Having an Impact

by Lusive_Scratchpad

Summary:

Crowley did a bad thing and Aziraphale helps him to make it better. Along the way they learn new things about themselves and each other.
Set pre-nonapocalypse, modern times. I set out to write a little smut and wrote this monster instead.

(Heavy smut with a little plot, I suck at summaries, mind the tags)
Dedicated to Aneh for their lovely inspirational art and to Books and Toby for early reads & inputs.

Chapter 1: A commendation

Crowley has been drinking heavily for hours. If he were a human, he’d either be passed out or possibly dead of alcohol poisoning, but he’s a demon, so the bar never even cuts him off. Every time the bartender gets hesitant with him, he just clicks his fingers and the barman conveniently forgets how much he’s already served to the maudlin fellow in black. Crowley is a little proud of the fact that hasn’t even fallen out of his chair yet (he’s definitely got a demonic constitution), but the world around him does seem to be starting to slide a bit off-kilter. 

 

He’s been imagining several conversations that he needs to have with Aziraphale. Or at least he started off just imagining the conversations, but recently he’s started to verbalize some of his talking points out loud. There’s a little electric tealight at his table that takes the place of Aziraphale in the one-sided conversation. Something about the soft flickering glow just reminds him of Aziraphale. 

 

“Look, I know I’m a demon… an’ I'm inherently evil or whatever…” Crowley tells the tealight. 

 

Some bloke at a neighboring table overhears and glances at Crowley with raised brows and then he covers a laugh behind his hand and elbows his friend so they can both snigger together over the drunk man calling himself a demon. Crowley ignores them. They're of no consequence when he’s imagining Aziraphale’s patient expression reflecting in the flickering little light. 

 

“You said,'' Crowley pauses, trying to remember the exact words but he’s six thousand years and too many bottles away from recalling anything with much precision. “You said that you didn’t know if I’m even capable of doing good. But I’d like to… sometimes. I mean, I’d like to think at least I am capable of good. Don’t like to think that maybe I'm not… That maybe everything I do is just evil because I'm evil… Enh but that’s not my point.”

 

What is your point then, Crowley? He imagines Aziraphale asking him and for a moment he just gazes muzzily at the tealight, picturing a bright halo of fluffy white curls above kind eyes. His angel is so very patient. He loves him. Drunk as he is, he doesn't even fight thinking it in those frank and honest terms. He loves Aziraphale so much.  

 

“My point is–my point is that I didn't mean to. That's my point. This time. I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt.” Crowley says and he makes a sad little sound into his whiskey bottle. “I didn’t mean to be… evil. Doesn't that make it… I don’t know… less evil?”

 

There have been periods in recent history where he almost started to think that good and evil were just arbitrary words–nothing more than some weak ideals that humans have tried to reinforce with fairy tales and religion and a lot of philosophical bullshit. After all, when it comes down to really evaluating a deed, or say an individual, you have to include context. You have to have perspective . And yet no amount of context or perspective seems to be helping him today. He’s done something that’s had an impact on the whole of human society (most of them anyway) and the results were unquestionably injurious and evil. 

 

The experience has left him with the lingering taste of cinnamon that the whiskey just won't wash out and a shiny new commendation from Hell. Well, the trophy isn't actually shiny. It looks like a crude black metal fist–every bit as blunt and ugly as the job he did to get it. It's heavy and it smells like raw iron. Probably it will rust away to nothing eventually, just like most accomplishments, good or bad. He’s probably meant to be proud of it. He’s meant to be celebrating another bad job well done. He’s meant to hold that iron fist aloft in triumph and be the envy of every lesser demon. 

 

He knows this but there’s this niggling part of him that just wants to crawl under a rock somewhere and try to sleep another hundred years away in shame. He probably would, except Hell won't let him off the hook for that again. There are always more souls to be damned. Or at least, souls that need to have their damnation facilitated. By him. Because that’s his job. 

 

The folks downstairs expect big things from him. It says so right on his commendation. There is a small placard at the base of the trophy, right where the wrist ends. It says, We expect more from you Crawly . Crowley wonders if that’s meant to be motivational.

 

As far as motivators go, the commendation isn't doing a thing for him. The message isn't exactly praise and they didn't even get his name right. He doesn't feel anything when he looks at it. At least not anything good. It's as if all his other more clever (and mostly harmless) accomplishments mean nothing. In fact, all of his work feels like it means nothing. He feels like he means nothing. 

 

Six bottles of whiskey haven't fixed that feeling and he knows that even sixty bottles won't fix it. He could drown this corporation in whiskey. He could force it in and in until his veins carried more talisker than blood and his pickled brain would still keep telling him that he’s a useless, evil, wretched thing, because that’s the truth of it. 

 

“M’sorry. I’m sorry it happened, Angel.” Crowley tells the tealight. He’s blubbering now with tears in his eyes. “You were right. You were right about me. Can you forgive me?”

 

Oh Crowley . He imagines Aziraphale saying and God, Satan , someone he wants to kiss him. He wants to beg his forgiveness and kiss him, and he's thinking of doing just that, when the little tealight flickers and then suddenly goes out.

 

“Angel?” Crowley stares at the dead light in mingled horror and distress, feeling suddenly terribly alone. He nearly sobs over it before he gets ahold of himself and slaps a hand over his face, reminding himself that that thing isn't really Aziraphale–it’s just a stupid little tealight for fuck's sake. Aziraphale, the real Aziraphale, is only a few miles away at the book shop. He can sense him there and he turns that way inevitably, in the same mindless way that a plant turns and grows towards the sun. 

 

Crowley slams down the last of his drink and then he drops quite a few crumpled bills and a handful of loose change on his table (and all over the chairs and the floor too, he isn't too particular). Then he stands to leave, taking the ugly fist trophy with him. It’s heavy, but not as heavy as his heart. 

 

It's nearly five in the evening and A.Z. Fell and Co will be closing soon (if the angel even opened his shop up at all today). Crowley intends to make it into the shop before the angel locks the doors and settles in with a book for the night, as is his custom. If he doesn't make it on time, the fussy angel often won't open up for him, but if that happens then maybe the trophy in his passenger side seat will at least be useful for pitching through a window. He doesn’t sober up for the drive, but the Bentley knows the way and she steers him away from the ditch and oncoming traffic whenever he veers around too wildly. She really is such a fine old car. She takes care, even when he’s well beyond caring for himself. 

 

—

 

Aziraphale has had a long day at the shop dissuading customers from purchasing, or in fact even touching his books. He wants nothing more than to close up for the day and settle into his comfy chair with a good book but he has, unfortunately, become entrenched in a meaningless circular conversation with an elderly lady who came in asking to buy a calendar. 

 

Aziraphale isn't in the habit of being openly discourteous to people but after the third reiteration of their conversation, touching on the same points that he 1) does not have calendars because he is running a bookshop and not some sort of curio-stand and 2) he does not plan on stocking any in the near future because of item 1, he is starting to feel quite cross. Finally he manages to spear the woman with the politest form of fuck off by saying, “I am afraid we are closing now. So nice for you to have popped in. Have an absolutely lovely day” as he guides her to the door.

 

“You could fit a nice little stand right here by the door for calendars. Everyone needs a calendar! I’ve never seen a bookshop that doesn't even have a calendar stand!” The woman refuses to take his point. She lingers in the doorway and continues to reiterate her talking points. “What kind of a bookshop doesn't even carry calendars?”

 

“The kind that only sells books, madam. And only from the hours of ten am until five pm today.” Aziraphale says in a tone of rising vexation. He takes a deep steadying breath. His fingers are itching to snap but he reminds himself that using a miracle to disappear this woman to somewhere else would most certainly earn him a stern memo from head office. He might do it anyway except it wouldn't only be frivolous, but possibly dangerous. He almost wishes that Crowley was there to confound the woman, or to scare her away or teleport her off somewhere anyway. He’s getting very tired of her shrill querulous voice. 

 

“I'm sure it's more than a quarter ‘till five.” The woman replies. “Look there, what does your clock say?” She squints over at Aziraphale's grandfather clock through her thick coke-bottle glasses and Aziraphale, losing his last shred of patience, miracles it ahead just a few minutes so it starts to chime five o'clock. He's so invested in performing the miracle discretely that he misses the squeal of tires as the Bentley pulls up at the curb out front.

 

“There, now see.” Aziraphale smiles sweetly at the old woman. “Now it is most definitely five o’clock and really I must bid you a goodnight madam.” He walks to the door and holds it open to usher her out. “Very best of luck finding that calendar.” To his immense relief the old woman stomps out of the open door in a huff, but right as she is leaving a slim figure dressed all in black slips in through the open door just as quick as a cat.

 

“Oh no–” Aziraphale wants to curse but he is so very practiced at not cursing that he holds it in, even though his patience is fraying and the demon is the last person he wants to deal with when he’s already feeling irritable. Crowley, with his smug attitude and his quick clever tongue, can be like a maddening itch that he just can't scratch on the best of days. Worse, Crowley is apt to be at his most annoying given the fact that he smells like he’s been splashing around in a barrel of whiskey. “We are most definitely closed I am afraid.” Aziraphale tells the demon and he makes a curt gesture as if to wave him right back out of the door that he is still holding open. 

 

“Oh, I don’t mind.” Crowley replies with a cheeky little grin that makes Aziraphale regret that he hasn't warded the shop specifically against this demon. His shop is officially an embassy of Heaven, so most demons can’t just waltz in here even if he was holding the door open like an invitation, but he has given Crowley leeway before. Far too much leeway obviously since the fiend is clearly intent on tormenting him. 

 

“I did not ask you if you mind, Crowley.” Aziraphale says curtly. It’s terrible manners, but he’s too tired to be polite any more. He really needs a good long stretch of peace and quiet to recuperate. “I am telling you that I intend to close and lock this door presently and you had best be on the other side of it when I do!”

 

“Ohho is that a threat, Angel?” Crowley looks delighted and Aziraphale is forced to reflect on the fact that he should have known that that wouldn't work. Crowley hasn't had the slightest bit of fear of him since he gave away his sword. Aziraphale could still smite him, and the thought does cross his mind–since having to go through all the paperwork of getting a new body would serve the demon right at this point and maybe it would teach him some respect–but he doesn't actually want him to be gone that long. Just because he wants some peace and alone time tonight, doesn’t mean he wants to have to wait months or even years to see him again. There’s even a small part of him that is a little bit glad that Crowley is here now, even annoying and drunk as he obviously is. He’s always secretly a little bit glad to have the demon around, although he covers it with annoyance and tries not to ever show it. He tries not to even feel it. Nothing but trouble ever comes from such feelings after all…

 

Crowley swaggers right up to Aziraphale, using his superior height to look down on him and lean into his space. He looks cocky and smug, so very confident in himself as he lifts his brows at Aziraphale suggestively. “Just what are you going to do to me if I stay right here?” He asks, voice dipping low and flirtatious. 

 

Crowley does this sometimes, growling and strutting and pushing into Aziraphale's space just like he’s dying to fuck him up against a wall but Aziraphale recognizes that it’s bluster. He’s let Crowley put him up against a wall before and the demon didn’t ravage him, much to his very secret disappointment. Over the past six thousand years Aziraphale has made himself vulnerable time and time again, and yet the demon has never taken any of the opportunities presented to him. Crowley always treats him with care, rescuing him from every situation that Aziraphale put himself into without even so much as a request for some form of repayment or reciprocation. If anything, Crowley seems happy to reward the angel for letting him save him, like that time in Paris when Crowley let him out of his chains at the Bastille and then took him out for crepes. Crowley might walk and talk and growl like a beast. He might dress up and flaunt himself like some big bad demon, but under the bluster Aziraphale knows that he is frustratingly sweet and gentle and soft.

 

Aziraphale can tell that Crowley is drunk and he can also guess that he’s probably using the bluster to cover hurt feelings over the angel trying to shoo him right back out of the shop, but it doesn't stop his rising annoyance when the demon lays it on a little too thick, boxing Aziraphale in with one of his hands resting on the book shelf behind him as he leans in so close that Aziraphale can't help but smell his pleasantly smoky aftershave, and a trace of cinnamon even over his whiskey breath. 

 

Aziraphale would be glad enough to lean into this and let Crowley take the lead, but he knows that Crowley won't. He knows that the demon will chicken out and falter and back off in a moment because he’s always such a maddeningly perfect gentleman. That’s why they've been dancing around this for thousands of years. Each stepping back every time the other steps forward, always just one step out of sync, always just inches from touching, kissing, more... It makes Aziraphale want to scream. And it makes him think that if Crowley can't ever find the balls to finally do something more he might just have to throttle him.

