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“All things considered, this isn’t the worst that could have happened to us,” surmised Aziraphale.
“You think?” Crowley argued in a snarky tone.
Aziraphale was trying to find a silver lining - he really was. But it was hard, given the position he and Crowley were in.
He struggled, trying to wriggle free from his restraints for the umpteenth time. “I don’t know. Is there a chance that you are enjoying this?”
“You think I could possibly enjoy being kidnapped and anesthetised, only to wake up in a wet, dark room chained to a chair?” Crowley fumed.
Aziraphale shrugged. Crowley’s words made sense, in a way.
“I thought you might enjoy being chained to a chair sitting on my lap.”
Crowley snorted. “Oh, sure. Sure, angel. I mean, perhaps, if we were in our cottage, alone, just the two of us.”
Aziraphale pulled his ankles, trying to break the chains of his cuffs. Maybe after trying eighty-nine times, he would succeed at his ninetieth attempt. (He didn’t. Given that he was no real angel with no real angelic strength, it was objectively impossible for him to break metal shackles.) “I shall rephrase. I thought you might enjoy being chained to a chair, sitting on my lap, naked.”
Crowley was obviously trying to hold back his amusement, probably chewing on the inside of his cheek. He flashed Aziraphale that rakish grin of his, totally intoxicating.
“Well, ngk– yes, angel. If you put it like that, maybe this isn’t the worst that could have happened to us.”
Aziraphale stared at him. “So… you’re not in fact… not enjoying it? Because I have the feeling that there’s a part of you enjoying this situation a little too much already.”
Crowley scoffed, trying for irritated but landing square on ‘busted.’ “Aziraphale, you can’t blame me for being spontaneously excited about being naked in your lap. It’s a physiological reaction to your proximity.”
“You’ll find ‘Pavlovian’ is the word you were looking for.”
“Stop being an insufferable horny idiot. We’re in trouble here!” Crowley reproached him, all bark and no bite.
“I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time,” Aziraphale noted, thinking about one particular night he’d spent being horny around The Throne and his yet-to-be-husband while they were trying to solve a crime.
Crowley sighed, defeated. “Ok, could we– could we just focus on trying to get rid of these chains?”
“Sure.”
As if it were possible.
Whoever had tied them together in this position had decided to leave Aziraphale’s hands free. His ankles were chained to the legs of the chair with cuffs, but the chair had been glued to the floor in front of a wall (Aziraphale had made this assessment after trying to stand up with a lapful of Crowley, only to realise that the chair wouldn’t move).
Crowley was sitting astride his lap, his wrists chained as well, but with longer shackles that hung loose from the wall behind the chair, with an anchoring point above Aziraphale’s head. Crowley could stand, but the limited gap between him and the wall wouldn’t allow him to move that far backwards from his position over the chair.
The more he thought about it, the less Aziraphale understood the implications behind them being assembled in this weird tangle of limbs. Who had kidnapped them? And why were they tied together, naked? Any sensible abductor would know that the best way to increase Crowley and Aziraphale's vulnerability would be to split them up and make them beg for information about the other’s well-being . Not this. Not putting them together, embraced. Naked.
(Moreover, in one of their favourite positions.)
This was– Well, frankly, this was ridiculous.
Aziraphale started to swing on the chair (which, again, did not move) without taking into account that his action was causing more friction between their bodies. He had to withhold a gasp when he felt Crowley’s cock rubbing against his as his husband tried to pull at his shackles.
“Fuck, angel,” he whispered. “Ok, try not to– fuck, don’t move, please.”
Aziraphale nodded quickly, inhaling and exhaling to cool off (and trying not to think about the wonderful sensation of having Crowley rubbing against his belly).
“If I could just– wriggle my wrists out of this fucking–”
Crowley leaned back as much as he could and pulled with all his strength, his arsecheeks on the edge of falling from Aziraphale’s knees, but the shackles didn’t give. The problem was, in this position, Aziraphale had a clearer view of erect nipples and a half-erect cock bouncing up and down Crowley’s belly. And it all felt a little too exciting for him to ignore.
“Crowley… could you– uhm…”
“Wot?” he scowled, grimacing in frustration.
“Stop doing that, just for a– a second.”
Crowley narrowed his eyes at him, then his gaze fell down between them. One look was enough to realise Azirpahale’s current predicament. (It was also enough to induce Crowley to smile that amused crooked grin of his, mostly inconvenient given the circumstances.)
“Pavlovian, indeed.”
“Shut up, you fiend.”
“You know, I think I could wriggle my wrists out of these shackles,” Crowley offered.
“Oh, wonderful–”
“If I had something to lube the cuffs,” he said, his voice seductive all of a sudden.
“We don’t have lube, Crowley.” Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow at him, waiting for further explanation.
Crowley bent, his lips close to Aziraphale’s ear.
“I wasn’t talking about lube, angel,” he murmured.
Oh, fuck.
Crowley’s sultry tone of voice was enough to make him hard.
“Are you proposing… fucking our way out of this… circumstance?”
Crowley nibbled at his earlobe. “That’s exactly what I’m proposing.”
“Are you completely out of your mind?”
“Are you?” Crowley asked, a cheeky smirk plastered across his face.
Aziraphale was already growing excited with anticipation when an irritating booming voice filled the dark room.
“GOOD EVENING GENTS!”
(A voice they knew very well.)
They heard a buzzing noise as a row of neon lights suddenly brightened the previously dim lit room, so now their eyes could better explore their surroundings. Aziraphale took note of the large windows at the other side of the room. Moreover, he stared in disbelief at the tall man behind said windows.
“No way.”
“Gabriel bloody Engles!”
“MY NAME IS JIMBRIEL, YOU SINNERS.”
“Oh, no,” murmured Crowley. “Please tell me this isn’t happening.”
“I’m afraid I can’t, my dear.”
Crowley sighed in defeat.
Beatrice Duivel had recently told them that the last few times Gabriel had acted amnesic, he’d manifested unusual behaviour, like blathering about sins, salvation and repentance.
