Heaven be damned.
Aziraphale is going to take care of Crowley, and Crowley needs Aziraphale to take control so bad that his chest aches.
"Crowley" Aziraphale says, in that voice. The one that has Crowley sinking,floating. "Kneel please, baby," he commands; and Crowley does. He's already stripped. Aziraphale bends down to kiss him sweetly, then stands and undoes his belt. Crowley knows not to move.
Aziraphale opens his pants and lowers his briefs only enough to unsheath himself. He fists his cock in his hand and it’s been hard for far too long. Crowley opens his mouth and gazes up at Aziraphale, waiting. Expectant. Aziraphale lets out a soft groan at the sight and squeezes himself to maintain his control. He positions the head at Crowley’s warm, wet mouth. He can tell Crowley is resisting a powerful urge to move forward and lick the bead of precome dripping out, more with every tiny tug of Aziraphale’ hand. “Ah, f-- Good boy, Crowley,” he says softly, like a prayer.
Aziraphale strokes Crowley’s cheek with his free hand, and slides his cock in torturous. Slow. Crowley releases a relieved groan, vibrations reverberating around Aziraphale’ cock. Crowley is being so good, taking as much as he can as Aziraphale eases in. He breathes through his nose and Aziraphale can feel little huffs of air warm on his cock.
Aziraphale allows himself a few thrusts, but he pulls out without coming, collapsing to his knees. He takes Crowley in a kiss, hands around his; holding him. Crowley is rock hard and leaking against his own stomach but completely untouched.
He waits for Aziraphale. He is pliant and lax; his mouth slack, letting Aziraphale dominate his every movement.
Crowley moans a cry and he sounds desperate, a hand coming to Aziraphale’ forearm like he needs the support of his touch. Crowley pulls back, knowing the rules… but Aziraphale clasps his hand.
“It’s alright, my dear. You’re so good for me”. Crowley whimpers again as Aziraphale devours his mouth. “So good” he says, mouth against Crowley’s, stubble chafing his freshly shaved face. Aziraphale’ ignores his jeans, now bundled awkwardly around his knees. He pulls Crowley to sit in his lap, his balls resting just above Aziraphale’ cock, soft skin on linen. Aziraphale bites the soft skin on his neck and collar bones. Crowley wraps his arms around Aziraphale gently, as Aziraphale starts to play with his plug.
There’s already a plug deep inside of Crowley. He was instructed to get ready, after all.
Aziraphale grasps the base and gives it a tiny wiggle. Crowley lets out a keening whimper and puts his forehead against Aziraphale’, staring into his eyes. He’s not playing coy or pouting-- he’s completely in Aziraphale’ thrall; lips full and puffy and slack, breaths shallow and growing rapid. Aziraphale looks up at him, pulling the base of the plug just enough that the flared bottom of its tear-drop shape pushes on his opening from inside. Aziraphale lets it sink back in, pulls again, gently fucking him with it.
Crowley’s bare chest is spackled with reddened blood vessels and the blush spreads to low in his cheeks. He looks overwhelmed from where he gapes down at Aziraphale. His hips roll involuntarily, and Aziraphale smacks him lightly as a reminder-- but Crowley is so far gone that he can’t blame him. he reaches up and grabs the nape of Crowley’s neck and manoeuvres him into another deep kiss. Aziraphale pushes the plug down and forward as he kisses him, circling it slowly, driving into his prostate. Crowley jerks forward and breaks the kiss with a sharp cry like he’s been electrified.
Crowley’s hand clutches at the air, from where it rests passively on Aziraphale’ shoulders. His cock twitches against his chest, glistening with fluid. Aziraphale pulls out the plug, and it slides out of Crowley with a wet pop. Crowley gasps and moans at the wide head opening him again on the way out. His ass is slathered in lubricant, dripping out of his hole following the toy. It’s Aziraphale’ turn to groan, and he tosses the plug.
Resisting the urge to replace it immediately with his fingers, or better– his own neglected and straining cock. But this is about Crowley… at least, for now.
“Crowley– are you with me?”
A confused grunt, and then “y– yes, Aziraphale–. I’m here.”