 

“I can make you leave if I want.” Aziraphale says slowly, staring right back at Crowley with a hard, steely look in his eyes. Come on. He thinks with the same eager, frustrated desperation as someone on the edge of climax. A climax six thousand years in the making. Kiss me. Find your bullocks and kiss me. He maintains the hard eye contact as he removes his angel-wing cufflinks and then he starts to roll up his sleeves.

 

Crowley's eyes, just visible over the top of his shades, widen. He glances from Aziraphale's hard eyes to his soft mouth and then down to his strong arms as the angel rolls up his shirt sleeves. “You unh… you…” Already his bravado is starting to leave him, but he seems to find a little courage from staring at Aziraphale's bare forearms. “You really think you can?” He tries for cocky again, but he sounds a little hoarse. 

 

“Oh yes.” Aziraphale's voice is calm and confident and soft as velvet over steel. He's had enough of this dance. If Crowley insists on being irritating and issuing these checks he cannot cash, then Aziraphale can be brave enough for both of them. He's a trained soldier so it's no work at all to get out of the position that Crowley has backed him into. He grabs the wrist of the hand Crowley's used to pen him in and he twists it, forcing the demon to turn around as he twists Crowley's slender arm up behind his back. He loops his free arm around the demon’s throat, pulling his lythe body up against him. There's a sharp intake of air and a heavy thump as the demon drops something he was carrying. 

 

If Aziraphale didn't know better, he would have expected the demon to go feral in his arms. He would have expected him to fight and scratch and kick, and go just as mad and wild as a wet cat full of Hellfire, but all Crowley does is squirm a little and struggle to breathe, his throat working against Aziraphale's hold. The demon doesn't actually need to breathe, but after so long faking it, there’s an instinct there. 

 

Crowley’s free hand reaches up to grab Aziraphale's forearm across his throat but he doesn't tear at him with claws or even try to pull his arm away. Instead he seems to be using the opportunity to pet at Aziraphale's skin as he makes little choking noises that sound almost ecstatic. 

 

Aziraphale can’t help but thrill a little. Crowley isn't thrashing around like a creature possessed–he doesn't even seem to be making an effort to escape. The demon is remarkably pliant in his arms, just like it's exactly where he wants to be, like maybe it's exactly where he’s always wanted to be. Somewhere under all the flash clothes and bluster it's like Crowley has been waiting, maybe even longing for exactly this.

 

—

 

“Ghhk.” To say that Crowley wasn't expecting the angel to grab him like that is a massive understatement. He's so startled that he drops his trophy but he's only vaguely aware of the dull thump of it hitting the floor because all he can focus on is the warmth of Aziraphale's body pressed against him, the firmness of unyielding angelic muscles holding him in place with one hand twisting his arm up behind his back almost to the point of pain while the other arm is throttling him. Being choked by Aziraphale specifically is actually doing even more to make him feel breathless than the forearm squeezing across his windpipe. He feels surrounded by the angel, entrapped by him. This is the closest they've ever come to an embrace. Before he can stop himself he is melting into it, leaning his head back as he feels himself go all loose and boneless in Aziraphale hold.

 

Distantly, he wonders if this is a dream. Maybe he’s passed out drunk somewhere. He could have wrecked the Bentley on his way over and this could all be going on behind his closed lids as he drools against the steering wheel. It would hardly be the first time that he's had a dream about the angel turn erotic. It feels real, but he's still a little afraid that he's going to wake up alone with nothing but a raging hard-on and a sense of utter isolation and shame. To be fair, that's been the state of his love life for the last six thousand years. It's what he's come to expect after so long spent having all of his frankly obvious flirting pass ignored or rebuffed. 

 

He’d gladly serve himself up on a half shell for his angel, but Aziraphale doesn't want him--can't want a demon like him, which is a problem since currently every drop of blood that isn't rushing to his face seems to be going straight to his suddenly straining cock. He's got his back turned to Aziraphale but in his ridiculously tight pants it's going to be so painfully obvious the minute he turns around. “Ngh umm.” He squeezes his thighs together and clenches his eyes shut, struggling to get a handle on his over-excited body. Normally he could will away this sort of a reaction with a passive miracle but he's having a hard time mustering the concentration that would require with Aziraphale all around him, and breathing against his suddenly sweat-damp skin.

 

“You seem to forget that I was a soldier, dear boy.” Aziraphale says right in his ear and the low gravel of his voice and the warm tickle of his breath is doing nothing at all to help Crowley to get rid of his erection. He wants to whine and rock his hips at the sound of his voice.

 

“Nuh,” Crowley protests but before he can manage anything more articulate, Aziraphale applies upward pressure on his twisted arm and the pain of it makes him gasp and grunt. Surprisingly, that also isn’t doing anything to damp down his erection at all. If anything it's only making him harder. Crowley’s practically hyperventilating now, seeing dark patches in the corners of his vision as his brain goes fuzzy with a sweet pink haze of lust and pain. He bites his tongue around a low groan, squeezing his teeth together so he doesn't moan out something incriminating like please, yes, Angel, more . Choke me, hurt me, use me–you can do anything and everything you like with me. Please yes, you magnificent bastard. Please more.

 

—

 

“Walk.” Aziraphale says sternly. He doesn't give Crowley any choice in the matter as he marches him forward. He can just throw him out of the shop now–Crowley is in no state to resist. That's the safe thing to do, and it’s the right thing to do and Aziraphale still tries to do the right thing whenever he can. It chafes him, but Crowley is drunk–too drunk for anything else. They'll have to leave whatever is going on between them undefined for now. Maybe they can talk about it once Crowley is sober, but more likely they'll just go on dancing around each other and never touching for another six thousand years. Aziraphale is tired of it. He's so tired of it and he wants more. He's greedy for more but he has to give Crowley a chance to collect himself and sober up and he’s not going to be able to keep his hands off of him if he stays in the shop–not when Crowley keeps pushing him like this. So he heads towards the door with his remarkably pliant demon.

 

Crowley doesn't start to struggle until they're practically in the doorway. “Angel–wait–” He chokes out. Aziraphale is in no mood to dally and he presses forward anyway until Crowley puts his legs up on the door frame, spreading himself out like a starfish with the three limbs available to him and refusing to let himself be pushed out through the doorway. It's nothing more than drunken petulance–Aziraphale is stronger and can force him out and they both know it, but it's just making it that much more difficult to throw him out. “I need to–need to–just wait–” Crowley babbles in a breathless, hoarse voice, barely able to talk from how tightly Aziraphale is squeezing his throat.

 

“No Crowley! You need to get out of my shop right now.” Aziraphale tightens his grip on the demon and he twists his arm a little harder. If he twists much farther he'll be in danger of snapping one of the demon's slender bones or popping his shoulder out of socket. It must really hurt now but the noise Crowley makes is like nothing he's ever heard out of him before–it sounds raw and needy and a little bit frantic. 

 

“ Please, Aziraphale. ” Crowley gasps the words out with all the desperation of a drowning man and Aziraphale is surprised to notice that the demon is trembling in his grasp. He's even more surprised to realize that he likes hearing him like this, likes hearing him beg and feeling him tremble. It's entirely inappropriate for an angel and it shouldn't be relevant. He should just shove the demon out and lock the door, but the realization gives him pause, if only to hear a little more and to linger with the demon within his grasp. 

 

“You're drunk.” Aziraphale complains, saying it as much to remind himself as to chastise Crowley. 

 

“Yeah but I still need to talk to you and I dunno if I'll do it sober. I did something–something for Hell and it was–” Crowley’s voice wavers. “Well it was pretty evil if I’m being honest.”

 

“Do you expect to find me incredulous over that?” Aziraphale sniffs dismissively. “You’re a demon. That’s your job. Or did you come here to gloat?” He feels a sudden additional swell of annoyance at that idea.

 

“Hell did give me an award.” Crowley quips back and it is exactly the wrong time to take that glib, cheeky tone. It confirms to Aziraphale that despite the demon’s evident distress and pleading, he’s not at all contright. To the contrary he must be here to boast and relive his evil deed by talking to Aziraphale about it, and the angel is having none of it.

 

“Did they?” Aziraphale asks with deadly cool in his voice. “How lovely. You must be so proud.”

 

“Weeell–” Crowley squirms a little in Aziraphale hold. He seems about to launch into some long-winded explanation regardless of his current position with his arm twisted behind his back and his feet scuffing up the door frame of Aziraphale’s bookshop. Aziraphale takes one look at those snakeskin boots against the worn old wood of his door frame and he's suddenly had quite enough. 

 

“I actu–” Crowley is in the middle of a word when Aziraphale drives a knee up between his spread legs, slamming into his balls and perineum hard enough to lift the demon into the air a few inches. Crowley makes a sound approximately like “eeeurf” and slams his thighs closed around Aziraphale's knee before curling down, sliding forward and collapsing slowly to the floor. Aziraphale follows him down, keeping ahold of his wrist as he folds himself over the collapsing demon.

 

—

 

The sudden shock of Aziraphale's knee slamming into his tender bits renders Crowley completely speechless, capable only of making a series of guttural noises as he curls over himself like a wounded animal. His shaking legs give out and he falls off of the door frame and slams down onto his knees on the floor in the entryway to the bookshop. He pitches forward and only barely catches himself with his free hand to stop himself from face-planting right on Aziraphale’s doorstep. 

 

He’s on all fours for a moment (or all threes technically since he still has an arm held behind his back) but then he feels Aziraphale leaning over him like a lover and pushing him down and his free arm gives out and he drops his face the rest of the way to the floor with a meaty smack and a desperate groan. Aziraphale is over him, pinning him down with implacable strength. Crowley’s arse is in the air and it feels indecent, absolutely shameless, particularly with Aziraphale’s thick thigh still in between his spread legs and Aziraphale’s body pressing firm against him.

 

“Fuck,” Crowley gasps his first coherent word since the impact as his hips press back into the pressure of Aziraphale's thigh entirely of their own accord. “Oh fuck!” He clenches every part of himself against the dizzying build of white hot heat in his stomach rising up faster and stronger than anything he’s ever felt before. It’s like he’s some very bubbly champagne and someone’s just pulled his cork. “ Fuck .” The word leaves his mouth as a faint little whimper as a powerful shudder runs through him. His hips perform an automatic little grinding maneuver against Aziraphale’s thigh. “ Angel .” And just like that he’s coming into his ridiculously tight trousers, moaning desperately against the floor as his cock pulses and spurts and he shakes apart just from Aziraphale holding him down and holding pressure between his legs. When he comes out of the sweet pink haze of his orgasm he’s drooling onto the floor, his face wet and sticky with tears and his pants soaked and clinging to his still half-hard cock. “Fuck.” He whispers once more as the mortification sets in.

 

—

 

Aziraphale freezes behind Crowley. He'd thought that the demon sounded like he was enjoying himself earlier and if he wasn't very much mistaken then Crowley had just… 

 

Aziraphale's mind keeps tripping over that thought, stalling at the realization that Crowley had just come. He'd just made Crowley come. He hadn't meant to exactly and it wasn't supposed to happen, but oh it was thrilling and pleasing and more than a little flattering. And it had been so easy too. He never would have guessed how very eager the demon was, nor how it would affect him to be able to feel him shake apart in his arms, moaning for him and sounding so thoroughly debauched. 

 

Distantly, it occurs to Aziraphale that he should probably be mortified. Crowley's clearly drunk and his own behavior has been so far from the appropriate for an angel that he almost wonders if he's a little drunk by osmosis somehow. Despite that, the only part that is really disappointing to him is the fact that he hadn’t been able to see it happen. But there was an easy fix for that. Crowley would just have to do it again, ideally sober and in a position where Aziraphale can watch him. Really it’s the least the demon could do to make up for how thoroughly he has derailed the quiet evening of reading and reflection that Aziraphale had planned, and if this changes things between them, well… they would just have to cross that bridge when it came to it. 

 

“Fine.” Aziraphale even sounds huffy and bitchy to his own ears. “Since you insist on being such a… such a drama queen , get in here and sober up.” He releases Crowley's arm and throat and loops an arm around his middle instead, lifting him back into the book shop with very little effort. He carries him over to the couch and drops him down onto it with very little ceremony. He wants to look the demon over, but Crowley as usual seems incapable of being still. At least the demon does take a moment to clear the alcohol from his bloodstream but afterwards he looks even more ashamed of himself. 

 

“Fuck Angel--I’m sorry–I got–it was just–” Crowley is stumbling over himself in an attempt to explain. He’s flushed clear up to his hairline. His glasses fell off as Aziraphale carried him to the couch and his eyes are glistening with tears as he squirms around on the couch with his hands in his lap to try to hide the evidence of what he did.

