too much, the pleasure reaching such peaks that it almost transformed back into pain, Aziraphale eased up, soothing the scratches into strokes, and the bites into kisses. Crowley caught his breath, panting.

“Okay?” said Aziraphale, running a hand gently through Crowley’s hair.

Crowley tried to respond, and what came out was something along the lines of, “Uhhhnnnnggg, mmmmm. Ummmm.”

Aziraphale let out a breathy laugh. “Oh, that’s very cute,” he said. “But I am going to need an answer.”

Crowley tried to slow his breath. “One sec,” he murmured. Aziraphale waited, twirling Crowley’s hair between his fingers, and Crowley became aware that he still had a death grip on Aziraphale’s biceps. He loosened his fingers a little, and opened his eyes, which he realized had been closed. Aziraphale was looking at him, still straddling Crowley with his face flushed, and in his eyes was the most breathtaking combination of adoration and ravenousness. Only at that moment did Crowley notice how uncomfortably hard his cock had gotten in his pants.

“Hello,” Aziraphale said with a little smile.

“Love you,” said Crowley.

“I positively adore you,” Aziraphale responded. “May I continue?”

“Yes,” Crowley said. “A little slower.”

Aziraphale smiled again, gently removing Crowley’s hands from his biceps and placing a kiss on his forehead. Aziraphale lifted himself off of Crowley’s lap so that he was kneeling over him, and, grasping Crowley’s hips, he pulled Crowley down until he was lying with his back on the bed. Crowley’s shirt was still around his wrists, and had gotten caught awkwardly underneath Crowley. Aziraphale tugged at the shirt, and Crowley arched his back so that Aziraphale could slide the shirt out from under him. Aziraphale paused in the moment before slipping the sleeves off of Crowley’s wrists. His arms were above his head.

“Hm,” Aziraphale said.

“Yes,” said Crowley.

“You don’t even know what I was thinking.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Yes, you should definitely, definitely use my shirt to tie my hands over my head.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips in disapproval. “Alright, fine, so you did know.”

Aziraphale busied himself looping the shirt around Crowley’s wrists in a messy knot, while Crowley pondered.

“Angel, far be it from me to be presumptuous, but I can't help but notice that you’re still fully clothed. Down to the tartan.”

Aziraphale paused. “Oh. I hadn’t noticed.” With a little wave of his hand, Aziraphale was immediately in a pair of tight, white briefs. Crowley glanced down Aziraphale’s body as he finished up the knot. It was always a pleasure to do so. He had spent a millenia trying to guess what Aziraphale looked like under all the layers he always seemed to have on. Who knows how many times he had stared, in particular, at Aziraphale’s chest and stomach and wondered about the folds one might find underneath. The reality was as perfect as a daydream. Aziraphale’s shoulders were slim but rounded, and his chest was accentuated with curls of light blond hair. Lower, the hair got a little darker as it curved around his stomach in swirls, ending, finally, with a little happy trail leading under the elastic of his waistband. Crowley watched Aziraphale’s stomach rise and fall as he pulled the final loop on the knot, and he started to regret the restraint immediately. He wanted to reach down and slide his hands along the folds in Aziraphale’s stomach, to slip his fingers under the elastic. Crowley bit the inside of his lip and tried to stay still.

Aziraphale slid his hands down Crowley’s exposed chest, straddling his hips, and Crowley didn’t even try to suppress the moan that came from feeling Aziraphale’s cock hardened against his. The thrill of that particular closeness never got old. They had made these bodies more human than any other demon or angel had dared to before them, and they had done it, consciously or unconsciously, for each other. So that eventually, even if it took six thousand years, they could touch and feel, as delicately and intensely as any mortal. Or at least that had been the case for Crowley. From the moment he saw Eve, in the darkness of the desert, brandishing Aziraphale’s sword, he had felt his body begin to shape itself with the angel’s touch in mind.

And it was hard not to imagine that Aziraphale at least felt something similar, the way his eyes had slid closed when their cocks touched through the fabric, the way his cheeks flushed. Crowley wanted to take a moment to savor the expression on Aziraphale’s face, but in a second Aziraphale had stopped his subtle grinding and flicked his eyes open to look at Crowley intensely. Crowley held his gaze, and with his eyes tried to assure him that he was exactly where he wanted to be. Aziraphale dragged a finger up Crowley’s chest, his neck, then his jaw, until he reached Crowley’s lips, which he touched gently, before sliding his thumb between them.

