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Being the only angel stationed in this quadrant of the young Earth was confounding in its loneliness.
Humanity was still very much in the start-up phase of fulfilling its "go forth and multiply" mission statement, and Aziraphale vacillated on a nearly daily basis between wondering if the Powers That Be were being too generous or too stingy with the amount of angel investment devoted to the whole project.
On the one hand, he had very little to actually do other than show up and be ready to swoop in with a timely save or bit of inspiration should circumstances require. And, with the overall number of people on the ground so few, it was difficult to maintain the right amount of distance from his charges to be able to fulfill his role as the locally assigned principality effectively. With every new settlement Aziraphale attached himself to, the default reaction of the locals was to either draw him in much too close or push him out much too far. The difference in reaction typically came back to how that particular tribe's culture and customs felt about someone who never failed to clock as a bit queer for a human.
Aziraphale found himself gravitating toward jobs and functions within the human world that either made it easier for his charges to safely categorize him, or that were familiar enough that he could safely rely on ethereal muscle memory to see him through moments of uncertainty. Ideally, both.
The upshot was that he ended up working as a sentry an awful lot. It really was the perfect job for his aims: he could keep a judicious eye on things from a respectable distance; secure a credible amount of authority for his commands without having to resort to awful, fractal radiance and a booming voice; and he was typically perceived as someone to be largely ignored except in case of emergency. He was safely and strategically set apart, but not too far apart.
But, being deliberately distanced, always held to the fringes—no matter the very practical benefits it afforded—inevitably led Aziraphale back around to thinking Heaven really ought to consider making principality positions a buddy system. Because with no other angels around, and the need to keep his charges carefully separate, Aziraphale really had only one other option for distraction and company…
Today, Aziraphale was stranded high on a hill under a lonely tree with nothing more to do than watch the empty horizon for an enemy that might never manifest. He could almost see the hours of his shift stretching out before him, long and lonely and stultifying, before he'd be relieved by the next sentry on rotation. When he felt a tickle at his ankle, Aziraphale's heart was too ready to leap into his throat in hopeful anticipation instead of wariness. And, when he looked down and saw the end of a skinny, red-bellied black tail disappear under the hem of his robe, the knock-on feeling that surged through him was an inadvisably heady mixture of relief and exasperation.
Probably, he should be more ready to meet such infernal encroachment with holy remonstrations and the prejudicial grinding of a righteous heel. But, Aziraphale was simply too listless and bored, and Crawly never failed to be highly distracting. It didn't help that Aziraphale had it on good authority that Crawly sought him out so often because the demon suffered from a similar brand of loneliness. It also didn't help that Crawly was always so clever about ensuring that when he did make a point of singling Aziraphale out for distraction, he erred on the side of teasing rather than tormenting.
Crawly liked to tease Aziraphale about all manner of things. Liked to poke and prod and test him to the limits of his patience and sanity both. Aziraphale had found, over time, that it was rarely wise to engage Crawly directly on whatever lopsided terms the fiend initially set—that way truly lay madness, because Aziraphale still wasn't very good at grappling with the slippery breed of logic Crawly employed.
Often, the best course of action was to simply ignore Crawly. Oh, Crawly would amp up his game in the short term, to try and provoke a reaction, but eventually, if Aziraphale didn't give him the satisfaction, boredom would set back in, and Crawly would slither off to God-knew-where to do Satan-knew-what, safely out of sight and out of mind for the time being. Sometimes, when Aziraphale was feeling especially fragile and unsure, he would still resort to this most basic strategy. There was weak but reliable satisfaction he could glean from knowing he'd so successfully resisted his enemy's attempts at distraction that he hadn't had to lift a single finger in order to be left alone again.
Unfortunately, the price of that fleeting satisfaction was… being left alone again.
Aziraphale had originally started reacting to Crawly's teasing because he'd realized that, if he allowed his feathers to get at least a little bit ruffled, afterward he'd have the distracting work of smoothing them back out again, of giving himself a stern talking to about his deplorable lack of control and how he really ought to do better next time. It was something to help fill the hours.
But, in engaging his opponent, Aziraphale had inevitably, unavoidably, started actually learning more about him. And the longer time passed—the more Crawly teased, and the more Aziraphale let him get away with it to careful, judicious degrees—the more Aziraphale was becoming comfortable with two very dangerous and delicious causal conclusions:
One: Crawly was always just as ready and eager as Aziraphale was to draw things out. And to abide by an unvoiced and ever-flexing—but nevertheless agreed-upon—set rules of engagement whose chief purpose was to stretch the altercation for as long as they both could get away with.
Two: Though Crawly truly deserved his reputation as the original tempter, he sometimes had difficulty anticipating either the scope or magnitude of his temptations, and often this netted in him tripping over his own, teasingly long tail.