‘Sometimes I feel as if his brain were a bit brainrotted, you know? Like he’s the leader of The Upward Keepers, but the cult has a very different meaning to him when he becomes Jimbriel. It’s not about healthiness and physical activity, it gets more… religious.’
‘Radical?’ Aziraphale asked.
Duivel nodded. ‘He once urged me to ask for absolution when he caught me eating a chocolate cake. He even stopped me in the middle of a blow–’
‘Woah, woah, TMI Duivel!’ Crowley interjected.
‘Well… he dissociated in the middle of that, I swear he was this close to– you know, and he suddenly became Jimbriel and begged me to stop before he could surrender to the pleasures of the flesh.’
‘Very irritating,’ was Aziraphale’s comment (Crowley stifled a laugh).
“What is going on here? Are you out of your mind, you– you–”
“You fucking psycho!” Crowley finished for him.
“Yes!”
“Let us go right the fuck now!”
“YOU WILL SHUT UP AND YOU WILL LISTEN TO ME.”
“Yes, Aziraphale, let him explain why he’s a TOTAL WANKER!”
Engles’s voice sounded metallic and buzzing. (God only knew what kind of faulty sound system he was using to communicate with them.)
“THE UPWARD KEEPERS PURSUE HEALTHY CONDUCT TO ACHIEVE HEAVENLY STATUS.”
“Right!” Crowley yelled, trying to gesture with his hands and obviously finding it impossible. “Think about your fucking yoga and jogging, and leave me and my husband alone!”
“YOUR SEXUAL CONDUCT DOES NOT ALLOW YOU TO FOLLOW OUR MISSION.”
“I’d like to disagree,” Aziraphale shouted. “Your acolytes perform extensive physical training on the path towards the inner peace that you promise to those who make an effort.”
Aziraphale repeated The Keepers cult tagline almost by heart.
“SO?”
“So, Crowley and I definitely make an effort.”
“On a daily basis, to be honest,” Crowley laid it on thick.
“BLASPHEMY! BEG FOR FORGIVENESS!” Gabriel’s voice sounded even louder when he screamed into the microphone.
“Actually, there’s a lot of begging involved.”
“YOU MUST REPENT–”
“And kneeling, darling, don’t forget about the kneeling.”
“TO REACH AN ELEVATED STATE OF MIND, YOU MUST SERVE OUR MISSION.”
Crowley’s eyes flickered toward Aziraphale. “Oh, believe me, Jimbriel, I do serve my mission just fine.”
Aziraphale melted under Crowley’s mischievous scrutiny, and he felt the already-hard situation grow even harder.
“Ahhh– Crowley, uhm… This isn’t really the right time to tease me like this.”
Crowley looked down between them and licked his lips. “Or maybe it’s just perfect timing.”
Aziraphale smiled, trying to ignore the signals coming from his crotch.
“Gabriel… let me ask you, with all due respect. What the fuck do you want from us? Haven’t we done enough for you already? We aren’t even members of your fucking cult!”
Crowley sighed, eyes closed as if savouring something. “Shit, you have no idea what you do to me when you swear.”
Or do I?
“I believe I swore twice, my love.”
“Twice the effort, twice the reward,” Crowley teased him again, and Aziraphale took the chance to stroke Crowley’s inner thighs very subtly, making him gasp in surprise.
“YOU SEE? YOU CAN’T ACT CHASTELY, NOT EVEN WHEN FACING DANGER.”
“Danger?” Crowley’s alarmed tone worried Aziraphale. “Who said anything about danger?!”
“I WANT YOU TO REPENT AND SEE THE LIGHT. JOIN OUR CULT AND EMBRACE ABSTINENCE.”
“Abstinence?! You’ve been fucking Beatrice Duivel for years!” Crowley complained.
“JIMBRIEL DOES NOT COMMIT SIN,” Gabriel informed them. “JIMBRIEL IS SUPREME.”
“No, he’s a bloody psycho and he makes me miss Gabriel AND Jim!” Crowley retorted.
“Please, Crowley, do not exasperate the man–”
“THIS IS A TEST. YOU MUST PROVE YOURSELVES WORTHY.”
“Worthy of what?” Aziraphale asked, starting to feel a bit concerned.
“OF LIVING.”
Uh-oh.
“THE FIRST DOGMA OF OUR CULT IS VERY CLEAR: RESIST TEMPTATION.”
“No, it’s not,” Crowley informed him.
“IT IS NOW,” Gabriel shouted, his face contorted in a grimace of contempt.
“Oh, I have a bad feeling about this…” Crowley muttered.
“TO SURVIVE, YOU MUST BELIEVE THAT YOU CAN AVOID ANY CARNAL PLEASURE. STARTING WITH SEX.”
Crowley looked at Aziraphale, resigned. “We’re fucked,” he whispered.
(Crowley was right. Jimbriel might as well have killed them right now, because there was no way they would ever do that.)
“YOU’VE BEEN BROUGHT HERE AND CHAINED IN YOUR FAVOURITE POSITION. THE MORE SEDUCTIVE THE TEMPTATION, THE HARDER THE ENDURANCE.”
Crowley and Aziraphale’s eyes locked. Judging by his husband’s confused expression, he felt as lost as himself.
“THIS WILL BE YOUR ONLY CHANCE TO PROVE YOUR DEVOTION.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?! We were proving our devotion just fine, in the privacy of our house, and not chained to a bloody chair!”
“YOU WON’T TOUCH EACH OTHER WITH YOUR HANDS. YOU WON’T PERPETUATE THE PHYSICAL ACT OF SEX TOGETHER.”
“What about kis–” Crowley started.
“AND YOU WON’T KISS.”
“Fuck, there goes my plan for killing time until we die.”
Aziraphale appreciated Crowley’s attempt at making this situation lighter than it actually looked.
“IF YOU DON’T PASS THIS TEST, YOU DIE.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kiddin’ me,” Crowley whined.
“Gab– Jimbriel, please be reasonable… I thought we were friends!” Aziraphale tried the pity card.
“WE AREN’T.” Gabriel’s face got all serious and angry.
“What would Beatrice say?”