Crowley let his jaw fall slack, and closed his eyes while Aziraphale inserted two, then three fingers into Crowley’s mouth, which Crowley took until he gagged involuntarily, feeling Aziraphale’s fingers at the back of his throat. As Aziraphale removed his fingers, Crowley opened his eyes, panting, to be met with Aziraphale’s face as he hadn’t ever seen it before. His eyes were shining, his jaw was set, and his lips were almost set into a snarl. He looked like a truly living thing, something mortal. That was the only way Crowley could describe it. He looked as if there was a finite amount of time available to take what he wanted, and what he wanted, he needed in order to survive. Aziraphale dismounted suddenly to stand by the edge of the bed.

“Get up,” Aziraphale said. “Please,” he added, softening ever so slightly. “Would you?”

Crowley did his best to get upright with his wrists still bound together, until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking up at Aziraphale. “Aziraphale,” he said, and heard a strange kind of pride echoing in his voice. “There isn’t any need for the pleasantries, angel, if they don’t suit you. I like it -- want it -- either way.”

“Somehow they do,” Aziraphale responded. “Suit me, I mean. Get up. Now. I love you.”

Crowley laughed and stood. Suddenly a wooden chair appeared, one that Crowley had never seen in their room before, and Aziraphale started undoing the shirt tied around Crowley’s wrists.

“Setting me free so soon?” Crowley asked, eyeing the new piece of furniture. “Are we going to play musical chairs?”

“No,” Aziraphale said, pulling the knot loose and letting the shirt fall to the floor. “No, I -- don’t be ridiculous. I wanted -- I just wanted --” he broke off. Crowley watched indecision and doubt enter Aziraphale’s face and promptly dropped to his knees. He nuzzled against Aziraphale’s bulge before turning his gaze up at Aziraphale. He put on his seductress voice again, his tempting voice. He had been using it for so long to help show humans what they really wanted, and it was so pleasing to do the same for Aziraphale.

“You wanted what, angel?” he said softly. “Where would you have me?”

Aziraphale let out a little moan and raked his hand through Crowley’s hair. “Chair,” he said. “Tied to the chair. I want you there. You would look...”

He paused and Crowley flicked out his tongue along the outline of Aziraphale’s cock, over his briefs. Aziraphale continued in a sigh.

“So good,” he breathed. “You would look so perfect tied up to a chair.”

Crowley got to his feet and sat down in the chair slowly. “I can miracle some rope, what would you like?” He asked.

“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “I think I actually -- yes, I have some. From a magic set.”

“Oh, for Satan’s sake,” Crowley groaned.

“Don’t go getting cheeky with me now, dear, I’m about to have you tied to a chair.”

“Yes, and how I’m dreading it.”

Aziraphale clicked his tongue disapprovingly and, fishing out some tacky looking purple rope from a drawer, began binding Crowley’s hands and legs to the chair.

It was an awkward maneuver, with lots of “Would you mind...” and “Wait, I need to...” and “Will it work if I...” but by the end of it, Crowley was on the edge of the seat, with his ankles bound to each leg of the chair, and his wrists bound behind him.

Aziraphale stood up from where he had been crouching to finish a knot and looked down at Crowley.

“Oh,” he said and removed Crowley’s briefs with a snap of his fingers. And it was strange, because for all of his time spent in underground spaces, and the years he had now spent with Aziraphale, Crowley had never been quite so exposed. He looked up at Aziraphale, hoping to see some sign of approval there. Aziraphale met his eyes and smiled before bending down to put his head against Crowley’s.

“Alright, my dear?” he murmured, holding the back of Crowley’s neck.

“Um, yes,” Crowley responded. “I was just wondering...if you liked what you were seeing. If this is...what you wanted.”

Aziraphale smiled and straightened. His eyes were kind, but they were also burning, and his hands twitched, which was usually a sign that he was restraining himself.

“Yes,” Aziraphale breathed, and reached out a hand to touch Crowley’s cheek. “Yes, this is exactly what I wanted. You look exactly how I’ve...”

Crowley stared at him, and Aziraphale took a little gulp of air, steadying himself.

