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“Clit-osaurus? Hang on – are we talking about those giant lizard things that your boss drafted up as a joke? Are they still happening?” Crawly asked, his nose scrunched up with wariness. He scrutinised the diagram on the scroll; it certainly didn’t resemble any reptile he was familiar with – regardless, the last thing he needed was those ridiculous gargantuan things with giant stomping feet and insanely sharp teeth roaming the world. He had dominion over big reptiles around here, after all.
“No, no, clitoris — it’s the little fleshy protrusion at the apex of your vulva,” Aziraphale said with a laugh as he pointed at the anatomical drawings for emphasis, and Crawly tried to avoid the beacon of amusement sparkling in the angel’s eyes. Crawly had found that madness was the shade of quiet little rock pools and was as mercurial as the wide open sea. The demon knew he’d lose himself in the tides if he looked too long.
The presented illustration showed something akin to a blooming flower, all gentle botanical curves, frilled and flowing parts. Crawly was rather impressed at the diversity of blueprints from Heaven; the designs depicted on the scrolls were beautiful in their own organic way – there was a harmonious balance between form and function that he could objectively appreciate. But the way that Aziraphale’s thick finger lingered over the flushed swelling on the page made Crawly’s stomach start to jolt and squirm with want. Visions of that finger rubbing spirals over blossom-pink flesh, the sounds of murmuring praise whispered into the nectar-thick air – he could already taste the sticky sweet high on his tongue.
When Aziraphale spoke again, it was with a forced air of clinical detachment. The strain of it clashed with the delightful blush staining the angel’s cheeks and the heavy billowing of his sturdy chest. “Most will use the abbreviation — clit — to reference it… in time.”
His eyes flickered from the void-black of Crawly’s robed abdomen and back to his face restlessly, as if he wasn’t sure where it was polite to look. Crawly wondered what Aziraphale was able to read in his expression and whether it was appropriate to tell the angel that he could look wherever he pleased, for as long as he pleased. Not that he cared about acting appropriately – he was a demon – he just didn’t want to spook Aziraphale away. Crawly usually preferred to remain unobserved, slinking through the shadows to avoid being perceived by other beings… But those sterling-blue eyes had a way of raising goosebumps over the expanse of Crawly’s skin, stealing the air from his lungs and whipping up a vortex of hellfire in his ribcage – he was addicted to discovering new ways in which his corporation could react. He wanted to hoard every bit of knowledge he could, everything and anything he could find out about these biological marvels. If Crawly could decode his own pleasure, then he could do the same for Aziraphale. He wanted to be witness to every sound Aziraphale could make, every muscle that twitched and tightened. Crawly’s need was carnivorous, and there was something inside of him that knew the taste he’d had of the angel meant that nothing and no one could ever come close again.
Discussing these bodies and their possibilities usually affected them both, but Aziraphale seemed to prefer adopting a perfunctory tone until things got physical, as if he was doing his best to keep his composure until the inevitable indulgence. Crawly was beginning to read Aziraphale quite well between their lessons in human anatomy and quiet stargazing evenings together. He could read thoughts in the precise geography of the lines of the angel’s pre-aged face like his old star maps. He knew from experience that Heaven imposed ludicrous expectations, and Aziraphale probably felt like he was always falling short of them. He would blush and stammer when he felt the phantom weight of shame bearing down on his shoulders. Which was unjustified nonsense, really, because Aziraphale was good. Truly good, capital G Good. But in any case, Crawly liked that colour on the angel, a shade so delicate and pretty that it reminded him of the flower petals when they had arrived in Eden.
Crawly especially enjoyed that soft rosy hue when it was accompanied by the percussive beat of skin colliding with skin and the humidity of their euphonious panting breath coalescing with the thrumming heartbeat of life still residing within the flora. He was rather hoping that Aziraphale’s impromptu lecture would result in a thorough demonstration of his newfound knowledge. The angel was rather eager to impart his findings, after all.
