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go_exchange2012-12-24 06:52 pm
goe-mod.livejournal.com) wrote in go_exchange2012-12-24 06:52 pm
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interrobam!
Title: Shame
Recipient:interrobam
Author:aten_ra
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley; brief Succubus/Crowley
Author’s Notes: I love these two in the context of a D/s arrangement with Crowley subbing, so I jumped on this prompt. The humiliation kink itself was surprisingly difficult to write and the fic kept twisting out of my nice, neat outline to spawn multiple simultaneous drafts, but it was soooo much fun. I hope you enjoy it!
Summary: Demons are supposed to be shameless, dominant, and in control. Crowley’s never been a particularly good demon.
“You see, my dear boy, this is exactly what I mean.” The bloody angel actually looked disappointed as he gave Crowley’s crotch a little pat. “You can’t be expected to control your base urges.”
The light flush across Crowley’s cheeks deepened to a rather becoming shade of scarlet when Aziraphale so off-handedly acknowledged the erection that the demon was still trying to convince himself wasn’t there. Or, failing that (and he was, splendidly), convince himself that the cause was something else. Anything else. That wasn’t working very well, either.
“My control is fine,” he said, waspishly. “As you see, I am most certainly not jumping up to ravish you.” But he wanted to, and that was what was so damned infuriating about the whole thing. It wasn’t as though it would be the first time, or even the tenth, but he’d never — wasn’t supposed to — get so worked up over being spoken to like this.
“And you’re making such a good effort.” The words alone sounded like praise — or a double entendre — but the angel’s tone made them into something else. Something almost smug, with a smirk twisting the corner of his lips, his chin raised, and those blue eyes looking down the length of his nose.
Crowley’s prick throbbed at the picture Aziraphale made, and the demon shifted uncomfortably in his seat as twin waves of shame and arousal washed over him. They’d played games before that involved the angel scolding him for being true to his demonic nature, but they were light, playful things and Crowley was wholly unrepentant throughout, raising his arse a little higher and taunting Aziraphale to spank him harder. This all felt a little too real for his comfort, but part of him was protesting that things were finally real enough.
“Poor dear.” The words were breathed into his ear. “You’re even lower than the Fallen, aren’t you? A little snake playing at being a demon.”
Crowley’s breath caught in his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, blushing so hard he swore he could feel his pulse all across his skin.
How in the world had he gotten to this point?
***
After the Apocalypse-that-Couldn’t, things had gotten a bit muddled. They’d gotten a bit muddled, cut loose from their respective employers without a clue as to what happened next and left to fumble blindly toward some sense of normalcy. It had been only natural that each of them had gravitated toward the other, and while they couldn’t seem to make heads or tails of their separate lives, that stretch of middle ground where they overlapped seemed to make perfect sense.
Aziraphale had found his footing first. As much as Crowley shook his head in despair over the angel’s taste in, well, everything not related to food or drink, Aziraphale — dithering, book-hoarding, overly-helpful Aziraphale — had never been anyone other than who he was. The names and forms may have changed over the centuries, but he’d always been undeniably Aziraphale.
Crowley, on the other hand, had had an image to uphold, and he was not, he admitted, the person that he thought the human Anthony J. Crowley ought to be, or even the demon that he’d always been told he was supposed to be. Oh, he had taste and a certain style, but the attitude that he thought he should have, the cool confidence that he’d often thought would solidify if he didn’t have to deal with Downstairs, just wasn’t there. He was awkward and even a little shy — two words that he would never have chosen to describe himself, but there it was — and he didn’t have the foggiest where to go from there.
“It was all just like...part of a business suit,” he’d admitted to Aziraphale in a glum tone as he picked apart a biscuit from the tin on the angel’s kitchen table. “Now ‘m out of a job and they took back the whole kit.”
“My dear.” Aziraphale had reached across the table to pat Crowley’s long-fingered hand. “To continue with the metaphor, you just have to get used to your own clothes again.”
“I’m not sure I want them,” he’d muttered, and blinked when he’d felt the angel’s pudgy hand clasp his tightly.
“They suit you.” Aziraphale had smiled and drawn his unresisting hand up to his lips. “Ever so well.”
Anthony J. Crowley, flash bastard, would have given the angel a smile full of teeth and wicked promise. Crowley, accidental demon and godfather to an Antichrist, had flushed to the tips of his ears and traced those smiling lips with gentle uncertainty. At the look he’d received in return, he decided that maybe, just maybe, the flash bastard was overrated.
***
Things got easier from then on out. Though Crowley was still trying to figure out which pieces went where and which didn’t even fit, Aziraphale was apparently handy with Crowley-shaped puzzles. Crowley found himself ever-so-gently nudged toward this and that, and once he realized that Aziraphale wasn’t unduly disappointed when he decided that he actually didn’t like something, he started to enjoy the process.
The things that he’d done with the angel in the first place — dinner at the Ritz, feeding the ducks, getting fantastically drunk on expensive wine — all stayed on the list. He found reading with Aziraphale bored him, but watching the angel while he read was infinitely entertaining (though it tended to cut into Aziraphale’s reading time whenever he nibbled his lower lip just so at a passage). Manicures were lovely and relaxing, but the first pedicure he’d tried had made him embarrassingly giggly and now he had to watch himself if he ever propped his socked feet in Aziraphale’s lap. His pristine flat had even started grating on his nerves until he got rid of the showroom-style furniture and invested in some less stylish, but more comfortable, pieces.
