Happy Holidays, cassieoh!

[goe_mod]

Title: Who Desires and Acts
Recipient: Cassieoh
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Rating: Explicit
Notes: Many thanks to Orciny for the beta job.
Summary: It’d be easy to free Crowley if only he’d admit to his desires, but of course he would have to be difficult. Aziraphale may have to be quite firm with him.

Featuring demon summoning, smut, and improper use of an Airbnb.

Most guides to demon summoning have one important thing in common: they don’t work. This is, in Aziraphale’s considered opinion, a very good thing. No human deserves the ire of Hell’s worst, even those foolish enough to not only ask for trouble, but to don fancy dress and ask for it in Latin. It’s also jolly inconvenient for innocent third parties (i.e. Aziraphale himself) who find themselves cruelly abandoned (left alone in a theatre box) in a rough part of town (Islington) and forced to take drastic measures (a taxi home) when their companion is rudely yanked away to a draughty crypt and forced to grant wishes of wealth and revenge before being released barely in time to meet Aziraphale for brunch the following day.

After one particularly unpleasant incident (Crowley had been late and in a foul mood) Aziraphale had reluctantly agreed to keep a weather eye out for demon-summoning texts, and pass on any likely suspects to Crowley for safekeeping. Whether Crowley actually kept them under lock and key or simply disposed of them the moment Aziraphale’s back was turned was a question Aziraphale refused to entertain. He’d developed rather a knack for not asking himself difficult questions over the years. In addition to suppressing genuine information about evocation, Crowley encouraged various charlatans to publish all manner of hare-brained guides to demonology, with rituals which appeared to be quite deliberately ridiculous.

‘That’s the point, angel,’ Crowley had explained when Aziraphale asked if the silly dances were really necessary. ‘It’s a challenge though, coming up with something ridiculous enough to make even the stupidest humans on Earth embarrassed.’

Aziraphale had suggested that, while devil-worshippers were of course terribly wicked and deserving of censure, it did seem a tad unsporting of Crowley to be so churlish considering it was his lot being worshipped. Crowley didn’t say anything, but he did turn the radio to an Evangelical broadcast with a lot of tambourines, which Aziraphale had to admit was a convincing argument and conceded the point.

Considering these barriers to successfully demon summoning, it was very surprising - and more than a little annoying - to see Crowley yanked away into the ether just as he’d arrived to collect Aziraphale. They had tickets for an exciting Gala Evening at the National, to be followed by a late supper at Gymkhana. Aziraphale had entertained hopes of getting Crowley to break his liquid-only diet with a spicy little nibble.

For one brief, terrible moment, Aziraphale was afraid that Hell might’ve taken him. But there were no tell-tale signs of unfamiliar infernal influence, and the fact that Crowley used his last seconds before being yanked away to make fists and yell, ‘fuck off, human bastards,’ was strangely reassuring.

Knowing that Crowley was probably in human hands calmed Aziraphale’s nerves considerably, although he was still annoyed by the imposition. Probably not as annoyed as Crowley - Aziraphale fully expected him to come storming back in a few hours in an absolutely furious temper. The driver door to the Bentley had been left hanging open and… ooh, Crowley had left the keys behind.

Well, perhaps the evening wouldn’t be a washout after all. If Aziraphale borrowed the car, it shouldn’t take long to track Crowley down and rescue him. Not that Crowley needed rescuing, of course, but he might find it rather amusing if Aziraphale were to appear and put the fear of Somebody into his kidnappers. He could get his wings out; really make a show of it.

‘What do you say, old girl,’ asked Aziraphale as he climbed into the driver’s seat. ‘Shall we go and find your…’ he trailed off. He strongly suspected that Crowley referred to himself as the Bentley’s father ¹, but didn’t feel there was any call to indulge in that sort of nonsense. ‘Let’s find Crowley.’

The Bentley didn’t actually toot her own horn or play a blast of music on the antique Blaupunkt, but Aziraphale felt she was almost as excited about their little adventure as he was. Indeed, he suspected that the car was quite capable of detecting Crowley’s location and driving to him unaided, like some sort of vehicular homing pigeon, but perhaps that could be put to the test another day. Aziraphale sensed that Crowley wasn’t far away, and set off towards Surrey. Perhaps after he’d rescued his demon they could find a nice country pub for a bite to eat? Michelin stars were in short supply out in the sticks but they could still have fun.

Aziraphale was in high spirits when he reached the building where he was fairly certain Crowley was being held. It wasn’t quite what he’d expected. The area was quite rural – picturesque even – and Aziraphale parked in front of what looked like it might have once been some sort of agricultural building. There was no sign of any actual farming though; no tractors, hay bales, or any sort of equipment, but there were roses by the path and a sign with directions to the hot tub. It looked more like some sort of holiday rental than a hotbed of satanic activity. ²

Not bothering to knock, Aziraphale opened the door and strode inside. If the exterior of the building was a surprise, the interior - however incongruous - was far more in line with his expectations for a satanic ritual. The curtains were drawn, and dozens of black pillar candles cast a flickering light. Furniture had been pushed up against the walls and covered in black cloth. The walls and floor were covered in what looked very much like black bedsheets decorated with various pentacles and sigils. There were half-a-dozen humans present: a young woman pouring wine (at least, Aziraphale hoped it was wine) into glasses, a middle-aged man wafting incense about, and another reciting (badly) from the Lesser Key of Solomon. The final three humans reclined on a pile of cushions on the floor and… well. They certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves.

In the centre of the room - surrounded by the distinct marks of a summoning circle - stood a large, ornate bed, dressed in silk bedsheets. Black, of course. Crowley was at the foot of the bed, perversely sitting more neatly upright than he ever managed in a chair, idly scrolling through his phone. He raised his eyebrows and smiled slyly when he noticed Aziraphale’s arrival.

‘Uh-oh,’ said Crowley to the room in general. ‘You’re in trouble.’

The assembled humans glanced between him and Aziraphale uncertainly. The man who’d been reading looked particularly unfriendly. ‘This is a private event,’ he said haughtily.

Oh goody. Showtime. The room wasn’t quite big enough to get his wings out comfortably, but Aziraphale felt a spot of backlighting and manifesting his halo would work almost as well.

‘Be not afraid,’ he announced, with rather more flair than sincerity. He hoped the humans would be a little afraid, if only to ensure they learnt their lesson. ‘I am an angel of your Lord God, and I bring you a warning.’

The young woman dropped her bottle of please-be-wine-and-not-blood. ‘What the fuck?’

‘Repent!’ cried Aziraphale, adding in a flash of light for good measure. ‘Repent and mend your ways before it’s too late.’

The trio on the floor all scrambled to pull their clothes back on. ‘What the hell, Geoff?’ one of them demanded. ‘You said it was safe.’

Geoff – the middle-aged man who was presumably the leader of the group – bristled. ‘Don’t worry about him,’ he said, sounding very worried indeed. ‘We have a fearsome warrior of Hell at our command. The demon will see off this interloper!’

‘What, me?’ Crowley pointed at himself. ‘Yeah, no, that’s not gonna happen. I told you before, I only do sloth.’

By this point most of the humans had their coats on. The man who’d been wafting incense around looked very annoyed. ‘No fighting, and he wouldn’t even fornicate,’ he complained. ‘This demon of yours is rubbish, Geoff.’

Aziraphale had several thoughts about how Crowley wasn’t a rubbish demon and he certainly wasn’t Geoff’s, but he kept them to himself, lest they undermine his avenging angel routine. ‘Endless is the disappointment and long are the lamentations of those who walk the dark path of wickedness,’ he said instead. His voice boomed, and he rattled the windows a bit for emphasis.

It seemed to do the trick. The Satanists might have been silly enough to get involved in this nonsense, but they weren’t totally stupid. They knew the game was up. The ringleader, Geoff, held out till last, looking forlornly after his colleagues as they shuffled out.

‘But I’ve booked for the whole weekend,’ he complained.

One of the women who’d been… relaxing on the floor stopped in the doorway. ‘There’s a quiz on at the Lamb and Flag at eight,’ she said. ‘If we hurry, we could still make it.’

Geoff hesitated, but eventually gave in and left with the other humans. He was too busy complaining to notice that Aziraphale had miracled the demon-summoning texts out of his rucksack. Well, it scarcely counted as stealing if he was saving them from themselves.

‘Steer clear of demons in future,’ Aziraphale called after the departing Satanists. ‘And don’t forget to brush your teeth and say your prayers.’

‘No lightning, angel?’ asked Crowley when it was just the two of them. ‘Very restrained of you.’

Aziraphale preened. ‘I thought it best to keep things simple,’ he said. ‘Besides, humans don’t take to Heavenly revelations like they did once.’

‘Time was they’d’ve fallen to their knees and prayed for salvation at the first glimpse of your halo,’ agreed Crowley. ‘You just can’t get the crying and screaming these days.’

‘Yes, well, I’m sure that’s not necessary,’ said Aziraphale. ‘Anyway, the Bentley’s outside. Shall we make a move?’