 

“Be still and let me get a look at you.” Aziraphale pushes his hands to the side and he pins Crowley's writhing hips down flat to the couch. There is an unmistakable wet spot spreading over a bulge in the demon's pants. Crowley goes still for him, a single tear sliding down his cheek as he watches the angel with an expression of devastated embarrassment.

 

“I-I didn't mean to. I just–you were holding me so tightly and it felt--and I've never–we never… No one's ever…” Crowley looks away, flushing even deeper. “...I got carried away. M'sorry. It won't happen again.” He mutters, gruff because he's so very contrite and ashamed. “I can… I can go now… maybe I'll go hide out for a century or so and we can forget all about this? Right, that sounds like a plan to me.” 

 

Crowley tries to stand up to leave, but Aziraphale shoves him right back down onto the couch with a firm, “no.”

 

“What! You were so eager for me to leave a minute ago!” Crowley complains with a dramatic gasp and huff although it's obviously all bluster. Aziraphale's attention and his hands on his hips are starting to renew his ardor and he winds up squirming his legs together, uncomfortable in his wet and clinging pants.

 

“Well now you have to stay I'm afraid.” Aziraphale replies. “I don't want to forget about it. I'm just not done processing what just happened.”

 

“What's there to process? I was being an ass and you showed me the door. Good on you. Real impressive unh thwarting there–now can I please just go crawl under a rock and die somewhere?” Crowley quips back, trying to stand again only to be shoved back down.

 

This time when he's pressed flat, Crowley whines a little, rolling his hips ever so slightly before flushing furiously and putting his hands over his crotch again, mortified by himself and the way he's reacting to Aziraphale's superior strength. His cock barely had a chance to flag and now he's getting hard again and without his hands in the way it's getting painfully obvious in his tight wet pants.

 

“No.” Aziraphale says thoughtfully. “I think you'd better stay here and explain yourself a little more, actually. What do you mean you've never…?” He squints at the demon, incredulous. “You've been working in temptations for ages. Surely you've had some experiences…” He trails off because Crowley's face is doing something strange–his expression turning timid, eyes dancing everywhere around the room everywhere to avoid looking directly at Aziraphale. After so many years of knowing each other it isn't hard to read that expression. “You've never had sex?” Aziraphale guesses and the demon’s expression, like he’s been caught doing something shameful, is answer enough. “Crowley! We’ve been on this planet for six thousand years. What on Earth have you been waiting for?”

 

“I–well I…” Crowley opens and closes his mouth a few times. He looks like a fish out of water, gaping and spluttering. “I was… waiting for you, actually, I suppose.” He says at last, almost too quiet to be heard. He fixes his gaze on the far wall, too embarrassed to even look at Aziraphale. “I never wanted anyone else. If you… if you'd ever… have me…” He admits, swallowing. He closes his eyes like a man standing on the gallows and waiting for the ground to drop out from under him.

 

“If I'll have you? Oh my dear boy,” Aziraphale can hardly believe the treat that has just been dropped into his lap. Despite all his antics, Crowley is so very dear to him and it's like he’s just held out his heart and his body and offered up everything he has up for the angel. Aziraphale’s heart sings as he leans in to catch Crowley’s thin lips in a fervent kiss. “I will gladly have you Crowley.” He murmurs when they part, laughing at the demon’s shocked expression. “Is that why you were insisting on staying here and making a nuisance of yourself?”

 

Crowley makes a noise that's just a series of consonants and shakes his head. “Well, no actually I wanted to talk to you about something else but that can wait.” He says quickly, not even looking around for the award from Hell that he'd dropped. It just wasn't as important as staring adoringly up at Aziraphale's face.

 

“Oh can it? But you’ve waited six thousand years for intimacy already, surely it isn't that much more trouble to wait another few minutes while you tell me about why you're here?” Aziraphale smiles in that way he knows makes him look like an insufferable smug bastard and Crowley groans at him and drops his head back against the back of the sofa in frustration.

 

“It's not as important–this is important.” Crowley snaps and he reaches for Aziraphale, pulling him into another fervent kiss. “I've wanted to–for so long–” He says between kisses. “You have no idea how much I want you, Angel.”

 

Aziraphale chuckles fondly at those words. “Oh I don't know. I think it might be about as much as I want you.” He muses, rubbing Crowley's thighs in a slow, kneading motion. “Very well. I'll make you come again and then you can tell me about… whatever it was you were burning to tell me about earlier.” He says and he grasps Crowley by the belt.

 

“Oh fuck,” Crowley moans out again, arching his hips forward eagerly as Aziraphale undoes his belt and the front of his pants. He pushes Crowley's tight trousers down around his knees and notes with some amusement that Crowley has no underwear underneath. Crowley’s cock springs up like some silly take on a jack in the box, bobbing between them, flushed red with want and still glistening wet and slick with spend.

 

“Oh.” Aziraphale pauses, staring down at Crowley's cock with a bemused little smile. “Really now.” 

 

Back when Crowley had chosen this effort he’d made himself a cock that was a fair bit bigger than average, because he’d liked imagining that maybe one day he’d be able to please Aziraphale with it. He’d liked the idea of being able to give Aziraphale pleasure with it so much that he’d gone a little overboard on the size. His prick now is long and thick and slightly curved with a fat jutting head with a prominent ridge. It looks like something out of a size-themed porno or the kind of ad designed to sell dick pills. Crowley bites his lip, trying to hold in a little whimper and keep still while he awaits Aziraphale's verdict over the effort he’s made. 

 

“Oh my dear, how do you even fit this in those tight trousers of yours?” Aziraphale chuckles at the sight of him and then he coos softly. “You’re just so eager to please aren’t you.” He taps a finger against the glistening wet red tip, making Crowley hiss and squirm. Aziraphale's smile is fond, but also smug and amused and his tone of voice absolutely drips with condescension. “Did you imagine you'd be on top? Did you think I'd see this nice big cock and decide I simply have to have it in me?”

 

“N-no I–well… I-I wasn't sssure what you would want…” Crowley couldn't help another small squirm of his hips and an absolutely shameful little whine. He'd definitely wanted Aziraphale to look pleased with him when he finally showed him, but he’s surprised to find that he is enjoying the way the angel is laughing down at him too. He feels ashamed, and he thinks he should probably be infuriated, but he also feels a coiling, squirming heat in his belly that makes him want to writhe and buck his hips and chase that building pleasure again already.

 

“You imagined this would give me pleasure?” Aziraphale doesn’t look displeased as he traces a finger up the entire length of Crowley’s cock. He looks perfectly delighted, but it’s more like Crowley has told him an excellent joke rather than like he’s done something pleasing and Crowley really wants to please him. He’s humiliated enough by Aziraphale's mocking tone that he has an instinct to pull his pants back up and put his hands over his comically oversized erection to hide himself. He feels so exposed and vulnerable, and the sensation only intensifies as Aziraphale pushes his thighs apart to get a better look up between them. Crowley gasps and reaches down to try to cover himself with his hands, his face burning.

 

“Aht-ah. I want you to be still. Put your hands on the couch and keep them there.” Aziraphale says with a stern look and his tone is so firm and bossy that Crowley is immediately compliant, everywhere except for the treacherous lower half of his body where his cock twitches and his hips arch up into the air slightly.

 

“Ah–hah–ssorry.” Crowley grimaces as he puts his hands on the couch and curls them into fists to fight the instinct to try to cover himself. He’s trying so hard to hold perfectly still for his angel that the muscles in his thighs and belly start to tremble faintly.

 

“You want to be good for me, don’t you?” Aziraphale trails his fingertips over Crowley’s twitching cock, spreading his wet spend down his shaft.

 

“Yess.” Fresh tears gather at the corners of Crowley’s eyes from the effort it takes not to press his hips up into Aziraphale's touch–not to try to rut against any part of him he can reach like some desperate animal. He isn’t supposed to be good, but he wants it. He wants to be good for Aziraphale, wants to make Aziraphale pleased and proud of him, more than anything and he longs to hear him say just how very good he is. It's terribly taboo for a demon, but he can't help wanting it--he’s so very gone over his angel. 

 

“You want to give me exactly what I want?” Aziraphale curls his soft hand around Crowley’s shaft, squeezing him as he strokes his hand up and down in slow languid movements that pull a sob from Crowley’s throat.

 

Crowley has started to tremble even harder from the effort it’s taking to keep still. He doesn’t realize until his vision blurs that he’s started to cry in earnest again, tears slicking his burning cheeks just from the intensity of his feelings. “Yess, yes Angel. Whatever you want. Anything you want.” He whispers in a voice that’s raw and urgent and hoarse with need. He feels like he might shake apart and come right into Aziraphale's hand at any moment. He would have done so already if Aziraphale would only stroke him a little faster, or squeeze him just a little harder. He feels so close already that it’s taking everything in him not to buck into Aziraphale’s hand in desperation. “ Please ,” he gasps out.

 

“Good.” Aziraphale’s smile looks beatific, so benevolent and indulgent that Crowley can hardly believe it when he slows the slow stroking to a stop. “Then be patient for me.” 

 

“Nnghk.” Crowley's mouth falls open and some completely inarticulate sounds tumble out. There is an intense need already built up in his belly and in his tight and aching balls, but it seems like Aziraphale is in no hurry at all to give him any relief. When he stops stroking the building pleasure stalls suddenly and leaves Crowley on a precipice and absolutely aching for more. He whines and he can’t help but press his hips up, trying to rock himself into Aziraphale's palm out of desperation until the bastard angel takes his hand away completely. 

 

“Patience, Crowley.” Aziraphale repeats and Crowley is bereft enough that he lets out a mournful sob as he bites down hard on his lower lip, trying to hold in all the desperate pleading that wants to tumble out of him. Aziraphale wants him to be patient, but oh he's been so patient for so long already and he doesn’t know if he can take any more. He honestly thinks he’s going to break and grab his own cock to start pumping it furiously at any moment until Aziraphale leans in close enough to murmur right into his ear, “That's it. You're such a good boy to wait for me, Crowley.”

 

Crowley bites down even harder on his lower lip as stars pop behind his eyes. He doesn't come, but it's a near thing as his cock jumps and oozes a spurt of pre against his trembling belly. “Oh.” He gasps, his mouth falling open in shock and pleasure. “Oh fffuck, Angel .”

 

“Oh my, you really like that, don't you?” Aziraphale hums, looking so pleased that Crowley wants to weep in joy. Crowley nods so fast to the question that he feels a bit dizzy with it. “Good. I love how sweet and pliant you are for me, my dear boy.” 

 

Crowley closes his eyes tightly. His face feels hotter than if he stuck himself head first into a column of Hellfire. “...m'not.” He whines, but there's no conviction to his voice, he just can't let the assertion go unchallenged. He's a demon for fucks sake, he isn't supposed to be like this, or want this, or like this at all. He really isn’t supposed to want his angel’s love and affection, and even his antiquated terms of endearment, more than he's ever wanted anything else. 

 

“Oh but you are. You're so very, very sweet.” Aziraphale says, sounding smug and completely unbothered. “Just look at you, sitting so still and obedient for me even when it’s obvious how badly you need to come.” He caresses his fingertips through the wet patch of pre that Crowley’s cock has dribbled onto his belly and he smiles adoringly at the demon as he uses the moisture to draw a little heart around his belly button. 

 

“And you even made such a nice big effort for me.” Aziraphale clicks his tongue softly. “But I’m afraid to say, we won’t be needing all that today.” His eyes travel back down to Crowley’s straining cock and he taps the tip of it again with a little smirk, making Crowley jump and hiss between his teeth. 

 

“So far as I’m concerned currently, more than a mouthful would be a waste really. Here, let me fix it for you.” Aziraphale curls his hand around Crowley’s shaft again and the demon can only gasp and then he mewls at the sudden stinging tingly feeling of holy magic trickling into his body, shrinking him down inside Aziraphale's fist until his cock is no bigger than a swollen thumb. 

 

Aziraphale gives him a single slow stroke before he brings his hand away to admire his handiwork. “There now–aren’t you just adorable.” Aziraphale coos over him, petting his thighs as he looks at the small cock he’s made with satisfaction. 

 

“Ngkah.” Crowley makes an inarticulate noise. He’s never worn such a miniscule cock before and he certainly wouldn’t have thought to do it in front of anyone, let alone Aziraphale who he wanted to impress more than anyone. But Aziraphale is looking so very pleased with him and the lingering effects of his magic is only making him feel even more achy and tingly and breathless. “Angel.” He can't help a needy little whimper rising up from his chest.

