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a lover with an easy touch

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“What do you want, angel?” Crowley tried his level best to shape his voice into something like a seductive purr, but to his own ears he only sounded desperate. Too early for that, he chided himself internally, wanting to at least begin the night with some of his dignity. A futile wish, considering the undignified manner in which he was perched on Aziraphale’s lap, but he chose to ignore that fact. He stroked the angel’s face with a feather-light touch, patiently awaiting his answer.

Aziraphale, for all his conflicted, tortured thoughts, had never been timid about asking for what he wanted, once he decided exactly what it was that he wanted. He had spent six thousand years alternating between denying his feelings for Crowley and acknowledging them just enough to wish them away, ventures which had clearly been unsuccessful. Once he came into it, though, once he was honest enough with himself and with Crowley and with Heaven and with the whole blessed universe, Aziraphale did not slow down, and he did not hesitate to make requests. Or demands, depending upon the circumstance.

Closing his eyes and humming a low sound of fondness, Aziraphale leaned into Crowley’s touch, pressing his cheek further into the feeling of those fingers on his skin. “My dearest,” he murmured, his voice ragged and rough. He paused to clear his throat, opening his eyes and raising his gaze to meet Crowley’s. “I want you inside me tonight.”

“Oh?” Crowley started to pull his hand back, but the angel quickly caught him and held him fast and firm, keeping the hand captive against his cheek.

It was no secret between the two of them that Crowley was more suited to being fucked than doing the fucking, but they were two reasonable and flexible supernatural entities who occasionally experienced a whim, and this was one such occasion. Aziraphale’s whims often involved the desire to be filled, because although he loved fucking his demon, he sometimes craved a certain type of stimulation.

Usually, they would quench the angel’s thirst using toys, because Aziraphale was – well. Not picky, per se, at least not that he would admit, but he had a preference for size. And while Crowley was certainly capable of manipulating his own form to suit the angel’s needs, they both found it was more fulfilling and more interesting to invest in a modest number of implements to do that particular work for them.

Aziraphale, ever the glutton, loved to have a nice, thick dildo inside him while Crowley rode his cock like he was born for it, the sensations dueling and compounding to make for the most deliciously torturous sex he’d ever had. Crowley could count on one hand the number of times he had actually fucked the angel, so it was a surprise, to say the least, to hear him make the request.

He was stroking Crowley’s hand now, still holding it to his cheek, running a soothing touch over the long lines of the demon’s fingers. “Please,” he whispered, his lower lip jutting out a bit in a delicate little pout. “I know it’s not what we normally do, but I am in a rather particular humor this evening.”

“Of course,” Crowley replied gently, leaning in to press a quick, firm kiss to the angel’s lips. “I’ll give you just what you need, angel, of course. Anything for you.”

And thus, they ended up in bed that evening, Aziraphale on his back, his knees bent and his eyes wide, a few curls sticking to his sweaty forehead as Crowley worked three fingers in and out of him in a steady rhythm. Crowley sat on his knees between the angel’s legs, his free hand braced on the bed next to Aziraphale’s stomach, hovering over him and drinking in the sight of him.

He had always been mesmerized by the angel’s beauty, blown away by it, but he was of the opinion that nothing in the universe could hold a handle to the expression of pure ecstasy on Aziraphale’s face when he came. Crowley was certain he would be willing to give up every earthly amenity, every demonic power just to see that face.

Aziraphale began to whine, and Crowley cut him off with a fingertip rubbing his prostate purposefully before he could get any words out. That finger, combined with the element of surprise, made the angel still, shudder, and come for the third time. Just as he had done the first two times, Crowley cooed and soothed him through the aftershocks, pausing the movement of his fingers, and then dipped his head low to lick the angel clean.

It was horrific, simply awful for Aziraphale to watch and feel that serpentine tongue lapping up his come from his stomach, his hip, his thigh and, oh God, just a bit from his soft and oversensitive cock. He could hardly bear it, the way Crowley feasted upon him like breaking a long fast, his eyes closed in rapturous pleasure, letting out little hums and moans of satisfaction. They had experimented with a whole array of sexual activities, kinks and fetishes and equipment and unconventional acts, but this was undoubtedly the most painfully erotic thing Aziraphale had ever experienced.

And Crowley just kept doing it.