Crowley stepped forward, apparently ready to leave, but then stopped suddenly. ‘Ah, right,’ he said. ‘That’s gonna be a problem.’

He’d stopped short of the ring of sigils decorating the floor. The Satanists were probably going to lose their deposit for treating the carpet like that. ‘The summoning circle, how silly of me,’ said Aziraphale. He waved his hand, but the miracle to clear the circle didn’t take. Something to do with it being Hellish work, no doubt. ‘Not to worry, I’m sure there’s a cleaning cloth around here somewhere. I’ll get rid of this in a jiffy.’

‘I think you should go,’ said Crowley. ‘Now, angel. Leave. Please.’

He looked panicked for the first time since Aziraphale had arrived. It didn’t make any sense. ‘Crowley, don’t be silly,’ said Aziraphale. ‘I’m not going to leave you here trapped in a summoning circle.’

‘Don’t worry about me, I’ve got out of loads of these things before. No bother.’

Aziraphale sniffed. ‘If it’s “no bother” for you to escape, why are you still stuck in there?’ he said. It was mean-spirited, perhaps, but he couldn’t understand Crowley’s attitude. He was being so ungrateful. ‘Out you pop.’

‘Well I can’t do it now.’

‘Whyever not? If you don’t need my help, surely you can just walk out by yourself. I don’t see the problem.’

‘That’s because you’re the problem,’ Crowley shot back, angry for some reason. ‘I was fine until you showed up.’

‘I see,’ Aziraphale said tightly. ‘In that case I’m most dreadfully sorry to have inconvenienced you.’

Crowley wilted like a vine in winter. ‘I didn’t mean… look, it’s not your fault,’ he said. ‘So, right, you’re an angel. All your celestial energy is affecting the summoning circle. That’s why it won’t let me leave. Blessed inconvenient but there it is.’

Aziraphale regarded him coolly. ‘I see. So if I just toddle off and take my angelic prowess with me, you’ll be right as rain in no time?’

‘Might take a couple of hours for the circle to power down, but yeah. Nothing to worry about.’

‘Very well.’ Aziraphale nodded. ‘Shall I wait in the car?’

‘Ehh, might be best if you go a bit further than that,’ said Crowley. ‘D’you mind miracling yourself back to the bookshop? I’ll come by and pick you up soon as. Promise.’

When Aziraphale left he was in such a tizzy that he’d marched half-a-mile down the road before he remembered that he was hardly going to walk all the way back to London. He didn’t usually like using his powers for travel, disappearing from one spot and manifesting himself in another like some sort of celestial whack-a-mole, but he supposed he would tolerate it this once. He needed to get back to the bookshop. He had research to do – to find out how to help Crowley, and how much danger he was actually in.

Most of all he wanted to know why Crowley was lying to him.

---

Many booklovers have a secret stash within their collection, and Aziraphale was no exception. What set Aziraphale apart was that his Very Secret Books weren’t particularly valuable, or pornographic, lowbrow, or in questionable taste. No, Aziraphale maintained a secret library of demonology texts.

He hadn’t set out to be so secretive. In fact, he’d proudly shown off his first edition of The Grimoire of Pope Honorius, thinking that Crowley might find it amusing. Suffice to say Crowley had not found it amusing, and got into a dreadful snit any time Aziraphale acquired anything similar. He encouraged Aziraphale to purchase any evocation guides he could get his hands on, only so they could be passed directly into Crowley’s “safekeeping,” but the first sign of a grimoire on Aziraphale’s shelves set off a demonic temper tantrum. Aziraphale couldn’t allow himself to be beholden to infernal wills, of course, and he did put his foot down over the Divine Comedy. Still, it was important to him that Crowley felt welcome in the bookshop, so eventually he announced that it was hardly appropriate for a Heavenly Embassy to resemble a Hellish Library, so he wouldn’t be selling any more books about demons and Crowley would just have to find something else to complain about.

Well, he might have implied he wasn’t going to keep books of demonology around but he didn’t actually say he was getting rid of them. It wasn’t really a lie. The collection was carefully hidden away from prying yellow eyes and Aziraphale didn’t sell a single one.

Upon arriving back in the bookshop, Aziraphale got to work. Before hitting the books, he made a quick sketch of the summoning circle he’d found Crowley in. The sigils weren’t wholly unfamiliar to him, but they were Hellish and Aziraphale would benefit from assistance to translate them. Satisfied he’d produced a decent likeness, Aziraphale headed to a section in a rear corner of the bookshop where the smell of mouse droppings was particularly pungent. The hidden demonology section was just past a selection of niche Victorian pornography, all of which wore dust jackets of a series of walking guides to the Lake District (a decoy Aziraphale maintained in case Crowley ever got curious and went snooping).

He quickly located the volume he was looking for, but the actual translation took some time, in part because Aziraphale was meticulous about checking every detail and in part because the original author - probably a demon - hadn’t been. The fact that he counted more than 30 spelling errors in the introduction alone didn’t inspire confidence, but eventually Aziraphale had a translation he was happy with.

He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence. The main slogan, written around the outer edge of the summoning circle, was key. A number of other sigils represented words and phrases such as action, and desire, and sweet delight.

A temptation for a demon, how very poetic. All Crowley had to do to escape the summoning circle was… whatever he wanted.

‘What’s so hard about doing exactly as you please?’ Aziraphale wondered aloud. No, but that was unfair. Crowley was far from self-indulgent. Indeed, it was rare for him to admit to wanting anything, except for alcohol and… oh. He had asked for Aziraphale’s company, and Aziraphale had refused him oftener than he’d care to recall. He did remember Crowley’s suggestion that it was Aziraphale’s presence that allowed the circle to hold him.

Could it be that what Crowley most wanted was Aziraphale himself? The angel took a deep breath, tidied the books away, and straightened his bow tie. Only one way to find out.

---

It was late by the time Aziraphale returned to the Satanists’ holiday home, but the fading light was the least of his concerns. He could detect only a trace of Crowley’s demonic aura, so faint he might almost have suspected that Crowley had left the area. The Bentley still sat outside where Aziraphale had parked, so Crowley had to be around somewhere.

Muttering a rebuke to himself for leaving Crowley, trapped and vulnerable, Aziraphale hurried inside. The room hadn’t changed much; the candles had burnt out or been extinguished, but there were some low lamps casting a weak, pinkish light around the room. Crowley was alone at least, assuaging Aziraphale’s fear that the Satanists might have returned, or worse, that he might’ve been found by another demon.

Crowley lay on his back on the bed, pale and still and preternaturally beautiful. He looked peaceful.

‘Sleeping again? You lazy thing,’ said Aziraphale. It sounded hollow, shaky even to his own ears. He crept towards Crowley, slowly but without wavering. Approaching a sleeping - or possibly injured - demon was risky, especially for an angel. It would be quite natural for Crowley to get spooked and attack Aziraphale on instinct - nothing personal, just basic self-preservation. The sensible thing would be for Aziraphale to keep his distance until he knew what he was dealing with. He certainly shouldn’t join Crowley inside the circle.

But for all Aziraphale was very clever, he’d never been all that sensible.

‘Crowley?’ He stepped neatly over the sigils on the rug and into the summoning circle. ‘Are you quite alright, my dear?’

There was no answer. Crowley remained silent and still. Aziraphale had to remind himself that Crowley didn’t need to breathe, so his chest not moving was no call for alarm. It felt wrong, though, like some part of him was missing.

Was Crowley injured? Ill? Gingerly, Aziraphale sat down on the edge of the bed beside him, searching his friend’s face for clues as to the source of his malaise. Perhaps he had a temperature. Aziraphale laid a hand on Crowley’s forehead to check for signs of fever.

‘Angel?’ Crowley’s eyes flew open and he gasped, sucking in a deep breath that made his whole body shudder. He reached up, grasping Aziraphale’s free arm by the elbow and holding on tight.

Relief washed over Aziraphale. Crowley seemed alarmed, but he was alive and well and, gracious, he was terribly handsome, wasn’t he? Aziraphale swallowed heavily and shook his head.

‘Are you alright, my dear?’ he asked. ‘What do you need?’

Crowley gazed up at him, his expression wild. ‘You,’ he gasped. ‘I need you.’

There was no good reason for Aziraphale to kiss him, no practical, medical, or theological imperative. But he did it anyway, grabbing Crowley and yanking him close enough to press their mouths together. Crowley let out a muffled yelp of surprise then melted into it, letting Aziraphale part his lips to deepen the kiss. Crowley’s skin had been cool but his mouth was hot and so inviting, Aziraphale groaned into it, indulging himself in a brand new flavour he would surely never tire of.

It took all Aziraphale’s scant reserves of self-restraint to pull back at last, allowing them both the respite of being able to draw breath, whether they needed it or not.

‘Darling,’ Aziraphale muttered as he gazed at Crowley. He looked more beautiful than ever, his expression soft and pliant. ‘What do you need from me?’