“Dear, couldn’t you...?”
“No, angel.”
“But I thought as long as you were redecorating anyway….”
“Mark my words: there will never be a tartan sofa in my flat.”
Crowley pretended not to notice the tartan blanket that had mysteriously draped itself over one of his chairs.
***
Sex involved a good bit of experimentation and trial and error on both of their parts. Aziraphale had never found a reason to before, and Crowley had never done much direct tempting of that variety, preferring to just drop an idea here or there and watch people run with it. He usually felt ridiculous trying to seduce mortals. Sometimes he thought the reverse might feel more natural, but what kind of demon let a human seduce him? He’d never have heard the end of it.
Aziraphale seemed surprised at that. “Even from the succubae?”
Crowley lowered his head a touch just so Aziraphale could see him roll his eyes over the tops of his sunglasses. “Especially from the succubae. The rest might give you funny looks, but with that lot, well. Sex is their business, and they never pass up a chance to stick their nose into everyone else’s.” And how.
“Oh? Voice of experience?”
Crowley looked away as his face flooded with colour.
“Poor little serpent,” the succubus cooed. “All alone?”
“I wasn’t going to be.” Crowley sounded defensive, even to his own ears. “He was interested.”
“Interested?” she echoed. “In you? A practically virginal creature who barely knows what he wants?”
He squirmed internally, fighting to not do so visibly as she watched. Demons were not immune to succubae, and he felt her voice like a physical caress: silky fingers running down his spine, teasing the underside of his wrists, feathering up and down his cock.
Her smile grew and she slid closer, taking the drink from his hand and setting it on the bar. “You’re getting a better idea now, pet. Hold on to my voice. Everywhere you feel it—” She turned his hand over and hovered her fingers over the thin skin of his wrist. “—is where you like to be touched.”
Crowley swallowed hard as her voice kissed every sweet spot he had, and kept his eyes fixed on her fingers. His mouth had gone dry, and he couldn’t hear the quiet conversations or clinking of glassware for the blood pounding in his ears.
“Look at you,” she breathed in his ear, aura reined back in. Not that it helped much. “Caught more easily than any mortal, even knowing what I am. Imagine if one of the others is here, watching you. You have no pride, no control. The serpent of Eden, the one who tempted Eve and led her to sin, who came here tonight to lead another, finds himself so easily seduced.”
His face felt hot as the words sank in, and his prick strained against his trousers. He should push her away and leave. He could do that. He wasn’t immune, but he wasn’t a thrall, either. But he was so close. If she’d just touch him….
“Oh, no. It’s not my touch you want, pet.”
“I—”
“—ley? Crowley?”
The demon shook himself from the memory to see Aziraphale frowning at him with a look mild of concern. “Sssorry,” he mumbled. “My mind wandered.”
The angel’s brows rose at that, and a smile that wasn’t quite a smirk played across his lips. “Indeed. And where, might I ask, did it wander off to?”
Crowley realised then that his prick was achingly hard, and his sunglasses were in Aziraphale’s hand; he had managed to remove them without him noticing. Oh, bugger. He didn’t even want to know what kind of expressions he’d been making.
That smile grew a little more smirk-like and Aziraphale reached for his hand. “Should we take this conversation upstairs?” He rubbed the underside of Crowley’s wrist with his thumb.
Once.
Twice.
Crowley came in his pants.
“My dear, I know demons are held to a somewhat, ah, looser set of standards, but really.”
Crowley was sure he had something to say about that, but the twitch his cock gave at that moment was an effective distraction, and he squirmed, biting his lip instead.
“Oh.” Aziraphale’s lips curved into a wide smile. “Oh, I daresay I am going to enjoy finding you out, you old serpent.”
Crowley wasn’t sure whether the knot that coiled in his belly was dread or anticipation.
***
The next few months were educational for the both of them. Aziraphale had apparently assumed that whatever had captured Crowley’s attention when the subject of succubae came up had to do with kink. Crowley supposed he wasn’t entirely wrong, but the incident wasn’t one he cared to examine too closely, so he left it alone. Besides, he wanted to see what the angel would come up with. Thus far, he’d found that he rather enjoyed being tied up, but gagging made him edgy. Flogging and spanking were fun, but knife play was Right Out. Blindfolds were good for teasing and denial, but he started to panic if they were used with anything painful.
Aziraphale seemed to have fewer limits, but Crowley didn’t like pushing them. The first time he’d used a horsehair flogger on the angel, he’d called the scene about five minutes in and spent the rest of the afternoon curled up on the couch, wrapped in the tartan blanket while Aziraphale stroked his hair.
It was times like those that Crowley almost missed the flash bastard. He had to admit, though, he’d never really been him; it’d just been nice to be able to think he was. Still, he did have the occasional worry that Aziraphale might be put off by how readily he submitted in those scenes and how reluctant he was to play otherwise. Following the usual demon versus angel model, someone should end up submitting — who one felt ought to tended to differ according to whose side one was on — but there should at least be a struggle.
