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Aziraphale blushed from his head down to his toes. It had taken him so long to admit this… desire to Crowley, and now it was at hand, he felt self-conscious about the whole thing.
"Right. Ah." He didn't know where to put his hands. He wasn't close enough to put them on Crowley; besides, he wasn't ready for that yet. He wasn't sure if he was ready for any of this, but slowing it down with another "you go too fast for me, Crowley" would be hurtful after all the effort she'd put in.
Not to mention everything they'd gone through to get to this point, to reach this place where nothing between them was forbidden or off-limits anymore. It was frightening to think there were no rules but those which they made themselves. Heaven's laws had been restrictive, but now he felt like a sailor without a map—rudderless on an ocean with only the star of his love for Crowley to guide him.
Crowley sat before him: Crowley as he'd never seen her before. Long, red curls tumbled about her shoulders. She wore a silk robe that lay partially open, exposing full breasts and teasing the shape of her flaccid cock resting on her thigh.
Aziraphale closed his eyes and counted to three before opening them again. Crowley smiled a lazy smirk and adjusted her position, the robe slipping off her thigh completely. Aziraphale's mouth was dry, and he was sure he'd forgotten to breathe. Not a problem, since he was still technically an angel. He thought about temptation and knew that if wanting Crowley was sin, he'd fallen, long, long ago.
Beyond angels and demons, this was a strange request even for a human. Aziraphale was aware. Crowley had seemed amused when he'd suggested it, but Crowley never mocked him for his eccentricities. Her yellow snake eyes had widened slightly as he'd stammered out his request, but Aziraphale wasn't entirely certain if his demon was aroused or just going along with it out of curiosity.
"It's all right," Crowley reassured him, and Aziraphale realized he'd averted his gaze. It was all so much. Crowley here, like this, for him…
Crowley patted the couch next to her. Aziraphale could sit down. That much he could manage. He took two measured strides over to the couch and sat at a respectful distance, knees together, hands on his thighs. He was still fully clothed, and if they continued at this pace, they might get to it by 2050.
"Lay down, angel," Crowley instructed. "Put your head in my lap."
It was easy to follow when Crowley gave instructions. He could focus on that and not his racing mind. He lay back on the couch, resting his head on the only part of Crowley's thigh that was still robed. The satin felt warm on the back of his neck. He tried not to think how close he was to… other parts.
He looked up and almost got poked in the eye by a nipple. He'd forgotten about those. Crowley's breasts were tantalizingly close, and beads of milk pooled on the end of her nipples. Desire pooled in his groin, and his body eased up slightly, moving of its own accord. He lifted his head and wrapped his lips around one of Crowley's nipples, suckling gently. Warm ambrosia trickled into his mouth, sweet and delicious, and he felt like he was trying food for the first time all over again.
Crowley threw her head back. "Oh, angel," she gasped. "Feels good." Her cock stirred against her thigh; Aziraphale could feel it growing turgid against the back of his neck. He continued to suckle, gratified but also terrified at Crowley's arousal.
"Ignore that," Crowley whispered, stroking Aziraphale's hair. "Be a good boy and drink up."
Aziraphale whimpered. His thoughts, always running at a mile a minute, had slowed to this single point of focus. Crowley cared for him, nurtured him, protected him; had always done so and always would. She had been there at the very first moment and would be there at the end of all Creation.
Some might have considered this almost incestuous, but Crowley wasn't his mother. That was God. Crowley was… the mother he'd grown up to marry, which was such a human stereotype for an awkward little man like himself. Gay or in love with his mother. For which he was both and neither at the same time. Perhaps that was why he was so ashamed of this particular desire because others would judge him if they knew he drank his partner's breastmilk while being reassured like a child.
He had never been a child, though. God did not provide breastmilk nor feed Her children from the teat. Aziraphale had been brought into the universe largely to fend for himself, a worker ant expected to obey his God but never to receive any comfort from her.
Unless Crowley was that comfort. He subscribed to the notion that Crowley existed for him, a soulmate of sorts, another half of himself God had provided to ease his anxiety and guide him in the world. He hoped he was the same for Crowley—that missing piece. One being split into two distinct entities. Yin and yang.
He opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was Crowley's gaze, taking him in with the same awe she'd held during the dawn of Creation. A tear leaked from the corner of Aziraphale's eye. Crowley thumbed it away and withdrew her nipple.
He was being punished.
"Crow—"
"Getting a bit sore, angel," Crowley admitted, feeding him her other breast. Aziraphale released contentment through his nose, his entire body relaxing as he supped on her warmth again. He'd never been so safe as he was now, long fingers caressing his scalp, warmth flowing into his body and pooling in his groin.
He didn't protest when Crowley unzipped his trousers and reached a hand into his briefs. He continued to suckle even as she ran fingers down his slit, pulling the foreskin of his tiny dick back with her thumb. He sucked harder, and the back of his neck was damp with warm slick leaking from her cock. He arched his back, reaching up into her hand, which was pulling him undone, his dick trapped between her index and middle finger as he stroked him slowly.
"Mm," Aziraphale moaned. Crowley pulled back, her nipple leaving his mouth with a slurp. Warm milk dripped onto his face, but her hand in his hair prevented him from leaning up to recapture her teat.
There was one more thing Aziraphale had requested, with his voice so high and tight it was barely audible, cheeks the colour of beetroot, blue gaze averted to the floor.
Crowley's smile changed from nurturing to wicked. She pulled him up by the hair, pressing his head into the space between her breasts and pressing them against his nose and mouth until there was no air to breathe. He didn't need air, of course, and there was no risk to it, but his body breathed as a habit, and struggled against the idea of not doing it. He bucked in her grip, trying to free himself but only grinding himself against her other hand, fucking up into the gap between her fingers. His protector was trying to kill him now; the worm had turned. He'd fallen for a demon's temptation and now found himself trapped. Milk dripped onto his shoulders, wasted as it ran down his back underneath his shirt. She would not feed him anymore; she resented the role, and would rather waste her ambrosia than let him have it.
He feigned struggle; he could have overpowered her in an instant, pinned her down, sucked her breasts dry. Other men would have subscribed to that version of the fantasy, but he was not other men, or really a man at all, strictly speaking. He had no desire to dominate Crowley. It was this sweet submission he craved, with Crowley, beautiful Crowley, allowing him pleasure and delight. It was always her permission he wanted.
"Come for me, angel," she whispered, and with one last buck of the hips upwards he came, squirting from his hole, his eyes rolling back in his head as Crowley stuffed his fingers inside and fucked him through it. He sounded so wet and decadent that he could hardly believe it was him and not somebody else but for the pleasure running through his veins.
He returned to Earth, slumping in Crowley's arms, gasping for breath he didn't need but had been denied nonetheless. Crowley moved him off her slightly and gripped her cock, pumping it furiously. Two strokes, and she gasped as she reached her crest, coating Aziraphale's face in thick, warm cum.
They said nothing for long moments. Crowley stroked Aziraphale's hair as he came down, and he latched onto that, grounding himself to avoid the rising discomfort of multiple types of rapidly cooling bodily fluids soaking his clothing. Crowley's cum thinned and started to dribble down his cheeks.
Vulnerable and uncomfortable, he started to cry.
"Shhh," Crowley soothed. She produced a warm, damp cloth from somewhere and wiped down his face. She pushed down his trousers and briefs to the point he could kick them off, and unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt, pulling them out from under him.
He was naked, and she dried him off with a towel. He felt so loved, so cared for, that he continued to sob. A hole in his spirit had been filled, and he was overwhelmed by it, that he could feel this way, that Crowley could make him feel this way. Like the universe was perfect, and this was all God's Ineffable Plan, except it wasn't ineffable now; it was crystal clear to him in all its perfect glory—
Crowley pushed a nipple past his lips as she soothed him. Thoughts floated upwards, the revelation he'd been about to have slipping away. It was too big for his mind now, anyway. Those things were for higher beings to deal with. He was just a baby in the grand scheme of things, sucking on the teat of life, drinking the sweet ambrosia of unconditional love.