Once Aziraphale had gotten a better measure of Crawly, the complexity and texture of their sparring ramped up to a richly exponential degree. Now, Aziraphale didn't ignore Crawly so much as carefully bide his time. And, Aziraphale didn't always resist whatever temptation he was presented with, because sometimes giving in didn't mean doing the wrong thing, merely taking advantage of an opportunity to demonstrate provoking grace under pressure.
Today, Aziraphale squinted down at the innocuously unruffled hem of his robes and wondered what, exactly, the day would bring. Crawly slithering under the hem of his robes in such a dainty version of his snake form—long, but barely as thick as Aziraphale's pinky finger—certainly spelled capital M "Mischief." Crawly had once confided that being so small was an asset for making discreet trouble, because it was difficult to thwart what you couldn't easily see.
Certainly, Aziraphale couldn't see what Crawly was up to just now. Not without having to move from the casual parade rest he'd assumed, anyway. The uncertainty was as thrilling as it was vexing. He desperately wanted to bend down or lift up his skirts the fraction it would take to see just what Crawly was up to. But, moving just now would be too much of a reaction this early in the game. So, he huffed a tiny sigh and settled more obstinately into his braced stance, hands folded primly at his back, and maintained his stalwart gaze along the horizon, just as he was meant to be doing.
He didn't have to wait long for an additional, testing provocation. Within a minute, something tickled at the instep of one bare foot. It took a considerable amount of willpower not to flinch. He tended to leave all but the most inconvenient of his corporation's default functions toggled on, if only for the novelty and distraction all the many and varied sensations being embodied afforded him. Even standing perfectly still, he could enjoy the ruffling of the cool breeze through his hair, the warmth of the tree-dappled sun on his head and shoulders, the scent of wildflowers and freshly scythed grain wafting up from the valley below. The flipside was, of course, that he was awfully ticklish.
Careful breathing and redirecting the urge to squirm into clenching his hands tighter helped him keep his calm. And after a short time with no reaction, the tickling ceased, just as he'd hoped it might. That he couldn't even telegraph his relief was a different source of giddy frustration.
Smooth scales slid atop his foot and meandered in the direction of his ankle. Testing tickles preceded every slinking centimeter of skin traversed, as though Crawly was using the forked tip of his tongue like a divining rod, searching for a telltale vibration.
Sweat prickled along the hairline of Aziraphale's scalp as Crawly made a full circuit of his ankle and paused, the upper-most portion of his long body draped loose round Aziraphale like a provokingly warm anklet. Aziraphale could just imagine the pretty picture it would make: Crawly's enticingly shiny scales looking like painstakingly carved obsidian inset with a generous stripe of tiny garnets—a luxuriously delicate adornment, and oh-so dangerous because of the covetousness it would inspire.
But, no—Aziraphale wouldn't break. Not yet.
His patience was rewarded (or punished, depending on how one looked at it), and soon Crawly resumed his quest for a reaction. He tightened the noose of his neck around Aziraphale's ankle and whipped around another two loops of muscular belly just beneath to establish a proper foothold. Then, the encircling coils started up a slow, slinky spin that dragged more of Crawly's lower body across the top of Aziraphale's foot at the same time it gave Crawly's long neck the slack necessary to nose up along the side of Aziraphale's shin up to his calf. Crawly encircled Aziraphale's leg again just below his knee, resting the scant weight of his belly atop the relative bulge of Aziraphale's calf. Once again, the wily fiend paused, and tested Aziraphale with a handful of flicking tickles at the sensitive inner bend of his knee.
Aziraphale swallowed hard and clenched his fists and did not move a single extra muscle with the single-minded determination of a martyr.
Crawly didn't linger, merely established a new pair of anchoring loops of belly just above Aziraphale's knee so he could continue his quest upward in search of more fertile tickling grounds.
The higher up his leg Crawly gripped and slithered, the more nervous Aziraphale grew. The sensation of smooth scales variously encircling and dragging up along his skin was considerably more distracting on his thighs than it had been along his lower leg. For one thing, the skin higher up was much more sensitive—especially along the tender inner bits. For another, the contrast between the thickness of his corporation and the slenderness of Crawly's was much more pronounced in a way that was unexpectedly but undeniably provoking. Crawly had to wrap so much more of himself around Aziraphale to complete a full coil, the poor dear. And though Crawly was improbably long for a snake so slender, by now he was fully off the ground, entirely supported by Aziraphale's much larger body.
Aziraphale tried not to think how… how provocative things must look at this point: the very tip of Crawly's tail looped tight just above Aziraphale's knee, Crawly's squeezing neck finding scant leverage atop the bulge of Azirphaple's upper thigh, and the lithe, delicate line of the rest of Crawly's body stretched long in between. Every last bit of scale was wrapped tight like sinful jewelry—or the beginnings of an elaborate rope casting intended to bring Aziraphale's larger frame under Crawly's sly power.
Much later, Aziraphale would admit that things took such a sharp turn because he'd let himself get too caught up in the manic visualization of Crawly miraculously stretching himself so long that he really would be able to wrap Aziraphale up in the same type of harness the herdsmen sometimes used on their more skittish cattle, when they needed to be brought safely to their knees to receive necessary care.
