Work Text:
“Get on your knees.”
The smug bastard smile Aziraphale had been sporting his entire little confessional game slid off at the words; the voice on the other side of the screen so different from the flustered stuttering a moment ago.
“I-” The word came out as a croak and he paused to clear his throat; “I beg your pardon-”
“Here’s the way I see it.” Father Crowley interrupted him, the nervous pitchiness gone and replaced with something low and smooth. Something tempting. “If you are not repentant, then it must be because you have never properly prostrated yourself for..retribution.”
The way Father Crowley lingered on the word retribution sent a shiver down his spine, causing his temperature to spike with arousal, and suddenly had the dizziness of someone who has just had the tables turned on them and may just be in over their angel head. He shook himself, hanging on to every word Crowley said.
“So, I will not ask again. If you seek forgiveness- Get on your knees.”
It didn’t occur to Aziraphale to disobey. Removing his hands from his lap (when had they started shaking?) he placed them on either side of them and shuffled himself slightly awkwardly in the small space off the bench and to his knees.
He froze for a moment at the feeling of the wood digging into his knees, and forced himself to take a deep breath to calm himself. After a moment he head Crowley speak;
“Good boy.”
Aziraphale gasped softly and felt himself twitch in his pants; his trousers were becoming uncomfortable.
“Are those pronouns alright?” Crowley asked through the screen, concern seeping into his tone.
“Yes” Aziraphale made sure to answer quickly, feeling a flash of fondness at the unexpected question. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but whatever it was he certainly didn’t want it to stop. Crowley hummed in what sounded like approval; he was silent for a moment longer before he spoke again:
“You say you're not repentant, for such carnal thoughts, for such depraved actions; yet you keep coming here.” Father Crowley’s voice was low, almost a growl. “Do you want to know why I think that is?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
Oh fuck. “Yes Father Crowley. I’d like to know why.”
“I think it’s because you know full well what a slutty, sinful little thing you are.” Crowley had leaned close to the screen now, his low voice filling the small confession booth. “I think you know, and you deserve to be punished for it, don’t you?”
Aziraphale was trembling, how was he affected so badly when he hadn’t even seen the man? He desperately wanted to palm his cock, which was now throbbing almost painfully in his pants, but he didn’t dare touch himself. He couldn’t prove it but Aziraphale swore he could feel Father Crowley’s eyes on him through the screen.
“Yes” Aziraphale rasped. “Yes Father Crowley.”
“And you don’t just deserve it don’t you?” Crowley crooned through the screen. “You want it. You want to be punished don’t you? Want to be shoved down onto your knees and properly punished for your lustful, hedonistic pleasures?”
“I do;” Aziraphale’s voice sounded wrecked and panting. “I do want to be punished, Father Crowley.”
“The next time you’re on your knees, which I’m sure will be soon enough, I want you to remember my voice.” Crowley’s voice was uneven now, telling Aziraphale that Crowley was just as affected by all this as he was. “You’re going to be on your knees and remembering my voice, and then you're going to come back, to beg for my punishment, for my forgiveness.”
Before Aziraphale could respond, he heard Crowley’s door to his booth open and shut abruptly. For one insane moment he thought Crowley was going to open the door and actually show himself to Aziraphale. When he heard the retreating footsteps, he shuddered in relief and slouched in disappointment.
His knees were stiff from the hard wood, making getting up shaky and awkward. As he waited for his erection to go down he pressed his forehead to the cool wood of the booth and huffed incredulously as he couldn’t help but think:
Well that went down like a lead balloon didn’t it?