Before their impromptu meeting, Crawly had been pottering about, silently lamenting the grove's skeletal trees and withered fruits littering the ground when Aziraphale had swooped down from the sky with bundles of scrolls in his arms. The angel had exploded with giddy enthusiasm over his Heavenly bounty, dragging Crawly over to a secluded clearing so that they could examine them.
So they had sat face-to-face on the dry ground with a selection of open scrolls laid between them, and Aziraphale set about naming each part of their respective biological models and their wonderful and weird functions. Crawly listened intently until the mention of his… clitoris. That tiny, combustible spot that blew his mind apart in the most beautifully savage way. Now Crawly was desperate to know how the angel could put theory into practice.
There was an opportunity here, and Crawly was not woolly-headed enough to let it pass them by. He adopted an exaggerated expression of confusion, frowning and looking in the direction of his own thighs. Having seen how excitable he had been so far, Crawly knew that the angel would relish the opportunity to further exhibit his expertise.
“Go on, show me.” Crawly slouched back and propped his elbows on the parched ground, spreading his legs with slow and deliberate movements. He watched Aziraphale carefully as he dragged his soot-black robe aside, letting it pool around his hips so that his inner thighs were exposed to the open air. He could already feel how lubricated his core was, slippery enough that he desperately wanted to slide his fingers down there, or better yet Aziraphale’s pretty, thick ones.
Aziraphale met his gaze with uncertainty for a long moment before the black centre bloomed dominant over the blue in his eyes. Crawly chalked himself up a hesitant win as he recognised the primal impulses starting to take root in the angel.
“I suppose it would be rather silly to rely on scroll and ink when we have the real thing right here,” Aziraphale said as he let out a shaky breath. The angel made a hasty gesture and the scrolls bundled themselves up into a neat pile under a nearby tree, allowing him to shuffle up close to the demon. Aziraphale hurriedly closed the gap between them until he was kneeling between Crawly’s slack knees – he was close enough to smell, close enough to touch. Crawly felt his heartbeat thunder between his legs, a palpable ache as he filled his lungs with the pine and citrus scent that clung to Aziraphale’s skin. Though the garden was slipping away into the desert, Aziraphale seemed to preserve the memory of it in his fragrance, and in the colour of his complexion. It lit sunflares in the depths of his flesh when he inhaled. Crawly hoped there was something of himself woven into the essence of Eden, so potent in the angel’s skin.
A dangerous flash of sentimentality burnt through Crawly’s chest at the thought. They shared a fleeting nervous look, the smokey heat between them tenuous as spider silk, incapable of bearing the weight of their enforced enmity. One wrong move, one wrong word, and they would be forced to confront their trespass.
Aziraphale puffed out a breath between pursed lips, and Crawly felt the gust stoke the low smouldering flames in the abyss of his gut. He wanted to know the precise feeling of those sharply arched lips against him, anywhere, everywhere.
“These are the labia majora or outer labia, colloquially known as the lips,” Aziraphale murmured while he traced a finger across the pliant flesh. Crawly suppressed a shiver at the barely there pressure; his eyes flickered from Aziraphale’s hooded eyes to the gentle sensation between his thighs. The angel’s finger grazed against the embellishing copper hair, his nail just slightly dragging against the skin in a way that had Crawly clenching his teeth against a moan.
“Oh? Why do they call them lips?” Crawly gasped, his voice tight with the weight of arousal setting deep into his bones. He was already so sensitive that the heat of Aziraphale’s fingers felt scorching. He wondered if the angel’s cock, as he had called it, was affected by the touch. Was it filling with the rush of urgent blood, firming up the silky skin so it was rigid enough to slide inside Crawly?
“You know, I’m not entirely sure. Let’s compare, shall we?” Aziraphale’s voice was quietly inquisitive, yet something dark stirred within it. Something sensual that had Crawly’s breath catching. Aziraphale gently parted Crawly’s labia with his thumb and index finger and inhaled shakily, betraying how aroused he was too.
