The atmosphere was surprisingly comfortable as Crowley and Aziraphale sat with Will Shakespeare, each nursing a strong drink, conversing easily. They all knew what was happening, they all wanted it, and they all knew each other to varying degrees, but one always expected some level of awkwardness with these types of things.
Crowley had called upon Will a few days after his conversation with Aziraphale, much to the playwright’s shock. He hadn’t expected to see Crowley again after their night together, but he certainly wasn’t disappointed that Crowley showed up again. He was slightly disappointed when Crowley said he wasn’t there for a repeat performance, but then the demon had gotten down to business rather quickly, detailing his proposal in very direct terms – graphic, some would say – and Will had been more than amenable to it.
It was January, now, and Crowley raised a glass to the new year, arching a knowing eyebrow at the angel sat across from him. They had arrived separately to the playwright’s home, at Aziraphale’s insistence – something about not wanting to intimidate or alienate Will by presenting themselves as a couple, which Crowley thought was nonsense, but he accepted it with minimal argument. The three agreed it would be best if they sat down for one drink to ease them into the situation, but it quite quickly proved to be unnecessary.
Crowley’s general tendency had always been toward a bit of a reserved attitude; he wasn’t shy or timid by any means, but he rarely took charge of a situation unless it was necessary. It seemed necessary, in this case. It had been his idea, and he knew Aziraphale was too polite to take the lead in the beginning, and he didn’t want to watch Will stumble artlessly through trying to initiate things. So he did it himself, and he did it his way.
His way consisted of flashing a bright smile, full of teeth, and lifting Will’s drink from his hand, setting it on the table by the bed. He didn’t give the playwright enough of a pause even to wonder what he was doing, as he swooped down in an instant to meet him in a kiss, hot and desperate. Will responded without hesitation, pulling at Crowley’s lip with his teeth, tangling his fingers in the demon’s hair, a soft moan escaping him.
Crowley pulled away from the kiss, leaving Will struck dumb for a moment, but the demon only detached himself long enough to mumble “Come here, angel,” before leaning in again. He bestowed a series of quick, messy kisses upon the playwright’s lips and the surrounding area of his face, distracted by the peripheral sight of Aziraphale rising from his seat and approaching, slow but certain. Barely turning to face him, Crowley jerked his head toward the spot next to Will, prompting the angel to have a seat on the prim bedspread.
Will had been sitting on the bed the entire time; they’d come straight to the bedroom upon being invited inside, because – well, because they knew why they were there, and because sofas had not yet been invented, so there was no comfortable way to get started in another room and gradually move there. Crowley and Aziraphale had been sitting on chairs dragged from the corners of the room, and if the seats were miraculously softer-cushioned than before, nobody had to know. And now, now Will and Aziraphale were sat beside each other on the edge of the bed, Crowley leaning over them like a predatory animal, like a person looking upon a buffet with a gleaming eye of greed and struggling to decide what to eat first.
Making his choice, Crowley moved in close to Will’s ear and purred, “Do me a favor, would you? Go sit over there.” He waved a hand toward the top of the bed, and the playwright complied, scooting up the length of the bed to lean against the headboard. Crowley gave him a winning smile before turning his attentions to the angel.
“Aziraphale,” he whispered, low enough that Will couldn’t hear, “what do you want?”
Aziraphale looked up at him, furrowing his brow, frowning. “Whatever you want,” he said, as if it should have been obvious.
Crowley grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he replied, preening, before pulling Aziraphale to his feet. “Kiss me, please,” he murmured gently, a velvety heat underneath the surface of his voice, “and undress me.”
The angel didn’t give a second thought to doing what was asked of him, capturing Crowley’s lips in a deep kiss, fingers flying to remove his many layers of clothing. Aziraphale thought to himself that it really was a terrible era for sex, what with all the syphilis – which didn’t affect them – and the impossibility of the clothing – which usually wouldn’t affect them, but they couldn’t very well miracle their clothes off with a human watching them. So Aziraphale did it the hard way, and he wasn’t too torn up over it, because it gave him a solid few minutes to kiss Crowley positively silly.
Aziraphale really did enjoy kissing Crowley silly.
When the demon was divested of all his clothing, he stood unselfconsciously in front of Will and Aziraphale, both still fully dressed, and looked back and forth between the two of them. “Right,” he muttered half to himself, placing his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders and steering him back toward the bed. “You sit there, okay? Good.”
He felt a bit silly, being so businesslike, but the fact was Crowley was not accustomed to being in charge. He directed the other two to satisfactory positions on the bed, and then looked up at them, twisting his lips into a smile that doubled as a question.