“Exactly how I’ve always imagined you’d look. If I ever got the chance to...that is, if you ever let me...” He trailed off, gazing at Crowley. Crowley felt a warmth spread from the top of his head, through his chest, and down to his toes. Aziraphale had imagined him like this. Fantasized about it, maybe. He wanted to see Crowley, bound like this, his body on full display, for him. Crowley felt his lips part as he looked up at his angel, standing over him nearly naked, and he swore he could feel the want coming from Aziraphale. And it was stunning, it was a bright, almost celestial light that filled Crowley when he realized that he had all the things that Aziraphale wanted, he was all the things that Aziraphale wanted, and that he could give himself up to him, right now, so easily, and Aziraphale would be satisfied.

“Anything,” he whispered, on an impulse. “Anything you want, angel, I’m yours, take it.”

Aziraphale raised a hand and slapped him hard across the face. And inside Crowley, something exploded like a firework, burst like a berry in his mouth, sweet and sharp. Without allowing even a second of distance, Aziraphale bended and grabbed Crowley’s jaw, turning his gaze towards him, though Crowley couldn’t seem to focus his eyes entirely. He stroked the raw part of Crowley’s cheek with his thumb and kissed him, slowly and gently on the lips.

“Alright, love?” He whispered into Crowley’s mouth. “Too hard? Too light?”

Crowley looked everywhere in his mind for the words to respond, but he could only seem to manage, “Please don’t stop. Perfect, you’re perfect, angel...”

Aziraphale kissed him again, on the mouth and then on the cheek, then moved down his neck to his chest, kissing and biting, until he was on his knees in front of Crowley, his head between his legs. Feeling Aziraphale’s breath on his crotch, Crowley shuddered. Aziraphale’s lips pulled into a smile and he bit the inside of Crowley’s thigh. Crowley gasped and bucked involuntarily against the restraints, which made Aziraphale press firm hands down on Crowley’s upper thighs, near his hips, to steady him. Aziraphale’s nails dug into Crowley’s skin.

“Try to be still, dear, though I don’t mind holding you down,” Aziraphale said in a whisper with his mouth pressed against Crowley’s skin.

“Yes, angel,” Crowley said automatically, obediently, and Aziraphale inhaled sharply.

“Say it again?”

Crowley smiled. “Yes, angel. You like that?”

But there was no response, as Aziraphale had suddenly gotten busy laying kisses up and down the shaft of Crowley’s dick, stroking it periodically and moaning, and soon he had taken the tip of it, then half the length into his mouth. Aziraphale had obviously sucked Crowley off before, and Crowley thought he knew what it was like. But this wasn’t the careful, practiced, extremely delicate and diligent blow jobs that Aziraphale had been giving him for the past couple of years. This was sloppy and needy, and Aziraphale moved his mouth around the shaft like he couldn’t get enough of it, moaning and drooling, like he was starving, scratching Crowley’s hips and thighs like he couldn’t get a good enough grip.

It was taking every ounce of Crowley’s extremely limited self-control to remember Aziraphale’s request that he keep still. He wanted to thrust into Aziraphale’s mouth, he wanted to break through the restraints and run his hands through Aziraphale’s hair, to kiss him and touch him. Instead, he gripped the sides of the chair where he was restrained and swore.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck. Fuck. ” Crowley said, in varying whispers, moans, and shouts. “Angel, fuck, angel,” Crowley suddently felt a tensing in his groin.

“Stopstopstopstopstop.”

Aziraphale pulled away immediately, his eyes passionate and dazed, sweat on his forehead, and a little bit of drool on his lip. Crowley felt like he might come just looking at him, and closed his eyes for a second.

“Alright, dear?” Aziraphale asked, wiping his mouth, and sitting back on his heels. “Too much? Want to stop?”

Crowley shook his head. “No, no definitely not. Definitely not that. Just was about to come.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, and beamed up at him. “You could, if you wanted. We have all the time in the world to try other things, it doesn’t have to all be tonight.”

Crowley smiled, remembering how terrible the word “eternity” used to sound to him. “No, don’t wanna. Not yet. You could --” he swallowed. “I could show you -- or explain to you -- how to choke me.”

Aziraphale nodded quickly. “Yes.”

“Okay. You’ll, uh, you’ll have to come closer.”

Aziraphale rose to his feet again, and in a single stride approached Crowley and straddled him on the chair, placing his hands firmly on Crowley’s shoulders. “Is this close enough?” he murmured.

Crowley’s head tilted back as their cocks pressed against each other again.

“Cheeky, angel,” he said, exhaling. “Yes, it’s plenty close. Why the fuck are you still wearing underwear?”