Crowley, however, felt too secure and relaxed at being at Aziraphale’s mercy to put up much of one, going practically boneless when the last restraint was secured. And Aziraphale fell into his role with such ease it often didn’t even occur to Crowley to fight him, though that didn’t stop the angel from getting creative in making sure he couldn’t.
“Oh, don’t you make a lovely picture?” Aziraphale murmured as he watched the demon, careful to not let his shoes scuff the circle he’d constructed to hold him.
Crowley, who was kneeling with thighs spread and arms secured behind his back, groaned and made helpless little thrusts into the only source of stimulation he’d been allowed: a miniature forest of feathers that had their quills stuck into a square of corkboard on the floor in front of him. It was, he admitted, one of Aziraphale’s most frustrating teases to date. He could hardly get enough friction, and some of the stiff, pointed feathers actually tickled against certain spots, making him twitch away and lose the ones that were aiding the excruciatingly slow buildup.
“Angel, please.”
“I’ll grant release when you achieve your own, my dear. Until then....” Aziraphale set a chair down a few feet away and settled into it, smiling indulgently as Crowley eyed his tented trousers with a hungry look. “I’m planning to enjoy the show.”
Crowley licked his lips. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take care of that first?” The noises Aziraphale made when Crowley gave head were nothing short of sinful, and he’d be ever so reluctant to put him back in the circle.
“I have a bit more control than that.” His chin lifted a touch higher, though the smile never left his face, only curling into something a bit sharper when Crowley bit his lip and made another little thrust.
Easy for the angel to say; nothing was touching him. But there were several cruelly soft things touching Crowley, and he began his faltering thrusts again despite himself. He’d hoped that Aziraphale’s choice of seat meant he might get a bit of a show as well to help him along, but despite his obvious arousal, Aziraphale seemed content to watch. He almost looked amused, the bastard, and the thought made Crowley’s pulse spike.
“Poor dear,” he cooed, propping an elbow on the arm of his chair to rest his chin on his hand. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
Crowley froze when the words registered, trying to fight down an extra surge of lust that accompanied the sting of indignation and embarrassment.
“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale chuckled. “There’s no sense in that. We both know you’ll give in; it’s in your nature, dear boy. Demon. Tempter. Seducer. Well, not so much the latter, I suppose, given your current position.”
The tone held a bit of a tease, but to Crowley, all that meant was that the inevitable was just a little further off. He couldn’t get away, couldn’t kiss Aziraphale to shut him up, and, as his hips were already twitching again, couldn’t prove him wrong. He could call red and make it all stop, but he didn’t want to do that, either. Crowley stared pleadingly at the angel with wide eyes so lust-blown that the pupils looked almost human.
“You know what you want and how to get there. Best get to it.”
Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and let his head drop. Oh, he knew. He wished he didn’t, but his current predicament made it rather hard to ignore and it being Aziraphale made it too hard to resist.
“That’s it, dear boy.” The angel’s voice sounded pleased, and some part of Crowley couldn’t help but feel glad at having pleased him. “You do this so beautifully, you know. It’s like you belong on your knees.” There was a pause. “No, lower than that. The Serpent should be on his belly. Perhaps I’ll get to show you off like this one day. What do you think of that? You could have an audience bear witness to your willing degradation. One of the succubae might even be in attendance....”
Crowley had tipped his head back after the bit of praise, allowing Aziraphale’s words to wash over him, whispering agreement in his mind. He might regret it later, but for the moment, he was burning with shame and lust and basking in the heat of his own blush.
His climax took him by surprise and he came with a sharp cry, slumping forward to catch his breath and take stock of himself while Aziraphale rose and came forward to do the same, breaking the circle around the demon. He hadn’t realised how close he was, and a sideways glance at the clock revealed that he’d taken far less time than he’d have expected.
“Just lovely,” Aziraphale murmured as he unbound Crowley’s arms. He began to massage a forearm, but Crowley pulled it away to wrap his arms around himself.
“Crowley?” He raised his chin a little with one hand and swiped a thumb over Crowley’s sharp cheekbones. Red or yellow?”
Crowley closed his eyes and leaned his head into the angel’s hand. “...red.”
***
A few moments later, he’d been cleaned up and helped into a pair of soft flannel pyjama pants and was leaning against Aziraphale on the sofa, the pair of them wrapped in the blanket.
Aziraphale pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. “I’m sorry if I misread you. Do you want to talk about it now or wait?”
Crowley sighed. He wanted to put it off, but he’d done that enough. “Don’t apologise; it’s on me this time.” He went quiet after that, trying to collect his thoughts. It probably would have helped, he reflected, if he’d ever bothered to really sit down and think about it.
Aziraphale didn’t press, though he must have wanted to. On Heaven’s payroll or not, the angel tried make things better whenever he could, and, it seemed, particularly where Crowley was concerned.
“It wasn’t the circle,” he finally said. “Or any of the setup. Wouldn’t mind doing that to you, actually.” He might not enjoy hurting the angel, but teasing him to the point of begging? That was one thing he could do.