Before Crawly could compose himself and offer any sort of rational or cavalier response, Aziraphale had slid further back to give himself the space to lean forward with his hands on each of Crawly’s taut thighs and pressed his lips against the labia. The pressure was light and concentrated like a raindrop in the river with rippling shockwaves, the sensation booming in intensity through the human shell he inhabited. Aziraphale exhaled through his nose, the rush of warm air fluttering through Crawly’s pubic hair, enhancing the intimacy of their proximity. Somehow having Aziraphale’s mouth in such a tender place was far more intense than their previous encounter. The vulnerability of such a position was simultaneously exhilarating and nerve-wracking. Aziraphale was a powerful angel, trained in combat and skilled enough to destroy Crawly without breaking a sweat. And Crawly had allowed him access to his fragile earthly form, to the most exposed core of his corporation.
But before any sort of anxiety or misplaced defensiveness could take root, Crawly’s mind went gloriously blank as Aziraphale darted his tongue past his lips and tentatively licked within. Crawly looked down in his delirium and twisted his fingers between the moonlight-blond curls without conscious thought. So soft, his mind whispered in its haze. He could vaguely hear himself gasping brokenly, choked by the onslaught of blinding pleasure that the angel was enthusiastically conjuring between his legs.
Seemingly emboldened by the demon’s breathless reaction, Aziraphale pressed further in, using his hands to keep Crawly open so that he was able to swipe his tongue through Crawly’s delicate flesh unhindered. Aziraphale hummed against his skin, a sound of satisfaction that betrayed his pleasure whilst he bestowed it upon the demon.
Crawly could scarcely blow out one breath in its entirety before he was rasping in the next. His chest heaved under the barrage of feelings coursing through his body, struggling to focus on any in particular. The demon’s heart rattled chaotically in its bone cage like a creature begging for freedom, and he cursed it silently, rather annoyed that he had just got the hang of his respiratory system and the angel always seemed to find a way to knock it off kilter. The layers of muscle nestled under the shallow depths of his skin contorted and tensed, forcing his serpentine limbs to ebb and flow against Aziraphale’s exquisite mouth.
He whimpered and howled as Aziraphale’s tongue fluttered over his aching clit, devoting attention to it with an eagerness that sang of mutual gratification. The hot, wet pressure seemed to churn the demon’s inky black insides until everything wanted to be outside. The air in his lungs evacuated with an exuberant bellow that rang through the trees like a gale-force wind sent by Satan Himself as the storm thrashing inside broke into a ferocious downpour. There was a trickle of liquid running down his thighs into the dried earth beneath his arse; whether it was his natural lubricant or Aziraphale’s saliva, Crawly did not know. Some niche in his mind not smothered by the angel’s mission to drown him in pleasure wondered whether the neglected earth would be nourished by the physical union of demonic, angelic, and human. Would the unholy trinity undo Crawly’s sin, and let Paradise be reborn?
Dangerous desires of impossible redemption were ripped from his head with a gut punch of a gasp when Aziraphale secured his lips around the rosebud clit and sucked. Crawly was blinded, writhing and panting. His gentle hold on the angel’s hair quickly morphed into clawing and tugging in the wilderness of his ecstasy. The muscles in Crawly’s legs and thighs pulled and strained as he tried to spread them wider, to give Aziraphale more of himself. As if hearing his thoughts, the angel tentatively pressed a finger inside Crawly, crooking it as he pressed and rubbed the front wall with single-minded intention.
The demon arched up into Aziraphale, moaning the angel’s name to an audience of spindly trees under an aquamarine sky. It wasn’t the first time Crawly had vented his lungs to the woody growth, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last.