In the moment, Aziraphale's thought process wasn't nearly so self-aware or orderly. When Crawly's blunt snout nosed at the crease of fat where Aziraphale's generous belly slightly overhung his hips, the touch registered so suddenly and shockingly erotic that Aziraphale didn't have the wherewithal to suppress a surprised flinch and sharp intake of breath.
Encouraged, Crawly tickled his forked tongue into the hot, humid fold, which fed the unexpected stir of heat. And from there, to Aziraphale's flustered despair, all it took was Crawly turning the point of his snout just a little further south—the mere suggestion of where things could slip so easily—for the lick of arousal to catch proper fire.
Aziraphale closed his eyes and sighed in defeat as his cock stirred and plumped the faintest amount, despite his efforts to tamp down the betraying reaction.
He couldn't even take comfort in the way Crawly froze all over for a long, breathless moment—obviously surprised—because it wasn't exactly a point scored if Crawly hadn't intended on taking things in such a lewd direction without additional inspiration.
Of course, now that he'd noticed, there was no way Crawly would let it go. Sure enough, the wily snake quickly and eagerly shimmied the rest of the way up Aziraphale's thigh and clustered his coils haphazardly just under Aziraphale's hip. With this new high ground properly secured, Crawly had the leverage required to more properly point his snout in the direction of Aziraphale's traitorous cock like a fiendish arrow aimed at an even greater wellspring of mischief.
To either Crawly's credit or Aziraphale's detriment, Crawly rarely oriented his teasing in this direction of his own accord. He seemed to realize how conflicted Aziraphale felt about not just manifesting an Effort but treating it with the same "do as thou wilt" attitude he employed with most of the rest of his corporation's functions. Arousal, and the release it could lead to if pursued, felt so lovely and embodied and thrilling. But, the acuteness of the enjoyment fell into the same category as delicious food or alcohol: Aziraphale still wasn't sure he was meant to feel much less indulge in such messy, overwhelming, decadent feelings—not as a proper angel.
But, pursuing arousal, if done thoughtfully, didn't have to necessarily be a sin as humans understood such things. Humans wouldn't get around to inventing the term "fornication" nor commit to writing various opinions about what the story of Onan meant for at least a few more millennia. Not that angels (nor demons, for that matter), in their native inhumanity, were subject to the same covenants with God Herself. And while Aziraphale didn't think his superiors would exactly approve, the Archangels also… didn't understand the realities of living one's immortal life on Earth amongst Her favorite creation: the confounding beauty and liminal dangers and snarled truths and chaotic beatitudes.
The relative morality of it all was rather ineffable, which meant Aziraphale still hadn't decided if it was something he could indulge in safely. Crawly orbited Aziraphale's perpetually flexing conundrum with a surprising amount of delicacy, given his function. But, Crawly was set on Earth to wile, and Aziraphale was meant to thwart. How long they danced about the issue before one or the other gave way tended to ebb and flow from one encounter to another.
Today, Crawly didn't hesitate to take the unlooked-for advantage. He slinked down to ruffle his tiny snout through the fluff of curls adorning the base of Aziraphale's cock and tickled his tongue teasingly at the thick root.
Aziraphale flexed his jaw tightly and fumed through lapping arousal.
Crawly slowly crept out along the burgeoning swell, flicking his tongue and rubbing encouragingly with his chin to egg things along, doing all he could to keep Aziraphale stiffening up beneath him like he was raising a bridge at the same time he was walking it. And, because he was an absolute nightmare, Crawly was dragging much of his languorously drooping belly along behind him, bringing his scant weight to bear. The result ensured that, even fully erect, Aziraphale's cock was too heavy with ribbon-bow loops of coils draped along the length to be able to rise above a ninety-degree angle to the ground. The weight was perfectly calibrated: Not only would Aziraphale's arousal be obvious to an outside observer, but his lewd salute was as comically pointed as could be accomplished.
Once Crawly reached the end of Aziraphale's stiff length, he rested his chin daintily atop the throbbing tip and shuffled his coils in a way that made obnoxiously clear he was getting comfortably settled on his new perch. Aziraphale wished the unmitigated cheek was annoying enough to make him go soft. Instead, it just made him twitch. Crawly's draped belly clenched along the entirety of his cock to ride out the subtle bobbing motion, and Aziraphale choked on a stifled moan. In answer, the single curl of tail still wrapped around Aziraphale's upper thigh for an anchor squeezed cheekily, and the slightly damp flick of Crawly's tongue tickled against the damp slit of his cock.
Aziraphale breathed deep and tried to calm himself, but the feeling of Crawly draped so wantonly—so provokingly—atop his engorged cock was simply too affecting. Arousal simmered molten and heavy between his legs. He was becoming more aware, not less, of every point of contact between the silky weight of Crawly's belly and his cock, of each shivery slip of movement as Crawly minutely adjusted his balance.