Aziraphale smiled into Crowley’s damp hair and gave him a light squeeze. “I think that could be arranged.”
Another length of silence, and Crowley turned his head to hide his face against the angel’s shoulder. He felt rather than heard Aziraphale’s intake of breath, and the blanket was pulled up over his head to allow him to hide completely.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Aziraphale murmured reassuringly.
“No, angel,” Crowley mumbled. “There’s plenty of that, but it’s not quite that, either.”
“Pardon?”
He could just picture the confusion on Aziraphale’s face, brows drawn together and lips parted slightly as he silently repeated the conversation. He slid a hand out of his tartan confessional to brush Aziraphale’s lips and smiled as he caught them mid-sentence and received a kiss on the fingertips.
“It was the talking,” he finally said, resting his hand on the angel’s chest. “The taunting. No.” He raised his hand again to cover Aziraphale’s mouth when he felt him take a breath to speak. “Let me finish. I...d’you remember that chat we had before we started all this? When succubae came up?”
Aziraphale nodded slowly.
“It reminded me of the time I’d run into one of them up here, but not like how you’re thinking. I was trying to pull, and she came over to tease me for it.”
In retrospect, coming for her point of view, it had just been teasing. Of all beings, she would have known best what would turn him on. If she’d really wanted to mock him, hurt him, she’d have taken how being put down was getting him hot under the collar and thrown that in his face.
“She used her aura a bit at first — mostly to get my attention, I think — but what really got to me were the things she said after she’d turned it off. No pride. Seduced even knowing what she was, easier than a mortal.” Even the vague recounting made him feel a little flushed. “It was bloody mortifying, but it....Aziraphale, the shame.”
He didn’t know how else to put it. For him, that statement just took the arousal that he shouldn’t have, along with the humiliation at having it, and wrapped it up in lust and topped it off with a blush-red bow.
“It’s a perfectly valid kink, you know,” Aziraphale murmured once Crowley’s hand had slipped back beneath the blanket. “I’ve read into it a bit, but I didn’t realise you were interested.”
“I’m not interested, angel. It’s just there; I can’t help it.”
“All right,” Aziraphale said quickly, then, in a more soothing tone, “All right. Let’s see, then. Is this another item on your ‘I shouldn’t, but I do’ list?”
“Nnghyeah,” Crowley admitted with a sigh. “I guess it would be. Shouldn’t get off on being told what a crap demon I am, but....” He felt certain that somewhere, someone (or Someone) must be laughing at him. Actually, he realised as he felt Aziraphale begin to shake, someone was laughing, and he peeked out of the blanket to glare.
“Apologies, my dear,” the angel said, sounding only slightly apologetic as he tried to wipe the smile off of his face. “But it’s just...Crowley, it fits, and you are a perfectly good demon for it.”
“Fits how? And could you maybe find a better descriptor than ‘perfectly good,’ angel?” he asked with a faint wince.
Aziraphale gave him a look of fond exasperation and pat him on the head. “Just hear me out. Demons tempt and corrupt and are rather given to sin themselves, right?”
“That’s the way it’s generally supposed to go, yes,” Crowley replied, eyes sliding shut as the hand slipped under the blanket to scratch at his scalp.
“Well, when you consider sin as something you’re not supposed to do but you’re tempted to and do it anyway...”
Crowley had heard scores of people over the centuries rationalizing why what they did wasn’t a sin, but this was the first time he’d ever heard anyone do the reverse, let alone an angel, and he had to smile. “So I’m the only demon who actually sins now?”
“Far from it, dear boy. But all things considered, it’s rather fitting that yours be, ah, an original sin.”
Crowley gave a snort, then a chuckle, and then Aziraphale had to keep him from sliding off the couch as he dissolved into surprised laugher, his tension draining away.
“Now then,” Aziraphale said, once Crowley had gotten back under control. “Would you care to try it on purpose sometime?”
***
“Crowley?”
His chin was being tilted up, and he reluctantly opened his eyes to face the angel. “Gre—er, yellow. You’re unfairly good at this.”
Aziraphale brushed his hair back and kissed his forehead. “What do you need, love?”
“Just give me a minute,” Crowley murmured, closing his eyes again. “It’s good; it’s just hard to let it be.”
“We’ll get there. Take your time.” Aziraphale knelt beside Crowley’s chair and squeezed his hand. “I’m right here.”
Crowley squeezed back, trying to push the ‘shouldn’t’s and ‘not supposed to’s back a bit. It took a bit of balancing, he’d found. Let them get too loud, and things started to be taken too close to heart, push them back too far and it dampened that arousing sense of shame. “Remind me that this is okay.”
“You’re safe,” he murmured. “There’s no judgment here. Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’ll give it without reservation. You’re okay. Wanting this is okay.” Aziraphale reached up to cup his cheek and Crowley turned his head to kiss his palm. “I’ll be here to hold you when we’re done.”
After a minute or two of quiet breathing and repeating Aziraphale’s reassurances to himself, Crowley opened his eyes and nodded. “Green.”
Aziraphale smiled and got to his feet, pacing slowly around Crowley’s chair while the demon eased back into the scene, ready for a little more of the flash bastard’s ghost to be burned away.