“Yeah!” Crowley yelled. “They love having sex, and you know it.”
“BEATRICE IS THE EXCEPTION TO THE RULE. BECAUSE THEY ARE SUPREME.”
“Well, Aziraphale is too! He’s an angel. No, no, no, even better. He’s an archangel! The SUPREME ARCHANGEL. He can do whatever he wants to me! Including fucking me senseless on this fucking chair!” Crowley shouted.
Gabriel sneered. “LET ME SET THINGS STRAIGHT. IF AZIRAPHALE DARES STICK HIS DICK UP YOUR ARSE, YOU WILL BOTH DIE.”
“How in hell am I supposed to resist him if you leave us like this?” Crowley complained.
“JUST DON’T GET EXCITED.”
Aziraphale shook his head, admitting defeat, and Crowley snorted. “Are you serious?! Do you even know what you’re asking of me? It’s already hard enough to look at his face and not get excited under normal circumstances. But I’m literally sitting on his lap, and I’m already so hard that one proper look would be enough to make me come!”
“THEN DON’T LOOK!”
“Do you provide blindfolds?” Aziraphale asked in all seriousness.
“GOODBYE, YOU SINNERS. MAY GOD HAVE MERCY OF YOUR SOULS IF YOU DON’T PASS THIS TEST.”
“Gabriel!” Crowley shouted as the man stepped back from the window and another buzz accompanied the lights turning off.
“GABRIEEEEEL!”
“Angel?”
Aziraphale blinked fast, turning around to find Crowley standing beside him.
He was squeezing his shoulder and Someone only knew how long he’d been trying to get his attention.
“Crowley.”
“All good?”
“Yes!” he blurted out in a high-pitched voice, jumping up from the chair. “Yes! Sure, why do you ask?”
Crowley’s eyes roamed over his face. “Nothing, it’s just– I called you three times, and you didn’t hear me.”
“Erm…”
Crowley’s gaze moved beyond him and fell on the monitor of Aziraphale’s computer.
“You were reading fanfiction again?” he asked, a devilish grin on his beautiful lips.
Oh, the smugness.
Aziraphale took a moment to better appreciate his husband’s slender figure. His endless legs were clad in the usual tight, black denim, and he was wearing his favourite Henley. (Unbuttoned.) A slow lingering once-over revealed that Crowley was barefoot.
At that sight, Aziraphale realised that Crowley was exactly where he wanted him and his mind began to ride the waves of the most obscene fantasies induced by his ongoing sexual drive.
It was time to put his wicked plan into motion.
It wasn’t the first time that Crowley found Aziraphale fully absorbed in reading an ‘aziracrow’ fanfiction. Sometimes they’d even read one or two (ok, maybe a dozen) together.
(There were so many talented writers out there, it was only fair to pay tribute to the many different iterations of sex experiences one could find under the ‘Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot’ tag of their fandom.)
Tonight, though, Aziraphale was acting a little skittish. As if he were trying to keep something from him.
“Was it any good?”
“It’s… uhm, different.”
“Good different?” Crowley smirked.
“They are chained together and Jimbriel is–”
“What’s a Jimbriel?”
Aziraphale smiled. “It’s a version of amnesiac Gabriel Engles, a combination of Jim and Gabriel.”
Crowley shook his head, once again astonished by the inventiveness of their fans.
“Well, Gabriel Engles acting as Jimbriel is threatening to kill them–”
“Oh, a ‘fuck or die’ fic?” Crowley asked, getting all excited.
Aziraphale tilted his head and his eyebrows wiggled. “Actually, it’s more a… reversed version of that trope.”
“Reversed? How?”
“Jimbriel is crazy and wants to test their commitment to the cause.”
“What cause?” asked Crowley. “The Keepers?”
“Abstinence.”
Crowley was confused.
“It’s a ‘don’t fuck or die’ story,” Aziraphale finally revealed.
Crowley took in this piece of information, then he cackled almost hysterically.
“Oh, fuck, this is hilarious,” he tried to catch his breath. “Is it set before or after The Second Coming?”
“After.”
“Of course,” Crowley nodded. “You know what people think of us after that podcast, angel. That we can’t keep our hands off each other.”
“We are capable of controlling ourselves,” Aziraphale said back.
“Of course, we are.”
One look at each other and Crowley knew that they were on the same page. (Which meant they were not capable of controlling themselves.)
A thoroughly healthy attitude, if you asked Crowley, although hardly uncommon since… ever, to be honest. But even more now that Aziraphale had finally indulged his (not so) secret desire for him to grow a beard.
Crowley was curious to find out more about the fanfiction. He stepped closer to the computer screen while Aziraphale sat back on his chair.
“So… you said we are chained?”
“We?”
Oh, would you look at that. Aziraphale had noticed his subtle switch to first person plural, then.
Crowley smiled. “In the story.”
“Oh.” (Disappointed, angel?) “Yes. You are sitting on my lap.”
“And we’re tied together?”
Aziraphale nodded. “Naked.”
“That’s torture!” Crowley complained. “How can we resist?”
Aziraphale checked on the monitor for not longer than ten seconds, then he looked back at him. “We don’t, and we die. Jimbriel kills us in the end.”
Crowley wondered how in hell was it possible for Aziraphale to read so fast.
Oh. He already read it!
He couldn’t hold back a very satisfied smile as he cornered Aziraphale, putting his hands on either armrests of the chair.
“Do we get to finish, at least?”
Aziraphale smirked that bitchy little smile that looked even more beautiful under his perfectly upturned nose. He looked like a naughty cherub. “Yes, in fact.” (Another peek at the screen.) “Gabriel is magnanimous. He kills us after the fucking.”
“What a way to go,” Crowley groaned, jumping in Aziraphale’s lap like his alter ego in the story. The angel chuckled and immediately cupped his cheeks with his hands, kissing him softly. Crowley savoured the scrape of his beard over his chin, brushing his mouth over Aziraphale’s lower lip.
When he felt the tip of the angel’s tongue gently teasing his lips open and slowly dipping inside, Crowley’s hands flew to his neck to pull him in further, mouths locked together in a searing kiss.