Aziraphale's breathing was starting to speed up, and he had to concentrate too hard to get it to slow back down again to acceptable levels. It was becoming rapidly, mortifyingly clear that he wasn't going to be able to go soft again through sheer willpower alone.
He resigned himself to having to say something, because he couldn't continue to stand sentry in parade rest with a stiffy. It was too obviously indecent and—and foolish.
"Crawly, get—would you—? Move, you fiend," he muttered under his breath. "Someone is going to see." He despaired that he couldn't scrounge up the fortitude to tell Crawly to leave altogether.
Crawly shifted his coils ostentatiously, so Aziraphale would know just how unimpressed he was with being ordered about, but he did lift his head up, creating a tiny, extra bump at the front of Aziraphale's robe. Aziraphale started to relax, thinking that maybe Crawly was going to listen, for once.
But then, Crawly swiftly looped his slender neck around the end of Aziraphale's cock, right behind the sensitive glans, and squeezed.
Heat jolted through him, as electrifying as lightning, and Aziraphale didn't quite successfully swallow down the entirety of his resulting moan. It segued almost immediately into a choked whimper as, not half a second later, Crawly started rotating the delicious grip in a tortuously continuous circle so he could spool his body around that fixed anchor as he slowly started lowering his head and body down toward the ground. The seemingly endless glide of sleek, slightly textured scales teasing him was awful in the best way, dragging Aziraphale deeper into the heady grip of arousal.
As more of Crawly's length began to hang from the very tip, Aziraphale's cock began to dip lower and lower under the focused weight, until finally he was still achingly, dizzyingly hard, but pointed far enough down that a brief glance confirmed the front of his robes had once again returned to their former, straightline fall.
A shocky giggle burst free as he realized Crawly had listened to him after all, even if it was in the most provoking manner possible. He wondered hysterically if it would make things better or worse if he were to thank the infuriatingly clever fiend.
Before he could decide, the final length of Crawly's tail that was still wrapped around his thigh loosened and slithered inward toward his crotch. With whiplike speed, it wrapped tight and snug around the sagging give of his increasingly heavy testicles, tugging them down pointedly. Aziraphale swayed in place and took a few deep, even breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth to calm his corporation enough that he wouldn't succumb too quickly to the dizzying heights his arousal was starting to spiral. Crawly gave him a moment's peace—but only a moment—before sliding the very tip of his tail back up between Aziraphale's arsecheeks.
"Don't you dare," Aziraphale breathed, tone far too fractured and eager to be believed.
He was so focused on what Crawly's tail was doing that he nearly swallowed his own tongue when he felt the rapid flutter of a tiny tongue against the leaking tip of his cock.
"Oh!" he groaned, the will to keep hold of his composure rapidly crumbling.
By the time Crawly had successfully squirmed his tail in between Aziraphale's cheeks to rub the slick, slightly spongy bumps of his everted hemipenes against Aziraphale's arsehole, Aziraphale gave up the pretense of remaining stoic in favor of whinging.
"You—!" he tried to admonish, but it came out much too wanton and panting. "You are the most provokingly irritating creature I've ever—oh, dear God in Heaven—!" he squeaked, because that was when Crawly's much-too-small mouth fitted carefully wide over the very tip of his cock. "Oh, don't hurt yourself!" he fretted, which earned him a cheeky grind against his hole.
The inside of Crawly's mouth was damp and soft and so awfully, gorgeously tiny. The shape of his jaws—his skull—was inescapably palpable when there was barely any flesh to pad the fragile bones, when he was already having to stretch so wide just to taste the tip. Aziraphale whimpered as Crawly mouthed at him experimentally, upper and lower jaws subtly flexing like little fingers. It didn't seem possible that any creature with a mouth so small could take more than what Crawly already had, which was barely enough to engulf the slit.
"Fuck," Aziraphale breathed, because the tease was too delicious; made him so mad for more that it honestly could end up being all he needed.
If Crawly simply kept up the slippery grind against his hole, the gentle tug on his balls, the shifting squeeze behind the head of his weighed-down cock, all while gumming so sweetly at the very tip, his pinned tongue struggling to flutter up against the weeping slit, it would take ages to reach his peak—and Aziraphale might discorporate in the process—but he thought it would be well worth it.
Crawly adjusted the grip of his belly holding the head of Aziraphale's cock, walking the loop of coil back by a bare centimeter to make more room, and then he actually, truly opened his mouth wide.
"Oh, Crawly—!" Aziraphale gasped, holding his own arms tight behind his back and dropping his head to pant and keen through the decadently strange feeling.
Crawly's mouth felt like it was blooming around him. The delicate frame of his lower jaws flexed apart, and the slippery skin in between stretched impossibly far, gripping him like silky, elastic flower petals made slick with nectar. Each segment of the whole shifted independently of the other, but they were all moving to the same, slinky rhythm. Crawly's mouth undulated around the tip of his cock, and every massaging stroke felt like a beat in an erotic dance intended to beckon him deeper.