 

“Isn’t this more fitting for you?” Aziraphale lifts his brows at the demon as he uses just a single finger to caress Crowley’s new prick. The sensation feels amplified–made more intense just by having the same number of nerve endings in a smaller space and Crowley can't seem to keep still for the touch any more. He arches hard into the sensation until Aziraphale takes his hand away again, once again leaving him sobbing.  

 

“Aziraphale, please, please , you are killing me.” Crowley grates out and he’s breathless and trembling with his face wet with tears. He looks more than half a wreck already but Aziraphale is still greedy for more.

 

“What is it you need from me, dearest?” Aziraphale gives Crowley his most dastardly sweet and sunny smile as he strokes his thigh encouragingly. 

 

Crowley has to close his eyes to say, “touch me.” He's trembling all over now, embarrassed but also so very turned on that he can hardly stand it. “Please, Angel, touch me.”

 

The plea is so sweet that Aziraphale nearly takes mercy on him. He’s very tempted to give him exactly what he’s asking for as soon as he hears those words, but he has to remind himself that Crowley already came once and really, he’s a demon and he should be able to handle at least a little torment and Aziraphale isn't ready for things to be over just yet. There's a part of him that wants to take this further and further, wants to see just how far he can push the demon before he breaks, but this is their first time and there will hopefully be plenty of time to explore that in future. Still, he can't resist teasing Crowley a little more. He cocks his head at him in mock innocence. “I am touching you dear.” He purrs, squeezing Crowley’s slim thighs as he smiles like an absolute bastard. 

 

“Fuck,” Crowley whines out, spreading his legs as far as he can with his pants still around his shins. “I mean–touch me more–please. Angel, I need–I need you to touch me… um higher.” He mumbles, turning his face to the side and looking so cute and bashful about it that Aziraphale’s tempted to suck him, but he’s not done with his little games yet. It’s just too much fun to torment the demon and really if he wants to be stroked off he ought to be able to ask Aziraphale to touch his cock. He’s a demon, after all.

 

“Oh higher? Like up here?” Aziraphale slides a hand up Crowley’s inner thigh, back behind his tender-looking balls to caress the skin around his opening. Crowley immediately twitches, clenching under Aziraphale's fingertips with a dramatic gasp as his back stiffens and he sharply sits up straighter. The sounds coming from him don't remotely resemble any language ever spoken on Earth or in Heaven so Aziraphale pauses the movement of his fingers, giving the demon a moment to get used to the feeling of the gentle pressure against his rim. “Crowley? Is this where you'd like me to touch?” Aziraphale asks, sounding calm and patient and like he's willing to wait all day for an answer but he won't move his blessed fingers again until he gets one. 

 

“Y-yes.” Crowley manages at last. “That is–that’s good with me.” He says, voice shaky and a little higher than usual. His legs are trembling and he’s grabbed the sofa cushion under him and he’s gripping it as if he’s holding on for dear life.

 

“Is it?” Aziraphale starts to move his fingers again, circling his rim and brushing back and forth across it, teasing him. There's another stinging tingle of angelic magic and suddenly his fingers are slick and slippery with lube as he circles Crowley's hole. “And if I were to put my fingers inside of you… do you think you’d like that?”

 

Crowley nods fast again, feeling faint. He strains to spread his legs wider and then squirms until his pants are down around his ankles so his knees can open about the width of his shoulders as long as he keeps his feet together. He spreads himself as wide as he can, planting his feet on the floor so he can tilt his pelvis up and press into Aziraphale's touch again. “Yess.” He hissed the word out quiet as a whisper.

 

“What’s that my dear?” Aziraphale lifts his brows, pretending that he couldn't hear Crowley’s hissed affirmation perfectly well.  

 

“Yes!” Crowley repeats himself louder, showing himself completely willing to jump through any hoop Aziraphale likes just so he’ll keep touching him. “Please, Aziraphale.”

 

“Please what?” Aziraphale flashes his sunny smile again, eyes sparkling just like he is thoroughly enjoying being such a tease. His fingers continue to circle Crowley’s rim, pushing against him and then pulling back again and again until Crowley feels like he might lose his mind entirely or just break apart into hysterical sobbing at any moment.

 

“Please, please fuck me.” Crowley grates out with his last shreds of composure, feeling utterly shameless and wanton and powerless to do anything but plead with his angel and hope that he will take mercy on his poor damned soul. 

 

“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale smiles even brighter if possible and he falls into a crouch between Crowley's spread thighs. “Of course I will fuck you.” He says and he presses a soft kiss to the inside of one of Crowley's trembling thighs, making him weep in relief. “But it's got to be done properly so, bear with me while I get you ready, won't you?”

 

Crowley opens his mouth to protest, but before he can form words, Aziraphale is pushing a finger into him and he slips back into speaking a language all of his own and made entirely of consonants. Aziraphale hums as if he is agreeing with him.

 

“You have such a tight little hole, my dear. This might take some work.” Aziraphale muses, sliding his finger back out and then pushing two fingers into him instead, scissoring them open to stretch him as he coats his insides with slick lube using another stinging and tingly miracle. 

 

“Angel,” Crowley wails at the sting of holy magic and the burning stretch as he’s pulled open and miracled slick. He can’t help squirming in desperation. His body is inexperienced with this stretch and mentally he hasn't even learned how to relax himself yet. Before today that opening has been nothing but decorative, but now Aziraphale has two fingers in him and it’s very close to being too much. He can’t stop crying and he’s breathing in hiccuping little gasps and looking entirely overwhelmed. 

 

“Ah, give it a little time dear.” Aziraphale soothes him and the burning ache eases instantly just from hearing the gentle tone in his voice. “You’re doing so well, Crowley. You’re perfect. You take my fingers so beautifully. You’re so good.”

 

Crowley sobs even harder at the praise, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes closed. He feels so much that he’s entirely overwhelmed for a moment but then Aziraphale leans up and kisses him and it's so soft and tender that the tight clench of his body eases a little and the fingers inside of him don't feel quite so overwhelmingly intense. 

 

“Better?” Aziraphale slides his fingers slowly in and out. The wet squelching sound of it would mortify Crowley if it didn't feel so good. He nods, feeling dizzy and airy and high off of the taste of Azirphale’s lips and tongue (like tea and crumb cake). He thinks that that taste will might make him hard for the rest of his damned life after this.

 

“Good. That’s it, relax and open up for me, just like that.” Aziraphale twists his fingers around inside of him just to feel the slippery glide of them before scissoring them apart again to gauge their progress. “Oh that’s much easier now. You’re doing very well, Crowley. I think you deserve a reward.” Aziraphale smiles his thousand-watt smile again. “Would you like that? Do you want me to give you a reward, my dear?”

 

Crowley's still nearly speechless from the sensations. He stares down at Aziraphale with dazed eyes and then he nods weakly. “Y-yeah.” He manages, breathless and barely louder than a whisper. He wants Aziraphale to give him his cock already and let him come apart on it, but after all their years together he knows that his angel can't be rushed. Aziraphale likes to savor things, and Crowley wants him to have absolutely everything he wants, with every last inch of his damned soul. 

 

“Very well.” Aziraphale gives another pleased hum and then he crooks his fingers up in a certain way just to tap his prostate and it sends a spike of pleasure right up through Crowley's body to the head of his sensitive little prick, making him gasp and jerk and twitch his legs together slightly. 

 

“Oh fuck–oh whatthe fuck –!” Crowley moans out and he writhes against the couch, bouncing his hips a little just to try to feel that sensation again. Aziraphale indulges him with a little laugh, crooking his fingers again and again each time Crowley bounces his hips so that Crowley is effectively fucking himself on his hand. Crowley starts to tighten up as pleasure begins to build in his belly again rapidly. “Oh fuck–oh fuck–” He's already starting to shake apart after just a few moments, but then he was already so close to the edge and feels like he's been there for ages. The build of pleasure is so much more intense now–curling his toes and making his mouth fall open as he cries out in desperation. “Oh please don't stop Angel–oh I'm so fucking close, please!” 

 

“Don't worry my dear. I have no intention of stopping any time soon.” Aziraphale says with a very smug and self-satisfied smile. “In fact, I'd like to make you come for me. Do you think you can do that, my dear boy? Will you come for me, Crowley?”

 

“Fuck,” Crowley's mind goes completely blank in the white hot swell of pleasure those words bring on. “Yes, yes Angel!” He wails, already feeling himself rocket past the point of no return--he's already coming and coming hard. 

 

“Oh good boy. What a good boy you are, Crowley,” Aziraphale praises as he watches the first spurt of come shoot out of Crowley's cock. He slams his fingers even harder into the demon's prostate as he feels his hole flutter around him and then he leans down to take Crowley's small twitching cock all the way into his mouth right in the middle of his orgasm. Crowley is just the right size to rest comfortably on his tongue and not to gag him even when the demon bucks up into the slick wet heat of his mouth and keens. Aziraphale sucks him hard as he feels him pulsing and twitching against his tongue, milking out every last drop of his orgasm as fervently as if he's starved for it, and drawing out Crowley's pleasure until the demon's knees snap together and he sobs from the overstimulation and pleads for him to stop. 

 

Aziraphale finally swallows one last time and draws off of him with a wet little popping sound. He slides his wet fingers back out of Crowley and then he looks up to find the demon looking at him with half lidded eyes and a blissful and utterly fucked-out expression on his tear-streaked face. 

 

“Are you alright, my dear?” Aziraphale asks, moving to sit on the couch beside Crowley to get a better look at him. Crowley can only nod in a daze. He crawls closer when Aziraphale sits beside him, pressing his face into his angel's shoulder and trembling. His shoulders hitch in another sob when Aziraphale puts his arms around him but this time in relief and gratitude because it just feels so amazingly good to be held.

 

—

 

It's a while before either of them speaks again. “Thanks. I… I really needed that.” Crowley mumbles at last without moving from where he's resting his head against Aziraphale's shoulder. 

 

“It was my pleasure, my dear.” Aziraphale murmurs, kissing the top of Crowley's head as he holds him safe and secure in the circle of his arms. 

 

There's another long pause before Crowley asks, “I um… I don’t suppose you'd… let me return the favor?”

 

“Are you asking if I'd let you perform fellatio on me?” Aziraphale retorts, sounding extremely amused. “Yes dear. After you've recovered I would very much like it if you'd suck my cock.”

 

“Oh God–Satan–someone–that's… that's really fucking hot when you say it like that.” Crowley moans into the crook of Aziraphale's neck, shuddering a little even though his cock has flagged and isn't getting hard again without a miracle so soon after two orgasms. 

 

“What, fellatio?”

 

“ No ,” Crowley scoffs and shakes his head, snuggling against Aziraphale in doing so. “When you tell me you want me to… to suck your cock.” He lowers his voice slightly so that the last words are barely audible and he's blushing again.

 

“Ahh. Figures you’d appreciate vulgarity, you foul fiend.” Aziraphale sighs, but he doesn't really sound displeased in the least. To the contrary he makes ‘foul fiend’ sound like a kind of endearment and it gives Crowley a fluttery happy feeling in his chest and stomach. “Very well, since you enjoy it so much… when you're ready, I'd like you to suck my cock and then I'd like to fuck you.” Aziraphale murmurs and he looks more than a little smug about the high-pitched, whimper that escapes Crowley at those words. 

 

“I'm ready.” Crowley sits up abruptly, kicking his shoes and pants the rest of the way off in a hurry.

 

Aziraphale looks a little dubious. “You just had a pretty intense experience. It's okay to take some time to recover, my dear.” He says gently, watching as Crowley hurriedly undoes the buttons on his vest and his shirt. Crowley is stunningly beautiful to him and now he's peeling off his clothes layer by layer before Aziraphale's eyes and the angel can't help but stare despite his misgivings.

 

“I'm really ready, Angel.” Crowley says as he drops his jacket and vest into a pile with his pants. “Been ready to–to suck your cock for thousands of years.” He shrugs his shirt off next and then he's standing naked before Aziraphale, all the flat planes and sharp angles of his body on full display. 

 

He stares back at Aziraphale a little bit wide-eyed and then he swallows and slowly goes to his knees before his angel. “Please let me suck your cock.” He murmurs and Aziraphale feels his breath pushed out of him at the request, asked so sweet and perfectly. Each time Crowley has said that phrase, he's said it with more confidence. He can tell that the demon is going to be a cocky and confident horror about asking for what he wants in no time, and there's no way he intends to deny him.