Through some combination of Crowley’s tongue and Aziraphale’s angelic constitution, it didn’t take long for him to get hard again. Crowley smiled like a snake, sitting stock-still with his fingers buried deep in the angel’s ass, and waited, the bastard.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but think that it was some form of retribution for the many, many times he’d teased and tortured and titillated Crowley, dragging it out, making him wait for it, making him beg for it. If Crowley was picking up pointers from him, though, if he was giving as good as he got, then Aziraphale couldn’t truly bring himself to regret it; he liked it, he wanted it. But just because Crowley was being a bit of a bastard for tonight didn’t mean that Aziraphale had to take it lying down.

He squirmed, pressing his hips down to try to prompt Crowley to move, but to no avail. “Crowley,” he said, his tone caught halfway between a whine and a warning, “give me more.”

“More of what?” Crowley asked with a devious, deceptively innocent grin.

“More fingers, Crowley, don’t tease me.”

“I hardly think making you come three times constitutes teasing,” replied the demon flippantly, but he pulled his hand back at the same time, far enough to slip the fourth finger in when he resumed fucking the angel. “How’s that, angel? S’that what you want?”

Aziraphale took a moment to adjust to the slightly larger intrusion, his mouth hanging open in the picture of bliss as Crowley pumped four fingers into him, the angel’s hole clenching desperately around him. His cock was fully hard again, and he began to move in time with the demon’s thrusts, a wordless request for him to go faster, harder, and Crowley complied. In the back of his mind, the demon was developing an inkling of a whim himself, but he kept it down for the moment.

It didn’t take long for Aziraphale to become impatient and fervent again, to fuck himself back on Crowley’s fingers at a stilted rhythm, his head thrown back against the pillows, small gasps and sighs escaping his mouth at every movement. “Give me all of it,” he demanded breathlessly, and Crowley stopped moving again, which Aziraphale thought should definitely be illegal.

“Are you serious?” Crowley asked, narrowing his eyes and looking down at the angel’s lust-ridden expression, his gaze fuzzy and his skin flushed. “Really? Are you sure?”

The angel rolled his eyes, somehow giving off an air of irritation and overwhelming arousal simultaneously. “Of course I’m sure,” he snapped. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t sure.”

Crowley frowned. “It’s – a lot.”

“I hope I don’t wound your ego, my dear, when I say your hands are frankly quite slender.”

“Well, yes, but –”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale interrupted before he could protest further, “I want it. Please.”

Pulling up short, the demon nodded blankly, then shook his head clear and studied Aziraphale’s face for any hints of uncertainty, finding none. “Yes, love,” he murmured finally, “anything you want.”

Aziraphale gasped out loud at the empty feeling when Crowley pulled his fingers all the way out, but he wasted no time in tucking his thumb in against his palm and pressing back in. The angel moaned and pushed down on Crowley’s hand, coaxing him inside, wanton and desperate. Crowley moved torturously slowly, keeping his eyes on Aziraphale’s face as he did, the tapered shape of his hand widening gradually the further he pressed in.

Momentarily enraptured by the angel’s mouth, his plush lips parted so nicely, Crowley did not take notice of the way his expression changed just slightly, subtly. When he had pushed in to the first knuckle on his thumb, Aziraphale let out a soft whimper, and Crowley snapped his attention back to the rest of the angel’s face, his features twisted in pleasure, though the demon couldn’t be sure there wasn’t something else there as well, some hint of pain or distress.

Crowley moved in as close to the angel’s face as he could get without moving his hand, which was not very close at all. He leaned awkwardly over Aziraphale’s body, trying for a better vantage point from which to see his face, but all he achieved was a new angle, a shift of the light illuminating a few stray teardrops down the angel’s cheeks. “Angel?” He tried for a reassuring tone, but he was teetering on the precipice of panic, himself. “Aziraphale, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” 

Aziraphale laughed, a wet and bubbly sound emerging through his tears. “No, no, it’s – you’re doing wonderfully, darling, it’s just – it’s a lot.”

“I told you –”

“Not too much,” Aziraphale clarified, his voice firm but not unkind. “It's perfect, Crowley, you feel so good. Please don't stop.”

