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Throughout autumn and into the new year, Aziraphale had grown accustomed to Crowley coming round for a visit. He couldn’t set his watch by it—it was generally a lovely surprise—but until now Crowley had yet to go more than a few days without popping by to say hello or ring him up.
That he was now approaching a two-week stretch without Crowley’s company was a newly concerning development. On Monday he’d begun to leave messages, and he now just discovered that Crowley’s answer machine was full and the darned thing refused to record another. Aziraphale clung to the receiver a moment longer before setting it back on the hook.
They’d been intimate not long before Crowley stopped calling on him. While not the first time they’d fallen into bed with one another since the almost-end-of-the-world, Crowley had seemed unusually moody and distracted when they’d gone out to brunch a day or two later.
It was high time, he supposed, that he call on Crowley for a change. He shooed the single customer out of his shop and dug a cozy stole out of his wardrobe to brave the cold.
*
At the door to Crowley’s flat, Aziraphale pressed the buzzer for a second time. And then a third.
As his finger hung over the buzzer to push it a fourth and final time, the door cracked open. Crowley peered at him through the crack. “Angel,” he said, surprise pitching his voice higher. “What’re you doing here? Ooh, nice coat.”
“Oh, thank you,” Aziraphale said, petting the front of it. Fur was out of fashion these days, for good reason he supposed, but he’d seen no sense in getting rid of a perfectly functional and comfortable garment. He noted that Crowley was also dressed for comfort: draped in a dark satin dressing gown and little else. “I hadn’t heard from you and left a few messages. Well, more than a few. About a dozen, I’d say, though I wasn’t entirely keeping count. I was simply worried about you.”
When Crowley didn’t open the door further, the worry persisted.
“Are you...all right?”
“I’m fine. Just y’know…demon stuff,” Crowley said, overenuciating a bit. He cast a glance over his shoulder.
“I thought you might care to join me for tea or go for a walk in the park to see the lights, but if you’re um, entertaining someone, I can—”
Crowley pulled a face and let the door open wide enough to lean his shoulder against the jamb. He crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s nothing like that,” he said, but didn’t elaborate as to what it was like. “It’ll just be a couple more days and then everything will be back to normal.”
Aziraphale knew a dismissal when he heard one. He also knew when it was prudent to ignore such a dismissal. “I didn’t ask for the cab to wait. Do you mind if I come in to call another? It’s very cold out.”
The muscles of Crowley’s face tightened just a touch before he eased off the jamb and shrugged. “Be my guest,” he said, trailing away and leaving Aziraphale to let himself in.
“Ah, it’s nice and toasty in here,” Aziraphale commented, tugging off his gloves and stole and leaving them tidily atop a bookcase housing a row of dubious works of literature. He touched the glossy leaf of one of Crowley’s houseplants as he went by and it bounced happily. “Seems as if the plants like it.”
From somewhere towards the back of the flat came Crowley’s muffled response and then the sound of a firmly shut door. Aziraphale’s hearing was quite keen, however, and the door didn’t stop him from picking up a faint but ragged gasping. He stood near Crowley’s desk, unsure whether or not to go through with the pretense of booking a cab or to simply go check on Crowley without delay.
Crowley reappeared before he’d made up his mind. “Maybe you should wait outside,” Crowley said. He held the front of his dressing gown closed with one hand, slim fingers twisted in the satin. His other hand, Aziraphale noted, was trembling slightly.
“Are you ill?” Was it even possible for demons to catch cold? In all his time on Earth Aziraphale had never had so much as a sniffle.
“Something like that.”
“Demon stuff,” Aziraphale repeated snarkily.
“Yes, angel, demon stuff,” Crowley said. A shudder ran through him, tearing the sneer from his face. He made a choked sound and pointed at the door. “You should leave. A day or two more and it’ll pass.”
Aziraphale was about to do as he wished and leave Crowley in peace, when he spotted a trickle of something running down past the inside of Crowley’s knee. “You’re um— You’re dripping, darling,” he said gently.
“Fuck,” Crowley snarled, and then there was a tea towel in his hand. He wiped the mess up from along the inside of his leg and glanced up apologetically at Aziraphale. “Well there’s no hiding it now. It’s my time of the millenia.”
“Pardon?”
“My kind breeds Aziraphale. The legions of Hell are not made up solely of those who fell from grace,” Crowley muttered out the corner of his mouth. He threw the sopping tea towel aside, and adjusted himself in his shorts indelicately. “Some of them hatch. Satan’s attempt to uneven the score, I imagine. I wasn’t sure it’d still happen considering I’m ex-communicado, but here we are.”
Aziraphale tentatively reached a hand out. “Does it hurt?”
“The opposite really,” Crowley said, gaze sliding away from Aziraphale to creep up the wall. “Mostly I’m not sure what to do with all the eggs. I could flush them down the toilet, I suppose.” His mouth twisted thoughtfully. “Or send them into a volcano.”
Aziraphale wasn’t sure whether or not to be a little turned on or horrified that Crowley was stood there with a bunch of eggs ripening inside him. Given the variety of ways that God had devised for her creations’ reproduction, the latter won out for one reason: “But they’re your eggs, how can you just destroy them?”