Aziraphale moaned; he shuddered and swayed on his feet. It was increasingly difficult to remember why he was still standing upright, still struggling to maintain the correct position for a sentry on duty. All he wanted to do was sink into the heat of slick pressure grinding at his hole and rippling, hot-satin muscle slowly engulfing his throbbing cock.
The effort required for Crawly to swallow him whole was beautifully painstaking, rapturously tortuous. Every centimeter gained required dozens of minute, sinuous adjustments, so Crawly could walk back the coil holding Aziraphale's cock in place in close tandem with the forward progress of every incremental swallow. Crawly had to work so cleverly to take something so big with so relatively few tools, and so carefully, to not take more than his body could stretch to fit at any given moment. The dedication, the focused attention—and all with the end goal of making Aziraphale melt so thoroughly in the crucible of carnal heat that he lost control of his shape—was enough to reforge Aziraphale's faith in Goodness and Truth and Love and Kindness even as it was squeezed out of him in desperate, sparking pants of disbelief.
"Crawly," he begged, and the tempting, lovely fiend kept right on crawling up to swallow him down.
Aziraphale gave up and gave in when Crawly had taken him about halfway into his throat.
With a moan, and worried what might happen if his increasingly unsteady legs gave out, Aziraphale released the tight hold he'd been keeping his hands locked in at his back and fumbled behind him to find the trunk of the tree for balance. If he fell, Crawly would surely be crushed, and that would be unforgivable.
Leaning back against the tree had the added benefit of allowing him to relax enough that Crawly's determined, persistent grinding against Aziraphale's arsehole was finally rewarded. Crawly eagerly squirmed one of his hemipenes inside. He was so small in this particular form that, even fully seated, his little cock was barely enough to breach the initial ring of muscles. But that didn't hardly matter, because the knowledge of what Crawly was doing, the tease along the sensitive rim of flesh, was more than enough.
Aziraphale couldn't help clenching softly around the sweet little morsel filling him, just to feel its shape that much more acutely. Crawly's entire, looping body spasmed hard and then shuddered. Aziraphale started to apologize, thinking maybe the pressure had been too much to feel good. But then, he felt wetness slip out and run down his cheek, so instead he laughed breathlessly.
In answer, Crawly swallowed around him with more vigor, started climbing up along Aziraphale's cock faster. The spent hemipene slipped out and was quickly replaced by its twin.
Aziraphale propped himself against the tree and attempted to keep from falling apart completely. The longer things took, the less he wanted to come at all. If he came, it would be over, and he wanted, quite desperately, to feel Crawly's fiendishly lovely throat hugging the entire length of him.
As the heat built, Aziraphale tried to breathe at least some of it back out, to skim away the frothing surface when it seemed like it was in real danger of boiling over.
By the time Crawly let the last of his belly slip off Aziraphale's cock to make room for his snout to bump against Aziraphale's lower belly, Aziraphale was shivering compulsively, whole body sweating.
Crawly's drooping belly coiled up to join the loop hung around Aziraphale's testicles, shifting and tenderly gripping until the entirety of Aziraphale's swollen ball sack was cradled. The weight was almost too much—on the razor's edge of uncomfortable—but it was doing wonders to help Aziraphale keep his balance as he teetered hard at the edge of release. He stared into the rapidly blurring distance and tried desperately to think of literally anything other than the glorious feeling of being held so completely.
Crawly's clever jaws shifted, throat muscles tensed in preparation to swallow, and Aziraphale gasped and shook his head reflexively.
"No, Crawly, wait—wait, please! Don't—! Don't move—don't move," he begged and knocked his head back against the tree for the distraction.
Crawly froze around and in him, holding fast and full, but not moving.
"Thank you—oh, thank you, my dear," Aziraphale gushed and swallowed around an overwhelmed giggle. "Just need to—to catch my breath a moment."
Crawly waited, surprisingly patient and obedient; Aziraphale could only be grateful.
After a minute or two of calming breaths, when he didn't feel quite so on the brink, Azirapahle dared to look down at himself. Even leaned back against the tree, hips canted subtly forward, there was almost nothing to see with as pleasantly thick as his thighs and belly were. Anyone looking on might think he was lazy for using the tree for support, but they'd have no clue that under the modesty of his robes there was a snake demon swallowed around the entirety of his slowly dripping cock and a scrumptious nubbin of a hemipene stuffed up his bum.
Aziraphale laughed, sounding manic in his own ears, and without giving himself time to think about the potential consequences, gripped his robes at the thighs and hauled them up so he could see.
"Oh, Crawly," he moaned, a surge of lust sweeping through him dizzyingly. "You look positively obscene."