 

“Very well, since you asked so sweetly.” Aziraphale takes a moment to untie his bowtie and open the top few buttons of his shirt and then he lowers his hands to the front of his trousers. He undoes the button and drags down his zipper. He's got pale blue silk boxer briefs underneath and he carefully drags the elastic waistband down below his cock and balls and then he sits back a little to let Crowley admire him. He's every bit as large as the effort Crowley first selected, hard and thick and weighty with a glistening red tip and a thick thatch of white curls above the base of his shaft. Crowley's staring at him like he's transfixed and Aziraphale strokes himself slowly a few times as he lets the demon look his fill, squeezing tightly with each downward stroke.

 

Crowley's tongue darts out and he quivers, tasting the scent of his angel in the air as he watches him stroking himself. After a few moments he comes to his senses and he bats Aziraphale's hand to the side. “That'sss my job.” He hisses, curling his hand around Aziraphale's girthy cock to take over stroking him. 

 

“By all means.” Aziraphale agrees with a slightly breathless little laugh.

 

“For ssomone’s ssake you're huge.” Crowley marvels, staring down at the size of Aziraphale's cock in his hand. The sight and smell of him are enough to make his mouth wet with want. He's practically drooling over him although he tries to look suave about it. He shuffles forward on his knees, crawling further in between Aziraphale's thick thighs so he can reach to swipe his tongue over the glistening wet head of Aziraphale’s cock. They both moan out together, Aziraphale at the feel of Crowley's slick hot tongue against his skin and Crowley at the taste and the thrill of finally being able to taste him. 

 

“Oh, my angel.” Crowley whispers against his skin and it's the last thing he says for some time because next he's opening his mouth wide and then he's swallowing Aziraphale's cock all the way down to the hilt with the kind of skill only a snake could come by naturally. He utters an ecstatic groan as he sucks Aziraphale deep into his throat, swallowing around him again and again to milk him as he keeps his nose buried in the soft curls at the base of his cock. His eyes fall into a kind of heavy lidded-daze just like having his throat stuffed full has put him into a state of utter bliss. 

 

“Oh God, Crowley.” Aziraphale is quickly starting to find it hard not to thrust up into such a pliant, willing mouth. He puts his hands into Crowley’s red hair and it's just as soft as he always imagined. He pets at the fine locks for a few moments but then he just can’t help himself and he curls his fingers to grip Crowley's hair as he rocks his hips up to grind himself into the demon's throat. Any human would have gagged at such a sudden maneuver but Crowley only groans in delight and flutters his eyes closed, shivering because it makes him feel so deliciously used.

 

“Oh you are so good at that, Crowley, my darling. That feels so good. Oh you marvelous creature.” Aziraphale babbles praise over him as he takes a firmer hold of his hair and starts to slide his head up and down in time with the little thrusting movements of his hips. Crowley's looking up at him again with that blissful expression and he has his hands in his own lap. Aziraphale feels an extra little jolt of pleasure as he suddenly realizes that Crowley's hard again and stroking himself off as he's sucking and swallowing Aziraphale cock eagerly. 

 

“Oh my dear.” Aziraphale nearly comes at the sight. It's a very near thing and only pulling Crowley off of his cock at the last minute prevents him from spilling down his tight and eager throat. Crowley whines when he's pulled off, leaving his wet mouth open with his slightly-forked tongue hanging out like he's desperate for more. Aziraphale doesn't come but a thick spurt of pre oozes out of him and onto Crowley's waiting tongue and the demon utters a needy moan at the taste. “Ohh patience my darling.” Aziraphale says breathlessly. “Your mouth is lovely, but I intend to come while I'm fucking your ass.” 

 

“Oh.” Crowley shudders hard at those words, squeezing his own prick in his hands as he gazes up at Aziraphale in a lust addled haze. “Ohh yes.” He moans quietly, rolling his hips into his own fist with a needy whimper.

 

“Get up here.” Aziraphale pats the couch beside him. “I want you on all fours now, my love.”

 

That combination of those words nearly does Crowley in, but then he takes his hands away from himself and scrambles to obey. It makes him flush to get onto all fours with his bare ass in the air and pointed in Aziraphale's direction but he doesn't have long to be embarrassed before Aziraphale is rubbing his rim and then sliding two fingers back into him. He's still wet and stretched from earlier so it doesn't take as long to open him up and soon Aziraphale is adding a third finger and Crowley is whimpering face down into the couch cushions.

 

“I need it, Angel, please. Please. Give it to me.” Crowley whines desperately, rocking himself back onto Aziraphale's fingers until the angel gives his arse a stinging smack. A shudder runs down Crowley’s spine but then he only moans loudly and pushes back harder. “Please Aziraphale!”

 

“You are incorrigible. I'm trying to make sure I don't hurt you.” Aziraphale huffs. He isn't really annoyed, only playing at being fussy and irritable but his tone still makes Crowley squirm and whine again. 

 

“Don't care if it hurtss,” Crowley hisses out, far too eager to care about proper prep even though he's never done this before. He's eager enough to even forget his previous shyness. “C'mon and ssplit me open on your big cock Angel–I need it sso fucking bad. ”

 

“Really now, Crowley!” Aziraphale tuts, mock indignant, but even he’s nearing the end of patience with the prep. He wants to be inside the hot slick squeeze of Crowley’s body again. “Keep talking like that and I might just stroke myself off and finish all over your lovely ass and leave you aching with want. Would you like that?” He asks, taking his own cock in hand warningly. 

 

“No–no Angel pleasse.” Crowely looks back over his shoulder at him in horror, shaking his head quickly. “I’ll be good–I’ll be so good for you Angel please.”

 

“As I thought.” Aziraphale huffs. He does stroke himself, but only a few times and only because he’s also using a miracle to help coat his cock with even more lubricant. Crowley is so very tight and inexperienced that they're going to need plenty of lube. He finally draws his fingers out of Crowley and he lines the blunt head of his cock up with his opening instead. 

 

“Alright, try to relax my dear.” He says sweetly and then he slides his hips forward, slow but implacable as the tide coming in. Initially Crowley's hole is nearly unyielding but slowly he stretches open until suddenly the head of Aziraphale’s cock pops into him. Crowley makes a punched-out sound where he has his face buried against the couch cushion and even Aziraphale moans lowly at feeling the tight hot squeeze of Crowley's rim around the head of his cock.

 

“Oh Angel, don't stop,” Crowley squirms under him as Aziraphale pauses to try to let him adjust. “Give me more. Please, I need more.” Crowley wails, trying to push his hips back into the sensation. Aziraphale tuts and holds the demon in place with a firm hand on the back of his neck.

 

“You said you'd be good for me, Crowley.” Aziraphale tuts. “That means also being patient.”

 

“I'm trying.” Crowley whimpers under him, trembling and giving his hips a needy little wriggle. Aziraphale slaps his ass again for that and Crowley moans low and guttural.

 

“I'm beginning to think you rather like pain, my dear.” Aziraphale observes dryly.

 

“Oh, whatever gave you that ide–ahh–!” Crowley starts to answer back glibly but while he's still mid sentence Aziraphale slams his hips forward to bury himself the rest of the way into Crowley's ass in a single brutal thrust. Crowley's words cut off with an abrupt keen so loud that Aziraphale performs a hasty miracle just to ensure that no one in the neighboring shops will overhear them and call 999.

 

Crowley's never felt so full in his life. The pleasure and intensity of it is blinding, rendering him speechless and damn near senseless but it's only a few moments after he's fully impaled on Aziraphale’s cock that he starts to move his hips again. He's insatiable and the stretched feeling combined with the drag of Aziraphale's cock against his already over-sensitive prostate is driving him out of his mind. “Angel, Angel, Angel,” He dimly realizes he's mumbling his term of endearment for Aziraphale over and over again like it's a prayer, interspersed with garbled pleas and obscenities.

 

“Well now, how did you put it–how do you like being ‘split open on my big cock,’ my dear?” Aziraphale sounds far less wrecked, but still a little breathless. 

 

“Mnngh I fucking love it .” Crowley moans out, all shame forgotten and the loud, wanton nature of it is even enough to make Aziraphale flush to his surprise. “Feels so fucking good.” Crowley squirms his hips back and forth again, squeezing around Aziraphale. “Ngh take me. Make me yours, Angel.” He whispers out and Aziraphale feels perfectly happy to oblige him. 

 

Aziraphale draws his hips back and then thrusts in again, setting up a punishing rhythm that soon has them both crying out in pleasure. He notices the moment Crowley’s hand snakes away from the sofa cushion to reach for his own cock and he snatches it away and pins both his hands against the arm rest. 

 

“Ahhgh Angel–I-I need to come,” Crowley whines, squirming his hands under Aziraphale's grip. “I need it.”

 

“I think you can come from my cock alone. Don’t you?” Aziraphale keeps his hands pinned as he continues rocking his hips into the demon, enjoying the way his hole twitches and squeezes around him at his words. “In fact, I think you're going to come for me right when I tell you to, aren't you?”

 

“Ohh,” Crowley shudders at his words. The commanding tone that Aziraphale’s using with him feels even better than a hand on his cock. “Yes, fuck, yes Angel.” He moans out desperately.

 

“Good boy.” Aziraphale growls as he thrusts harder and faster. “You’re such a good boy for me Crowley. Come for me now. Come.”

 

Crowley’s eyes roll back and he keens again as he whites out in pleasure. His hips jerk back into Aziraphale's as he clenches tight around him. It's only one more thrust into that tight squeeze and then Aziraphale’s coming too, moaning deeply as he spills his hot spend into Crowley’s boneless spasming body. He collapses onto the demon in a heap and for a while they just breathe and shiver together through the aftershocks.

 

—

 

“So, what is it you wanted to tell me?” Aziraphale asks sometime later. He’s sitting on the couch, fully dressed again and Crowley is in his lap and bundled up in a warm tartan blanket. 

 

“S’nothing Angel. Bit of frivolous nonsense. Nothing nearly as important as I thought it was.” Crowley replies, feeling content and at utterly at ease now. 

 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s tone says he doesn't believe him. “Does it have something to do with the big ugly metal fist you dropped on my floor earlier?”

 

“Yeeah.” Crowley cringes. “Can I tell you in the morning. M’feeling very happy right now. All pleasantly floaty and warm. I… don’t want to think about that yet.”

 

Aziraphale looks like he’s considering saying no, but the soft sleepy look on Crowley’s face is enough to change his mind. “Oh alright.” He miracles a book over to himself from one of the shelves and kisses the top of Crowley’s head. “Enjoy your rest dear.” He says gently.

 

“Thanks Angel.” Crowley leans into him with a sigh of relief and closes his eyes.

 

— 

Chapter 2: The call

Summary:

Crowley has a confession and Aziraphale has ideas.

 

Special thanks to Sam for helping me edit this chapter!

The Trevor project mentioned here is real. Check them out if you're also looking to have a positive impact!
https://www.thetrevorproject.org/volunteer/

Crowley wakes with the dawn the next morning, and he's still bundled up in Aziraphale lap with his head laid on his shoulder. He'd think the night before had been a marvelous dream if not for the tender aching of his arse and balls. He groans quietly, but he doesn't heal himself. He kind of likes feeling it and knowing why he feels that way. 

 

Aziraphale is engrossed in his book and only barely glances at Crowley when he stirs. “Good morning dear,” he says absently and that won't do at all so Crowley leans up to kiss him until Aziraphale sets down his book. “Ah, did you need my full attention? Greedy thing.” The angel chides him even as he tenderly kisses Crowley's forehead. 

 

“Mmn I love your attention,” Crowley admits happily. He feels a pleasant glow still from the day before or maybe it's from sleeping through the night nestled up in the arms of the love of his life. Either way he feels better than he's felt in a long time, at least until Aziraphale clicks his tongue softly and lifts the iron fist from beside him on the couch. The trophy looks even uglier in the sunlight somehow–every bit as blunt and crude as a brick to the cranium. “Oh.” Crowley sighs.

 

“Mhm. Care to explain this ugly thing now, and what you did to earn it?” Aziraphale prompts him.

 

“Ehh, to earn it?” Crowley cringes a little at his tone.

 

“Come now, Crowley, I'm not an idiot. This is obviously some sort of an award from Hell. And you obviously wanted to tell me all about it yesterday before… everything. So, go ahead and tell me. I'm listening,” Aziraphale says calmly.

 

“Okay. Right.” Crowley nods and opens his mouth but the words don't come. He closes his mouth again and then thinks that maybe it will help to be dressed so he snaps his fingers and all his clothes from the day before are suddenly back on his body except for his sunglasses and shoes. 