‘Angel.’ For a moment Crowley looked relaxed and fond. He seemed woozy, almost like he was drunk, although with none of the high-tempo theatrics of his usual state of inebriation. Then he blinked, like he was remembering himself, and shifted backwards. ‘Nothing! Nothing at all. Right as rain, me. Absolutely fine.’

‘You are not fine,’ Aziraphale insisted, a note of impatience creeping, unbidden, into his tone. He needed to know how to take care of Crowley; was that really so much to ask? Apparently it was, because the demon huffed and made to turn away. ‘Stop trying to slither away and talk to me, you ridiculous serpent. Why won’t you just tell me what you need?’

‘It’s embarrassing,’ Crowley admitted petulantly. His cheeks were flushed an uncustomary shade of pink. He had at least stopped wriggling.

Not wanting to push him too hard, Aziraphale glanced around for clues. The bed Crowley had been summoned to looked… Well, it looked exactly what one might expect to find used in an infernal orgy (not that Aziraphale had first-hand knowledge of such events, of course, but he was very well read). It had an ornate, gothic frame fashioned out of metal twists and curls, and shiny black sheets that were hardly sophisticated but showed off Crowley’s hair and complexion beautifully. On either side of the bed small tables were piled with sexual paraphernalia; bottles of glistening oils, lengths of rope and chain, a whip and several paddles, a couple of sturdy phalluses and, incongruously, a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs that might have looked more at home on a hen-do than in a satanic rite.

‘Sex is nothing to be embarrassed about,’ said Aziraphale. He did his best to keep his voice calm and matter-of-fact, as though the subject at hand were a purely practical matter without any emotional charge. He was not entirely successful. ‘I did some research into the summoning circle - ’

‘ - of course you fucking did.’

‘You’re trapped here by your own unfilled desires,’ said Aziraphale. ‘I presume the circle uses your own temptation powers against you. Rather a neat trick.’

‘It really isn’t.’

Aziraphale pressed on. ‘If you were capable of escaping by yourself then you wouldn’t still be here. You admitted yourself that you need me. You can’t leave here until we make love, is that correct?’

‘Can you please stop talking?’ Crowley couldn’t easily escape with Aziraphale looming over him. He grabbed a pillow and put it over his face, presumably only to hide rather than in a futile bid to smother himself.

Absurd behaviour. He was making Aziraphale quite cross. ‘Put that pillow down and look at me,’ he demanded. ‘Explain yourself at once.’

Surprisingly, Crowley did as he was told, and Aziraphale quickly felt guilty for being so harsh with him. He looked miserable.

‘It won’t work,’ he said quietly. ‘A pity fuck… it isn’t enough.’

‘A “pity fuck”,’ Aziraphale repeated tightly. ‘You really think I care for you so little?’

Crowley scowled. ‘You care about everything,’ he said. ‘Of course you’d agree to… do the business to save me. That’s just who you are. You risked your entire existence to save Gabriel.’

‘I hid Gabriel. I didn’t engage in amorous relations with him!’

‘No, because there was no need to,’ Crowley persisted. ‘But if that’d been what it took to save him, ‘course you’d’ve shagged him.’

‘I don’t want to have sex with Gabriel,’ said Aziraphale.

‘You don’t want to have sex with me,’ said Crowley. ‘That’s why it won’t… Nevermind. It doesn’t matter.’

The first part of that statement was so patently absurd, Aziraphale might’ve had a few choice words on the subject, but found himself instead seized by the wild desire to show Crowley how wrong he was. He grabbed hold of the very convenient silver scarf Crowley kept dangled around his neck and pulled, dragging Crowley close enough to kiss him again. Crowley yelped in surprise again but recovered more quickly this time, returning Aziraphale’s kiss with a ferocity that implied he might perish without it.

It was harder this time to pull back, but Aziraphale needed to be sure that Crowley understood. They were both breathing heavily when Aziraphale broke off the kiss - unnecessary, of course, but it seemed appropriate - and Crowley’s gorgeous amber eyes were glossy.

‘Now do you see?’ asked Aziraphale, his voice low. Their faces were barely centimetres apart; could feel the warmth of Crowley breath, could almost still taste it.

‘Impressive, angel,’ said Crowley. ‘Never said you didn’t know how to commit, even if it is just doing me a favour.’

Aziraphale’s grip on Crowley’s scarf tightened, the fabric digging into his fingers. ‘A favour?’ he repeated, incredulous. ‘You imagine this is an act of charity on my part? A kindness? No. This isn’t a favour. I’m not being kind.’

Crowley let out a shaky laugh. ‘Sounds like my line,’ he said.

Aziraphale smiled fondly, thinking of all the times Crowley had denied his own kindness, his goodness, the astonishing sweetness that lay beneath all his hissing and swagger. He kissed him again, just a soft, tender peck on the lips. ‘I fear I’ve been nowhere near as kind to you as you deserve, my dear.’

‘Don’t,’ said Crowley. ‘Don’t be kind. Don’t… even if it’s to save me, don’t pretend. Please. I couldn’t stand it.’

‘Oh, Crowley. Oh, you precious thing.’ Aziraphale pressed more soft, tender kisses to his face, warm across Crowley’s flushed cheeks, salt-damp over his eyes as Aziraphale kissed away inchoate tears. ‘Don’t you see? I’m here with you. It’s not just your desires binding us in the circle, it’s mine too.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t look so surprised,’ Aziraphale scolded lightly. ‘We’re not so different, in essence. Same stock and all that.’

He wasn’t sure if it was entirely true. Aziraphale could sense the power of the summoning circle, polishing and heightening his desire, though he wasn’t suffering from it the way Crowley was. Of course, he hadn’t tried to deny himself the way Crowley had.

Crowley hesitated, worrying his bottom lip in an uncharacteristic display of uncertainty. His voice was barely a whisper as he asked, ‘Do you want… me?’

‘More than you can imagine.’

‘Wouldn’t be so sure about that, angel,’ said Crowley. ‘I’ve got quite an imagination.’

‘Tell me.’ Aziraphale leant into Crowley, the hand that wasn’t holding onto his scarf buried in his hair as he pinned him to the bed. ‘Tell me what you want, what you need. Tell me all the things you’ve imagined me doing to you.’

‘Ngh,’ Crowley choked out, eyes wide as he opened and closed his mouth several times, no discernible words coming out.

‘I’m sorry to be blunt, but I must insist,’ said Aziraphale. ‘I’ve noticed, since you’ve been trapped in here, you haven’t always answered my questions truthfully, but you’ve been most agreeable about following instructions. You want to do as I tell you.’

It thrilled him, perhaps a bit too much, the realisation that despite all his avoidance and protestations, Crowley still obeyed him. That Crowley wanted to obey him.

‘Kinda hoped you wouldn’t notice that,’ said Crowley. He forced a smirk, a rather feeble attempt at defiance. Aziraphale let it pass. ‘But yeah. I want to.’

Aziraphale smiled, pleased, and maybe just a little smug. Crowley’s acquiesce to his desires, often accompanied with much grumbling, was familiar, but his willing surrender was so much sweeter. He relaxed his grip, and ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair as he whispered in his ear. ‘Tell me exactly what you want, darling,’ he said. ‘Tell me everything that impressive imagination of yours has come up with.’

‘I want you to fuck me,’ Crowley gasped, like the words were forcing their way out of him. ‘I want you to - to want to fuck me. To insist on it, like nothing will stop you from having me.’

It all made perfect sense; after being so cruelly rejected by Heaven, by Hell, and sometimes even by Aziraphale himself, all Crowley wanted was to be wanted. ‘Oh, my darling,’ Aziraphale cooed as he nuzzled into Crowley’s neck, soothing him. ‘Of course I want you. How could I not? I think I’ve denied myself long enough.’

Crowley groaned, hips bucking as he threw his head back, exposing the long delicious line of his neck. ‘Fuck, angel.’

‘Quite. I am going to fuck you.’ Aziraphale sat up straight and spoke firmly, lending a steely edge to the promise. It seemed to have the intended effect, as Crowley was positively vibrating beneath his touch. ‘But first, I want to hear more about your wishes. Would you like me to be rough with you?’

‘Yes,’ said Crowley, looking pained by the admission as he screwed his eyes shut and his cheeks burned red with humiliation. ‘Rough as you like. Like… nothing can stop you.’

Aziraphale stilled. ‘Nothing at all?’ he asked carefully. ‘Not even you? Is what you fantasise about, me forcing myself on you?’

Crowley nodded, squirming like he wanted to wriggle away but he stayed in place. ‘I know it’s stupid. It’s not… I don’t think you’re like that really, I know you’d never hurt me. I wouldn’t even try to refuse you anyway. It doesn’t make sense.’

Perhaps it did though, Aziraphale thought, thinking of how often Crowley resisted accepting a compliment, nevermind any greater sign of affection. His heart ached at the realisation that this was just another sign of Crowley’s struggle to accept the affection he so desperately craved.

Of course, this wasn’t just about affection. It was about sex. And sex was supposed to be fun.