Crowley’s eyes are unfocused, pupils blown. Aziraphale grasps him roughly by the waist and Crowley shudders and moans, allowing himself to be manhandled. Aziraphale hauls him up from the floor and moves him face forward onto the soft duvet of their bed. Crowley waits, hips tilted so his cockhead just touches the soft fabric. Aziraphale spreads his cheeks apart and growls at the sight of his hole quiver at the loss of the plug. He clambers up behind Crowley and settles on his knees. He removes his belt.
Crowley’s hands move back instantly at the command, wrists coming together at the base of his spine. It’s an awkward position, and Aziraphale revels in the sight of his broad shoulders contorting; hips wriggling as he struggles to obey. Aziraphale wraps his leather belt around Crowley’s wrists until it’s tight enough to secure the buckle. He palms Crowley’s ass; massaging and soothing.
“Always so good for me,” he whispers into Crowley’s ear as he leans carefully over him, a possessive hand on Crowley’s back. “How did I get so lucky?”
Crowley gasps and Aziraphale can see dew on his lashes. He kisses the tears away, and though he’s almost out of reach, kisses the cheek that Crowley strains to present to him.
“I love you, Crowley,” he says. He hears Crowley’s muffled “I lo’ you too, Aziraphale” before returning to Crowley’s backside. It’s a sight to behold, the cleft slick and shiny with lubricant; the hole still eased open and pink from stimulation. He grabs Crowley’s ass cheeks, spreading them wide, and dives in.
His stubble scratches the soft, hot, sensitive skin and he laves Crowley’s hole with his tongue. Crowley’s bound fingers brush his forehead and he can feel them twitch helplessly. Aziraphale presses his tongue into Crowley’s hole and he shouts, low and rough. Aziraphale flicks his tongue in and out, then pulls out and licks every inch of the inside of Crowley’s cheeks. Aziraphale pulls his hips up a little more, so Crowley can only rest against his chest and face. He is completely at Aziraphale’s mercy, so he takes full advantage. His thumbs press hard on either side of his hole, fingers gripping into the flesh of his ass. He switches between fluttery kisses and tickles with his tongue, to fucking in and out, Crowley’s hole clenching rhythmically around it.
Crowley is screaming after a few minutes, his face red against the white cotton, mouth wide and panting. He would be begging, thinks Aziraphale, if he hadn’t been rendered completely nonverbal. Crowley’s cock hangs heavy between his legs, but Aziraphale won’t give in yet. He eases Crowley’s hips back down to the bed and, sucking on a finger, slides it in completely. There’s so much slick that he need not worry about friction, so he slides in a second, and then a third. He eases his fingers in and out torturously slowly, drawing out the sound of Crowley’s desperate whimpering.
Crowley is careful to keep his hips angled up and away from the bed, denying himself stimulation. Aziraphale slides his fingers in and out of Crowley’s velvety hole, grazing the nub of his prostate in both directions every time as a reward. Crowley is sobbing, his hips stirring in circles, cock dribbling. Aziraphale is amazed he hasn’t come already and his chest fills with pride. he rubs reassuring strokes up and down Crowley’s long, lean thigh.
“Baby,” he kisses Crowley’s ass cheek and bites it lightly. “Are you ready?” Crowley breathes in and out but can’t speak, only managing a breathy moan. “I need you to tell me,” a kiss to his flesh again, “that you want me to fuck you.”
Aziraphale keeps fucking him with his fingers. When Crowley doesn’t answer him, he crooks them all at once; driving into Crowley’s prostate. Crowley sucks in a breath and a full body jerk robs him of speech once again. Aziraphale keeps up the slow, maddening slide. Just before he begins to wonder if he’s pushed Crowley too far, Crowley gasps in a breath like a drowning man and manages a "yes.” He shakes with the fatigue and the effort of not fucking back into Aziraphale’ hand.
“Aziraphale fuck me, please fuck me. Please…”
Aziraphale leaves one last hard kiss on the rim of Crowley’s hole, as he slides his fingers out. He grips Crowley’s bound hand in reassurance before tugging lightly on the leather binding his wrists– not enough to pull on his prone shoulders, but enough to establish an anchor. He fists his own aching cock and presses the spongy head against Crowley’s thigh, smearing precome. His jeans rub his knees rough where he kneels, open zipper scraping the soft, peach-fuzzed skin of Crowley’s thigh.