Lowering his head with a renewed sense of purpose, Crowley pressed a warm kiss to the angel's shoulder, then his collarbone, his throat, his chest. He took Aziraphale's nipple between his lips and laved his tongue over it just as he resumed the slow work of his hand. The angel arched his back, shifting his hips and inadvertently pushing himself down on Crowley's hand to its thickest point. Crowley pulled his head back and gasped quietly, concerned at how quickly it happened despite his best efforts. 

"Angel, I'm so sorry, are you okay?"

Tears were streaming down Aziraphale's face freely now, his jaw hanging open and his breathing entirely stopped. He stayed silent for a long moment, relishing the stretch and the fullness of it, before nodding his head slowly. It took another awestruck pause before the angel could manage to eke out a quiet, ragged "Keep going."

Crowley obliged, figuring the worst was over, and moved with marginally less apprehension than before, still slow and careful but no longer afraid. He kept a watchful eye on the angel's face as he pushed in and in and in, for hours or years, until he was buried to the wrist inside Aziraphale.

"Fuck, Aziraphale," he breathed, entirely too affected for someone in his position. "You're a wonder. You're – just impossible, you are."

Aziraphale whined in response, his eyes slipping closed as he reveled in the sensation of Crowley's hand inside him. "My goodness," he murmured eventually, his voice hoarse and thick.

"Yeah," Crowley agreed in a wondering whisper. He gave a small, testing twitch of his hand, not quite moving, but flexing his fingers slightly against the walls inside of Aziraphale. "Fuck."

The angel cried out at the infinitesimal gesture inside him, a fierce moan ripped from his throat. "Oh, Crowley, my love," he babbled through his tears, "do that again, oh. Do it a hundred times."

Obliging Aziraphale's wish, Crowley repeated the barely perceptible movement of his fingers. "What, this?" he asked, his ragged tone aiming for innocent and missing by a mile.

"Yes, yes, please," Aziraphale keened, oblivious to the demon’s attempt at teasing. He began to move as well, pushing his hips down, pulling Crowley further in and gasping in short, high little breaths. Before long, he was fucking himself on Crowley's hand with small motions.

Meeting him halfway, the demon pressed in and pulled out in a stilted rhythm, not the frantic thrusts of a proper fuck, but slow, careful movements, a centimeter at most, being sure to keep an eye on the angel's tear-stained face. Crowley knew, to some extent, how it felt, and he had done his fair share of crying in bed before, so he kept going, knowing that Aziraphale could and would stop him if he wanted to. He offered soft words of encouragement to the angel, pressing kisses to his belly, his hips.

"Love you so much, my angel," he murmured, his lips brushing against Aziraphale's skin. "Gorgeous angel, perfect angel."

Letting out a choked sob, Aziraphale writhed underneath him. "Crowley, I'm –," he cut himself off with a long groan, his eyes shut tight.

Crowley hummed gently, reaching up with his free hand to stroke the angel's cheek with a delicate touch. "Shh, it's okay, honey. You close again?"

Aziraphale nodded his head weakly, but he whined, "No, I can't, I can't, it's too much."

"Of course you can," Crowley purred. "You can do anything, can't you? My angel can take so much. So strong, so amazing."

He fell silent for a moment, taking the time to painstakingly curl his fingers in and up, twisting inside Aziraphale slowly, slowly, pulling guttural moans from the angel's throat until his hand was balled into a fist.

Gasping and panting for air, Aziraphale reached out blindly to grab Crowley, any part of him, to ground himself. The demon understood without words and lifted his hand to twine their fingers together. 

"I've got you, angel. You feel that? Feel me inside you like an anchor? I've got you. Can you come for me one more time?"

This time, Aziraphale nodded his head fervently and without reservation, reflexively tightening around Crowley's hand. Crowley smiled, not his signature mischievous grin, but a bright and genuine thing.

"That's right," he said, moving his hand almost microscopically inside the angel, pressing up against his prostate without mercy. Aziraphale wailed and Crowley did it again, and a third time, before Aziraphale gasped and spilled over his stomach. “Wonderful,” the demon breathed, diving down to once again clean the angel’s seed ravenously with his tongue. 

Aziraphale could have sworn that Crowley intentionally made the action ten times more filthy, his mouth exploring the angel’s skin with lewd slurping sounds and moans. He flinched slightly, the muscles of his stomach tightening at a particularly soft scrape of the demon’s teeth, and the minute, jerky movement provided a crude and jarring reminder that Crowley’s hand was still inside him. 