‘Naughty thing,’ he told Crowley. ‘You want to be ravished? I’ve never seen myself as a rake, but I could take a stab at stealing your virtue.’

It seemed to do the trick of relaxing Crowley, who opened his eyes just so he could roll them theatrically. ‘I’m a demon, I don’t have any virtue to steal,’ he said. ‘Why are you talking like a Mills & Boon character, anyway? I didn’t think you allowed that sort of drivel in the bookshop.’

The bookshop did, in fact, contain a modest selection of Mills & Boon novels, which Aziraphale had acquired the better to understand human ideas of romance, but now wasn’t the time to mention it. Right now there was only one person - being - whose ideas mattered.

‘I read broadly,’ he sniffed. ‘But I’d much rather hear your ideas. I expect you’ve come up with all sorts of filthy little fantasies about how you’d like me to take you. Do you touch yourself when you imagine it? I’m sure you do. Tell me.’

‘What, all of them?’ Crowley attempted a laugh, in a fairly poor attempt at levity. ‘Might take a while.’

‘Just the highlights.’

‘Hnngh, yeah.’ Crowley squirmed again and swallowed hard, steeling himself. ‘Right, ok, mostly it’s in the bookshop. You… manhandle me. Shove me up against a bookcase or bend me over your desk. Throw me over your shoulder and carry me upstairs.’

Aziraphale listened carefully. He had an excellent memory and fully intended to act out every one of Crowley’s fantasies at the first opportunity. ‘I see. And once I’ve got you where I want you, what do I do with you?’

‘You fuck me.’

‘How?’

‘However you want,’ Crowley panted. ‘Hard, brutal. Or slow, sometimes, if you want to tease me. In my arse. My cunt, if I’m wearing one. My mouth.’

Slowly, Aziraphale traced a finger over Crowley’s lower lip. ‘You do have a beautiful mouth.’

‘Sometimes, I think about you keeping me chained up under your desk so you can use it whenever you want,’ Crowley admitted. ‘Having me suck you off while you sip wine, or just hold your cock in my mouth for hours while you deal with correspondence. Making me wait until you’re ready to fuck my mouth.’

Aziraphale shuddered, picturing it. Crowley, so generous and willing, always eager to please, on his knees and ready to serve. How perfectly delicious. ‘He’s a lucky fellow, this version of me that lives in your imagination. Is he grateful to have such a sweet pet?’

‘Grateful?’ Crowley’s brow furrowed, genuinely perplexed. Poor, sweet thing couldn’t even conceive that Aziraphale would be so glad to have him. Of what a prize he was, and how Aziraphale longed to cherish him.

Oh, Aziraphale had so much to teach him.

‘Of course, you said you wanted me to be rough with you,’ he said.

‘Yeah, exactly,’ Crowley agreed. The embarrassment was still apparent, but he seemed to be growing more certain. ‘Rough. Demanding. Like you want to claim me or… put me in my place. Punish me.’

The last two words came out with a grunt, like it’d cost Crowley something to say them. Ooh, Aziraphale realised with satisfaction, he must really want it.

‘Whyever would I want to punish you?’ he asked with mock-innocence. ‘You’re always so very obliging.’

‘A foul fiend like me? I’m sure you’ll think of something.’ Crowley grinned, a welcome glimpse of his usual cheek resurfacing. ‘Fomenting wickedness. Pouring milk before the tea. Driving too fast. Y’know, the usual.’

‘You are a menace on the road,’ said Aziraphale. ‘Someone ought to teach you a lesson.’

Crowley’s smile broadened. He was such a delightful, tempting thing. ‘How are you going to do that?’

‘Well, in spite of your apparently depraved fascination with my desk, it wouldn’t be available on the road,’ said Aziraphale. ‘I’d just have to make do with bending you over the bonnet, wouldn’t I? Pull down those sinfully tight trousers and give your pert little bottom a jolly good spanking.’

‘Jolly good?’ Crowley sputtered. ‘I see you’ve abandoned Mills & Boon and moved on to some sort of pornographic Enid Blyton.’

‘You don’t like it?’

Crowley groaned, apparently almost as exasperated with himself as he was with Aziraphale. ‘It’s really turning me on.’

‘Of course it is, you wicked creature.’ Aziraphale smiled, the bastard part of him that Crowley liked so much thoroughly enjoying his distress. He manoeuvred himself round so he could sit up straight and patted his knee. ‘Come along, then. Over you go.’

Once again Crowley’s eyes grew saucer-wide, and he opened and closed his mouth without making a sound. Seeing him lost for words was a rare and precious thing, and it gave Aziraphale an unbecoming thrill of amusement. Still, if he wanted to progress matters, perhaps a firmer tone would be beneficial.

‘I intend to correct you. Over my knee, Crowley. Now.’

For a moment Crowley didn’t move. He looked genuinely panicked, though the arousal was still coming off him in waves. Aziraphale could practically taste how much he wanted this, and it gave him the confidence to press on. He took hold of the waistband of Crowley’s jeans and unfastened the button.

‘Angel…?’ Crowley’s gaze went to Aziraphale’s hands, transfixed.

‘We needn’t remove them just yet, but I will pull your trousers down,’ Aziraphale told him, keeping his tone brisk and business-like. ‘A bare bottom is the best base for learning.’

Crowley gulped. ‘Are you going to make me?’

His tone was strained, but there was a note of defiance there. Perhaps he wanted Aziraphale to make him do it - that would certainly be in keeping with the desires he’d expressed about being taken. Actual force, or at least a convincing pretence of it, was still a step too far, though. Crowley wasn’t the only one who needed some reassurance that his attentions were welcome.

‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary,’ Aziraphale said, in as commanding a tone as he could muster. ‘I expect you to do as you’re told when I tell you. Bend over my knee and be quick about it.’

The room felt hot, and so still Aziraphale could almost believe that Crowley’d stopped time. It was a turning point and they both knew it; whatever happened next would change their relationship forever. It was cruel, perhaps, that even after hearing Crowley confess that he wants to be taken, perhaps even forced, Aziraphale left the decision firmly in his hands. But it was a necessary cruelty. Crowley had to admit his desires, in actions and words, to be free from the summoning circle, and maybe beyond.

Slowly, Crowley began to move. He averted his gaze, unable to look Aziraphale in the eye, doubtless regretting that his hair wasn’t long enough to cover his face. For his part, Aziraphale watched in fascination as those long, sinuous limbs stretched and turned as Crowley rearranged himself, lithe and gorgeous as ever, until he finally came to rest stretched across Aziraphale’s lap. He lowered his head, tucking it into the angle where Aziraphale’s shin met the bed frame, and hid himself further by putting his hand over his head.

‘That’s more like it,’ Aziraphale said approvingly. He rested his palm on the small of Crowley’s back, anchoring and reassuring them both. It hardly seemed real, like some erotic fever dream to have Crowley laid out and ready like this. ‘Perhaps you do know your place after all.’

‘Hnngh.’ Crowley grunted, but he didn’t even pretend to put up a fight.

Emboldened, Aziraphale took hold of Crowley’s waistband and pulled his trousers down, exposing the smooth skin of his bare bottom. ‘No pants, fiend?’ he observed with amusement. ‘Aren’t you an eager slut? Ready and willing to drop your trousers and grant easy access to any passer-by who asks.’

‘No!’ There was a note of genuine distress in Crowley’s yelp of protest. Aziraphale soothed it by rubbing soft circles across his buttocks.

‘No you aren’t a slut or no you don’t bend over and take it from any Tom, Dick, or Harry?’ asked Aziraphale. He knew the answer, of course, but oh how he wanted to hear Crowley say it.

‘No-one else, angel, I swear,’ Crowley sobbed with desperate, astonishing sincerity. ‘No-one else can touch me, I wouldn’t let them, I’d never.’

Satisfied, Aziraphale hummed and continued his gentle stroking of Crowley’s rear quarters. ‘Hush, darling, I believe you,’ he said. ‘Poor, buttoned up little thing, you tried so hard to deny your slutty impulses. It was very naughty of you to send me away like that earlier this evening. Such terrible fibs about not needing me - I can’t allow you to get away with that.’

Crowley twitched and let out a low, strangled sound from the back of his throat, but otherwise remained in place. His face was hidden but Aziraphale could picture it well, flushed red with hopeless humiliation. And he liked it. The knowledge gave Aziraphale a thrill of power, a sort of perverse righteousness.

‘I’m going to spank you now,’ he continued. ‘Ten smacks on that lovely bottom. You’re going to lie there and take it like a good little tart, and when I’m done you’ll thank me for correcting you. Understood?’

Again Crowley’s response was limited to desperate sounds, a rather pathetic whine that he’d probably drink holy water rather than admit to but which went straight to Aziraphale’s cock. Still, he couldn’t tolerate any further defiance.

‘I asked if you understood. Answer me.’

‘Yes, I understand,’ said Crowley, snappish with need. ‘Get on with it, angel.’

‘Two more smacks for insolence,’ Aziraphale informed him. ‘Quiet now, or it’ll be worse for you.’