A second finger was pushed inside him, steadily thrusting in and out as Aziraphale continued to suck and lick at the nectar of his inner flesh. The stroke of the angel’s tongue alternated between long, slow dragging movements and quick flickering focused on Crawly’s clit. The variation kept Crawly teetering on the edge, the tide pulling him further and further into the vast depths of unfathomable pleasure.
“Oh, ffff— Aziraphale,” Crawly cried, knowing he was approaching the precipice. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” he pleaded breathlessly, terrified of losing the thread winding his stomach into a frenzy. He chewed his lip, relishing in the dull sting almost drowned out by the angel’s mouth.
“Crawly.” Aziraphale’s groan was muffled against the demon’s tender flesh, nose pressed into the bright hair of his mound as he sucked again on Crawly’s clit. The demon struggled to keep grounded in his corporation, his celestial form aching to expand out to cope with the enormity of the sensation thrashing through his nerves. This fragile little human shell should not be able to handle something as vast.
There was an odd, fuzzy feeling that started in the tips of his toes and spread up the convulsing length of his legs until it was suddenly eclipsed by the rolling thunder of an earthquake that tore through every corner of his corporation. Crawly’s free hand clawed into the bone-dry earth, digging shallow ravines in his wild bucking. The world fell out of focus, the sight of the angel between his legs a blur of white as Crawly dove into the abyss of his orgasm. He felt himself clench around the angel’s fingers as he surrendered. His limbs locked, his spine contorted as the climax pulsed through him from head to toe. The waves of pleasure overwhelmed the demon as he rode them out, gasping like a fish out of water while he relived the cosmos coming alive behind his eyelids. Aziraphale kept him hovering right at the peak, fingers and tongue rocking along with Crawly’s jerking movements.
As quickly as it overcame him, Crawly’s orgasm dissipated, leaving him twitching and damp in a puddle of spent limbs. His bleary eyes sharpened as Aziraphale sat up, illuminated by the sparse sunlight. The rays eagerly sought the angel out in the shadows of their hideaway, drawn to the beacon of divinity and taking the opportunity to paint him in shades of gold. The light caught on the angel’s nose, lips and chin, decadently glazed in a way that reminded Crawly of Adam and Eve after the ripe apple had spilt its wrath-inciting juices down their perfect skin. How the demon had appreciated the advent of humanity and this little blue rock of a world for the first time. They were so beautiful and curious and Crawly could always appreciate curiosity. He wondered if that taste of forbidden fruit was worth their exile? The demon took in Aziraphale’s dark eyes, pink cheeks and otherworldly glow.
Yes.
Yes, a million times. As many stars as there are in the illimitable universe… Yes.
Crawly’s awareness came back to him in brown and decaying green splotches, the great canvas of blue sky obscured by the dying forest and the resplendent white and gold of the angel. He felt hollowed out and floaty, not quite settled in his skin as his eyes took their time to adjust to the assault of colour and sound around him. As the demon took stock, he distantly noted that several aches were polluting his corporation as the high wore off; his jaw was aching from its extended period of hanging open in a pleasured moan, his mouth as dry as the ground beneath his bare arse. Then he realised how sore his thighs were and how damp his skin was. But all of the discomfort barely registered when compared with the riot of hormones that still buzzed in every nerve. He could simply snap his fingers and refresh his body with a little infernal magic, but somehow he was hesitant to erase the evidence of his tryst with Aziraphale.
How could he possibly be so satisfied, so wrung out, and still want more? He wanted to do that to Aziraphale — was that even possible? They had different parts, after all…
Theoretically, it should be possible. Aziraphale responded to pressure and friction, just like Crawly did, so it stood to reason that Crawly would be able to use his mouth in a similar manner. There was only one way to know for certain.
“C’mere,” Crawly said, his vowels sounding looser than the muscles in his legs. Everything felt a bit wobbly and he would need to check later that they hadn’t inadvertently knocked the planet askew in their experiments.
“Pardon?” Aziraphale sat up on his haunches, observing Crawly’s sprawled form with a small frown of confusion.