Recipient:
interrobamAuthor:
aten_raRating: NC-17
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley; brief Succubus/Crowley
Author’s Notes: I love these two in the context of a D/s arrangement with Crowley subbing, so I jumped on this prompt. The humiliation kink itself was surprisingly difficult to write and the fic kept twisting out of my nice, neat outline to spawn multiple simultaneous drafts, but it was soooo much fun. I hope you enjoy it!
Summary: Demons are supposed to be shameless, dominant, and in control. Crowley’s never been a particularly good demon.
“You see, my dear boy, this is exactly what I mean.” The bloody angel actually looked disappointed as he gave Crowley’s crotch a little pat. “You can’t be expected to control your base urges.”
The light flush across Crowley’s cheeks deepened to a rather becoming shade of scarlet when Aziraphale so off-handedly acknowledged the erection that the demon was still trying to convince himself wasn’t there. Or, failing that (and he was, splendidly), convince himself that the cause was something else. Anything else. That wasn’t working very well, either.
“My control is fine,” he said, waspishly. “As you see, I am most certainly not jumping up to ravish you.” But he wanted to, and that was what was so damned infuriating about the whole thing. It wasn’t as though it would be the first time, or even the tenth, but he’d never — wasn’t supposed to — get so worked up over being spoken to like this.
“And you’re making such a good effort.” The words alone sounded like praise — or a double entendre — but the angel’s tone made them into something else. Something almost smug, with a smirk twisting the corner of his lips, his chin raised, and those blue eyes looking down the length of his nose.
Crowley’s prick throbbed at the picture Aziraphale made, and the demon shifted uncomfortably in his seat as twin waves of shame and arousal washed over him. They’d played games before that involved the angel scolding him for being true to his demonic nature, but they were light, playful things and Crowley was wholly unrepentant throughout, raising his arse a little higher and taunting Aziraphale to spank him harder. This all felt a little too real for his comfort, but part of him was protesting that things were finally real enough.
“Poor dear.” The words were breathed into his ear. “You’re even lower than the Fallen, aren’t you? A little snake playing at being a demon.”
Crowley’s breath caught in his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, blushing so hard he swore he could feel his pulse all across his skin.
How in the world had he gotten to this point?
***
After the Apocalypse-that-Couldn’t, things had gotten a bit muddled. They’d gotten a bit muddled, cut loose from their respective employers without a clue as to what happened next and left to fumble blindly toward some sense of normalcy. It had been only natural that each of them had gravitated toward the other, and while they couldn’t seem to make heads or tails of their separate lives, that stretch of middle ground where they overlapped seemed to make perfect sense.
Aziraphale had found his footing first. As much as Crowley shook his head in despair over the angel’s taste in, well, everything not related to food or drink, Aziraphale — dithering, book-hoarding, overly-helpful Aziraphale — had never been anyone other than who he was. The names and forms may have changed over the centuries, but he’d always been undeniably Aziraphale.
Crowley, on the other hand, had had an image to uphold, and he was not, he admitted, the person that he thought the human Anthony J. Crowley ought to be, or even the demon that he’d always been told he was supposed to be. Oh, he had taste and a certain style, but the attitude that he thought he should have, the cool confidence that he’d often thought would solidify if he didn’t have to deal with Downstairs, just wasn’t there. He was awkward and even a little shy — two words that he would never have chosen to describe himself, but there it was — and he didn’t have the foggiest where to go from there.
“It was all just like...part of a business suit,” he’d admitted to Aziraphale in a glum tone as he picked apart a biscuit from the tin on the angel’s kitchen table. “Now ‘m out of a job and they took back the whole kit.”
“My dear.” Aziraphale had reached across the table to pat Crowley’s long-fingered hand. “To continue with the metaphor, you just have to get used to your own clothes again.”
“I’m not sure I want them,” he’d muttered, and blinked when he’d felt the angel’s pudgy hand clasp his tightly.
“They suit you.” Aziraphale had smiled and drawn his unresisting hand up to his lips. “Ever so well.”
Anthony J. Crowley, flash bastard, would have given the angel a smile full of teeth and wicked promise. Crowley, accidental demon and godfather to an Antichrist, had flushed to the tips of his ears and traced those smiling lips with gentle uncertainty. At the look he’d received in return, he decided that maybe, just maybe, the flash bastard was overrated.
***
Things got easier from then on out. Though Crowley was still trying to figure out which pieces went where and which didn’t even fit, Aziraphale was apparently handy with Crowley-shaped puzzles. Crowley found himself ever-so-gently nudged toward this and that, and once he realized that Aziraphale wasn’t unduly disappointed when he decided that he actually didn’t like something, he started to enjoy the process.
The things that he’d done with the angel in the first place — dinner at the Ritz, feeding the ducks, getting fantastically drunk on expensive wine — all stayed on the list. He found reading with Aziraphale bored him, but watching the angel while he read was infinitely entertaining (though it tended to cut into Aziraphale’s reading time whenever he nibbled his lower lip just so at a passage). Manicures were lovely and relaxing, but the first pedicure he’d tried had made him embarrassingly giggly and now he had to watch himself if he ever propped his socked feet in Aziraphale’s lap. His pristine flat had even started grating on his nerves until he got rid of the showroom-style furniture and invested in some less stylish, but more comfortable, pieces.