Will nodded his head desperately. In all of this, he was hardly even an active participant. Aziraphale was the bulk of the appeal, Aziraphale was the point of it all, it was just, well – Aziraphale didn’t have two cocks, wonderful as he may be, and Will provided not only a second cock, but also that extra something that came only from being so deliciously used by two people at once. Crowley might have felt bad, felt like he was using him, if the playwright hadn’t been so damned enthusiastic about the whole thing, following his every move and every word with rapt attention.
Aziraphale nodded as well, accompanying the gesture with a delicate stroke of Crowley’s hair, a soft touch that the demon leaned into and savored. When he’d had his moment of warmth, Crowley settled back on his haunches and moved to fiddle first with Will’s trousers, then Aziraphale’s, taking both their cocks out and stroking them to full hardness, one in each hand, watching their faces intently.
Well. Watching Aziraphale’s face, mostly. He could hardly be blamed for it; Aziraphale made the most endearing faces when Crowley’s fingers were wrapped around his cock. They’d done this, just the two of them, several times since the first time a few short weeks previously, enough to get past the need to maintain their pretense of wiling and thwarting, enough to admit that they could do it just because they liked it. And oh, did they ever like it.
Crowley pulled back both of his hands and then held one out before Aziraphale’s face, looking at him expectantly. The angel took a moment to catch up, then gave Crowley a look that was half-exasperated – though it lacked much malice behind it, considering he was still heavily aroused – and rolled his eyes as he obediently spit in the demon’s palm.
Smug and satisfied, Crowley returned to stroking the angel with that hand and lowered his head to take Will’s cock in his mouth. He pulled no punches, working his tongue along the length of it, bobbing his head until Will bucked his hips up involuntarily. Crowley choked, and he felt Aziraphale’s entire body tense up beside him, but he didn’t pull off of Will’s cock, choosing instead to go with the flow and take it all the way down his throat. His lips wrapped around the base, his nose buried in the thatch of dark hair there, Crowley gave a small, appreciative hum and swallowed around the hardness in his throat.
Will let out a long, low groan, his hands fisting in the sheets, using all his restraint to avoid thrusting up again. After a few seconds, Aziraphale seemed to realize that Crowley was okay, and he relaxed as the demon continued stroking his cock with slow, steady movements, but his hand found its way to Crowley’s hair again, a reassuring touch – for which one of them, it was unclear – just holding him as he worked Will with his mouth.
Crowley pulled off the playwright’s cock with an obscene sigh of relief, the kind of noise that comes from having a cold, refreshing drink, or stretching in just the right way. Aziraphale’s eyes went wide and bright at the sound, but he didn’t get to fully process that feeling, because the next second Crowley’s tongue was on his cock, and that was frankly rather distracting. The demon made the switch smoothly, jerking Will’s spit-slick erection with his other hand while he sucked the angel like an expert.
Strictly speaking, as far as sucking an angel’s cock went, Crowley was as close to an expert as one could get, seeing as he was the only being, human or otherwise, who had done it more than once. He also happened to be very good at it, and Aziraphale made him aware of this fact, many times. This time, he did it in a sort of indirect manner, by way of a choked gasp and a strained, “Crowley – you’re – I won’t last, if you keep doing that.”
Well, that just wouldn’t do, not if Crowley wanted this to go as planned. Pausing the ministrations of his hand and his mouth, he pulled off and lifted his head, tonguing lazily at the angel’s throat for a moment before sucking hard at the delicate skin there, leaving a mark. Aziraphale moaned, his head thudding back against the headboard.
Crowley glanced over at Will and saw that he was simply watching them, enthralled, his face flushed and his breath coming fast. Leaning over him, the demon gave him a fast, filthy kiss, biting the playwright’s lip, sucking on his tongue, and then pulled back again.
“Angel,” he breathed, turning back to face Aziraphale.
The angel raised his eyebrows, jarred slightly by being spoken to in the state he was in, but he recovered quickly. “Yes, my dear?”
“Get behind me,” Crowley said simply.
It wasn’t a command, per se, but it was certainly commanding; Aziraphale couldn’t have refused if he had wanted to. He didn’t want to. He moved like lightning to position himself behind Crowley, his hand once again migrating to the demon’s hair, as if it were a reflex, a magnetic attraction. There were only a few seconds for his tender petting, though, before Crowley dipped his head again.