“Would you like that?” Crowley asked after a while. “A good reenactment of our own making of the old ‘ride or die’ trope?”
Aziraphale looked at him intrigued. “Whose turn is it?”
Crowley shivered in anticipation. It was his turn. And he couldn’t wait.
Before he could answer, something soft, warm, white and fluffy jumped on their legs.
“Comma!” Aziraphale chastised their cat. “You little rascal.”
Crowley giggled at the unexpected intrusion, petting their cat. “Let me take care of him.”
He took Comma and stood up, leaving the library to bring their beloved nuisance to the lounge.
“Stay here, you cuddle-seeking little brat,” he warned him. “The angel is all mine tonight.”
Comma meowed in response, but Crowley ignored his blatant attempt at forcing him to bring him back.
“Uh-uh,” he told him as he walked backwards. “Just you wait for us. And behave, you pest. Go play with Harry, if you’re bored.”
As soon as Crowley walked back to the library, the door to the corridor safely closed to avoid pesky little intruders in their humble abode, he gasped in awe. Aziraphale had taken off his waistcoat and was adding up the last details of his put-your-cock-in-my-arse-right-the-fuck-now outfit. Braces hanging down at his sides, rolled up sleeves, loose bow tie. With those delectable forearms in plain sight (and The Beard, let’s not forget about The Beard), he was the epitome of sexy and beautiful, and Crowley wanted to eat him all up. (Even better, to be eaten all up.)
“Did you have anything specific in mind? I mean, the throne is right there.”
“It’s been a while,” Aziraphale sighed nostalgically.
“I say you, me, the throne,” Crowley offered.
Aziraphale smiled in response. “Sometimes I feel as if our marriage is actually a threesome with a piece of furniture.”
“That’s the only threesome I’d accept because it fuels that Upholstery Kink of yours.”
Aziraphale gripped at his hips. “As much as I love fucking on that thing, I was thinking about… something new. Something we haven’t tried yet.”
Crowley smirked in response. “We’ve tried literally everything, angel. You drank sherry out of my belly button once. And– and– remember that chocolate rimjob you enjoyed so much?”
Because I do.
“That I enjoyed so much?” Aziraphale countered. “You reheated the sauce three times that day!”
Crowley stepped forward, his fingers already trailing their way up Aziraphale’s forearms. Just like bees to honey.
“I certainly remember you not complaining at all while I stuck my chocolate tongue up your arse those three times.”
(Sometimes even Crowley got particularly creative, sue him.)
“I specifically asked, ‘What would you rather? Vanilla or chocolate–’”
“Crowley…”
“And you said, ‘Mind you, there’s nothing even remotely vanilla in me.’”
Aziraphale’s giggle was insanely cute, and Crowley couldn’t help but kiss his Adam’s apple as he laughed, making him shiver in response.
“So… what’s this thing we haven’t tried yet, Your Majesty Queen of Kinkyshire?”
“You already used that one,” Aziraphale smiled smugly as he took something from his pocket.
“Did I? Gee, I need to start a list.”
Aziraphale showed him the item in his hand.
It was a blindfold.
“Ohhh, I wasn’t on the wrong track calling you Kinkyshire then. That’s spicy.”
“Interested?”
Crowley thought about this. Thoroughly.
They’d never used a blindfold, not even before their marriage. Saying that he was interested was a monumental understatement. He looked at his husband, noticing the glimmer of mischief in his blue eyes. His lips were tilted in that bloody smirk that, since Aziraphale had grown a beard, made him look even more smug. Fuck, he wanted to lick that expression away from his mouth.
“So?”
“You know my answer, you cheeky bastard,” he whined so tragically. “Go on, blindfold me.”
Aziraphale’s beaming smile was the last thing Crowley saw before the angel pulled the elastic band and put the blindfold over his eyes. However, he couldn’t help but notice the very peculiar pattern before being absorbed by darkness.
“Of course you’d find a tartan blindfold.”
“We’ve already established that tartan is stylish, Crowley.”
“Enough with the chit-chat. How do you want me, angel?”
(Crowley really hoped that the answer to his question consisted of just two words: ‘bent’ and ‘over’.)
Aziraphale helped him sit on the edge of the desk. “Take off your shirt, Crowley. That’s the only thing you have to do.” (A beat.) “For now.”
Crowley snorted as he started taking off his Henley, being extra-careful not to touch the blindfold when he slid the garment over his head.
“So typical of you,” he complained like the idiot he was. “I give you an inch and you take a mile.”
Aziraphale chuckled from somewhere near him.
“You know I’m not fond of not being able to look at you, angel.”
Aziraphale knew. And Crowley knew that he knew. Since that fateful Christmas night (The Throne Night, like they had later christened it) Crowley and Aziraphale had always found ways to look at each other when they had sex. (One memorable time, Crowley had fucked him bodyguard style, taking Aziraphale from behind, the angel’s knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip around a chair back, but they had gazed at each other the whole time through a mirror. Crowley had felt so connected to him that he’d shed a few tears at the moment of his own release – not that this occurrence was uncommon when they had sex, mind you.)
“I know, darling. But I promise to make it up to you.”
“Of course you will. Because I demand that you speak in your Mr Fell voice for the whole duration of the proceedings.”
Even if Crowley was starting to feel a bit chilly without the shirt, he was immediately warmed by Aziraphale’s voice whispering to his ear. “You mean this voice?”
Crowley shivered as that first jolt of sensation down his spine lit him up, the first side effect of a drug that he’d been addicted to for the last three years.
“Th–that one.” Then an inspired idea came to his mind. “And… you must use your catchphrases. All of them.”
Aziraphale kept his lips tantalisingly close to his ear as he answered. “Challenge accepted.” He kissed his temple above the blindfold. “Don’t move.”