 

“Right,” Crowley says again, and he makes it sound more forceful and decisive. Aziraphale just watches him, waiting patiently for him to speak. “I unh, well, I…” He stumbles over himself, trying to find the right words to explain. “I did something I thought was just a harmless bit of mischief… but it turned out to be not so harmless…” He drops his gaze, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket he's still bundled in. “Turned out to be pretty bad actually…”

 

“What did you do exactly, Crowley?” Azirphale prompts him again and Crowley tries not to flinch. It isn't the worst thing he’s ever done by far, but he still feels like shit over it. The whole thing got him thinking about good and evil and if everything he does will always just be inherently somehow evil because he’s a demon but he isn’t sure how to put that concern into words. It had seemed easier to talk about when he was drunk. 

 

“Are you familiar with TikTok? It's this new app all the kids are into these days,” Crowley says slowly, sighing when Aziraphale only shakes his head.

 

“No. Why? Did you make it?” 

 

“Satan, no. Only a human could ever–but anyway that's kind of beside the point. It's this phone application where people can post and watch short videos. Some of the videos are very popular and they start these things called trends where other people will copy them and make similar videos and well… I sort of started this trend where the humans would try to eat spoonfuls of cinnamon on camera. It's called the cinnamon challenge.”

 

Aziraphale squints at him. “Why would anyone want to do that?”

 

“It looks stupid. Like really stupid. No one can do it without choking and coughing and it just seemed like a laugh.” Crowley shrugs. “I thought it was funny and just annoying enough to be worth reporting to Hell that I was tarnishing some human souls a little by getting them to laugh at each other derisively.” 

 

“But?” Aziraphale prompts, intent on getting the full story out of Crowley no matter how reluctant he seems.

 

“But it wasn’t as harmless as I thought. Apparently it actually does a lot of harm to the lungs when humans inhale cinnamon. Probably should have known that given that it's basically wood and y'know… like lots of little splinters…” Crowley says quietly, voice dipping low as a whisper. “By the time I realized, it was out of my hands and the trend had spread really far and a lot of people were getting hurt. Really hurt. There are kids that have been hospitalized. It's been on the news. Even Hell heard about how bad it's gotten and that's why they called me down to give me an award. That's why I got that big old fist-of-success from them,” he mutters bitterly, nodding at the trophy.

 

“I see,” Aziraphale says slowly and he sounds thoughtful. “Why did you want to tell me about this, Crowley?” He doesn't sound annoyed or offended, just curious. 

 

“Dunno,” Crowley says at first, but that's not exactly true. “I wanted to tell someone who would understand.” He amends after a moment, frowning down at the floor. “And I guess I wanted to apologize to… someone.”

 

“To Her?” Aziraphale lifts his brows at him.

 

“No,” Crowley says automatically and then he pauses to consider. “Maybe? I don't know.” He glances skywards and then he shrugs and shakes his head. “I haven't thought about what She thinks of me for a long time. I've been more worried about… about what you might think…” He says slowly, sounding cautious. “I've been wondering if you still think it's impossible for me to do good…” He gives Aziraphale an anxious, vulnerable look. “Do you think… maybe everything I do will always be blighted and evil because… because I am… blighted and evil?”

 

“Oh.” Aziraphale makes a little sound like he’s been stung and then he shakes his head emphatically. “Oh, of course not Crowley. You’ve done a lot of good things over the years. Did you forget Job and his children? Or those young ones you saved from the flood? Or what about that Ms Elspeth you saved?”

 

“No, Angel, that's part of my point. Those are things I thought were good–but what if those were actually wicked things because I did them? Maybe there were unforeseen consequences, like with the cinnamon. Maybe all those people turned out evil and damned and worse-off because of me. Maybe I as good as poisoned them just by trying to help,” Crowley says and Aziraphale would scoff at him if his expression wasn't so anguished.

 

“Crowley, I could see their souls. You didn't tarnish them at all, my dear,” Aziraphale says gently. “You are a demon, but I don't think you're half so evil as you seem to believe. Nor as powerfully influential as you seem to think…”

 

“Yeah well, the parents of the over two-hundred teenagers who hurt themselves eating bloody cinnamon would probably argue that point with you,” Crowley mutters, even though Aziraphale’s words are loosening up a knotted-up feeling in his chest.

 

“Are you looking for a way to make amends? Do you want me to help you do a public apology and then ban you from that tictic application? Do they ban people–like the twitter?”

 

“Ugh Angel, it’s TikTok and Twitter–just Twitter but that's not important, I’ve already been banned and if I did post an apology and Hell got ahold of it…” Crowley shudders faintly and shakes his head. “I can’t do anything like that even though… even though I’d like to do something to maybe have some kind of a positive impact instead.”

 

“A positive impact.” Aziraphale is looking thoughtful again. “But something discrete enough to be overlooked by Hell and avoid repercussions?”

 

“Yeah, exactly,” Crowley mutters. “Not like I don't deserve to be punished too but Hell goes a little overboard about it and I can't deal with another session like what they did to me for Elspeth,” he admits with a haunted expression and another shudder. Crowley had needed to walk with a cane for years after that and when he got too cold there was still a bone deep ache in all the places where he'd been broken. He'd asked for holy water after that simply because he didn't think he could stand to live through anything like that again, but given time he’d recovered more than he thought possible when he’d first crawled back out of Hell. He still can't help but cringe in fear at the mere thought of angering Hell like that again though. 

 

“Something very discrete,” Aziraphale says decisively. “I think I know just the thing.”

 

—

 

“I don’t see why I have to go to bloody America for this,” Crowley grumbles as he shoves black clothes into a duffle bag. His clothes know better than to wrinkle up in there–no matter how he wedges them in. He's back in his own flat and Aziraphale is sitting on the edge of his bed watching him pack clothes. “Seems like there's plenty I could do here.”

 

“It wouldn't be discrete enough,” Aziraphale says simply. He’s still holding Crowley’s fist award and when Crowley gets done packing his bag he tucks the award in on top. “I don’t want you to forget why you’re doing this,” he explains when Crowley makes a face.

 

“Right, fine. Remember how I’m an evil bastard, that shouldn’t be too hard,” Crowley quips back with more than a trace of bitterness. 

 

“Crowley. That isn’t what it's for. This isn’t a punishment. You’re making amends. Remember?” Aziraphale stands and walks over to put his arms around Crowley’s narrow waist. Crowley tucks his face into the angel’s shoulder and hugs him tightly in return. 

 

“I remember,” Crowley mumbles and he curses inwardly because his voice sounds a little thick. “...feels like a punishment to be an ocean away from you though,” he admits into the crook of Aziraphale's shoulder. 

 

“Oh my darling, it’s only a week. Just forty hours of training in America and then you can come right back here to finish up your volunteer hours,” Aziraphale soothes, rubbing between Crowley’s shoulder blades in a way that makes him feel vaguely like melting. 

 

The plan the angel proposed does sound pretty safe. Crowley has plenty of excuses to be in America and after he completes training with the Trevor program there, he’ll be able to volunteer over chat and phone to provide assistance to people in crisis. It’s something that will have a positive impact like he wants, but it will be anonymous and so geographically dispersed that Hell would never guess that the positive outcomes have anything to do with him. He’s agreed to do an hour of volunteering with the program for each and every person hurt in the cinnamon challenge–over two hundred hours. He's vaguely excited and nervous whenever he thinks about it. For a demon there's nothing more taboo than doing something good, except possibly doing something good in hopes of making an angel proud. Crowley's sinking to levels of depravity other hellspawn wouldn't even dream of with this and he'd be fucking giddy about it, except for the fact it means he'll have to be away from Aziraphale's side.

 

“A week sounds like a fucking eternity right now.” Crowley sighs and turns to press a kiss to the side of Aziraphale's neck. “Can we at least have sex again before I go?”

 

“Hm. Tempting as you are, my dear, I’m not sure it shows the right level of contrition if we go right on having sex before you've paid back your debt to society,” Aziraphale replies slowly. 

 

Crowley groans against him. “I thought you said this wasn't punishment.”

 

“Correct,” Aziraphale agrees and he's wearing his bastard little smile. Crowley wants to kiss it off of him when he sees it and so he does–kissing Aziraphale until the angel gently presses him back. “It won't do to have you miss your flight, dear.”

 

“I could stop time long enough for you to bugger me up against the wall, Angel,” Crowley replies.

 

“It would have to be against the wall.” Aziraphale laughs, his eyes darkening subtly. “Couldn’t get enough purchase on those silk sheets to give you the pouding you deserve if I tried to fuck you in the bed.”

 

“Fuck, Angel.” Crowley can't help but imagine sliding around naked on those sheets and then being dragged off of them and fucked hard up against the wall. He's already hard at the thought and he does nothing to hide it, looking at Aziraphale imploringly in hopes he'll see it and change his mind about the “no sex” mandate. Aziraphale does see it, even though Crowley's size is much less attention-grabbing than it was before. Aziraphale only clicks his tongue and shakes his head slowly at the sight though and Crowley has to bite his lip to hold in a whine. Crowley's phone further puts another nail in the coffin that sex is getting buried in by chiming that his Uber had arrived. 

 

“Off you go.” Aziraphale zips up Crowley's bag and hands it to him. “Have a safe trip, darling.”

 

“I already miss you, you bastard,” Crowley mutters as he adjusts himself in his pants and takes his bag.

 

Aziraphale smiles gently at him. “I’ll see you in seven days.”

 

—

 

The flight is long and dull and Crowley spends it thinking about Aziraphale and all the ways he would have rather been spending his time. Idly he wonders if it wouldn’t be showing appropriate contrition if he jerked himself off in the loo. He recalls the taste of cinnamon and decides it probably wouldn't be keeping with the spirit of this endeavor and he orders himself a glass of whiskey instead. Eight hours later the plane touches down in New York and an hour after that he's walking into his empty hotel room with his bag slung over his shoulder. For a while he stares out the window and watches dusk come on, trying not to think about how much he misses Aziraphale. London is four hours ahead, so it must be already dark there. They are so far apart now that they aren’t even sharing the same sky.

 

—

 

It's just past midnight in Soho when Aziraphale's landline starts to ring. He considers ignoring it, but there is only one person on Earth brazen enough to call him at this hour, so he sets his book aside and he goes to answer it. “Hello Crowley, how was your flight?”

 

—

 

Crowley feels better the moment he hears Aziraphale's voice on the line. He had put off calling as long as he could–trying to distract himself with TV and then pacing and unpacking his clothes into the drawers provided and finally flipping through the room service menu before he just couldn't stand not to hear Aziraphale's voice for a moment longer. “The flight was fine other than… well you know–a bit lonely,” he says mildly.

 

“Sorry to hear it. How about your hotel–how is it?”

 

“Bout the same really.” Crowley sighs, laying back on the bed and looking at the ceiling. “I wish you were here.” He listens to Aziraphale's quiet hum of assent and he wonders if the angel might be distracted reading. “Are you there, Angel?”

 

“Yes, I’m here,” Aziraphale answers easily. “Perhaps you should get some rest before your training starts tomorrow.”

 

“Maybe. I don't think I could sleep yet though. I'm feeling kind of keyed up,” Crowley says slowly, tone light and conversational. “I thought about you the whole flight.” He gradually lets his tone drop lower. “Things we did. Things we could have been doing.” He trails a hand up his own inner thigh, imagining it was Aziraphale there, petting at him. “The things I'd like to do for you.” He sighs and opens his legs, feeling himself stiffen in his pants again. It really doesn't take much at all for him when he's thinking of Aziraphale. “I nearly had to go for a wank in the lavatory.”

 

“Did you now?” Crowley isn't sure if he's imagining that Aziraphale’s voice dips just a bit lower at the question or not. 

 

“Yeah. I kept thinking about you and me and silk sheets and a wall.” Crowley hums and then he sighs a little shakily as he palms himself through his pants. “Thinking about it again now, but the sheets here are cotton. You could pound me into the mattress just fine if you were here.” He thinks he hears Aziraphale catch a slightly shaky breath and he grins to himself. “Are you okay, Angel?”

 

“I'm perfectly fine, dear,” Aziraphale answers, sounding like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Crowley closes his eyes and he can picture Aziraphale so clearly and it makes him long to kiss him again, tug his lower lip with his teeth, muss up his curls and ruffle his feathers. 

 

“Oh, really? For a moment I thought you might be thinking about it too. Picturing it.” Crowley puts the phone on speaker and sets it carefully on the pillow beside his head so that he can use both his hands to start unbuttoning his shirt. “I'm laying in bed right now. Just starting to undress…”

 

“Ah. Are you changing into pajamas then?” 

 

“No Angel. My skin is feeling a bit… sssensative.” Crowley slides his fingertips over his nipples and he lets out a little gasp at the feeling. “I think I'll actually sleep in the nude tonight,” he murmurs breathlessly.