Aziraphale laughed and snapped his fingers, and they both gasped as their skin came suddenly in contact with each other.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, and started grinding against him, letting his head drop to Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley took the opportunity to do the only thing he could while restrained like this and started kissing Aziraphale’s neck and shoulders. He could taste the angel’s sweat in little beads as he kissed along Aziraphale’s round chin, sucking at the folds in his skin. The slightest bit of wetness was forming between them and Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s neck, moaning and grinding harder.

“D’you,” Crowley said between kisses. “D’you still want me to keep still?”

“Mmm,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head. “No, no, I...” he moaned again and shuddered, clearly distracted.

“Angel?”

“Sorry.” Aziraphale stopped grinding for a moment and it was all Crowley could do to not immediately pick up the motion himself. “No, I want to...um...”

Crowley kissed his cheek.

“I want to feel you struggling,” Aziraphale finished.

Crowley bucked his hips immediately and Aziraphale gasped and tangled his fingers in Crowley’s hair, thrusting against him forcefully. And Crowley struggled, as if he wanted to get away, as if there was any other place he would rather be. He could feel Aziraphale relishing in it, having the power to take exactly what he wanted from Crowley’s body.

“To choke me,” Crowley said between breaths, “You can just take one hand, flat on my chest --”

Aziraphale did so, still moving.

“Just like that. And use the thumb and forefinger to press right above my collarbones, on the soft spot.”

Aziraphale slid his hand up.

“Yes. And you just apply a little pressure, on either side of the neck. You don’t actually want to touch the windpipe, and, unfortunately, you do have to be a little gentle. Don’t want you to accidentally discorporate me. Easier than you might think.”

Aziraphale placed his hands in the correct position and Crowley nodded.

“Did you ever accidentally hurt someone?” Aziraphale asked, hesitating.

Crowley scoffed. “Please. I was a professional.”

Aziraphale withdrew his hand slightly. “I’m not.”

Crowley looked up at him. They had both seized their movement momentarily.

“I trust you, angel,” Crowley said simply. “You’ll do just fine.”

Aziraphale slid his hand back to the agreed upon position, but didn’t yet apply pressure.

“Wait,” he said suddenly, dismounting from Crowley awkwardly. “I want...I’m sorry, there’s so much I want, I’m feeling rather indecisive. Goodness, Crowley,” he continued, taking a step back. “You are so remarkably beautiful. But that’s rather off-topic, I...I want to try with you inside me. Before we finish tonight, I want...while you’re still there.”

Crowley grinned widely. “You want to ride me, angel? While I’m tied up?”

Aziraphale blushed fiercely, but didn’t break eye contact with Crowley. “Yes. And choke you. And slap you. And I’d like you to come inside me.”

Crowley was suddenly dizzy, and he had to close his eyes. Just the thought...Aziraphale on him, riding him, taking what he wanted from him.

Aziraphale was rambling while Crowley fantasized. “And I know we haven’t ever done it quite like that before, that is, I’ve always, um, lead the waltz as it were, and I still want to -- I want to still be -- oh, Lord, right, yes, I still want to be in charge, I just have never had you -- or anyone else, obviously -- inside me and I...” Crowley opened his eyes finally and saw Aziraphale nervous, but not afraid. Still here with him, not at all looking around for the exit.

“I want it. Very much,” Aziraphale finished. “If you don’t mind.”

Crowley bit his lip. “Angel, I wanted to be inside of you when I was a snake in the dirt. Before I had words for it. Before I had the body for it. I don’t mind. Would you like me to beg?”

Aziraphale laughed for a moment before pursing his lips. “Well, yes, actually. If you would.”

“Gladly. You do have to get ready first, though. I can help, but you’ll have to untie --”

Aziraphale shook his head, his face hardening. “No. You’ll stay there and watch.”

Crowley’s heart fluttered and his cock pulsed. “Right,” he whispered.

Aziraphale crossed the room and reached into the bedside table where they kept an extremely fancy bottle of lube. Aziraphale had chosen it, but had never (to Crowley’s knowledge) used it on himself. But when he laid down on the bed, dipped his fingers in the lube, and started working his fingers inside himself, something became clear to Crowley.

“You’ve done this before,” he said.

Aziraphale stopped and propped himself up on his elbows. “Um, yes.”

“Since when?”

“Um...since Greece? They always knew exactly what to do with olive oil, both in terms of culinary practices and...other practices. Clever humans.”

Crowley’s head fell back. “You have got to be fucking kidding me, angel. You’re so stupid, I would have done it for you. I was dying to. I kept inviting you to the gymnasiums.”