Crowley did as he was told, waiting (im)patiently for Aziraphale to come back from wherever it was that he’d gone off to. He started to get familiar with the weird sensation of being blind in a room he knew by heart, a place he and Aziraphale had carved out for themselves, shaping the interior design piece by piece. The throne, Aziraphale’s desk, the armchairs, the shelves full of the angel’s books, the pillows stacked on the loveseat, even the bloody curtains. Crowley could not see any of it, but he could picture the room in his mind as he focused on the soft creaks from the windows, the constant ticking of Aziraphale’s grandfather clock, drawers being opened and closed and–
“Was that you taking the lube from the drawer in your desk?”
“You’re underestimating me.”
“I’d never, angel.” Crowley swallowed hard when he heard the clunking of a ceramic plate hitting the wooden surface of the desk at his side.
Aziraphale chuckled in delight. “I see my little experiment is already bearing fruit. Your focus is on your hearing.”
“You know I love bearing up under great pressure.”
“I can’t wait to see how much more you will bear under the stress of such a consistently pursued thorough approach.”
“You say things.”
Sensing Aziraphale standing in front of him, Crowley spread his legs just so, inviting him to come closer even if he couldn’t see him.
“Are we going to need a safe word for this?” he asked.
“You pick.”
“Crêpes.”
Aziraphale moaned almost obscenely (and Crowley was already doomed, but he’d brought this on himself. He knew what he was doing when he’d said ‘crêpes’).
“You, fiend. What if I start craving crêpes while I’m fucking you?”
Crowley felt his cheeks burning in anticipation. “I’ll cook you crêpes after, you bloody glutton.”
“Jolly good, then!”
He said this in Mr Fell’s cadence, the one he used to captivate his audience, even if Aziraphale was speaking to a one-person-audience who was pretty much already captivated by him (namely for the rest of their lives.) Crowley loved it immensely and grinned in response to it, hoping that Aziraphale was blushing, just a little bit, like he did whenever Crowley smiled at him with all the love and devotion he could muster up.
“Now, people think that when sight is not available, the other senses are heightened. Actually, it’s not so much that blind people’s hearing or touch are inherently better. It’s just that their brain is more adept at using them due to adaptation.”
According to Past Crowley, getting aroused when someone gets that didactic should have been impossible. But Past Crowley was undoubtedly an idiot who didn’t know better, because Present Crowley was so intrigued by Aziraphale’s words that he found himself indulging him.
“And how are we going to test this theory?”
“Like this.”
At first, Crowley felt the delicious scratch of Aziraphale’s beard as he moved his mouth to leave soft kisses on his palm, his wrists, his forearms. Crowley’s levels of insanity whenever Aziraphale touched him with his lips had escalated exponentially since he’d decided to grow The Beard. But right here, right now, with his sight ruled out, everything felt even more arousing than usual. The tentative soft scrape of beard over his skin, the brush of Aziraphale’s lips moving up, up, up. Crowley gasped when the angel reached his shoulders, his neck, the corners of his jaw. That’s where kisses became more insistent and Blessed Tongue began exploring the more sensitive skin behind Crowley's ear, around his collarbone, all over his throat. Wherever Aziraphale nibbled or his beard left a tiny sore mark, his tongue came back again to soothe, and on every little piece of skin he’d licked, his lips pampered it with a soft kiss.
Then Aziraphale’s fingers joined the exploration, starting with caresses and strokes, featherlike touches that made Crowley’s nerves tingle and his heart beat faster.
He definitely whimpered when Aziraphale’s fingertips reached out to brush his nipples, scraping and pinching them until Crowley felt them fully erect and–
“Fuck!”
Aziraphale had just taken a nipple between his teeth, one hand busy caressing his bare back and arms as fingers still toyed with the other nipple. Crowley’s hands flew to Aziraphale’s forearms seeking for balance, and he found the angel still completely (and unacceptably) dressed.
“Can I touch you, too?”
Aziraphale’s mouth let go of the tight bud of his nipple to answer, but Crowley felt a jolt of pleasure in trade when his nails scratched the other one.
“Of course, darling. It wouldn’t be a thorough examination if you didn’t.” (Another soft scratch that made Crowley shudder.) “You must exercise all your other senses.”
“Even taste?” Crowley asked, hopeful of getting a mouthful of Aziraphale as soon as possible.
“We’ll see about that. Let’s focus on touch first.”
As Crowley waited, he heard the rustling sound of fabric as Aziraphale worked to take off his shirt. Unable to control himself, Crowley helped until Aziraphale’s shirt was finally unbuttoned. He wasn’t wearing an undershirt, and Crowley was already taking advantage of the situation. (Finally.)
“Eager, are we?”
“You’ve no idea,” Crowley said, touching Aziraphale’s belly. His fingertips stroked his warm skin slowly, looking for all the little details that he knew by heart. Whenever he found one, Crowley’s heart grew a little bit more at the realisation of how well he knew his husband. A tiny mole, a little scar, the hair on Aziraphale’s forearms, on his chest, on his face. Everything became a symphony of sensations under his fingertips.
“Fuck, I can’t ever thank you enough for this, angel,” Crowley murmured as he brushed his fingers through Aziraphale’s beard. The soft texture, the curlier spots, the line on his neck where beard ended and bare skin began. Crowley traced it with his thumb, feeling Aziraphale’s throat bob under his touch. And it was glorious.
“Is this good for you, too?”
“It’s, uhm– tickety-boo.”
Crowley chuckled. Aziraphale never backed down from a challenge. He would use all those catchphrases, or he would die trying. (Only a little death, of course.)
“You’re not so commanding, angel. Everything good?” Crowley asked as he licked Aziraphale’s throat.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet, darling.”
Well. Judging by the contraction he’d just used (the angel’s speech centre was showing signs of brainrot), Aziraphale was definitely affected by all of this, just like him.
But after a split second of seeming indecision, Aziraphale came back to his senses. “Open your mouth,” he ordered before increasing the space between them.
Crowley hesitated just for a moment before parting his lips, his mouth watering involuntarily and his body tensing in anticipation of the unknown.
Something sweet and soft touched his tongue. Aziraphale was feeding him directly with his fingers, something that tasted like–
“Angel cake,” Crowley mumbled as he chewed the morsel.
Nothing as perfect as a slice of Crowley’s favourite dessert.