“For starters, it’s my choice, isn’t it?” Crowley bristled. He quickly wrangled his temper in check and shook away the crackle in the air with a wave of his hand. “Besides, they’re unfertilized, so it’s just a bunch of useless gooey lumps to figure out where to deposit.”
Aziraphale felt properly chastised—of course it was Crowley’s choice—although he admittedly did feel a bit better knowing they weren’t fertilized. He would love it if Crowley could have a child (or children?) although the notion that a host of demonic offspring could spawn and run free on Earth should, he supposed, be as worrisome as the rise of a nephilim. “Is there any way I can help?”
“Not unless you’re offering to lie with me and let me pump a load of eggs into you.”
Aziraphale’s mouth slackened into a soft o, and his cheeks went through various shades of pink until settling on a deep rosy blush. “Into my…?” he looked down at the peak of his thighs, which had pressed together at the thought whilst between them a bit of dripping of his own had begun.
The trickle of heat clearly did not go unnoticed by the way Crowley’s pupils went wide and his gaze slid down Aziraphale’s body. He touched his tongue to the roof of his mouth and tasted the air. “Ohhhh, angel, I never would’ve guessssed.”
Aziraphale’s blush crept into his ears. Flustered, he resisted the urge to cover his face with his hands. Any hesitation he’d had at the thought of demonic egg depositing had fled in the wake of a hard wave of pure lust. “Neither would I...I mean, how could I? I didn’t even know this was a thing you demons did! No one on my side has ever— Well, I suppose I shouldn’t speak for any Thrones. You can never tell what those big wheely buggers have been up to.”
“If I’d known you’d be into it, I would’ve told you, but when it only comes round every thousand years or so, you sorta forget until it’s all sudden mood swings and being ravenous for days straight, and then you remember, oh right. Breeding time.” Crowley looked as if he were about to say more when another shudder passed through his slim frame. He put a hand to his belly and Aziraphale noted that it wasn’t quite as flat as usual; there was a faint bulging above the low-slung waist of his shorts, and below that, where Aziraphale might normally have caught the outline of Crowley’s preferred genitals of the moment something squirmed.
Crowley’s brow quirked upwards. “They have to come out somehow. Are you sure you still want to help?”
“May I— May I see?”
The speed of Aziraphale’s pulse jumped when Crowley hooked a thumb into the waist of his shorts and pushed them down. His cock sprung free, hanging thick between his thighs, and it honestly didn’t look that much different save for a lump right at the base and strings of clear fluid dripping from a slit that stretched to nearly bisect the whole head. “Gets messier,” Crowley warned, and caught up several oozing strings to shake them off onto the floor.
“I don’t mind messy,” Aziraphale assured him somewhat absently. He felt hypnotized by the lure of seeing the egg descend and thicken Crowley’s cock further. He couldn’t seem to look away, and when the length of Crowley’s cock writhed, a hot clench seized Aziraphale’s cunt. Would it move like that when pushed into him? “Not in the slightest,” he added, mouth and knickers flooding wet at the same time. “So long as it’ll help your...condition.”
A matching rosy blush now stained Crowley’s cheeks, belying his attempts to act as if he didn’t care about the way his body reacted to Aziraphale’s interest. “It definitely can’t hurt,” he murmured, and then went up on his toes when Aziraphale took that as an invitation to step in and touch him.
“If we don’t have to, let’s not wait,” Aziraphale said, hand cupping Crowley’s genitals with the sort of excited thrill he got whenever his favorite chefs added something new to the menu. “Oh, and we’ve never made love in your bed before. How exciting! Unless for some reason we shouldn’t be in a bed at all. Do you need to mount me on the floor like a beast? That seems like something Satan would require.”
Crowley sputtered something that sounded almost like a prayer and caught Aziraphale by the wrists. “The bed’s fine. It’ll do,” he said, and tugged Aziraphale towards the back of his flat.
“Marvelous,” Aziraphale said, undoing knots and buttons along the way. Already he was picturing how it would feel to have Crowley atop him and pushing into him with such a girthy cock. He left his clothes draped over the back of a reading chair tucked in the corner and put a knee to the bed. “Is it alright if I’m on my back? I do love seeing your face when you penetrate me.”
“Yes, fine, sure,” Crowley said, leaving his robe in a puddle on the floor as he joined Aziraphale on the bed. He stripped off his shorts and kicked them off somewhere between crawling on top of Aziraphale and nudging his knees wide. It was charming how much Crowley pretended to dislike being lavished with Aziraphale’s attention. Almost as charming as the way he hesitated and waited for Aziraphale to guide his cock forward.
“I’m dripping nearly as much as you are,” Aziraphale said, biting his lip as he shifted beneath Crowley. A moan poured out of him as he explored their mingling slickness. The swollen knot at the base of Crowley’s cock had descended an inch while the tip wriggled like a hot eager tongue at the plush lips of Aziraphale’s cunt. “Oh, that feels amazing. Are you doing that on purpose?”