Not allowing time for Crowley to respond, Aziraphale raised his hand and brought it down in a swift, stinging slap. Crowley howled - how much was pain, surprise, or arousal was impossible to tell. In any case, Aziraphale enjoyed the sound a great deal, so he repeated the movement, eliciting a quieter, but still delicious, yelp from Crowley.

Crowley’s cries softened with the subsequent strike and the next, the noises he made sounding suspiciously like moans. Aziraphale kept up a steady pace, spanking each cheek in turn with a decent amount of force. He paused at the halfway point, to steady his breath, which was oddly ragged for a being who didn’t require oxygen and was nominally in charge. A nice opportunity to inspect Crowley’s bottom, which was already a pleasing shade of pink and warm to the touch. He drew a fingernail over the flushed skin, making Crowley hiss with pain-pleasure-want.

If it were more intense pain Crowley wanted, there were plenty of options. Aziraphale cast an eye over the array of props left by the Satanists on the bedside table. A cane, various floggers, and a sturdy paddle were all within easy reach; each would doubtless provide a more dramatic impact than the flat of Aziraphale’s hand. Crowley could handle the pain, no doubt. But, on reflection, no, it was better this way. More personal. Aziraphale enjoyed the feeling of Crowley’s skin, hot and tender, under his hands. Enjoyed even more the knowledge that it was Aziraphale, and only Aziraphale, that got to touch him like this.

He struck Crowley again, harder still, on each cheek and the tops of his thighs. His own palm throbbed at the impact, but that was good too. It was curiously intimate, sharing an echo of the stinging heat he inflicted on Crowley in his own palm, the pain and the pleasure uniting them.

‘And that’s ten,’ said Aziraphale, using a great force of will to keep his voice steady. ‘If you’d learnt to hold your tongue you’d be done by now. Still, nearly there. I trust you can behave for the last two.’

‘Angel, please,’ Crowley sobbed, desperate. He rutted against Aziraphale’s lap, the insistent heat of his erection apparent even through layers of clothing.

‘Please, what?’ Aziraphale spoke coolly, though he was glad of the pause. It gave him a wonderful opportunity to admire Crowley’s backside, the pert globes now shining red. Like a couple of apples, he thought with satisfaction, only twice as tempting. ‘Please stop? Please, more? You’ll need to be specific, darling.’

‘Please,’ Crowley repeated. ‘I’m… close.’

Aziraphale smirked, more than a little smug. ‘Already?’ he asked. ‘Doesn’t take much, does it? Still I can’t say I’m surprised, what with you wriggling across my lap like a desperate little strumpet.’

Crowley just whined and it occurred to Aziraphale that he was trying, but not quite able, to ask for permission to come. Oh, what a treasure he was. As a kindness, Aziraphale would spare him the ordeal of asking out loud. This time.

‘Don’t hold back on my account,’ he said, idly groping Crowley’s poor, tender arse as he spoke. ‘Show me you’ve learnt your lesson about hiding desire.’

He gave Crowley’s buttock one last squeeze before lifting his hand to deliver the final blows, the other pressing firmly on Crowley’s back to hold him in place. SMACK-SMACK, and Crowley cried out as he came, the entire length of him juddering like he’d been electrocuted.

Afterwards, he lay shivering, a deadweight flopped across Aziraphale’s lap, atop the tell-tale wetness seeping into Aziraphale’s trouser leg. Aziraphale hesitated, wondering if Crowley’s release would bring the return of his bravado, or prompt him to flee in abject mortification.

A business-like approach seemed best. ‘Right, now, up you pop,’ he said. ‘All done now.’

Crowley doubtless would’ve preferred to hide a little longer, but for all that he was difficult, he wasn’t a coward. He lifted his head and hoisted himself back up off Aziraphale’s lap, with rather less elegance than he’d lain down across it. His shirt was crumpled and his trousers, speckled damply with come, were bunched awkwardly below his hips. He winced, and sat down rather gingerly beside him.

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in one of his, and cradled the side of his face with the other. Oh, but he was a vision. Hair dishevelled and face flushed, there was a faint sheen of perspiration on his forehead and tracks of tears drying on his cheeks. His lower lip was red and swollen from being bitten. He was a glorious mess and Aziraphale ached with love for him.

‘Thank you,’ said Crowley, surprising Aziraphale for a moment, until he remembered that he’d instructed Crowley to thank him for disciplining him.

‘My darling,’ said Aziraphale. ‘You did wonderfully.’

He kissed him again, before Crowley could object to the praise. Softer this time, and tender, Aziraphale allowed himself to luxuriate in the taste of Crowley’s mouth as his confidence grew that he’d have it for longer.

‘Can I…?’ Crowley asked, uncertain, when Aziraphale released him. ‘Um. Can I do anything for you?’

The shyness, or at least the obvious display of it, was new, and utterly charming. Crowley was hesitant, still woozy in his post-orgasmic haze, improperly dressed and so enchantingly vulnerable. What an absolute treat; Aziraphale could just eat him up.

‘You’ll do plenty for me,’ he said, licking his lips. ‘For starters, you can clean up the dreadful mess you’ve made all over my trousers.’

Crowley grinned, and clicked his fingers. At once he was naked, or very nearly. All that remained was the narrow silver scarf Aziraphale had used to drag him about. The sight of it dangling by the slender planes of Crowley’s chest was very distracting. Small wonder it took Aziraphale a moment to realise that he was naked too.

‘Crowley!’ he exclaimed sharply. ‘This is… most untoward.’

But Crowley just gazed at him, his expression soft, adoring even. ‘Angel,’ he murmured. ‘You’re so lovely.’

If Aziraphale were truly the brute Crowley would have him play, this unauthorised stripping would merit a punishment, but it was difficult to remain stern in the face of such worshipful adoration. Aziraphale had known for some time that Crowley cared for him a great deal and considered himself extremely fortunate for it. Being so plainly the object of Crowley’s desire, his lust, admiration even… Well, it was intoxicating. Aziraphale would have to control himself before he allowed his emotions to get the better of him.

‘That wasn’t quite what I had in mind,’ he said, unable to keep the note of amusement out of his voice. Of course Crowley knew that Aziraphale liked him a bit naughty anyway. ‘I hope for your sake my clothes are well-cared for, and you haven’t just dispatched them into the ether.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it, angel.’ Crowley flashed a cheeky smile and nodded to where Aziraphale’s clothes hung, neat and in pristine condition, on a wooden valet stand at the edge of the summoning circle.

‘Very good,’ said Aziraphale. He caressed the side of Crowley’s face, watching as his eyes shuddered closed at the contact. ‘You know how important it is to me to take good care of my possessions.’

‘Angel,’ Crowley breathed.

Aziraphale leant closer, and pressed a soft kiss to Crowley’s cheek. ‘Especially when they’re beautiful.’ He moved slowly, and kissed the other cheek. ‘Unique. And precious.’

Crowley opened his eyes. ‘I’m a bit more robust than a vintage waistcoat.’

‘So I’ve noticed,’ said Aziraphale. ‘I’ve also noticed that you’re not entirely bare.’

He flicked Crowley’s scarf, playfully dismissive, as though it were an object of no real significance.

‘Kinda thought you liked it,’ said Crowley.

‘Is that so?’ Aziraphale threaded the scarf around his fingers, just loosely for now. ‘I can’t help but wonder if you have some sort of ulterior motive.’

‘Ulterior motive? What, me?’

Aziraphale hummed. ‘I think you’re hoping I’ll use this silly little thing to tie you to the bed, keep you from slithering away while I have my way with you.’

Crowley gasped, and Aziraphale discovered that his blush travelled all the way to his chest.

‘Would you like that, darling?’ Aziraphale continued, a seductive purr in Crowley’s ear. ‘Would you like me to tie you up and fuck you?’

‘Angel… fuck,’ Crowley gasped out. ‘Yeah. You can do whatever you want to me.’

‘Oh I don’t doubt that.’ Aziraphale made no attempt to disguise the smug note to this voice. ‘But I’d like to know that my efforts are appreciated. I understand this is difficult for you, but it would mean a great deal to hear you say that you want it. You do want to please me, don’t you?’

‘Fuck, yeah.’ Crowley bowed his head, grimacing. ‘OK, yeah. I want you to tie me up and fuck me stupid with that gorgeous great big cock, you remorseless bastard.’

‘You like this, do you?’ Aziraphale glanced down at his straining erection. He’d largely disregarded his own arousal in favour of focusing on Crowley but it was certainly making a bid for attention, and he supposed it was on the large side. Aziraphale wasn’t one for small portions. ‘You want it?’

‘Yesss.’

Aziraphale beamed as he slipped the scarf off from around Crowley’s neck. ‘Jolly good,’ he said. ‘Now turn around and on your knees. Get yourself into position for me.’