The beguiling serpent was stuffed nearly to bursting, tiny body stretched to its limits to take Aziraphale all the way in. His scales no longer overlapped like shimmering tiles. Instead, they'd been pushed out wide, looking like tiny, onyx-carved paving stones describing dozens of gently raised paths along a densely woven, celestially iridescent fabric. Aziraphale raised a trembling hand and dared to brush a fingertip along one of the scaled lines until he reached the end where everything converged again at the same horizon.
"Crawly," he whispered brokenly and traced another path with awful reverence.
Crawly had stretched himself so wide, Aziraphale could see himself faintly shining through the darkly pearlescent skin—a hint of pale pink; he could feel himself in the barely there bulge where the thicker ring of his corona disturbed the evenness of every scaled path, and tripped under his fingertips every time as he continued to run them along Crawly's indecently yielding flesh.
Crawly stared up at him, yellow eyes bright. The demon radiated a smugness so palpable Aziraphale could practically feel the curve of a smile where his jaw was prised thinly wide. Aziraphale grinned back, dizzy with arousal and affection and a fizzy brand of happiness.
"All right… you wily fiend," Aziraphale murmured tenderly. "You've won this round. I'm… I'm big enough to admit it," he added, voice trembling with laughter.
Snakes shouldn't be able to roll their eyes, but Crawly contrived to anyway. Aziraphale attempted to distract him by shifting his hand down so he could drag the bumps of his knuckles along the underside of Crawly's chin and throat. When Crawly was in his human shape, that particular caress never failed to make Crawly go cross-eyed and hissingly pliant, and Aziraphale had long suspected it had something to do with his demonic aspect. Now, the petting motion made Crawly squirm and swallow around Aziraphale thickly, muscles gripping in a long wave from the root of his cock all the way to the tip. Aziraphale swore a bead of precome was squeezed out the tip at the end of the ripple.
"Oh, fuck," he whimpered and dragged his knuckles along Crawly's distended throat again, and again.
He gasped and panted and laughed at the luxuriously compelling sensation each caress provoked. Crawly shuddered and swapped out the hemipene grinding up into Aziraphale's arse once more. Somehow, even without eyelids, the serpent managed to look happily dazed and indolent.
When Aziraphale started getting too close again, he stopped and brought his hand back up to rest his shaking fingers lightly along the back of Crawly's head. He drew his thumb reverently between the tiny v between his eyes and asked, "Would you mind terribly staying like this awhile? It's—! Oh, it feels simply glorious, and I have such a long time left before I'm relieved."
Crawly subtly adjusted the grip of his coils cuddling Aziraphale's testicles. Crawly drawing attention to this additional hold he had on Aziraphale seemed like an answer, and Aziraphale sighed gratefully.
"Feel free to keep indulging yourself," he offered and flexed his arse cheeks pointedly. "That part is lovely too, but easier to manage."
Crawly immediately started grinding again, a little lazier than before, but clearly with the intent to bring himself off. Aziraphale sighed dreamily and relaxed more completely against the support of the tree.
As Crawly indulged himself, Aziraphale went back to gently petting the length of Crawly's gorgeously stretched back. Even the lightest stroke reverberated slightly through Crawly's body to his cock. Between that shivery bit of stimulation and the sweet grind of Crawly's tail between his legs, Aziraphale coasted high on the thermals of plateaued arousal, blinking slow and occasionally moaning in delight. Crawly held him firm and fast, heart beating like an invisible pulsar against the underside of Aziraphale's cockhead.
Occasionally, the persistent, slippery grinding just inside Aziraphale's rim would speed up, and then Crawly would shudder and swallow convulsively for long, heady seconds. Time dilated around the accompanying swells of arousal like doppler waves, keeping Aziraphale buoyed up within the cozy nest of heightened arousal Crawly had been so kind as to tuck him into. Once they'd both regained a bit of equilibrium, Crawly would swap out which of his hemipenes he was using to keep Aziraphale plugged and start the whole process over again, seeming just as content to loll about in the hedonistic decadence of the whole affair, even if he had a different preference for how he glutted himself on pleasure.
Aziraphale wasn't sure how much time had passed, only that the sun had moved a noticeable amount in the sky, when Crawly withdrew his hemipene after the latest release-and-swallow, but didn't replace it with the other.
Aziraphale stilled his hand on Crawly's back—the petting was more pawing at this point, with as uncoordinated as he'd become—and worked to focus his gently glazed vision.
"Crawly?" he murmured.
Something prodded against his slippery, loosened hole, but it wasn't the familiar, spongy texture of Crawley's hemipene. This was stiffer, less giving. It took the tip slipping in a couple centimeters before Aziraphale's syrupy thoughts collected enough to realize it was the end of Crawly's tail.
"Oh!" he mumbled and obligingly did his best to bear down to help things along.
He was so relaxed and slicked with spend, and Crawly was so relatively slender, that it wasn't a challenge until they reached the bump of Crawly's everted hemipenes. After a couple seconds of futile undulating on Crawly's part, Aziraphale reached back to lend a hand more directly. The additional leverage made it much easier to ease Crawly further in. And, it was a good thing Aziraphale had added his guiding hand, because apparently the squeeze of both hemipenes being swallowed up at once was too much for Crawly to endure without spasming and writhing in apparent overstimulated ecstasy.