 

“I see. That's a risky proposition in a hotel my dear. If you haven't got your do-not-disturb sign up anyone might walk in and get an eyeful,” Aziraphale tuts, but his tone is almost pleased or possibly amused. 

 

“Don't care.” Crowley trails his hands down his body, arching his hips up into his own touch as he grips his cock through his pants with a low groan. “I need… oh Angel, I need you,” he whispers and he bites his lower lip on a whine.

 

“What do you need from me, my dear?” Aziraphale sounds maddeningly calm. Not at all flustered the way Crowley wants to make him flustered and the demon could cry in frustration. He drops his hips back to the bed with a little huff, squeezing himself through his pants as he tries to catch his breath and find his footing.

 

“Shall I read to you, to help you fall asleep?” Aziraphale suggests when there is no answer and Crowley can perfectly picture his little bastard smile. Even as hard as he is, Crowley has to admit the offer is appealing. He loves Aziraphale's voice. He could touch himself quietly as he listens to him and he might or might not finish depending on the content, but it sounds very peaceful and relaxing after the stress of the day. Only, even with Aziraphale’s voice right beside him he still feels a bit lonely and there's a yearning, empty, aching feeling inside that voice alone isn't enough to fill.

 

“I'd rather you were here fucking me into the bed,” Crowley mumbles petulantly into the phone. “We could… we could both umn…” He trails off. He hasn't yet mastered Aziraphale skill at saying whatever lewd things flit across his mind. He wants to ask Aziraphale to touch himself too, but it’s difficult to overcome six thousand years worth of holding back the things he wants to say. Aziraphale, patient as always, just waits and gives him time.

 

“We could… jerk off together,” Crowley suggests finally, pulling the words out like it's taken an effort. “That wouldn't even count as sex–not really and… and I’m pretty fucking desperate for it if I’m being honest Angel. I’m already hard.”

 

“Together?” Aziraphale sounds thoughtful. “You’ve already started touching yourself, I take it?”

 

“Only a little.” Crowley winced, thinking that Aziraphale probably would have preferred he ask first. “Sorry–I um… I’m really…” He wasn't sure what word he wanted to use–randy? Horny? Lonely? He felt each acutely and chewed at his lower lip. “I miss you, Angel,” he breathes and there is a pathetic little hitch in his voice that makes him afraid he’s going to break down and start blubbering into the phone if Aziraphale doesn’t say something. 

 

“Quite right. I hear you, darling.” Aziraphale’s tone is mercifully gentle. “Go on then, you can touch yourself.”

 

“Will you do it too? I want to hear you and imagine you're here with me,” Crowley mumbles as he fumbles to open his pants and push them down around his knees. He isn't wearing underwear and his small cock is already red and rock hard, needy from a day spent denying it. He is feeling almost too sensitive to touch himself directly so he rubs his thigh instead, breathing in short stuttered gasps as he watches his cock twitch and leak onto his belly.

 

“Yes, dearest,” Aziraphale agrees. “If you insist, I suppose I can practice a little onanism with you.”

 

Crowley snorts out a watery little laugh. “Only you would call it that.” 

 

“Oh yes, I almost forgot, you’d probably prefer I call it having a wank, wouldn’t you? Foul miscreant that you are.” Aziraphale clicks his tongue and his tone is only mock-chiding but it still sends a thrill of pleasure down Crowley's spine and makes him gasp and stutter out a little moan. “Oh, really?” Aziraphale hums in amusement. “So you like that–being called a foul miscreant?”

 

“Umnn unh huh,” Crowley mumbles his reply, feeling utterly useless and inarticulate but it's hard to think of words when he’s this turned on.

 

“Interesting. I knew you liked praise–but do you also like degradation, Crowley?”

 

Crowley only whines in answer. He isn't even sure what he'd like to say except that he thinks he might like absolutely anything if it was Aziraphale doing it to him–but that sounds even more raw and needy than the way he's quietly whimpering so he keeps it to himself, squeezing his own thigh so hard that it's nearly painful. 

 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asks after a suitably long pause for an answer that doesn't come. “I'm asking if you would like for me to degrade and denigrate you while you touch yourself, darling. It's a simple question. Do try to give me a verbal answer, if you please.”

 

“...y-yes,” Crowley manages at last and the word is so faint it's barely a puff of air against the receiver.

 

“Come again, Crowley? I didn't quite catch that,” Aziraphale says, and his voice is so bright and airy that Crowley absolutely knows he heard him and he's grinning like an absolutely insufferable smug bastard.

 

“Yes, I would like that,” Crowley grates out louder, squeezing his eyes closed because his face is burning hot just from saying those words, and from being made to say them. 

 

“Thank you, my dear. I must admit, I've been wanting to try this. You responded so well to praise but… well I couldn't help being curious how the opposite kind of talk might affect you and how you might react if I perhaps… reinforced some of your darker impulses…” Aziraphale sounds a bit affected now, but it's more like he is excited over some experiment than like he's actually getting off on the idea. “You will tell me if it goes too far and anything comes across as legitimately hurtful, won't you?”

 

Crowley nods automatically although he isn't entirely sure he’ll be able to. “Y-yeah,” he croaks out after a moment, already trembling faintly with anticipation for what Aziraphale might say next.

 

“Good. Thank you,” Aziraphale says primly and then his tone darkens. “Then I suppose I'll start by pointing out that it is very bad manners to touch yourself on the phone with me without asking first.”

 

Crowley immediately takes his hand away from his thigh, shrinking at the suddenly onslaught of guilt. “...s-sorry.” 

 

“Sorry doesn't cut it, I’m afraid. You’ve been acting like a very bad, filthy animal without a shred of self-discipline, haven't you?”

 

Crowley curls onto his side and emits a pathetic little sob. He feels intense shame and guilt, but it’s also only making his body hotter. He shoves his cock down between his own thighs as if to hide it and he muffles a moan behind his other hand. “... yes ,” he breathes out into the phone, tears streaking sideways across his face. 

 

Aziraphale clicks his tongue softly and Crowley can imagine he’s shaking his head in disappointment and the image is crushing, almost devastating. “I suppose I shouldn't expect any better from such a needy little slut,” he says loftily and Crowley bites down on his hand to hold in a sob. “You’re still achingly hard for me aren't you? I bet you wish I was there to give you the punishing fuck you deserve.”

 

“Oh fuck, I am. I do, ” Crowley whines and hiccups, sobbing openly now because he can’t seem to help himself or hold it in. His eyes are gushing tears and his cock is oozing a line of pre down his inner thigh. He can't stop trembling all over. He feels like he’s nearly wrecked already and imagining Aziraphale pushing him face down into the mattress and fucking him hard is making his hips rock back and forth of their own accord. He rolls over face down and hisses as his overly sensitive cock slides against the sheets, making him shudder and spread his legs open. “Please, Angel,” he whines into the pillow.

 

“Mnn, don’t think I’d go easy on you just because you cry, my dear. I would give you all the pain and discipline you deserve,” Aziraphale continues calmly. “I could paddle you while I fuck you. I think I’d like that. And I’d definitely enjoy watching how tenderly you’d be sitting for days after.”

 

Crowley doesn't know if it's allowed, doesn't know if it's what he is supposed to be doing, but he’s started humping against the bed as he listens to Aziraphale's voice. He can't help panting and whining softly into the phone. “Aziraphale.” His voice sounds absolutely wrecked.

 

“Oh? You’d like that too, wouldn't you? I thought so. You’re such a slut for pain.” Aziraphale chuckles lightly. “Are you still touching yourself, dear?”

 

“Nghh not… not exactly. Started… kind of…” Crowley trails off until he's nearly inaudible when he admits, “humping into the bed.”

 

“Ah, I see. I'm not surprised. You're such a needy thing. But I'm afraid… in that pose isn't your backside rather neglected?”

 

“Ngk y-yeah.” Crowley barely manages to answer, giving his hips a little wriggle and then lifting his bare ass into the air slightly. His hole is twitching, clenching around nothing eagerly and he wishes he'd brought something–anything–to stuff into himself.

 

“Poor dear. You could smack your own arse. That's what I would do if I was there. I'd spank you hard for being such a needy little slut,” Aziraphale says calmly. Crowley hasn't the faintest idea how the angel can say such things without sounding the least bit flustered but his overheated mind can barely even process the words before he reaches back and brings his own hand down against his ass in a stinging slap. He yelps at the impact and then he drops his face into the pillow and moans loudly. 

 

“Tch, I think I would hit you harder than that darling. Try again.” Aziraphale encourages him patiently and Crowley hits his ass again harder for him, sobbing into the pillow as his hips jerk and writhe, filling his belly with tantalizing heat as his ass starts to burn from the force of his strike. “ Very nice. Good work, my dear.” Aziraphale somehow still sounds calm and smug and so completely in control that Crowley wants to hump against him instead of the bed. “Now I want you to lick your fingers for me. Get them nice and wet. You're going to put them in your hole for me next.”

 

Crowley lifts his hand in front of his face and obeys immediately, drooling over his fingers and brushing them with his tongue and whining about it as he wishes it was Aziraphale's cock instead. He captures his first two fingers in his mouth, sucking them eagerly as he fists his other hand in his hair, imagining it's Aziraphale's hand, guiding him, pushing him down onto his own fingers until he gags and softly chokes around them. 

 

“That sounds sufficient to get them good and wet,” Aziraphale tells him over the phone. “Now I'd like you to put them both in your ass at once, my dear.”

 

Crowley shudders at those words and removes his fingers from his mouth promptly, twisting himself around to reach down between his cheeks. When he shoves both fingers into himself he can't help another sob escaping him. The stretch feels good and putting both in at once makes him burn and ache pleasantly, but it's nowhere near how good it would feel if it was Aziraphale's cock. He's only had his angel’s cock just the one time but already he knows he's ruined for anything else. He's seized by a sudden fear that he'll go on feeling empty and needing and aching for more for the rest of eternity.

 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale must hear the difference in his breathing because his voice turns gentle again. “Slow down for me, dear. Just wait and give yourself a little time to adjust.”

 

“I…” Crowley hiccups into the pillow, trembling as he holds his fingers inside of himself and wishes it was his angel. “I miss you,” he whimpers out again, eyes squeezing closed against another rush of tears. “I miss you so much, Aziraphale.”

 

“Oh my darling. I'm right here. You're doing so well. You've made it through nearly twelve hours without me already and it's been almost a day since we had sex and you already waited so long for me before. And you're so good, I know you can do it. I know you'll do anything I ask, won't you?” Aziraphale switches so smoothly over to tones of gentle praise that Crowley feels a bit dizzy and he finds himself nodding into the pillow.

 

“Yeah, anything, Angel,” Crowley agrees breathlessly, feeling the panic edge away, pushed aside by pleasure and the pure and simple joy of hearing Aziraphale praise him again. 

 

“Good. You're such a good boy, Crowley,” Aziraphale coos at him as if he's said something worth his praise, as if he's worthy of praise, and Crowley is trembling even more than before and clenching his jaw to try to hold in his sobs, too overwhelmed to even deny Aziraphale's assertions. “I want you to go nice and slow and gentle now for me, darling. How does that feel?”

 

Crowley starts to slide his fingers in and out of himself, slow and gentle just like Aziraphale asked and the initial burning feeling quickly starts to ease away. “Sss’fine,” he hisses out thickly. “Doesn't really feel like all that much now.”

 

“I see. Have you found your prostate, dear?” Aziraphale asks, and his tone is perfectly conversational, like he's asking about the weather. It makes Crowley splutter a little and blush.

 

“I… unh… m’not sure.”

 

“Feel around a little more. It should be about two inches in on the anterior wall. If you're laying on your belly, try pushing your fingers down onto it.”

 

Crowley makes a disgruntled little noise at the description, but he follows Aziraphale's instructions, pushing his fingers down deeper into himself. It's a little uncomfortable at first as he feels around, adjusting his angle until suddenly he finds a spot that shoots a spark of pleasure through him and makes his hips jump. “Ngh, fuck!” He gasps and he tries to rock onto his own hand, but he can't quite hold it steady enough and so he groans in frustration.

 

“Sounds like you found it,” Aziraphale observes, sounding pleased. “Rub yourself there. That's it, good boy. Your voice is so lovely my dear. It's a wonder to hear you.”