The angel’s lips were plusher than usual, swollen and glossy with spit; the sight made Crawly’s skin rush hot, then cold. The evidence of their previous experiment was so easy to hide before – robes neatened and miracles cast – but Crawly could clearly see how he had slicked Aziraphale’s face, where he had rolled his hips into that unbearably talented tongue. It made his snake jaws slack and eager with hunger.
“Your turn. Lay down.”
Crawly suddenly found a reserve of energy and sprung up, pressing his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders in an effort to make the angel comply. His gut tugged wildly, aching to ruck up Aziraphale’s robe and make him squirm, make him lose all of that propriety. Crawly wanted to give Aziraphale enough pleasure to lose control of his lungs, call to the sky with a wordless voice of passion.
At Crawly’s insistence, Aziraphale laid in the lifeless grass, wide eyes watching as Crawly reared over him, fingers delicately pinching at the hem of his white woollen robe. Crawly slowly pulled the material up his legs. His legs were solid, a light scattering of pale hair catching the mottled sunlight that filtered through the balding frame of trees.
“I’m not sure –” Aziraphale croaked, eyes wide with something other than nerves.
“Hm? Not sure about what?” Crawly asked, immediately halting his attempt to undress the angel. He had no interest in continuing if Aziraphale wasn’t as invested in their experiments as Crawly was.
“I’m not sure there’s much to be done with – with my –” Aziraphale babbled, gesturing down at his groin with a nod. Considering the angel had just described the sexual organs and their functions in vivid detail, he was certainly lost for words now. It was utterly endearing.
“Why don’t you let me work something out and you lay back and relax?” Crawly soothed, masking his desperation in assurance.
Aziraphale met his eyes; there was a fog of uncertainty drifting in the soft lines accenting them that made Crawly’s insides twist with an unfamiliar emotion. The angel seemed to be searching for something within and beyond Crawly’s eyes – the piercing intensity in his gaze made Crawly feel more exposed than his half-naked form ever had.
He wondered what was hidden within his reptilian stare that made Aziraphale suddenly relax and smile. “Yes, all right.”
Crawly’s heart rioted in response to the curl of the angel’s lips, the organ pounding in his chest as he continued to pull the garment away from Aziraphale’s flexed thighs. Those thighs… Crawly felt a low squeezing sensation as he spread his long, nimble fingers over the expanse of them, coveting them, longing to sink his teeth into the yield of them.
The robe settled in messy pleats around Aziraphale’s stomach, the stark white of it cushioning the flushed hilt of his cock. It complimented the rest of Aziraphale’s opulent figure — broad and sturdy enough to satisfy Crawly’s apparent gluttonous desires.
Aziraphale’s chest heaved as Crawly moved closer, the swell of his cock quivering with every breath. Heat flowed through the demon’s palm as he curled his fingers over the soft flex of Aziraphale’s balls, gripping the base of the shaft and holding it steady. He could sense the frantic rush of the angel’s pulse thrumming under the pads of his fingers. Aziraphale gasped, thighs tensing and bouncing as Crawly twisted the tunnel of his fingers around him.
Crawly was ambushed by visions of straddling Aziraphale, rising over him and taking that tantalisingly firm flesh inside himself again, riding out that pleasure over and over and over until they were both quivering messes – just like the first time they did this. But they were supposed to be experimenting.
So Crawly bent over the peak of Aziraphale’s lap and pressed his lips to the glistening tip. He sampled the metal-salt tang of intimate flesh with a thumping groan vibrating through his chest. He let his tongue slip past his lips, swiping it over the reddened head and felt his stomach tumble with pleasure, savouring the moment before delirium took him.