“ That’s why? I always wondered.”

“Angel, in that time period inviting someone to go wrestling was like sending a picture of your gaping asshole. And what about now? In the past couple of years? Why didn’t you ever...?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale looked embarrassed. “I don’t know. It was always something I did in private. And it always felt...needlessly self indulgent? I don’t know.”

“Fucking, is needlessly self indulgent, angel. So are crepes. Especially for us.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Well, I’m doing it now,” he said. “So please shut up, unless you want me to stop.”

Crowley smiled. “Yes, angel.”

Aziraphale let his eyes closed and leaned up against the headboard contendly, spreading his legs, and beginning to finger himself again. Crowley’s breath quickened as he watched. It was doing rather demonic things to him to see Aziraphale be so “self-indulgent,” as he had put it. He had tied Crowley to a chair, and told him that he had to watch while he fucked himself with his fingers. It was more than Crowley could have dreamed of. Well, that wasn’t really true, but a dream like this would definitely be on the raunchy end for Crowley. And Aziraphale looked so beautiful, bucking his hips rhythmically, his cheeks and his lips flushed, making soft little moaning noises, and not looking at Crowley but still, doing it for him. If Crowley’s hands had been free he was sure he wouldn’t be able to help touching himself. He wouldn’t be able to help touching Aziraphale either. He wanted it so badly, he wanted to make Aziraphale’s pleasure better, to feel the twitches and shakes of his body as he touched himself. Crowley realized he was unconsciously straining against the ropes, and felt his breath coming more and more quickly. He wanted . So bad.

 Aziraphale had inserted three fingers into himself when he finally opened his eyes and slowly removed his fingers, staring at Crowley.

“Now beg,” he said breathlessly.

It was like opening a dam. The pressure and longing that had been building in Crowley’s chest while he watched Aziraphale fuck himself spilled over and he didn’t even think about the words, didn’t even try to tame them a little for the angel’s sake.

“Please,” he said. “Please angel, please, I need you now. Please come use me to fuck yourself, I want to be your toy, really, please, however you want it angel, I need it. Please. Please, I need to be inside you, I need you to use me.”

It was by far the dirtiest thing either of them had ever said to one another and Aziraphale was across the room in an instant, straddling Crowley again and gripping his hair tightly, his breath wild and erratic, his eyes shining.

“Good lord, Crowley,” he said, raking his eyes all over his face. “How long have you been holding that in?”

“Six thousand years, you asshole,” Crowley responded breathlessly. “Please.”

Aziraphale nodded and lifted himself off the chair slightly before gently taking Crowley’s cock and guiding it towards his hole. He stroked it a few times first with his still lubed up hand, which made Crowley start to whine.

“Shh, darling,” Aziraphale said, and guided just the tip inside of himself. They gasped in unison, and Crowley couldn’t do anything but hold his breath and grip the seat as Aziraphale, slowly, agonizingly, lowered himself down onto Crowley.

“God,” Crowley heard himself say, unable to correct himself as he felt Aziraphale around him, tight and warm and radiant. “God, Aziraphale, oh, fuck.”

Aziraphale was letting out a long moan that seemed to be traveling the length of his body, and he went limp suddenly, falling against Crowley with his arms wrapped around his neck. Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s ragged breaths on his neck and he turned his head so that his cheek was against Aziraphale’s hair.

“Cro-owley,” Aziraphale murmured, the syllables seeming to break in his throat.

Crowley wasn’t sure how he could speak, but he managed, “Here, angel.” Then, after a moment. “Right here.”

Aziraphale pressed against Crowley’s shoulders to raise himself up again, gripping them tightly like he was afraid to fall. He had a new look in his eye, closer to wonder than fear, but uncertain and fragile nonetheless.

Crowley focused on not thrusting and looked up at Aziraphale.

 “S’good, angel,” he breathed. “Take what you want. I know you can. I’m all yours.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, and, digging his nails into Crowley’s shoulders, began to move up and down on Crowley’s cock.

Crowley thought he might discorporate. He could feel himself straining against the ropes, in earnest this time, he wanted to pull Aziraphale closer, he wanted to put his hands in his hair, to grab his ass, and the chafing on his wrists, the desperation burning through him made everything better, made every motion Aziraphale made feel like mercy.

And Aziraphale was speeding up, getting more confident, all the while letting out sighs that would turn into moans and grunts, and soon his hands started to migrate closer to that spot right above Crowley’s collarbone. He opened his eyes, and Crowley looked into them, trying to tell Aziraphale with his eyes that he was entirely at his mercy.