“Fuck,” the angel whimpered wretchedly, fresh tears springing to the corners of his eyes and rolling down his cheeks.

Keeping his head as level as possible despite the overwhelming surge of adoration and arousal that overtook him in waves every few seconds, Crowley looked up, into the angel’s eyes and asked softly, gently, “Do you want me to pull my hand out now?”

Aziraphale gnawed at his lower lip and hesitated for a long moment, genuinely deliberating. “Yes,” he said at last, his voice small and tired. “Slowly, if you please.”

Crowley nodded his understanding and leaned down to kiss the angel, trailing lips and tongue from Aziraphale’s mouth down his jaw to the side of his neck and his chest, in hopes that the warmth and wetness on his sensitive skin would ease some of the overwhelming stimulation as he moved his hand. Using steady and measured movements, the demon twisted and unfurled his fingers, soothing Aziraphale’s tortured moans with his lips. 

As he eased his hand back, Crowley couldn’t help but notice that the angel’s cock was taking an interest again, despite – or possibly in part because of – the excruciating stretch of Crowley’s hand widening from the wrist up, as well as the fact that he felt rather like a dirty dishrag, wrung out and hung to dry. The demon seized the opportunity, wrapping his fingers around Aziraphale’s cock, stroking him to full hardness, the pain and the satisfaction countering and amplifying each other. Aziraphale bucked up into his touch, allowing him to slip his hand out in longer, smoother movements, using the movement of the angel’s body to his advantage.

Aziraphale was babbling, spouting nonsensical syllables between short, panting breaths, and Crowley soothed him through it with soft coos and shushes and reassurances. It was one hundred years later when Crowley pulled the length of his slim fingers out of Aziraphale’s ass, miracling his hand clean and surging forward to kiss the angel soundly and properly, cradling his round cheeks in both hands.

The moment his mouth was free again, Aziraphale twisted his hands in the fabric of the demon’s shirt – why was he still wearing a shirt? – and whined miserably, a long, drawn-out moan followed by a pathetic mumble: “Crowley.”

“I’m right here, honey, don’t worry. What do you need?”

“Fuck me,” Aziraphale begged. “Please fuck me.”

“You sure?” Crowley furrowed his brow, tilting the angel’s face up with one hand on his chin. “You don’t have to – it’s been a lot, angel, don’t overwork yourself.”

Wrapping around the demon like a particularly affectionate spider monkey, pulling him down into a tight tangle of limbs, Aziraphale shook his head. “You do the work,” he murmured tiredly. “Doesn’t feel right – inside. Without you. Doesn’t feel right until you come inside me.”

Crowley forgot how to breathe, staring down at the angel with his pupils blown wide. “Alright,” he conceded, his voice choked, his hand reaching for his fly. He pulled his cock free, painfully hard and hitherto ignored, resumed stroking Aziraphale with his other hand, and slid easily into the angel, loose and fucked out.

His arms still looped around the demon’s shoulders, Aziraphale moved to twist one hand into his hair, pulling him into a kiss, and hummed his pleasure when Crowley pulled out and fucked back into him. “Good,” he mumbled against Crowley’s lips. “Good, you feel so good.”

It wasn’t long before Crowley felt a tightness, a swirling heat in his belly, and gave a few more deep thrusts before stilling and coming inside the angel. Aziraphale gave a satisfied sigh as he was pushed over the edge one more time, revelling in the warmth inside him, the phantom stretch of his hole as Crowley pulled out.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, quiet and hoarse, and then his breath caught as Crowley simply nodded at him, leaning back on his heels, lowering himself to lick Aziraphale’s stomach clean again. “Oh, fuck,” the angel lamented, unable to take his eyes off the sight.

Crowley lifted his gaze without moving his head, his golden eyes darkened with lust, looking directly at Aziraphale’s own wide eyes as he indulgently lapped up the angel’s come. When he’d finished, he slid up the length of the bed, laying his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, burying his face in the side of his neck and throwing an arm across his chest.

“Love you the most, angel,” Crowley whispered, his breath ghosting across the angel’s skin.

Aziraphale, almost entirely boneless and utterly content, used a minor miracle to arrange the covers over them, burrowing down into the warmth, his eyes drifting closed as he replied in a slurred voice, “I love you, too, my dear.”