“Dear, couldn’t you...?”
“No, angel.”
“But I thought as long as you were redecorating anyway….”
“Mark my words: there will never be a tartan sofa in my flat.”
Crowley pretended not to notice the tartan blanket that had mysteriously draped itself over one of his chairs.
***
Sex involved a good bit of experimentation and trial and error on both of their parts. Aziraphale had never found a reason to before, and Crowley had never done much direct tempting of that variety, preferring to just drop an idea here or there and watch people run with it. He usually felt ridiculous trying to seduce mortals. Sometimes he thought the reverse might feel more natural, but what kind of demon let a human seduce him? He’d never have heard the end of it.
Aziraphale seemed surprised at that. “Even from the succubae?”
Crowley lowered his head a touch just so Aziraphale could see him roll his eyes over the tops of his sunglasses. “Especially from the succubae. The rest might give you funny looks, but with that lot, well. Sex is their business, and they never pass up a chance to stick their nose into everyone else’s.” And how.
“Oh? Voice of experience?”
Crowley looked away as his face flooded with colour.
“Poor little serpent,” the succubus cooed. “All alone?”
“I wasn’t going to be.” Crowley sounded defensive, even to his own ears. “He was interested.”
“Interested?” she echoed. “In you? A practically virginal creature who barely knows what he wants?”
He squirmed internally, fighting to not do so visibly as she watched. Demons were not immune to succubae, and he felt her voice like a physical caress: silky fingers running down his spine, teasing the underside of his wrists, feathering up and down his cock.
Her smile grew and she slid closer, taking the drink from his hand and setting it on the bar. “You’re getting a better idea now, pet. Hold on to my voice. Everywhere you feel it—” She turned his hand over and hovered her fingers over the thin skin of his wrist. “—is where you like to be touched.”
Crowley swallowed hard as her voice kissed every sweet spot he had, and kept his eyes fixed on her fingers. His mouth had gone dry, and he couldn’t hear the quiet conversations or clinking of glassware for the blood pounding in his ears.
“Look at you,” she breathed in his ear, aura reined back in. Not that it helped much. “Caught more easily than any mortal, even knowing what I am. Imagine if one of the others is here, watching you. You have no pride, no control. The serpent of Eden, the one who tempted Eve and led her to sin, who came here tonight to lead another, finds himself so easily seduced.”
His face felt hot as the words sank in, and his prick strained against his trousers. He should push her away and leave. He could do that. He wasn’t immune, but he wasn’t a thrall, either. But he was so close. If she’d just touch him….
“Oh, no. It’s not my touch you want, pet.”
“I—”
“—ley? Crowley?”
The demon shook himself from the memory to see Aziraphale frowning at him with a look mild of concern. “Sssorry,” he mumbled. “My mind wandered.”
The angel’s brows rose at that, and a smile that wasn’t quite a smirk played across his lips. “Indeed. And where, might I ask, did it wander off to?”
Crowley realised then that his prick was achingly hard, and his sunglasses were in Aziraphale’s hand; he had managed to remove them without him noticing. Oh, bugger. He didn’t even want to know what kind of expressions he’d been making.
That smile grew a little more smirk-like and Aziraphale reached for his hand. “Should we take this conversation upstairs?” He rubbed the underside of Crowley’s wrist with his thumb.
Once.
Twice.
Crowley came in his pants.
“My dear, I know demons are held to a somewhat, ah, looser set of standards, but really.”
Crowley was sure he had something to say about that, but the twitch his cock gave at that moment was an effective distraction, and he squirmed, biting his lip instead.
“Oh.” Aziraphale’s lips curved into a wide smile. “Oh, I daresay I am going to enjoy finding you out, you old serpent.”
Crowley wasn’t sure whether the knot that coiled in his belly was dread or anticipation.
***
The next few months were educational for the both of them. Aziraphale had apparently assumed that whatever had captured Crowley’s attention when the subject of succubae came up had to do with kink. Crowley supposed he wasn’t entirely wrong, but the incident wasn’t one he cared to examine too closely, so he left it alone. Besides, he wanted to see what the angel would come up with. Thus far, he’d found that he rather enjoyed being tied up, but gagging made him edgy. Flogging and spanking were fun, but knife play was Right Out. Blindfolds were good for teasing and denial, but he started to panic if they were used with anything painful.
Aziraphale seemed to have fewer limits, but Crowley didn’t like pushing them. The first time he’d used a horsehair flogger on the angel, he’d called the scene about five minutes in and spent the rest of the afternoon curled up on the couch, wrapped in the tartan blanket while Aziraphale stroked his hair.
It was times like those that Crowley almost missed the flash bastard. He had to admit, though, he’d never really been him; it’d just been nice to be able to think he was. Still, he did have the occasional worry that Aziraphale might be put off by how readily he submitted in those scenes and how reluctant he was to play otherwise. Following the usual demon versus angel model, someone should end up submitting — who one felt ought to tended to differ according to whose side one was on — but there should at least be a struggle.