(And not because it had ‘angel’ in its name and looked all soft and fluffy like Aziraphale, shut up).
Crowley recognised the subtly sweet flavour. The notes of vanilla and the hint of almond extract enticed his taste buds as he chewed on the morsel of cake.
It felt like eating a cloud.
He swallowed and licked his lips, trying to make a show out of it. (Judging by Aziraphale’s long exhale, he’d succeeded.)
“Is it good?”
(Aziraphale had become really good at baking angel cake, maybe because he always managed to get Crowley doing whatever he wanted when he made it for him.)
“Delicious, angel. Will you give me more?” Crowley asked, sticking his tongue out like a devout man waiting to receive communion.
Aziraphale fed him another piece of cake, and this time Crowley swallowed it instantly, enjoying the sensation of the angel’s fingers lingering on his tongue.
Crowley licked the powdered sugar from Aziraphale’s fingers, then the angel withdrew his hand and slid his thumb over his lower lip. Crowley immediately took the chance to take it in his mouth again, sucking decadently and twirling his tongue around it.
“That was very good–”
“In–Indeed,” Aziraphale interjected, his voice a feeble whisper. Crowley heard him swallow hard (Crowley could do bewitching things with his tongue).
“It would have been even better accompanied by chocolate ganache,” he teased him, eventually letting go of his finger. “You know, to enhance its taste.”
“If only I’d thought about that.” Aziraphale bent over and kissed him. “Lean back a little.”
Crowley complied, then was taken aback as something wet and tepid dropped on his mouth, trailed to his chin and then to his chest.
(It was chocolate ganache.)
“Good Lord, what a mess I made of you!” Aziraphale aka Mr Fell complained. “I’m terribly sorry, dear fellow.”
Aziraphale groaned as he hungrily captured Crowley’s lips in his. Once again Crowley felt the delicious scratch of The Beard over his chin as the angel’s tongue teased his lips open, seeking Crowley’s.
Aziraphale licked all the chocolate away with his tongue, following the trail from his chin to his chest and belly.
Aziraphale moaned in pleasure when he licked the chocolate from his belly button. “You taste divine.”
“Angel… if you keep doing this, I won’t last five minutes,” Crowley murmured, his hands grasping at Aziraphale’s curls.
“Oh, but you must!” he said in a high-pitched voice. “I want this to be a jolly good experience for you, darling.”
“Ha! You already said that,” Crowley chuckled. “But I appreciate the effort.”
“Why, thank you, Crowley. You’re so magnanimous. Let me repay you.”
Aziraphale unexpectedly dropped more ganache on Crowley’s chest, making sure that most of it landed on his nipples.
“Shit, angel… are you–”
“Yes.”
Aziraphale took such thorough care of his still rock-hard nipples that Crowley began to shudder again. The angel alternately kissed, bit, licked and sucked his buds, and he was so deliriously turned on that he could already feel precome wetting his pants.
“Angel,” he moaned, pulling at Aziraphale’s head with one hand as he steadied himself on the desk with the other. “Are you wantonly putting together my two favourite things, chocolate and your to– nghhhh…”
The sound of Aziraphale’s mouth popping off his nipple was lewdly arousing.
“You think I deliberately spent the last hour baking your favorite dessert and heating the chocolate ganache only because I wanted to try something new? Who do you take me for?”
(The angel said this while sucking until all traces of chocolate had been cleaned up.)
“Fuck me, this is the best nipple job one of us ever performed.”
“A very good deed, indeed.”
“Angel, can I taste you, too?”
“You can’t help yourself, can y–”
Aziraphale’s next words were interrupted by whimpering when Crowley took his earlobe in his mouth, licking it just the way he knew the angel liked.
“Nothing tastes as good as you.”
“Thank you, darling, ahhhh…” Another moan. “Speaking of he–hearing.”
Aziraphale stepped intolerably back just as Crowley’s mouth was about to leave a trail of kisses on his throat.
And to play classical music on his mobile!?
This is a scandal!
“Angel!” he shouted. “This is the fastest way to break the mood.”
Aziraphale chuckled and picked a different tune. The saxophone from “Careless Whisper” played in the background and Crowley’s raucous cackle filled the air.
He was laughing so hard that his whole chest resonated with it.
“I love it when you know your memes.”
Aziraphale turned down the volume. “You love me when I know anything.”
“Yeah, well…” Crowley waited while Aziraphale fussed over something. “You had me the first time you called me ‘just Crowley’ and threatened to ‘set me straight.’”
Aziraphale giggled. “Ah, our first encounter.”
Crowley heard glass clinking on the surface of the desk.
“Was I different back then?”
Crowley waved his hand in the air, looking for soft arms, craving the angel’s closeness again. When he found his hand, he squeezed it.
“You were just as beautiful,” Crowley promised. “And a sassy bitch.”
Aziraphale chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment."
“As you should.”
“Shall we move on to smell?”
“By all means.”
Crowley heard the familiar hiss of something being sprayed, and a moment later his nostrils were inundated by fresh mint and sandalwood, the distinct combination of Aziraphale's cologne.
“Oh, fuck.” Crowley was losing it. “Come here, please. I want to use three senses at once.”
Aziraphale settled back between Crowley’s spread legs. Crowley nipped at Aziraphale’s jaw, nosing over his beard. He wanted to be near him, smell him, climb inside that beard. He tucked his nose into his collarbone, smelling the unique scent of his angel’s skin all wrapped up in his favourite perfume. At the same time, he brushed his fingers through Aziraphale’s beard, revelling in the threefold sensation as he touched, kissed and smelled angelic skin. It was intense, and hot as hell. And if this experiment was teaching him anything, it was that he should put all his senses to better use around Aziraphale, because he was a bloody marvel.
(And he was all his to worship.)
Crowley moaned in pleasure as another whiff of scent enticed his nostrils.
“I need to write a letter to those people who update the Oxford Dictionary. Make them put a picture of you in this moment under ‘aphrodisiac.’”
“Have you had enough?”
“I think there’s still plenty of room for, uhm–”
“Improvement?” asked Aziraphale.