Not waiting to be told twice, Crowley scrabbled to arrange himself as directed, maintaining a surprising degree of serpentine grace in spite of his eager haste. Aziraphale sat back to enjoy the view, admiring the quiet strength of those long, supple limbs and the subtle flex of muscles beneath moon-pale skin. There was a faint dusting of freckles across Crowley’s shoulders, and a mole Aziraphale hadn’t seen since Roman times. Best of all that delectable little bum, pert and warmly pink, stuck out proud and presented for Aziraphale’s pleasure.

‘Lovely,’ breathed Aziraphale, awestruck by the beauty before him. What a privilege it was to have Crowley like this, eager and vulnerable, and so indescribably precious. He couldn’t resist pressing a series of soft, reverential kisses along the bony curve of Crowley’s spine. ‘I’d be a fool to risk allowing such a tasty morsel to escape before I’ve taken my fill.’

He scooted forwards, ready to fulfil his promise to tie Crowley to the bed. In truth it seemed somewhat superfluous, given how Crowley was gripping the headboard for dear life, but they’d both appreciate the symbolism.

‘I don’t want to bind you too tightly,’ said Aziraphale, as he looped the end of the scarf around one of Crowley’s wrists. ‘It’s best if you're able to brace yourself.’ He ignored the way Crowley swore under his breath and proceeded to wind the scarf around the headboard, then tied the opposite end around Crowley’s other wrist, before taking a moment to admire his handiwork. ‘There, that’ll do nicely. You won’t be going anywhere until I’ve done with you.’

‘Fuck.’ Crowley moaned and flexed again, his whole body undulating like a low tide of arousal.

It wasn’t really true; Crowley could miracle his hands free with a thought, and even without his powers he wasn’t tied too tightly to tug the scarf off. He was still trapped in the summoning circle, but of course that was a matter of his own will as well, wasn’t it? The only thing truly imprisoning Crowley was his own desire.

Allowing Crowley a moment to accustom himself to his newly captive state, Aziraphale turned back to the selection of props and accoutrements laid out by the Satanists. They were all wicked, or at least terribly misguided, but they hadn’t been stingy. There was an entire basket full of various lubricants, which Aziraphale perused with interest. Eschewing the brightly labelled modern formulations containing silicon and artificial flavourings ³, he selected a small bottle containing traditional oil.

Now that he was so tantalisingly close to finally having Crowley, Aziraphale allowed himself to relax and fully appreciate his own arousal. His cock, which had been hard for some time, now bounced freely as he moved, jutting out proudly atop heavy balls. He considered grabbing Crowley by the hair and turning his head around so the demon could suck him off, forcing his aching prick into that sinful mouth and then ordering him to swallow.

Another time, perhaps. For now he had other plans, for Crowley’s mouth as well as his own dick. He wanted to hear Crowley speak.

‘I expect you know that I’ve wanted this, wanted you for quite some time,’ he said, running his hands up Crowley’s trembling thighs. ‘I suspect you have as well.’

Crowley’s only answer was a low hiss, leaving Aziraphale free to consider the matter at his leisure.

Quite how long he’d wanted Crowley, loved him, desired him, he truly couldn’t say. With a few notable exceptions, the angel wasn’t one for Damascene conversions or moments of sudden revelation. His was more the slow unfurling of understanding, a gradual blossoming of knowledge. Sometimes he thought he’d been falling in love with Crowley since before the world was made. When did it happen; when did the acorn become an oak tree?

Aziraphale loomed over Crowley, resting his chest on Crowley’s back as he kissed his shoulders, and let his hands roam, free and unfettered, all over Crowley’s body. He kept up a quiet stream of appreciative murmurs as he explored the sparse hair on Crowley’s torso, the sinewy strength of his legs, and the stark angle of his hips. Crowley was perfect. And he’s mine, Aziraphale’s mind supplied with a white-hot jolt of possessive fire. It stirred up something dark, feral, deep inside, prompting him to dig his teeth into Crowley’s shoulder, a sharp nip that left a mark on his skin.

He pulled himself back up on his haunches and opened the lube, letting it dribble onto his fingers, and then poured more directly into the cleft of Crowley’s arse. The liquid glistened as it ran down his crack, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Crowley. Aziraphale grabbed his buttocks with both hands and precious little finesse, and gave them a good hard squeeze. The rosy hue from his earlier spanking had faded almost completely, but Aziraphale could take care of that. He dug his fingers into the only spare flesh on Crowley’s body as he groped him, then roughly parted his cheeks to reveal his hole.

Crowley pitched forward, head falling into the pillow, and his arse thrust back into Aziraphale’s grip.

‘My, aren’t you eager?’ said Aziraphale. ‘Perhaps you really are a slut, after all.’

He toyed with Crowley’s arsehole, one thick finger circling the rim and coating it with oil before slowly, slow as he could bear, slipping it inside. For all he knew that Crowley wanted him to be rough with him - and tempting as it was just to ram his cock straight in and claim him at once - Aziraphale was set on taking his time with this, even if he knew the slow speed was a torment for Crowley.

Or perhaps because of it. Aziraphale hesitated to think of himself as a sadist, despite knowing that the label had different connotations in a sexual context, but he did enjoy being master of Crowley’s sweet suffering in this. Toying with him, drawing out his arousal, breaking down his defences; it made Aziraphale feel powerful, and curiously at peace. Crowley had stubbornly resisted Aziraphale’s care and protection a thousand times, but now he was helpless to resist Aziraphale taking control of his pleasure.

‘Patience, you desperate thing,’ he cautioned as a second finger joined the first, carefully and meticulously working Crowley open. ‘Let me take my time enjoying you. It’ll be worth the wait. You know what’s coming, don’t you?’

Crowley gasped. ‘You’re going to fuck me.’

‘Naturally.’ Aziraphale twisted his fingers as he spoke. ‘But do you know how I’m going to fuck you?’

‘Ngh.’ Crowley let out another deranged series of consonants. Poor thing was quite overwhelmed. ‘I…’

‘Relax, darling, it’s not a trick question. I genuinely want to know what you expect. How you’re imagining it.’

He continued moving his fingers in and out of Crowley’s arse at a leisurely pace, not increasing the pressure, just allowing Crowley a chance to grow accustomed to the sensation. It wouldn’t take him too long to gather his wits and answer.

‘I think you’ll fuck me slow,’ Crowley began cautiously. ‘At least at first, you’ll tease me. And then…’

‘And then what?’

‘Hard, really hard. I think you’re gonna wreck me.’

Aziraphale rewarded him by thrusting his fingers deep into Crowley’s hole, hard as he could. ‘Very good, my dear,’ he said approvingly. ‘A perfectly reasonable prediction. Of course, the proof of the pudding is in the eating, so you’ll have to wait to find out how it really happens, but would you like to hear how I plan to fuck you?’

Again Crowley’s answer was a lewd grunt, and he moaned into the pillow. Aziraphale regretted that he couldn’t see his face properly like this; was Crowley crying again yet? Next time he’d put a mirror in front of him.

‘I’m going to fuck you thoroughly,’ he said. ‘Hard, yes, and deep and long, until it feels like it’s not just this hungry little hole that I’ve pounded, but every fibre of your being. I’ve been denied the pleasure of this gorgeous body far too long and I fully intend to make up for that now. Oh, I’m going to enjoy myself so much. I won’t hold anything back and I won’t stop until I’ve filled you with my come, left you wet and dripping with it.’

Crowley gasped so beautifully that Aziraphale simply had to see him. He grasped Crowley’s hair and twisted his head around, treating himself to the tantalising sight of his profile. Crowley’s mouth hung open and his eyes were screwed shut, his whole face contorted with emotion. He looked simply wild with desire.

Strangely, Crowley’s lack of control made it so much easier for Aziraphale to keep his own. ‘Oh, but that’s not all,’ he continued as he held Crowley in place, one hand in his hair and the other in his arse. ‘You surely don’t imagine me to be a selfish lover? I’ll give as much pleasure as I take. I’m going to make you feel so good, my sweet, slutty treasure. I’ll fuck you until you’re sobbing with sensation, and make you come so hard you’ll scream.’

He yanked Crowley’s hair again, pulling him upwards until he was close enough to make their mouths meet in a messy, brutal kiss. So hard their teeth crashed but Aziraphale paid that no mind, just nipped Crowley’s lip and forced his way into his mouth. Crowley’s tongue flicked against his, supple as any snake. The taste of his mouth was intoxicating and wholly unique, rich and smoky like fine Scotch or lapsang souchong. Aziraphale knew he’d never have enough of it, and it was only the sheer necessity of moving away so that he could finally fuck Crowley that made him abandon his mouth.

He slipped his fingers out of Crowley’s arse with a satisfyingly lewd slurp, chuckling at the needy whine it prompted. ‘Don’t fret, dearest,’ he cooed. ‘I’ll not leave you empty for long.’

It was hard not to hurry as Aziraphale poured a little more lubricant onto his palm and slicked himself up. He placed one hand on the small of Crowley’s back, steadying himself as he held his demon in place. His other hand held his cock, guiding it towards Crowley’s waiting backside.

‘Just one more question,’ he said, teasing as he slid the head of his penis up and down the crack of Crowley’s arse.