Aziraphale applied the slightest pressure, just enough for Crowley to feel it and start to squirm and gasp. Then, Aziraphale raised his other hand, and brought it down hard against Crowley’s cheek, and Crowely couldn’t help thrusting his hips to get deeper inside Aziraphale and he could hear himself whimpering, maybe yelping, he wasn’t sure if that noise was him. And Aziraphale didn’t remove his hand from Crowley’s cheek, but wrapped his thumb around Crowley’s jaw, squeezing tightly, and leaned down to shove his lips against his. Aziraphale was gasping, kissing him hungrily, his hands on Crowley’s neck and jaw the only thing keeping him upright, and all the while thrusting, harder and faster on Crowley’s cock, and Crowley felt so deliciously helpless, so entirely used, that he was sure he couldn’t last much longer.

“Angel, angel,” he said, trying to speak over Aziraphale’s lips, and Aziraphale just moved to bite Crowley’s neck to give him room to speak. “Angel, wait, I’m going to, please, fuck, if you keep going, I’m gonna --”

Aziraphale nodded and brought the hand that was holding Crowley’s jaw into his hair, clasping it in a tight fist. “I know,” he said, his voice still broken at each syllable. “I know, I want it, do it.” At this he pulled Crowley’s hair back, hard , harder than he had that afternoon, and his fist was so tangled that Crowley couldn’t move his neck, and this time he was sure he was yelping and that it might actually be closer to shouting or screaming, and Aziraphale’s cock was against his stomach, his ass wrapped around Crowley’s entire length. And as Crowley came, thrusting his hips up, thrusting his cock as deep as he could into Aziraphale, in that moment Aziraphale let go of his hair and his neck and gathered Crowley, bound, as close to his chest as he could, squeezing his legs around Crowley’s hips. And as Crowley came down, twitching and making incoherent noises, he became aware of Aziraphale whispering to him.

“Shh, that’s good darling, that’s good, you did very well for me, you’re very, very good.”

Crowley thought he might cry, but he just whimpered. After a few moments of twitching against Aziraphale’s chest through the aftershocks, he became aware of Aziraphale’s cock, still hard between them. Crowley pulled away.

“Untie me, angel? Please?” he said, aware of how small his voice sounded. “I want to suck you.”

Aziraphale stroked his hair. “Whatever you want.”

He snapped his fingers and the restraints fell, and Crowley, his legs shaking a little, stood and backed Aziraphale onto the bed, falling on top of him. He had nothing left in him for pageantry, he just wanted to take Aziraphale in his mouth and bring him to release. His  hands migrated to Aziraphale’s thighs as he slid down to his pelvis, and he stroked the lovely, human stretch marks there as he took Aziraphale’s cock in his mouth. Aziraphale shuddered slightly and put his hand in Crowley’s hair.

It only took a handful of strokes of Crowley’s mouth to bring Aziraphale over the edge, and he came in Crowley’s mouth, gasping lightly and holding onto the back of Crowley’s neck. Crowley swallowed the familiar heat, and nuzzled his head against Aziraphale’s softening cock. He wasn’t sure if he could move. Even if he could, he had no interest whatsoever in being anywhere but buried in Aziraphale’s crotch. But Aziraphale put his hands (always surprisingly strong) under Crowley’s arms and pulled him up until he lay on Aziraphale’s chest. They lay there for several minutes, catching their breath and caressing one another periodically. Eventually, Aziraphale broke the silence.

“I love you so dearly, Crowley,” he said. “I am so sorry that it took me this long to be honest about what I wanted. I’m so sorry that I scared you.”

“Well, I’m sorry that those fuckers up in heaven made you think you didn’t deserve everything that you want. You do deserve it, every last thing that you have ever wanted. I’m, uh,” Crowley cleared his throat. “I’m lucky that one of the things that you want is me.”

“My first want, my love, and the most enduring,” Aziraphale responded. “The one that pulled me out of heaven.”

They were both still for a few moments. Then Aziraphale spoke again.

 “I hope someday, Crowley, that you have so many good memories of me loving you that there is nothing left that reminds you of all the times I made you think that I didn’t.”

Crowley nestled into Aziraphale’s arms, limp and satisfied, ready to drift off to sleep there as he had every night for the past several years.

“I know, angel,” he said. “We’re well on our way.”