“Growth,” specified Crowley.
“I see. As in… giving an inch and growing a m–mile?” Aziraphale asked, his voice a little broken.
“Uh-uh,” Crowley chastised him. “Mr Fell’s voice.”
“On a scale of 1 to 10 Stimuli, I’d qualify your olfactory system as a solid 9.”
Crowley would have laughed, he really would have, if Aziraphale hadn’t started to unbuckle his belt right there and then. The metallic cling of the clasp was enough to make Crowley’s cock twitch.
When Aziraphale’s angelic fingers worked their way into his pants and (finally!) touched him, the slightest stroke was enough to make Crowley beg for it, an embarrassingly loud moan leaving his lips. “Fuck, yes. Please take these off.”
“I’ll see to your lovely cock in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, darling.”
This time Crowley did laugh, but only because the situation in his pants was getting ridiculously hard to handle. Whether it was for the catchphrase or the pet name or the delivery of a filthy line in perfect RP, he really didn’t know. (Probably the blending of all this together.)
What Crowley did know was that he wanted to fuck that brilliant mouth, and judging by the way things were proceeding, this wasn’t such an unlikely prospect.
“Slide down for me.”
Crowley literally jumped up, sighing in relief when Aziraphale took off his trousers and pants, and helped him to completely undress.
“You have no idea what you do to me when you go around all dressed to kill yet barefoot.”
“New kink unlocked in one, two–”
“Shut up, fiend.”
“It’s not fair, you still have your clothes on!”
“Does it matter if you can’t see me?” Aziraphale asked. Oh the cheek!
“It matters if you want to test this right. I need all my senses enticed, especially touch,” he said as he pulled Aziraphale to him, sneaking his hands under his open shirt to trace soft paths all over his belly. “I need to estimate softness, warmth, hardness… girth.”
It was so worth it to hear Aziraphale’s gasp when he grabbed his cock through his trousers. Fuck, he was already so hard for him.
“Let’s see about that inch, for now,” Aziraphale murmured. “Sit.”
“Thought it was a mi–aaaaah.”
Every line of coherent thought took a leap as soon as Aziraphale kneeled to take him in his mouth. He started with a kiss to the base of his cock, his soft beard brushing obscenely against his balls as his tongue licked its way up. Crowley shivered, sensing jolts of electricity rising from his crotch up his spine.
Aziraphale put his hands on Crowley’s thighs to spread them (and keep him steady: the angel knew that with the way he was licking his shaft, Crowley’s legs would probably start to kick out uncontrollably very soon).
When Aziraphale’s hot, wet mouth surrounded him, the sensation was so intense that it knocked the breath from Crowley’s lungs. His beard kept tickling at his thighs as the angel’s head bobbed, sending sparks of pleasure directly to Crowley’s cock. For the first time that night Crowley wished he could watch the show, because there was nothing as exciting as locking gazes with piercing blue eyes when Aziraphale was doing this to him. Sometimes one look was enough to make him come. (So, all in all, maybe it was for the best that he couldn’t see Aziraphale: at least this little experiment could progress… to its natural end.)
The angel twirled his tongue around the head of his cock, pushing Crowley close to the edge (both metaphorically and literally: he almost fell from the desk when the angel used his tongue to tease his frenulum).
Crowley’s hands found their way into Aziraphale’s fluffy hair, making a mess of it as he pulled. The angel moaned, obviously appreciative of his husband tugging at his curls for dear life.
“Use your voice too, darling,” Aziraphale begged his cock.
And Satan help him, Crowley couldn’t deny him anything when he asked like that.
“The weary investigator was all alone in his– fuck angel, just like that – in the lair of his angelic rival.”
“Oh, we’re being autoreferential?" Aziraphale asked as he proceeded with flat licks that made every muscle in Crowley’s body tingle.
“Only he wasn’t an enemy– nghhhhh – And he wasn’t an angel, either– FUCK! – Because angels don’t– Fuck, Aziraphale, don’t stop, please – An angel wouldn’t have taken his cock down his throat like this!”
“Maybe if he were hangry.”
Crowley chuckled and bent to place a kiss on Aziraphale’s curls, which he immediately stroked after that. His tenderness was rewarded with another lick.
“You are so good at this, angel… Please, I’m so close…”
“NO!”
Aziraphale’s mouth left Crowley’s cock so fast that it felt almost comical (if it hadn’t been a bloody travesty.)
“What the fuck, angel!?”
“I’m not done with you yet.”
Crowley exhaled through his nostrils, showing his disappointment.
“Stand for me, love.”
(Crowley stood at once. There was no resistance when Aziraphale called him ‘love.’)
“Now turn around.”
Fuck yes.
(Crowley couldn’t see Aziraphale’s reaction, but he was pretty sure that he was grinning at least as idiotically as himself.)
“How do you want me?” Crowley asked, waiting for further instruction.
“Lean onto the desk on your elbows.”
Crowley did what he was told as fast as lightning. “Fuck I need you inside me.”
Crowley’s nerves were so stimulated that everything in his surroundings felt more intense, heightened in that symphony of sensations. Aziraphale’s phone was still playing music in the background. Crowley thought he’d recognised Alex Turner’s voice singing ‘and the thrill of the chase moves in mysterious ways’ at that point. But a different noise caught Crowley’s attention: Aziraphale was opening the bottle of lube and slicking his fingers.
“Angel, you’re killing me.”
“Patience fosters resilience, darling.”
“Not when you have a husband as beautiful as mine about to fuck your brains out.”
“Oh, Crowley.”
Crowley tried to stifle a chortle but ended up giggling instead. Another catchphrase. And if Crowley had done his homework, only a few were still missing.
“Ready?” Aziraphale asked as he teased his crack with a lubed finger. The sensation was cold, wet, squishy on Crowley's oversensitive skin, and he shivered.
“I was born ready.”
Then Aziraphale began with the fingering, and the world stopped. The angel’s well-educated fingers breached him and immediately found the best angle to turn Crowley into a bundle of pure bliss. Aziraphale slid the fingers in and out, teasing his prostate just enough to make Crowley whimper and crave release.