Aziraphale paused to give both of them a bit of time to recover. He resisted the nearly overwhelming urge to clench down in favor of tremblingly stroking the thumb of his free hand between Crawly's eyes to help soothe him. The poor thing was panting extra hard through the side of his mouth, heartbeat frantic. But, Crawly was apparently determined to keep going, because after another minute he started determinedly wriggling again, trying to get deeper.
Once past the initial, tight threshold, it was easier going, and Aziraphale finally found the wherewithal to wonder why, exactly, Crawly had decided it was so necessary to penetrate him so much more thoroughly. Crawly couldn't exactly thrust in this form, after all. The feeling of increased fullness was quite nice, but it was clearly still driving Crawly round the twist to have both of his little cocks engulfed at once. He kept having to pause and regroup, shivering lightly as he kneaded the bulk of his coils almost fretfully around Aziraphale's balls.
"Crawly, are you sure—?" Aziraphale asked, wondering what could be worth such torture.
Crawly huffed a tiny breath and jerkily ground his hemipenes against Aziraphale's inner walls, and Aziraphale caught a clue.
"Oh, you absolute fiend," he moaned with fervent approval as Crawly continued to squirm up by tiny degrees. "Oh, you clever darling," he panted and arched his back helplessly. "Yes, there, there! Just there, my dear."
The aura of smugness increased tenfold, tinged with mania. Crawly ground his hemipenes within him, slow and stuttering but determined, and Aziraphale whimpered as the feeling of heat, of fullness, of everything bright and throbbingly good with the world began to swell with new, honeyed thickness and sun-drenched warmth.
Aziraphale dug his feet into the loamy ground, shoulders into the scratchy trunk of the tree to keep himself braced as Crawly held him tight in his long throat and milked him to the brink of incoherence. He was leaking within minutes, sobbing and shaking within a handful more, one hand alighted shakily against Crawly's back, butterfly light because he couldn't risk grabbing hold, and the other cupped between his legs so he could cradle the tangled coil of Crawly's body hanging from him like a heavy tether.
Aziraphale was simmering right on the edge, the world blurry through tears and fluttering lashes as he beheld the demon who'd worked so passionately to tease him to the brink. Crawly watched him right back, yellow gaze intense, overstretched jaws twitching around the root of Aziraphale's flushed cock. The demon had come again not too long ago, helpless not to as he goaded them both along, and Aziraphale had nearly gone over the edge right along with him in the convulsive, squeezing swallow of Crawly's release. Crawly was starting to pant again, body shimmering brightly dark, far-flung scales winking like tiny stars, as the aftershocks built back up to another full quake. Aziraphale would not make it through another without falling apart.
"Crawly," he begged, so close he could taste it. "Crawly," he pleaded, and planted his trembling legs more firmly, braced against the tree tighter, so he wouldn't fall with the release and crush his darling, wily adversary.
Crawly seized, and liquid beaded along the rim of Aziraphale's hole where the thickest part of Crawly's tail was shoving him open. It was just enough warning for Aziraphale to laugh in anticipatory delight, to lock his knees. Then Crawly was swallowing, swallowing, swallowing around him in an endless, rippling grip that finally filled his cup so swellingly full that it had no choice but to runneth over and spill deep within the clench of Crawly's clever throat.
The initial pulse of release was so strong it briefly stretched Crawly's acutely used, tender flesh nearly to tearing. Aziraphale might have worried, but he knew by now that Crawly was too foolishly optimistic for something like this to hurt him. In certain things, Crawly had far too much faith in himself, the wretchedly lovely dear, and it was so terribly kind of him to let Aziraphale bask in the afterglow from time to time.
Aziraphale cried out in time with each pulse as Crawly squeezed him dry and drank down every messy thing that spilled out of him. He'd never come so hard for so long, and every moment was bliss when caught fast within the squirming, slithering hold of his darling serpent's body.
When it finally tapered off, Aziraphale started giggling uncontrollably, dazed after such a long build and rushing finish.
Crawly's tail squirmed loose from his backside, and Aziraphale let his knees soften to bring them both safely down to the ground again. He shifted the hand still cradling the sloppy knot of coils around his balls to reach back and hook his forefingers around the dangling length of Crawly's limp tail and scoop it up so he wouldn't accidentally crush it as he sat down.
He landed with a small "oomph," and his loopy giggling was briefly interrupted by a hissing wince. Lord, but his corporation would be feeling this for days to come. What a blessing.