Crowley, however, felt too secure and relaxed at being at Aziraphale’s mercy to put up much of one, going practically boneless when the last restraint was secured. And Aziraphale fell into his role with such ease it often didn’t even occur to Crowley to fight him, though that didn’t stop the angel from getting creative in making sure he couldn’t.
“Oh, don’t you make a lovely picture?” Aziraphale murmured as he watched the demon, careful to not let his shoes scuff the circle he’d constructed to hold him.
Crowley, who was kneeling with thighs spread and arms secured behind his back, groaned and made helpless little thrusts into the only source of stimulation he’d been allowed: a miniature forest of feathers that had their quills stuck into a square of corkboard on the floor in front of him. It was, he admitted, one of Aziraphale’s most frustrating teases to date. He could hardly get enough friction, and some of the stiff, pointed feathers actually tickled against certain spots, making him twitch away and lose the ones that were aiding the excruciatingly slow buildup.
“Angel, please.”
“I’ll grant release when you achieve your own, my dear. Until then....” Aziraphale set a chair down a few feet away and settled into it, smiling indulgently as Crowley eyed his tented trousers with a hungry look. “I’m planning to enjoy the show.”
Crowley licked his lips. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take care of that first?” The noises Aziraphale made when Crowley gave head were nothing short of sinful, and he’d be ever so reluctant to put him back in the circle.
“I have a bit more control than that.” His chin lifted a touch higher, though the smile never left his face, only curling into something a bit sharper when Crowley bit his lip and made another little thrust.
Easy for the angel to say; nothing was touching him. But there were several cruelly soft things touching Crowley, and he began his faltering thrusts again despite himself. He’d hoped that Aziraphale’s choice of seat meant he might get a bit of a show as well to help him along, but despite his obvious arousal, Aziraphale seemed content to watch. He almost looked amused, the bastard, and the thought made Crowley’s pulse spike.
“Poor dear,” he cooed, propping an elbow on the arm of his chair to rest his chin on his hand. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
Crowley froze when the words registered, trying to fight down an extra surge of lust that accompanied the sting of indignation and embarrassment.
“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale chuckled. “There’s no sense in that. We both know you’ll give in; it’s in your nature, dear boy. Demon. Tempter. Seducer. Well, not so much the latter, I suppose, given your current position.”
The tone held a bit of a tease, but to Crowley, all that meant was that the inevitable was just a little further off. He couldn’t get away, couldn’t kiss Aziraphale to shut him up, and, as his hips were already twitching again, couldn’t prove him wrong. He could call red and make it all stop, but he didn’t want to do that, either. Crowley stared pleadingly at the angel with wide eyes so lust-blown that the pupils looked almost human.
“You know what you want and how to get there. Best get to it.”
Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and let his head drop. Oh, he knew. He wished he didn’t, but his current predicament made it rather hard to ignore and it being Aziraphale made it too hard to resist.
“That’s it, dear boy.” The angel’s voice sounded pleased, and some part of Crowley couldn’t help but feel glad at having pleased him. “You do this so beautifully, you know. It’s like you belong on your knees.” There was a pause. “No, lower than that. The Serpent should be on his belly. Perhaps I’ll get to show you off like this one day. What do you think of that? You could have an audience bear witness to your willing degradation. One of the succubae might even be in attendance....”
Crowley had tipped his head back after the bit of praise, allowing Aziraphale’s words to wash over him, whispering agreement in his mind. He might regret it later, but for the moment, he was burning with shame and lust and basking in the heat of his own blush.
His climax took him by surprise and he came with a sharp cry, slumping forward to catch his breath and take stock of himself while Aziraphale rose and came forward to do the same, breaking the circle around the demon. He hadn’t realised how close he was, and a sideways glance at the clock revealed that he’d taken far less time than he’d have expected.
“Just lovely,” Aziraphale murmured as he unbound Crowley’s arms. He began to massage a forearm, but Crowley pulled it away to wrap his arms around himself.
“Crowley?” He raised his chin a little with one hand and swiped a thumb over Crowley’s sharp cheekbones. Red or yellow?”
Crowley closed his eyes and leaned his head into the angel’s hand. “...red.”
***
A few moments later, he’d been cleaned up and helped into a pair of soft flannel pyjama pants and was leaning against Aziraphale on the sofa, the pair of them wrapped in the blanket.
Aziraphale pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. “I’m sorry if I misread you. Do you want to talk about it now or wait?”
Crowley sighed. He wanted to put it off, but he’d done that enough. “Don’t apologise; it’s on me this time.” He went quiet after that, trying to collect his thoughts. It probably would have helped, he reflected, if he’d ever bothered to really sit down and think about it.
Aziraphale didn’t press, though he must have wanted to. On Heaven’s payroll or not, the angel tried make things better whenever he could, and, it seemed, particularly where Crowley was concerned.
“It wasn’t the circle,” he finally said. “Or any of the setup. Wouldn’t mind doing that to you, actually.” He might not enjoy hurting the angel, but teasing him to the point of begging? That was one thing he could do.
Aziraphale smiled into Crowley’s damp hair and gave him a light squeeze. “I think that could be arranged.”