Crowley had a quite literally supernatural ability to contort his body, and Aziraphale knew this, but he still found himself impressed by the way Crowley’s spine curved as he returned his mouth to Will’s cock, lifting his ass high for Aziraphale’s viewing pleasure. Well, not just viewing.
“My goodness, you’re practically dripping,” the angel mused, establishing a solid grip on Crowley’s hips. He may have been imagining the way the demon wiggled those hips in response, as if to say Come and get it, but he didn’t think he was. Regardless, he took the invitation, diving in to taste Crowley, to lick up his essence hungrily, to thrust his tongue into the demon’s eager cunt, relishing the way he pushed back against his mouth.
His eyes screwed tight shut, Crowley whined high in the back of his throat, attempting to focus his attentions on Will’s cock even as Aziraphale ate him out like a man starved. He sucked at the tip of it, flicking his tongue over the slit, and felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him as the playwright uttered a desperate profanity or two. He took his time in working up to the main event, so to speak, teasing the underside of his cock with a light touch, swirling his tongue around the head of it, until he felt the absence of the angel’s face between his legs and twisted around to look at him.
Aziraphale met his gaze with pupils blown wide, his mouth and chin slick, his hair mussed. “Do you want…?” He trailed off, waiting for Crowley to tell him what to do.
“I want your cock in me, angel,” the demon replied earnestly, “if you wouldn’t mind.”
Confident that Aziraphale wouldn’t mind that at all, Crowley turned back around to tongue lazily at Will’s cock as the angel lined up at his entrance and pushed in. As soon as Aziraphale was buried in him to the hilt, Crowley doubled down on his efforts, taking the length of the playwright into his mouth, down his throat, moving his head up and down as Aziraphale began to thrust into him in a steady rhythm.
Crowley whined and moaned around the cock in his mouth, causing vibrations that made it impossible for Will not to buck his hips, but the demon was expecting it this time, and he graciously allowed the playwright to grab a fistful of his hair and fuck into the wet heat of his mouth. This was the good part, he thought, his eyes fluttering shut, utterly contented. He felt full, just like he’d wanted; moreover, he felt like he was making others feel good, like he was doing them a service, and that made something warm bloom in his chest. He didn’t feel sated, not yet, but he knew it was coming soon.
Soon happened when Aziraphale’s thrusts stuttered, his rhythm faltering, and he slammed into Crowley once, twice, and then spilled deep inside him with a long sigh. That was all it took to make Crowley come as well, squeezing down on the angel’s cock as he rode out his orgasm. At the same time, he constricted his throat around Will’s cock, flexed his tongue against the sensitive spot under the head, and moaned as Will came down his throat, drinking it down greedily.
When both Will and Aziraphale were spent, they pulled out, watching intently as the demon sat back on his heels. After a brief period of cooling down, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale and pulled him into a kiss, gentle and tender. The angel responded by cradling the demon’s face in both his hands and holding him there firmly, even after they separated from the kiss. Crowley smiled at him, then flopped dramatically down on the pillows, tugging gently at Aziraphale’s sleeve to get him to lie down, as well. Will was already lying on the other side of the demon, but Crowley reached behind his back and pulled the playwright’s arm around his middle, curling his face into Aziraphale’s chest while Will nuzzled his cheek against the back of Crowley’s shoulder.
It felt like forever that they lay there quietly, recovering and appreciating the simplicity of the touch, before Will spoke. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” Crowley nodded.
Will hesitated for a long moment, long enough that Crowley worried he wasn’t going to say anything after all, and then he said in a small voice, “Why do you call him angel?”
Crowley tensed up, imperceptible to the human senses, but Aziraphale noticed and tightened an arm around his shoulders. It was fine, really, Crowley just hadn’t been expecting it, and he couldn’t very well tell the truth. He took a deep breath, reveling in the musky scent of Aziraphale, and turned slightly to place a soft kiss on the angel’s chest before replying.
“Because he’s good,” Crowley murmured, pulling a deeper truth out from under the things he couldn’t say. “He’s everything good in the world.”
He felt Will smile against his back, and he heard Aziraphale’s heartbeat speed up, and he was happier than he could remember being in a long, long time. As he drifted off to sleep, Crowley’s last thoughts were of how he could twist this magical, loving thing into something sinful for his reports.
Tempted two beings, he thought dryly, but that wasn’t quite true. Used a human for sexual satisfaction without emotional attachment, that could work. Fucked up and fell in love with an angel, a faux pas of the sort that would decidedly not earn him points in Hell.
But it was good enough, here on Earth. It was everything.