‘What?’ Crowley snapped, a flare of impatience breaking through his desperate submission.

‘We’ve covered the how, but not the why,’ said Aziraphale. ‘Why is it, do you think, that I’m going to screw you, to give you a fucking of a lifetime?’

‘I don’t know!’ exclaimed Crowley, clearly just barely holding back from adding; I don’t care, just do it!

Aziraphale stilled. ‘If you don’t want me to change my mind and leave you here, tied up and desperate, I suggest you put that remarkable imagination to work and think of something.’

‘I - the circle!’ said Crowley, frantic. ‘The summoning circle. It trapped me. You offered to fuck me to help me escape.’

For the first time Aziraphale felt a flash of genuine anger, and he issued another smack to Crowley’s backside, much harder this time. ‘Don’t insult us both,’ he spat. ‘Answer me properly.’

There was a flicker of something familiar in Crowley’s expression, the look he got when he was thinking on his feet. The look he got when another demon caught him doing good and Crowley had to think fast to talk his way out of it. ‘For… fun?’ he suggested. ‘For your pleasure.’

‘Continue.’

‘Because I’m yours,’ Crowley continued.

Aziraphale sighed, savouring those words.

‘Yours to fuck,’ added Crowley. ‘To use. I’m your toy, your cocksleeve.’

Aziraphale smacked the other buttock smartly. ‘You are not a thing, Crowley,’ he admonished. ‘I live in Soho, if all I wanted was a hole to stick my cock in I’d have no trouble acquiring one. Now try again.’

Crowley turned his face away. Aziraphale considered forcing him to look back, but perhaps, naked and exposed as he was with his arse in the air, he needed to hide something to speak honestly.

‘You fancy me,’ he said in a small voice.

‘Oh darling, how could I not?’ Aziraphale rubbed his cock over Crowley’s hole, circling the rim. ‘You’re precious.’

‘You - oh. You care for me.’

Aziraphale pressed the tip of his cock to his entrance, almost but not quite entering him. Lingering on the doorstep. ‘Nearly there,’ he soothed, gentle and encouraging. ‘You can do it, sweetheart, I know you can.’

Crowley slumped a little further in quiet surrender. ‘You love me.’

‘Oh, well done.’ Aziraphale slid into him at once, sinking his cock in the tight, welcoming heat in one fluid movement. ‘You‘re mine and I love you.’

He stayed like that for one long, glorious moment, savouring the sensation of being buried to the hilt in the exquisite squeeze of Crowley’s body. Crowley whimpered below him, wordlessly urging him on, and who was Aziraphale to deny him? He pulled back, sliding almost all the way out of Crowley’s needy hole, before grabbing him tight by the hips and slamming back in again, hard.

A sense of vicious triumph flared in Aziraphale, thinking of all the things that had threatened to take Crowley away from him. Heaven. Hell. Crowley’s temper. His own foolishness. Never again. Crowley was his now, willingly, desperately so, and Aziraphale would never let him go again. His fingers dug hard enough to bruise into Crowley’s hips as Aziraphale gripped him tight, holding him up to fuck him deep, and hard, and relentless.

‘Angel, please.’ Crowley sobbed, delirious, beyond all dignity or reason. ‘Please.’

‘Don’t come yet,’ said Aziraphale as he thrust into him, powerful and deliberate, forcing Crowley’s face into the pillow. ‘Greedy little slut, you can come again when I do.’

Crowley bucked beneath him, a wild beast for Aziraphale to tackle. Not to tame, never that, but to ride, to claim. He glanced down, pleased by the sight of his dick, achingly hard, plundering Crowley’s hole, the rim growing red and puffy with use.

Once or twice before, Crowley had called him a hedonist. He hadn’t said it unkindly, but Aziraphale always demurred the accusation, fearing it was a little too close to gluttony for comfort. It was true, of course, that Aziraphale embraced sensual pleasures and earthly delights with an enthusiasm unbecoming of an angel.⁴ But for all Aziraphale had delighted in sensation over the years - the richest flavours, the finest scents, the plushest textures - there was nothing that compared to this. The sheer carnal delight of their coupling eclipsed them all as Aziraphale, after centuries of self-indulgence, learnt anew what pleasure was for.

The sounds Crowley made, low and desperate, like he was teetering on the verge of flying apart. The heat of his body, clenching around Aziraphale’s aching prick with every slick thrust. The sight of him, head down and arse up, kneeling in obscene supplication. Every part of it was perfect, a sensory feast, and Aziraphale was ready to embrace the sin of gluttony at last. His hunger for Crowley, now finally fed after so many years starving, might never be fully sated.

‘Is this what you wanted, darling?’ he asked. ‘Does this satisfy your need, your craving to be filled by my cock?’

‘Angel. Oh, angel-angel-angel, please. Yes.’ Crowley sounded like he was floating, but still more coherent than Aziraphale would like.

He fucked into him again with slow, luxurious push. ‘Oh, darling, you have no idea how good you feel. Your greedy little hole positively sucks me in. You need this terribly, don’t you?’

‘Please,’ admitted Crowley. ‘Need you.’

Aziraphale shivered, thrilled to hear it. He eased back until only the tip of his cock remained inside Crowley, stretching out his rim, and gripped Crowley’s hips with a vice-like grip to keep him in place. He chuckled, indecently amused as Crowley tried to push back onto his cock, and held firm. ‘Don’t worry, my sweet insatiable harlot. I’ll give you exactly what you need. Brace yourself.’

Without further warning, he thrust forward, driving his cock all the way into Crowley in one swift, brutal movement. Crowley cried out but Aziraphale gave him no time to recover, pulling back only to slam into him again, fast and unforgiving. Crowley gripped the headboard, white knuckled, as Aziraphale fucked him in earnest.

A human with Aziraphale’s disinclination towards physical exertion would soon have tired, but it didn’t occur to Aziraphale that he could put his back out, or that his hips weren’t ready to jackhammer so forcefully, so he kept up the punishing pace easily. Beneath him, Crowley was helpless against the onslaught, gasping choked-out sounds that sounded like yes and fuck and more as his hands grappled with the headboard and he fought desperately to hold himself up.

Eventually, with one powerful thrust, Aziraphale forced him down. Crowley’s knees gave way and he collapsed, flat on his face as Aziraphale shoved him into the mattress. Slowing the pace of his fucking only slightly, Aziraphale moved to cover as much of Crowley’s body as he could reach with his own. He released Crowley’s hips to reach out and hold down his arms, circling Crowley’s bound wrists with his hands. Powerful thighs leant into the tops of Crowley’s legs, bearing him down harder with each thrust. His chest and stomach pressed flat against Crowley’s back, feeling the heat of him, the bony curve of Crowley’s spine digging into the soft swell of his belly. Skin-to-skin at every point possible as he kept on fucking him, surrounding and invading him all at once.

‘Pinned down, fiend.’ Aziraphale put his mouth to Crowley’s neck, letting Crowley feel the damp warmth of his breath over sweat-slicked skin. ‘No escape for you now.’

Crowley rocked against him, eagerly compliant. His head fell to one side, allowing Aziraphale to see his face again. His eyes were bright and his features were relaxed at last, giving him a hazy, blissed-out look. He sighed, deep and content, as Aziraphale bore into him. ‘You win, angel.’

YES. Aziraphale grunted, whiting-out in ecstasy, triumphant as he enjoyed the spoils of victory. He’d won Crowley - beautiful, perfect Crowley, naked and eager beneath him, rutting against him, clutching around his dick. Not the vanquished foe; Crowley was his prize. His orgasm felt like a whole body experience, out of body, transcendental. He gripped Crowley’s wrists, called his name, and shot into his arse, filling him up, only distantly aware that Crowley was crying and coming with him.

He lay still and utterly spent for several long moments, his cock softening inside Crowley, his skin prickling with heat where they were joined together. Millenia of tension drifted out of his body as he relaxed, soft as caramel, covering Crowley in a voluptuous layer of molten angel.

‘Apologies, my dear, I must be crushing you,’ he said when he finally gathered the mental wherewithal to move. He lifted himself gingerly, cautious that parts of Crowley might be feeling rather tender. There was a dull ripping sound, like Velcro separating, when he prised his chest from where it had been plastered to Crowley’s back, and a squelch as his cock slipped wetly from Crowley’s arse.

‘S’alright, angel, people pay good money for weighted blankets.’ Crowley’s voice was hoarse. He let out a relieved sigh when Aziraphale untied his wrists, flexing his hands and arms the moment he was free.

Aziraphale flopped onto his back and took in the show as Crowley stretched out his long limbs in a way that probably wasn’t intended to be so delightfully erotic.

‘Right,’ said Crowley when he came to a still, or as still as he ever got, perched on the edge of the bed. ‘Do you want to, um…?’

‘Cuddle,’ said Aziraphale resolutely, holding out his arms.

He half-expected a protest, or for Crowley to at least roll his eyes, but he flung himself across the bed with remarkable speed and wrapped all his limbs - arms and legs - around Aziraphale.