Another length of silence, and Crowley turned his head to hide his face against the angel’s shoulder. He felt rather than heard Aziraphale’s intake of breath, and the blanket was pulled up over his head to allow him to hide completely.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Aziraphale murmured reassuringly.
“No, angel,” Crowley mumbled. “There’s plenty of that, but it’s not quite that, either.”
“Pardon?”
He could just picture the confusion on Aziraphale’s face, brows drawn together and lips parted slightly as he silently repeated the conversation. He slid a hand out of his tartan confessional to brush Aziraphale’s lips and smiled as he caught them mid-sentence and received a kiss on the fingertips.
“It was the talking,” he finally said, resting his hand on the angel’s chest. “The taunting. No.” He raised his hand again to cover Aziraphale’s mouth when he felt him take a breath to speak. “Let me finish. I...d’you remember that chat we had before we started all this? When succubae came up?”
Aziraphale nodded slowly.
“It reminded me of the time I’d run into one of them up here, but not like how you’re thinking. I was trying to pull, and she came over to tease me for it.”
In retrospect, coming for her point of view, it had just been teasing. Of all beings, she would have known best what would turn him on. If she’d really wanted to mock him, hurt him, she’d have taken how being put down was getting him hot under the collar and thrown that in his face.
“She used her aura a bit at first — mostly to get my attention, I think — but what really got to me were the things she said after she’d turned it off. No pride. Seduced even knowing what she was, easier than a mortal.” Even the vague recounting made him feel a little flushed. “It was bloody mortifying, but it....Aziraphale, the shame.”
He didn’t know how else to put it. For him, that statement just took the arousal that he shouldn’t have, along with the humiliation at having it, and wrapped it up in lust and topped it off with a blush-red bow.
“It’s a perfectly valid kink, you know,” Aziraphale murmured once Crowley’s hand had slipped back beneath the blanket. “I’ve read into it a bit, but I didn’t realise you were interested.”
“I’m not interested, angel. It’s just there; I can’t help it.”
“All right,” Aziraphale said quickly, then, in a more soothing tone, “All right. Let’s see, then. Is this another item on your ‘I shouldn’t, but I do’ list?”
“Nnghyeah,” Crowley admitted with a sigh. “I guess it would be. Shouldn’t get off on being told what a crap demon I am, but....” He felt certain that somewhere, someone (or Someone) must be laughing at him. Actually, he realised as he felt Aziraphale begin to shake, someone was laughing, and he peeked out of the blanket to glare.
“Apologies, my dear,” the angel said, sounding only slightly apologetic as he tried to wipe the smile off of his face. “But it’s just...Crowley, it fits, and you are a perfectly good demon for it.”
“Fits how? And could you maybe find a better descriptor than ‘perfectly good,’ angel?” he asked with a faint wince.
Aziraphale gave him a look of fond exasperation and pat him on the head. “Just hear me out. Demons tempt and corrupt and are rather given to sin themselves, right?”
“That’s the way it’s generally supposed to go, yes,” Crowley replied, eyes sliding shut as the hand slipped under the blanket to scratch at his scalp.
“Well, when you consider sin as something you’re not supposed to do but you’re tempted to and do it anyway...”
Crowley had heard scores of people over the centuries rationalizing why what they did wasn’t a sin, but this was the first time he’d ever heard anyone do the reverse, let alone an angel, and he had to smile. “So I’m the only demon who actually sins now?”
“Far from it, dear boy. But all things considered, it’s rather fitting that yours be, ah, an original sin.”
Crowley gave a snort, then a chuckle, and then Aziraphale had to keep him from sliding off the couch as he dissolved into surprised laugher, his tension draining away.
“Now then,” Aziraphale said, once Crowley had gotten back under control. “Would you care to try it on purpose sometime?”
***
“Crowley?”
His chin was being tilted up, and he reluctantly opened his eyes to face the angel. “Gre—er, yellow. You’re unfairly good at this.”
Aziraphale brushed his hair back and kissed his forehead. “What do you need, love?”
“Just give me a minute,” Crowley murmured, closing his eyes again. “It’s good; it’s just hard to let it be.”
“We’ll get there. Take your time.” Aziraphale knelt beside Crowley’s chair and squeezed his hand. “I’m right here.”
Crowley squeezed back, trying to push the ‘shouldn’t’s and ‘not supposed to’s back a bit. It took a bit of balancing, he’d found. Let them get too loud, and things started to be taken too close to heart, push them back too far and it dampened that arousing sense of shame. “Remind me that this is okay.”
“You’re safe,” he murmured. “There’s no judgment here. Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’ll give it without reservation. You’re okay. Wanting this is okay.” Aziraphale reached up to cup his cheek and Crowley turned his head to kiss his palm. “I’ll be here to hold you when we’re done.”
After a minute or two of quiet breathing and repeating Aziraphale’s reassurances to himself, Crowley opened his eyes and nodded. “Green.”
Aziraphale smiled and got to his feet, pacing slowly around Crowley’s chair while the demon eased back into the scene, ready for a little more of the flash bastard’s ghost to be burned away.
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(Anonymous) 2012-12-29 06:07 am (UTC)(link)