Aziraphale grips Crowley’s hips again and pulls him up and off balance. He lines his cock up to his ass and eases the thick head inside. He pushes in, and though Crowley is so open and wet, Aziraphale’ thick cock is a tight fit. He’s careful, but Crowley’s high keening and wordless begging are threatening to dissolve his control. He pushes in until he’s fully seated, waiting for Crowley to adjust completely. The urge to move is overwhelming, and he rubs his hands over Crowley’s sides to centre himself. He thrusts a little, testing Crowley’s comfort, watching him closely. He’s shaking and panting, but there are no signs of pain.
Aziraphale pulls out almost completely, then shoves back. His thrust forces a shout from Crowley. He does it again and again, thrusting the whole way in repeatedly. Crowley screams with every new intrusion, his back bowed, face buried in the plushy bedding.
Aziraphale needs more, but he’s not finished with Crowley yet. He begins to stir his hips with every deep thrust. He grasps the belt again, pressing down into the small of Crowley’s back and he sinks into the mattress, his cock trapped against the bedding. Aziraphale fucks him hard, loud slaps of flesh and their combined grunts and moans echoing in the intimate bedroom. He holds onto Crowley’s wrists and presses him down even further, and the position is even tighter than before. Crowley can’t do anything except scream and cry out, the long thick shaft filling him over and over; strong hands and a heavy body pushing down on the small of his back.
Crowley closes his eyes and a look overtakes his face. A staccato rhythm of high little mewls escape him. He’s too close to orgasm, helpless to stop it and too far gone to ask for help.
Aziraphale stops thrusting and pulls his cock out, fisting it through the quivers of his own unfulfilled need. He grasps Crowley roughly around the waist and, scooting back to rest his back against the wall, pulls him up onto his lap. He bends his knees, feet planted on the bed, and holds Crowley’s back to his chest, his bound hands pressed into the soft flesh of Aziraphale’ belly. He pulls Crowley’s legs over his own so they’re spread wide, knees bracketing his. Crowley’s hips are tilted, back concave to make room for his hands. He can’t support himself except by resting his thighs against Aziraphale, and his back sinks into Aziraphale’ torso. Crowley’s head falls back and he nuzzles Aziraphale’s cheek, his eyes closed. Aziraphale slides a hand up Crowley’s chest and around his throat, the other gripping the fleshy folds at his waist.
He holds the column of Crowley’s neck in his wide hand, and Crowley rolls his head, baring his throat completely. Aziraphale brings the hand on Crowley’s waist awkwardly to his mouth over Crowley’s shoulder and spits on it. He slides his hand through the bend of Crowley’s elbow and around his waist, and grips Crowley’s cock. With his thumb he spreads precome and spit down the shaft and slowly slides the thin, sensitive skin over the engorged tissue. Aziraphale’s cock is trapped between Crowley’s buttocks, slick with leftover lubricant. The head kisses Crowley’s balls as the sac moves up and down with his slow, patient jerks. It’s excruciating, and soon Aziraphale can feel the unmistakable pressure of his immanent orgasm low in his abdomen. He kisses Crowley’s neck desperately with open mouth, and rubs his hand up and down his throat with the barest hint of pressure.
Crowley heaves and moans, lower back bowing out at the unexpected contact. The loss of Aziraphale’ cock in his ass left his nerves singing, and the vulnerable, powerless position leaves him gasping and quivering.
Something snaps in Aziraphale-- Crowley is exactly where he wants him. Over-sensitized, pliant. Desperate.
He rolls Crowley to the side, supporting him only by the neck; his hand still working his cock up and down. He pushes off his left leg and comes to kneel behind Crowley once more, hands moving to grip his hip-bones hard enough to bruise. He aligns himself with his swollen hole once more, and pushes in without stopping to think. The fit is still tight, and he pushes past the tight, clenching ring of muscle. He sheaths himself completely, and Crowley howls at the intrusion. Aziraphale tilts his hips back, the drive to fuck Crowley senseless overwhelming him. He starts to fuck him, driving his cock mercilessly into Crowley, deeper with every punishing snap of his hips.