“Not really,” Crowley panted. The squirming must feel just as good to him as it did to Aziraphale. Crowley’s lips curled away from his teeth and he sucked in a breath as Aziraphale held the length of him more firmly. His cock’s hungry writhing found its way and he choked on a groan before burying himself with a few thrusts in Aziraphale’s cunt. He rutted desperately for a minute, then pushed as deep as he could and held there, hips grinding, head dropping to smear an open mouthed kiss along Aziraphale’s neck.
Aziraphale tipped his head back to invite more. He was positively alive with sensation. He could feel the thickness of the egg nudging at the very entrance to his cunt, a pressure like the promise of being twice penetrated, and he could feel too the others still deep within Crowley. Aziraphale’s lashes fluttered when the mass of eggs bulging above Crowley’s pubic bone moved and rippled against his clit. At the back of his mind he wondered what Crowley had done in centuries past. With man’s penchant for lustful indulgence, finding a willing human partner probably hadn’t been difficult. Or would he have done his Hellish duty and bred with another demon? Was that even how it worked? Perhaps he’d simply made do on his own as it seemed he’d been intending to.
A wet slippery gush forced its way out of Aziraphale’s cunt, washing away all the idle thoughts of what had come before. He’d tried to make himself ready for this, so he honestly couldn’t tell if it was his own slick wetness or Crowley’s, but everything became almost too-wet, the slip of their joined flesh losing nearly all its friction. He almost slid a hand between them, but Crowley did it first, long fingers finding the insistent throb of Aziraphale’s clit. “The first one is coming,” Crowley said, lips nuzzling near Aziraphale’s ear as he rubbed his fingers hard on Aziraphale’s eagerly peaked clit. His breath was coming in shallow gasps, and he sounded a touch desperate.
Aziraphale could feel the swollen push of the egg, the stretch of his cunt not quick to accommodate. “I’m too tight,” he gasped, and he might have tried to adjust further but for the clever slide of Crowley’s fingers making it so damnably difficult to focus.
“No you’re not, angel, you’ll take it,” Crowley murmured, desperation replaced by a hunger that hummed into Aziraphale’s skin. He scraped his teeth on the slope of Aziraphale’s neck and Aziraphale could feel the writhing of Crowley’s cock inside him.
He clenched without meaning to, and Crowley chuckled quietly, a low sly laugh that wasn’t cruel so much as cocksure. Another pulsating thrash stroked him from the inside, and then the push of the egg was no longer trying to nudge its way inside: Aziraphale’s body stretched to accept it, swallow it and draw it in deeper. His muscles fluttered as another egg pumped into him, easier this time, the bulk of it slipping into him followed by another hot rush of fluid.
“There’s more coming,” Crowley gasped through clenched teeth. He was quivering, spittle hot on ragged breath, and Aziraphale could feel the tension along Crowley’s spine. Was he holding them back? Was he thinking he should pull out and let them birth one by one to the sheets when Aziraphale was more than capable of making his body accommodate whatever Crowley needed? “A lot more. I’ve got a full clutch.”
Aziraphale already felt full with just the two, the weight of them inside him like a fist, but a low moan rumbled through him at the thought of Crowley stuffing him near to bursting with more. He could take them in and make them a part of himself, absorb this part of Crowley into his own being. “Give me all of them, dear,” he said, desire thickening his voice. “Let me hold them all.”
“All of them,” Crowley repeated reverently, and then said it again, with a ferocious determination.
With a cry, Crowley began to fuck him again, the wet flicker of his fingers on Aziraphale’s clit losing their rhythm and just pressing there as he plunged his swollen cock in to the hilt with each hard thrust. His knees skid on the sheets, trying to find more purchase as he deposited egg after egg after egg as far into Aziraphale as possible, each one pushing the others deeper until they were sliding around inside Aziraphale slick and tumbling. The sheets beneath Aziraphale grew drenched as dozens of Crowley’s eggs were delivered into his cunt and welcomed by the greedy heat of his body.
When the last of them had passed through Crowley’s cock, Aziraphale’s body clenched tight on instinct. He held the lot of them in, the quavering jellied mass of them pressing on his insides, a few threatening to slip free but for the weight of Crowley’s cock plugging his cunt.
Crowley’s fingers found their rhythm again, rubbing along Aziraphale’s clit and sliding down between the folds of his vulva, stroking him until his nerves were aflame and his back arching, until the hard waves of orgasm rippled around the multitude of eggs he carried. He went boneless when the last pulsating spasms faded, arms falling to either side and tingling at his fingertips.
He beamed a warm smile at Crowley who was looking at him with a sort of questioning arch in his brow before seemingly accepting that it had been good for Aziraphale and sliding off to lay beside him. He kept a hand between Aziraphale’s legs, palm cupped over his dripping cunt and fingertips dipping inside, just barely. To push any strays back in, Aziraphale guessed with a delighted shiver.
“I thought I might let them settle and then absorb them...in a bit,” Aziraphale told him. “It would be nice, wouldn’t it? To have a part of you become a part of me.”
“If you don’t want to send them into a volcano immediately, that’s your call, angel,” Crowley said, but Aziraphale could tell by the sudden banishment of the increasingly uncomfortable wet spot and the way Crowley buried his face into his side, that Crowley was pleased.