 

Crowley's lost track of the sounds coming out of him. He lets out whimpers and little moans and breathless cries as he follows Aziraphale's instructions and rubs that sensitive spot inside of himself as best he can. It feels like a tease after being filled so nicely just the day before, but with Aziraphale's voice guiding him it's still making his pleasure build. “Oh, Angel,” he moans out, nuzzling his face into the pillow, imagining it’s Aziraphale's lap, and that the softness all around him is Aziraphale's thick thighs squeezing around his face. He pulls his own hair with his free hand and he groans and bucks his hips, making the bed creak.

 

“Is that the bed I hear? I hope you've sound-proofed your room already or you'll get complaints.”

 

“It was the–nghh–first thing I–ahh–did, Angel,” Crowley groans out and then he whines, turning his face towards the phone and wriggling a little closer. “...are you… are you hard too?” He isn't sure what makes him ask. He’s so close to completion and if Aziraphale says no he knows it's going to ruin him, but he suddenly has to know, has to be able to picture his angel.

 

“Yes dear, I’m aroused,” Aziraphale answers calmly and the fact he still sounds so relaxed and in-control about it makes Crowley groan again.

 

“Where are you?” Crowley doesn't stop humping the bed or fingering himself but he slows down a little, listening eagerly. 

 

There’s a little puff of air over the line–a laugh? Or possibly a sigh. “I’m sitting on our couch.”

 

Crowley squints, because even though they just had sex on that couch a day ago, it’s somehow hard to picture Aziraphale sitting there by himself with so much as his shirt unbuttoned. “What, naked?”

 

“Oh no. I’ve got my trousers on still. And my blue oxford shirt–the one with the pearl buttons. Oh and I’ve got my bowtie and suspenders, socks and shoes–you know. The usual.”

 

“Why, Angel?” Crowley’s hips stutter to a stop and he’s momentarily flummoxed. He hadn’t pictured Aziraphale sitting there naked. Really he wasn't sure what he'd expected but now he was picturing him sat all prim and proper and fully dressed on the sofa and hard as anything, tenting the front of his trousers obscenely. 

 

“What do you mean, why?” Aziraphale huffs back in a slightly quarrelsome tone. “I hardly see the need to get fully undressed just to… how did you put it–’jack off’ together.” 

 

“Ngh. I'd have you out of those pants if I was there,” Crowley mutters. “I'd be down on my knees, in between your legs… sucking… sucking your cock.”

 

“Mm, yes, if I let you, I'm sure you would,” Aziraphale agrees with a gentle hum and Crowley closes his eyes tightly to imagine Aziraphale palming himself through his pants at his words. “You did make quite a fetching picture doing that yesterday. But I'm afraid that would definitely count as sex.”

 

Crowley groans at the reminder of the rule Aziraphale had set for him that he had to finish his community service before they had sex again. Just the reminder was enough to pull him back from the edge and make him squirm and whine in frustration. “So… what would we do, if I was there?”

 

“Well, we could have tea…”

 

“Angel.” Something in Crowley's raw tone must have suggested that he emphatically did not want to hear about tea.

 

“Well, my dear, I suppose I would instruct you to sit on the floor a few feet away and I would open up my trousers…” The soft sound of rustling fabric and then the unmistakable drag of a zipper near the phone is all it takes for Crowley to be back on edge again. His mouth is watering and he can feel his cock twitching eagerly against the bed as he pushes his hips down hard. “I would get a little lotion in my palm.” There is another sound–a wet sound that makes Crowley shiver. “And then I would take myself in hand.” There is a breathy sigh and Crowley can picture and hear as Aziraphale does just that, sliding his hand up and down his thick cock with slow wet sounds.

 

“Oh fuck–are you really–Angel?”

 

“Yes dearest,” Aziraphale sounds only slightly breathless. “I’m jerking off.” He laughs softly at the phrase and then he moans quietly into the phone as he fucks his own fist. “And if you were here, you’d have to sit on the floor and watch me.”

 

“Fuck.” Crowley feels torn, damn near gutted by the idea of it but also so turned on that he can't even see straight. The whole room feels like it has a shimmery aura just from how wide his pupils are blown. “You… you wouldn’t even let me taste?”

 

“Hmm, I suppose if you were a very good boy, I might let you lick my hand afterwards,” Aziraphale says with a breathy little sigh. “I imagine you might like to suck each finger clean, wouldn't you?”

 

“ Yes .” Crowley whimpers into his pillow and then he bites at it, wishing it was one of Aziraphale's soft thighs, because he wants to taste him so desperately. 

 

“Are you still fingering yourself?”

 

“Yeah,” Crowley admits, flushed and a bit breathless. His fingers are only circling slowly against that bundle of nerves inside and his spit has all but dried so it's a little bit rough but it still feels good.

 

“Good. I’d have you do that, too, while you watched,” Aziraphale says, and his voice is already lower, deep and tantalizing. 

 

“I… I don’t know if I could. My fingers are… well they aren’t enough. It only makes me want you more,” Crowley mumbles and he knows it sounds needy, but at this point he can’t really help himself.

 

“Oh? Poor dear. I think I know something that could help…” Aziraphale sounds slightly smug. “Don’t you have that trophy with you?”

 

Crowley chokes on his own spit and makes an entirely inarticulate noise as he remembers Aziraphale tucking the big black fist trophy into his bag. “I… nghah… yeah. I-I do.” He stammers out.

 

“I bet that could fill you up quite–mh–nicely,” Aziraphale sighs out and the wet sound of his hand on his cock doesn't so much as pause. Crowley’s ears start ringing and before he’s even fully processed the thought he’s up out of the bed and walking over to his bag. He snatches the trophy out and stares at it. It’s roughly the size and shape of his own fist. At least the base is flared where there’s a little plaque, so it probably wouldn't get stuck but the size is and weight of the thing is intimidating. 

 

“I… I haven't even got lube,” Crowley squeaks out without thinking. His mind is almost blank because now that Aziraphale has suggested it, he can't stop thinking about what it might feel like to have that trophy stuffed up his ass, ideally while Aziraphale feeds him his seed. He can feel himself flushing straight up to the tips of his ears.

 

“Crowley, you're a demon,” Aziraphale reminds him, sounding fond and amused and only a bit exasperated. 

 

“Oh yeah, right.” Crowley returns to the bed with the trophy. He clicks his fingers and the fist is suddenly glistening with an abundance of slick lubricant. He just lays on his back for a moment and holds the trophy against his belly, feeling the size and the cold, wet weight of it against his skin. He's started breathing in stuttery little gasps at some point. He isn't even trying to squeeze the thing into himself yet, but the idea of it has him writhing his hips slowly and clenching his hole down on nothing. “Were you… were you thinking of this when you put it in my bag?”

 

“My dear, I thought of stuffing that trophy up your ass the moment you brought it into my shop,” Aziraphale replies primly. “It looks suggestive and when I heard how you got it, well then I only wanted to do it harder.”

 

“Oh.” A breath shudders out of Crowley and his cock gives an enthusiastic little twitch, dribbling onto his belly beside the trophy.

 

“So, are you going to use it, my dear?” Aziraphale asks like he already knows the answer and he's just gently guiding Crowley along to the next step.

 

“Y-yeah.” Crowley slides the trophy down until the knuckles are pressed against his hole. He can feel himself twitch and flutter, his whole body convulsing just from the feeling of cold, solid pressure there. He rocks his hips a little, grinding himself on the large blunt object before he starts to try to press it inside with a whimper. “Ah–I–oh–it might be… might be too big,” he gasps out, letting off of the pressure when it starts to hurt too much even for him. 

 

“Oh? Is it?” The wet sounds coming through the phone slow ever so slightly and Crowley feels like sobbing in frustration.

 

“I--I don't know. I'm trying,” Crowley grates out, voice strained as he starts to try to press the trophy in again, spreading his legs out to make more space. He gasps and stops again and then he shifts position, sitting up on his knees with the trophy below him and lowering his hips slowly onto it and then gradually increasing the pressure. It takes a few tries, with him making increasingly desperate little sounds but finally his hole starts to give way, stretching around what feels like an impossibly large intrusion. “Fuck. Oh fuck, it’s--it's part way in.”

 

“Ohh, very nice work, my dear. I knew you could do it,” Aziraphale says proudly, voice practically glowing even though the phone line and the wet sound of his hand on his cock speeds up. “How do you feel?”

 

“Full. Very, very full,” Crowley grates out in a strained, tremulous voice. He’s shaking so hard he can barely hold himself up and the side effect is that he's slowly sinking down lower on the trophy. “Fuck I’m–ahh–s-ssslipping.” He gasps again as the sensation of overwhelming fullness increases with every centimeter. “Oh Aziraphale I--I’m–” Suddenly the pressure is too much and he can't even move of his own volition as he slips all the way down until he feels the coolness of the plaque at the bottom pressed right up against his taint and balls. He tosses his head back with a loud cry, jerking slightly as his body clenches and his cock explodes out a burst of come that flies practically to the ceiling. “Nnnghaah ahh ‘nngel!” His hips grind down automatically of their own accord, forcing the trophy even harder into his sensitive prostate as his cock twitches and quivers, spilling out pulse after pulse of come onto the sheets and the pillows and even the headboard. The orgasm steals all the strength from his limbs so he can’t lift himself and the continued pressure of the trophy inside only makes it drag on and on until his legs are jerking together and he’s sobbing from overstimulation. “Too much–it’s too much it’s–ohh fffuck–” Crowley manages to fall over onto his side with the fist still lodged in his ass and he’s still coming, legs shaking as he writhes in the sheets like a senseless animal. It's several long moments before he can even muster the motor control enough to grab the trophy and pull it out again. Even the tug of pulling the thing out of him makes him spasm again in pleasure and it leaves him utterly spent, hole twitching weakly as he drops panting to the sheets. 

 

“Crowley? Are you there?” Aziraphale’s concerned voice pulls him out of a haze.

 

“M’here Angel. I… I got it all the way in, but I… had to take it out. It made me come,” Crowley mumbles breathlessly into the phone and he reaches up and huffs at the feel of dampness of his own spend in his hair. “...it made me come so fucking much.”

 

“Yes, I heard that.” Even Aziraphale sounds a little impressed. 

 

“Oh,” Crowley picks up on the lack of wet sounds on the other end of the phone suddenly and he frowns. “What about you? Are you still–?”

 

“I also came, my dear. I finished while I was still listening to you ah… struggle,” Aziraphale admits and Crowley feels a little thrill of delight at that, pleased that Aziraphale had enjoyed his sounds enough that he’d come too, but a little disappointed that he’d been too distracted to even hear him.

 

“Oh, I missed it,” Crowley says a little sadly and Aziraphale’s laugh is warm and gentle.

 

“There will be many more opportunities dear, but I think you’ve probably done quite enough for tonight,” Aziraphale says, sounding prim and fussy and a bit bossy just the way Crowley likes. 

 

Crowley smiles and snuggles his face into the pillow. “Mnn if you say so. I made a bit of a mess though...” He sighs at the feel of wetness on his pillow and then he clicks his fingers. Suddenly the sheets and pillows and his hair and even the trophy are all clean and dry as though the whole thing had never happened. “There. All clean. Sleepy now,” he mumbles, closing his eyes as he listens for Aziraphale’s voice.

 

“Understandable. I think you should have a rest now,” Aziraphale says gently. “Have you set your alarm for class tomorrow?”

 

“Yeah, Angel.” Crowley covers a massive yawn behind his hand and pulls the blankets up around his naked body. He’s exhausted, but finds himself hesitant to hang up because he isn't sure when he’ll hear Aziraphale's voice again. “Could I call you again tomorrow? Or later today, in your time zone, I mean…”

 

“Yes dear. I would like that,” Aziraphale says softly, his tone warm and gentle. 

 

“Good. Okay, I’ll call you after class tomorrow,” Crowley says and just the solidity of having a plan soothes the ache in his chest a little, although not quite enough that he wants to hang up the phone. 

 

Aziraphale seems to sense his hesitancy. “Would you like for me to talk to you until you fall asleep?”

 

“Would you? Please?” Crowley knows he sounds pathetically needy, but he’s just had a very intense experience and he already knows that the empty room will feel far too lonely without Aziraphale’s voice to fill it.

 

“Certainly. Shall I tell you about my day?” Crowley makes some sleepy sound of ascent so Aziraphale continues. “That vexatious old woman came around looking for a calendar again around midday and I was just in the process of convincing her we close every day at noon for the lunch hour when…” Aziraphale's familiar voice quickly lulls Crowley down into a peaceful sleep and eventually there is only breathing and no answer when Aziraphale pauses to ask, “Crowley?” The angel smiles to himself on the other end of the line. “Ah. Well, pleasant dreams, my dear. Goodnight.” He murmurs before he carefully sets his phone back into its cradle to end the call.