Crowley is completely at Aziraphale’s mercy. He folds himself over Crowley’s back and leather-bound wrists. He supports Crowley’s chest with one strong arm and Crowley pushes his hips back with the last of his strength. His legs are wide, knees at either side of Aziraphale's thighs and knees the only thing holding them up. He grips Crowley’s throat and buries his nose into the short hair at the nape of his neck. He can feel Crowley’s throat opening wide from where it rests on his neck, his cries erupting unbidden with every thrust. Aziraphale adjusts his position with a slight tilt of his hips and drives his cock directly into Crowley’s prostate. He moves the arm under Crowley’s chest to his cock, throwing Crowley’s balance off again. His thrusts turn slower, but longer and harder; pulling down on Crowley’s dick with every thrust. Crowley is coming in seconds, screaming and shattered and struggling to get a full breath. Hot streams of come shoot out of his dick and cover Aziraphale’ hands, but he keeps fucking him harder and harder. Crowley screams with overstimulation, but the hand on his cock remains, milking every last drop of semen from him.
Aziraphale takes the hand from his softening cock and grips his hip for stability. He keeps a hand on his throat and fucks him hard, slamming into him. Unsupported, Crowley’s weight rests against the hand on his throat, face mashed into the covers, muffling his broken screaming. Aziraphale lets himself go, holidng onto fistfulls of flesh. He chases his orgasm relentlessly, thrusting deep, hardly able to pull out even an inch. He folds over Crowley’s back and forces him to lie completely prone against the bed. He bites Crowley’s earlobe as he comes in his ass, the last thrusts driving as deep as he possibly can.
They’re still for a long moment. Breathing. Aziraphale still buried inside Crowley. The stimulation becomes unbearable, and he pulls out reluctantly. He buries his face between his shoulder blades, rolling Crowley toward himself and hanging on for dear life. Crowley is silent except for his deep breaths.
Aziraphale moves back a little, kneeling so that he can untie Crowley’s wrists, but Crowley cries out, bereft. He’s so far gone; his eyes searching, and Aziraphale’s heart swells with mixed emotion. He frames Crowley’s face with his hands and kisses him.
“I’m right here Crowley,” he reassures him, moving a hand to stroke up his side. “I’m going to remove the belt now,” he says, and Crowley opens his eyes and nods. Aziraphale kneels behind him again and gently removes the belt, tossing it aside. Crowley sighs in relief. Aziraphale rubs his wrist, paying special attention to the red marks that formed at the edges of the thick leather strap. He eases his hands to his sides and massages Crowley’s shoulders for a moment, soothing the strained muscles. He works his strong hands into Crowley’s trapezius muscles, willing away the thick tension with even pressure. Aziraphale is shaking with exhaustion, but Crowley needs this from him.
He lays a kiss to Crowley’s shoulder. “I have to get us cleaned up. I’ll be right back, ok?” Crowley response with a muffled “hrmff”, but he sounds a little more centred. Aziraphale leaves reluctantly, a hand lingering on Crowley’s hip for as long as possible. He picks up the plug from the floor and retreats to the bathroom. He gives himself a cursory cleanup, washes the plug with soap and water, and returns to Crowley with a large damp washcloth. He leaves the plug on the bedside table.
Crowley is still prone on the bed. Aziraphale alerts him to his presence with another kiss to his shoulder. Crowley’s hands at his side flex as he blindly searches for Aziraphale, so Aziraphale grasps his hand in his and squeezes. He wipes down Crowley’s ass, cleaning the come and lubricant and sweat. The skin is tender but uninjured, and Aziraphale is gentle as possible. He rolls Crowley over by the hip and wipes down his chest. It’s splattered with Crowley’s own come, and Aziraphale’s dick gives a valiant twitch at the view. He cleans Crowley’s cock, dabbing lightly, but he still flinches. Aziraphale fires the wet towel to the bathroom door and helps Crowley to stand for just a moment. He pulls back the duvet and lays Crowley down.
Aziraphale follows and pulls the duvet over them both. He holds Crowley against his chest and rubs circles into his ribcage, soothing. Crowley cries a little and hides his face in Aziraphale’ neck, still wordless and overwhelmed. Aziraphale’ kisses over his forehead and temple, “I love you, baby” repeated like a mantra. He holds his shaking form close and tight, the pressure bringing him back to Aziraphale slowly.
“I love you so much, Aziraphale,” he says, tipping his head up a fraction to meet Aziraphale’ eyes. Aziraphale melts and leans down to kiss Crowley’s eyelids, not breaking the hold. He kisses his mouth and it’s deep and warm, conveying everything he feels.
“I love you Crowley. And I’m going to spend the whole weekend showing you exactly how much.”