There was something unbearably addictive about having the angel in such a state of vulnerability, writhing and panting beneath him, plummeting into the riptide of euphoria. It stirred something in the dark, unacknowledged corners of Crawly’s mind, urging him to take this as far as he could, to reduce the angel to a puddle of sensation. He swirled his tongue, letting his saliva trickle down the length of the angel’s shaft and then plunged his lips around the girth of it, humming in rapture. Aziraphale’s hips lifted into the embrace of Crawly’s mouth, startling him into widening his jaw and spluttering when the cockhead nudged at his throat unexpectedly.
“Ohh,” Aziraphale moaned, a lilt of celestial wonder woven into the tenor of his voice. The sound made Crawly’s inner thighs tighten and shake – how was he so affected by pleasure that wasn’t his own?
Crawly found himself mesmerised by the lax beauty of Aziraphale’s face as he dipped his head over the angel’s length. Aziraphale’s cheeks glowed nebula-pink, eyes snapped shut against the onslaught of stimulation, lips jammed open on an endless gasp. Every functioning cell in his body was desperate to study every moment of the angel’s bliss, but Crawly’s eyes defied his heart and fluttered closed, dedicating all of his focus to giving Aziraphale the glorious oblivion of an orgasm.
The skin was hot against Crawly’s lips — rigid, yet it slipped like water as he worked. His hand naturally followed the rhythm that his mouth had set, spreading the slick of saliva up and down, his tongue moving in tandem to bring the angel to beautiful madness.
Fingers scrabbled over Crawly’s scalp, the angel’s craving palpable as blunt nails inscribed hymns of his divine arousal into demonic skin. Some wild niche of Crawly’s mind wanted to be marked, to be claimed. It was an impossibility, he knew, yet it did not stop the wildfire spreading through his veins and erupting bumps over his flesh. It drove him on, sucking hard and savagely, feeling Aziraphale thrash and swell against his tongue
“Crawly, oh I — Crawly,” Aziraphale babbled into the sweet fermented air of the light-dappled copse. Birdsong fortified the angel’s cries as if commanded to amplify the lonely choir upon Earth, and Crawly felt frantic in his efforts to bring Aziraphale to his climax.
Aziraphale’s cock dragged against Crawly’s palate, nudging against the sensitive uvula, encouraging the flow of the angel’s briney pleasure to run down his ravenous throat. Intuitively, Crawly knew that Aziraphale was posed right on the brink, ready to topple as he trembled under the demon’s efforts. He wondered if Aziraphale felt his stomach drop like Crawly did, gravity claiming his body as his mind whited out and his ears rang in chimes of a musical spectrum only reached by ecstasy.
“Crawly,” Aziraphale gasped, a thread of panic woven into his voice as he pulled out of Crawly’s grasp. Less than a breath passed between them and the sticky sap of Aziraphale’s orgasm pulsed across his cheek, dripping through the molten curls that adorned Crawly’s shoulders.
Anointed.
Crawly let it trickle from his cheek onto his famished tongue; his lungs drawing in the steamy heat of late afternoon.
“That was –” Aziraphale wheezed between rapid, shallow breaths, “most exquisite.”
Rushing blood stormed through Crawly’s ears – exquisite wasn’t the word he would have chosen. Crawly felt like he had dove into the heart of a neutron star, like he had been remade for a third time in the shroud of purest robes, sweat, and the determined scattering of sunlight that beat down upon them. He collapsed to the side, melting into the embrace of the dusty earth, sticky with holy white.
How much longer was this paradise available to them? The sand of the desert was beating at the walls, the gates rusting, the trees dying. Crawly hadn’t yet received instruction from Below; he didn’t know what his success with Eve meant for his future on Earth. Where he would be sent next. Nor did he know if Aziraphale would remain in the garden much longer. He did know that he wanted to remain in this void of duty, of enmity for as long as they were able to. Perhaps the alliance of their physical bodies could hold steady the destructive force of nature which eroded the world around them. Something torn in half made new by their union, breathing life back into the encroaching wasteland.
Could he and Aziraphale fix the world before it crumbled away?