‘My dear, I wasn’t aware you were some sort of constrictor. That’s quite some grip you’ve got there.’

‘That’s what you get for trying to snuggle with a demon. Be careful what you wish for.’

Aziraphale sighed, utterly content, and pressed a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head. This was everything he could possibly wish for. It was blissful.

‘Angel… are you glowing?’

He was; a pale golden light shone from Aziraphale’s chest, a rogue ray of celestial delight. He decided to turn it out before Crowley could start complaining that it was blinding him.

‘Oopsie, got a bit carried away. I’m just so happy,’ he said, ignoring Crowley’s scoff. ‘And why shouldn’t I be? I’m snuggling with my demon. And we just made love. I can’t think of a more perfectly splendid way to spend an evening.’

‘Made love? Is that what you’re calling it?’

Aziraphale sniffed. ‘I’m sure you’d use a more coarse term, but I think love-making is quite appropriate.’

‘So you’re just gonna gloss over the way you slapped me about and called me a slut, right?’

A cold prickle of doubt nagged at the edges of Aziraphale’s contentment. ‘You didn’t like it?’

‘Of course I liked it!’ exclaimed Crowley. He sounded very annoyed about it. ‘I loved all of it; your dirty mouth and the way you put me over your knee like I was a mischievous imp, getting absolutely railed by your monster cock, how rough you were with me. I even love all this… cuddling.’

He spat the last word out like it was something vaguely disgusting. Aziraphale chuckled and cuddled him a bit closer. ‘Hm, enjoying a cuddle, how dreadful. I can see that you must be deeply ashamed of yourself.’

‘I have all these feelings,’ grumbled Crowley. ‘It’s undignified. I shouldn’t be aroused by you and your smug little smiles or your ridiculous fashion sense. The kinky stuff is a bit weird but at least it’s sin-adjacent, I could style it out. But all the rest?’ He sighed and continued despondently, ‘I really like the cuddling. It’s so annoying.’

‘My poor darling. This must be terribly difficult for you.’ Aziraphale smiled, fondly amused by Crowley’s distress. ‘Having all these warm feelings for a stuffy, spoilt, silly old angel like myself must be quite the ordeal for you.’

‘It is!’

‘I’m afraid you’ve only got yourself to blame,’ Aziraphale continued. ‘I at least had the good sense to fall in love with the most beautiful, perfect, sexy demon and don’t feel the least embarrassed about it. In fact, I’m feeling rather pleased with myself.’

Crowley raised his head and gave him a sly smile. ‘Of course you’re pleased with yourself, you smug bastard.’

‘Apparently you find that attractive.’

He was gloating rather, so Aziraphale couldn’t blame Crowley for not dignifying that with a response. Instead he leant in and pressed a soft kiss to Aziraphale’s mouth, the first he’d initiated. Aziraphale sighed and parted his lips, welcoming in Crowley’s warm, serpentine tongue. Oh! He was awfully clever with it.

‘I’m really happy, angel,’ said Crowley after a prolonged snogging session that seemed to have gone on for an awfully long time, and yet somehow not nearly long enough.

Aziraphale gazed up at him, enraptured. Crowley’s smile was bright and genuine, lighting up his face. For once his expression was wholly unguarded, warm and unmistakably fond. It made him more handsome than ever.

‘Oh. Oh, my dear. I’m so glad,’ said Aziraphale, welling up. He’d known for quite some time that Crowley loved him, but that knowledge had always been tainted by the fear that loving Aziraphale was bad for Crowley, not least because of the danger it so often prompted him to put himself in. Over the years he’d struggled, often in vain, to keep Crowley safe and to share pleasurable experiences when he could, but he’d scarcely dared hope that he could make him honestly, truly happy. He found himself smiling back at Crowley rather stupidly, and blinking rapidly.

‘Angel… are you crying?’ asked Crowley, amused. ‘That might actually be worse than the glowing thing. I didn’t think even you were sentimental enough to start bawling after sex.’

‘Do be quiet, you wretched fiend.’ Aziraphale produced a monogrammed handkerchief and dabbed his eyes with it. ‘I seem to recall someone crying during the act.’

‘That is completely different.’ Crowley jutted his chin in defiance. It made him look so charmingly petulant. ‘You had your whole… disciplinarian thing going on. I was simply getting into character.’

‘I had no idea you were such an accomplished actor. All that pathetic begging and pleading was ever so convincing. Perhaps you should take to the stage? With your talents you’d be the toast of the West End.’

‘Nah, you’re the only one who gets to see that.’ Crowley’s expression softened. ‘You’re the only one that ever saw me.’

Aziraphale reached up and pressed a soft kiss to Crowley’s cheek. ‘Lucky me.’

‘Lucky everyone, let’s be honest,’ said Crowley. ‘I don’t think anyone else wants to see me making an absolute exhibition of myself anyway.’

That possibly wasn’t entirely true, but Aziraphale wasn’t about to point it out. ‘I shouldn’t allow it, darling. I’m afraid I’m terribly selfish with you,’ he admitted. ‘In any case, humans probably couldn’t withstand the sheer force of your terribly demonic cuddles.’

Crowley laughed and squeezed him a bit tighter. ‘I suppose I should thank you really. For introducing me to a wholly new experience.’

‘Hmm, what’s that, darling?’ asked Aziraphale. ‘Sexual satisfaction? True love and contentment? Or just the simple pleasure of a nice spot of snuggling?’

‘All of those, naturally, but I was actually thinking about being genuinely grateful to the Satanists.’

‘Oh! Oh, yes, I suppose the summoning circle did us a favour.’

‘Didn’t it though? I reckon we could get out now, since you’ve been such an angel and valiantly helped me fulfil my desires.’

They probably could, but Aziraphale was so very comfortable like this, with a fluffy pillow under his head and a content demon in his arms. He wasn’t the least inclined to move at all. ‘For you, perhaps, but what about my desires?’

‘Like that, is it? You won’t be satisfied until we’ve had at least another go.’ Crowley looked altogether too pleased about it. ‘Should’ve known you’d be insatiable.’

In truth Aziraphale wasn’t sure his desire for Crowley would ever be wholly quenched, no matter how many “goes” they had. It was a theory he looked forward to testing. ‘Quite so, my dear,’ he said. ‘I require a great deal more cuddling before I’ll be truly content. Perhaps you’d like to take a nap?’

Crowley eyed him suspiciously. ‘You don’t sleep.’

‘No, but you like it and I can watch you. A state of unconsciousness is the only thing that stops you complaining for more than five minutes and I’ll enjoy the peace.’

‘You’re very insistent about this. Are you plotting to take liberties with me while I’m vulnerable and defenceless?’

Aziraphale tutted. ‘If I promise to commit unspeakable violations on your sleeping person, will you settle down and go to sleep?’

‘Deal. G’night, angel.’ Crowley pressed a final kiss to Aziraphale’s mouth and then wriggled down, resting his head on Aziraphale’s chest.

Smiling fondly, Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair, watching in silence as his breathing slowed and the demon fell quickly into an easy slumber. ‘Now I’ve got you at my mercy, my fiend, what shall I do with you?’ he pondered out loud. ‘Shall I tell you how pretty you are? How loved, how treasured? Perhaps I could make a list of all the things I like best about you. How I’ve always admired your courage. I could tell you how good you are, how sweet, and you can’t do a thing to stop me.’

Crowley slept on, peaceful and oblivious. Oh, this was fun.

‘But mere prose isn’t enough for you, my beloved,’ Aziraphale continued. ‘Your gifts should be celebrated in all the arts - music, painting, poetry. I think I’ll start by composing a sonnet to your hidden kind heart…’ ⁵

1. Yes, Crowley did use an informal synonym for “father” and yes, Aziraphale knew that. He was also aware of the word’s other meanings and thought it a perfectly ridiculous way to refer to Crowley. return to text

2. It was actually an Airbnb. There’s nothing in their terms and conditions that says you can’t use the property for black masses and demon summonings because, despite what he told Hell, Crowley didn’t actually have anything to do with them. return to text

3. In addition to the entire concept of flavoured lube offending Aziraphale’s foody sensibilities, he had serious reservations about the choice of flavours. Fruits like strawberry or pineapple seemed harmless enough, but candy floss was sticky. Surely not the right idea at all. And humans liked to chew bubblegum, one instinctive reaction to the taste and someone could have a very nasty accident. return to text

4. ‘Sounds a bit stupid to me,’ Crowley told him, when Aziraphale went through a brief period of abstaining from “gross matter” after some particularly unpleasant remarks from Gabriel. ‘What’s so wrong with enjoying Her creations? More of a sin to sneer at them, surely.’ Aziraphale hadn’t said anything at the time, but his heart had ached as he wondered, not for the first time, if Crowley didn’t understand Her better than any of them. return to text

5. He did indeed compose the sonnet, a lengthy one at that, and recited parts of it during a drunken interlude when he found himself moved to propose marriage to the demon a year later. He made up for it by committing some rather less sentimental, and rather more adult-rated, transgressions upon Crowley’s person afterwards. return to text