Crawly's coils slowly melted out of their persistent cling and started organizing into slightly tidier loops. Aziraphale left Crawly to it, though he did clumsily tuck his palm under Crawl's chin to keep Crawly's head—and by extension his own spent cock—slightly lifted and out of the way. Goodness, he wasn't truly hard anymore, but with as tight a grip as Crawly had on him, with how stretched his throat was to make things fit, Aziraphale's cock had not drawn back up at all, only slightly diminished in girth. It was an erotic enough enough sight and realization that if Aziraphale weren't already so thoroughly and completely debauched, he might have asked Crawly if he wouldn't mind staying wrapped around him, nice and warm and cozy, until he naturally started to grow hard again within the clutch of his lovely throat.
As it was, Crawly looked to be gathering himself up to draw off, which was probably a good idea with how long he'd already spent stretched so gorgeously wide. Crawly's throat spasmed—the muscles rippling weak and uncoordinated—and then spasmed again. After a third time, Crawly went very, very still and then started flopping the rest of his long belly about until he bumped into Aziraphale's limp hand. A loop of coil heaved itself into Aziraphale's palm and started squeezing frantically.
Aziraphale blinked hard and forced himself to straighten up and focus. Crawly was working his jaw around the root of Aziraphale's cock fretfully and staring at him with eyes that were both lidless and yet widened in a distinctly beseeching manner.
"My word, are you stuck?" Aziraphale asked and then frowned at how badly his consonants had slurred, like he was drunk on an overindulgence of arousal instead of wine.
Crawly writhed the rest of his body and worked his jaw in a way that emphasized how relatively still the portion of his throat that remained thickly impaled was.
"Oh, dear," Aziraphale murmured, unsure what to do. He didn't think pulling Crawly off like a glove was a good idea. If it were that easy, surely by now the clever serpent would have wrapped his lower body around some part of Aziraphale for leverage and done such a thing himself.
In a fit of inspiration, Aziraphale cupped Crawly under the chin more firmly for balance and snapped his Effort away entirely.
"There we are. Right as rain again!" Aziraphale trilled and scooped up a dazed-looking Crawly to settle him on his chest and cradle more closely.
Crawly twitched and sagged against Aziraphale more comprehensively, panting and working his jaw and throat. But after a few minutes, he wriggled free of Aziraphale's absent-minded petting and swelled up and shifted into his more human-looking form.
"Well, that was a thing," he croaked and collapsed back forward into a messy sprawl against Aziraphale's front.
"It certainly was!" Aziraphale agreed happily and looped his arms around Crawly to give him a grateful squeeze.
Crawly squeaked and poked him in the side to get him to loosen back up a bit, but also burrowed more thoroughly into his chest and neck.
"Apologies," Aziraphale murmured and redirected his overabundance of giddiness into stroking through Crawly's hair.
"I'll give you this," Crawly rasped against his chest, voice horribly mangled. "Once you decide you're all in, you're really all in. I'm not sure that I actually won that one. I'm feeling distinctly thwarted right now."
"May I remind you that apart from requesting a little discretion, and that you take your time, all other designs were of your own devising?" Aziraphale asked cheerfully and let his other hand wander up and down Crawly's back. The hand in Crawl's hair had found one of the charming little braids he tended to plait into it, and Aziraphale devoted himself to running it meditatively through his fingers like prayer beads.
"Oh, loads of discretion with you just lifting up your skirt for the entire back half of it," Crawly scoffed. "You're lucky I thought to set a 'nothing to see here' barrier down before things got serious." He barked a creaking, incredulous-sounding laugh. "I really was just planning on a bit of antagonistic tickling. You're just too tempting to resist."
"Hush," Aziraphale admonished, tugging lightly on the braid before going back to fiddling with it. His eyes had closed at some point without him quite meaning to. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up asleep at his post. "You looked very fetching all stretched and lewd like that." Because he was a bit of a bastard, he left off stroking Crawly's back to bring his hand round so he could pet lightly down the underside of Crawly's chin and along his abused throat. "Are you very sore, my dear?" he asked solicitously. His cheeks were hurting, he was smiling so broadly.
Crawly shivered and tipped his head up as he melted against Aziraphale even more bonelessly under the new petting. "Nnnngh, you bastard," he hissed and dug strong fingers into Aziraphale's back and hip. "Horribly sore. What are you going to do to make it up to me?"
"In addition to letting you find your pleasure in me roughly two dozen times?" Aziraphale returned archly. But, he was a merciful sort, so he left off teasing Crawly's delightfully sensitive neck and snapped to produce an amphora of chilled, diluted wine. "Here, this should help."
Crawly grumbled but accepted the offering readily, drinking deep before passing it up for Aziraphale to have a turn.
They spent the rest of the afternoon collapsed companionably under the tree, sipping wine and lightly bantering about who was more responsible for how quickly things had escalated this time.
Back in the village, Aziraphale's relief guard stepped out of his house to set out for his shift. And then, he turned right back around as he miraculously recalled he'd just finished his shift, and it was the strange guard Ezra's turn up on the hill, to while away the rest of the evening and night on watch. Poor bastard, the guard thought. It was lonely work, out there all alone with nothing and no one for distraction, much less comfort.