“More?”
“Yes,” he hissed back in a faint voice.
Aziraphale pushed inside with three fingers, and once again Crowley’s breath was knocked from his lungs.
“How does it feel?”
“Otherworldly.”
“Ineffable?”
“Fuck me, yes. Angel, please, I need you to–” (Aziraphale bit his arsecheek, his beard scraping at his skin.) “Please!”
“I love you coming apart for me. I should make you really beg for it.”
“You should open those bloody trousers and put your dick in my arse right the fuck now!” His voice was as hoarse and threatening as he could muster up in such a delicate state of pre-orgasmic frenzy. Aziraphale gasped and withdrew his fingers. Crowley perceived frantic motions and the sound of fabric rustling, then a soft thud, probably Aziraphale’s trousers sliding down his thick thighs to the floor.
And then thumbs were spreading his arsecheeks again as the angel teased his hole with his cock. (Which gave Crowley the opportunity to assess that Aziraphale was about to explode just like him, because he felt gloriously hard against him.)
Crowley leaned all over the desk when the angel sank into him, helping him find the best position to fuck him as fast and deep as he could.
“Good Lord, you’re so tight. You feel so good around me.”
“You put the blindfold on next time,” Crowley suggested.
Aziraphale’s fingers clutched around his hips, pulling Crowley towards him a little bit more every time he pushed back inside. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. Crowley started to move to meet Aziraphale’s thrusts, causing his own cock to bob and rub against the hard wood of the desk, providing another point of pleasure-pain stimulation. It was so hot that Crowley realised he was about to frottage his way into coming against a piece of furniture that wasn’t the throne. (And it wasn’t even Aziraphale’s beloved Credenza, the one he’d brought home from an auction a few months earlier.) Either way, whatever the antique, Crowley was about to come against it. (There was a first time for everything.)
Apparently, this wasn’t what Aziraphale wanted for him.
“Don’t you dare finish like this, you demon,” he murmured into his ear as the beard scraping his cheek left marks on his skin. Aziraphale sneaked his hand under Crowley’s torso, looking for his cock.
“Let me get this for you, love. I kept this desk in tip-top condition for over a decade.”
Crowley cackled like a mad man. “We wouldn’t want to sully your precious desk with demonic spunk, would we?”
Aziraphale started to stroke him with such enthusiasm that Crowley gasped in relief (at the soft fingers wrapping him into a warm hold) and pure bliss (because Aziraphale’s thick cock sank deeper as the angel leaned over him, with the result that he hit his prostate in that way. The way he managed only when they fucked in this position).
“Almost– almost there angel...”
“Alas, me too,” Aziraphale breathed out. (Crowley chuckled amidst the panting.)
Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s cock in time with his thrusts, his lips never far from his neck, his ears, his shoulders.
“Angel… I can’t– I’m about to– fuck, say your last catchphrase before I explode, please, it’s my fave.”
Aziraphale whimpered behind him, hands gripping tighter on Crowley's hips.
“Is it?”
“The first time you told me– Ngk. It made me realise who you really were, that I was a goner…”
Aziraphale teased his frenulum with his fingers and Crowley writhed at the touch. He was almost there, and Crowley knew that Aziraphale knew how much he loved the attention to that specific part when he was right there.
Aziraphale spoke in his ear in perfect Mr Fell’s voice. “I’m keeping it for a very special moment. A moment that is – about – to – come.”
He kept pushing and pulling rhythmically and this time, Crowley felt the pressure increasing to the point of no return.
“Mind how you go, my dear.”
Crowley’s ‘fuck’ died on his lips when the combination of thrusting and fingers tugging at his cock made him come in Aziraphale’s hand.
His body shuddered, pleasure coursing through him as he jolted in ecstasy from the best orgasm he’d had within the last few weeks.
Sensing Aziraphale attempting to pull out, he tightened around his cock.
“Fuck, don’t– nghhh… don’t stop! Come inside me, angel.”
Aziraphale didn’t need to be asked twice. Crowley was still filling his hand with the last drops of come when the angel pushed once, twice, thrice and finally came in a long groan as he peppered Crowley’s back with open-mouthed bearded kisses. After a little while, Crowley collapsed on the desk, and Aziraphale followed his lead, going limp all over him as they laughed and panted, all spent after their ‘little experiment.’
Crowley felt Aziraphale pull out, leaving him leaking as he rolled off him and stood up again.
“Let me take care of you.”
‘As if you ever do anything else,’ Crowley thought as the angel used a towel to clean the mess he’d just made on (and inside) him.
When he was done, Crowley felt soft fingers tugging at the blindfold band.
“Close your eyes, darling, I don’t want the light to hurt you,” he said as he took off the blindfold.
Crowley kept his eyes closed, testing his sight as he opened them gradually.
After a minute, he was finally able to look Aziraphale in the eye and smile at his disheveled attire.
“You look like a man who just fucked his husband over a desk.”
“Do I?” Aziraphale quipped. He closed the gap between them, lips meeting in a searing kiss.
“I love you so much, angel.”
“Me too,” he said back. “Now get dressed or you’re going to catch a cold. I’ll clean up here.”
Crowley chuckled as Aziraphale took the chocolate garnish pan and the plate and disappeared into the corridor.
He turned around, grabbing his clothes from the floor as he started to get dressed. He was about to close the zipper of his jeans when his eyes fell on Aziraphale’s laptop. The browser was still open on AO3, allegedly on the fan fiction Aziraphale had been reading earlier. But this time a tiny little detail that wasn’t supposed to be there caught his eyes.
“Angel!” he immediately yelled.
Aziraphale peeked out from behind the door. “What?” he asked.
“What does EDIT mean?”
Aziraphale smirked so smugly that Crowley wanted to start this whole experiment all over again. (Damned refractory period, always getting in the way of them having fun.)
“I thought you were the two-time-published novelist, Crowley.”
“Don’t be a smart arse. There’s an EDIT button on this page!”
“Why, your powers of observation astonish me,” Aziraphale replied, walking across the room to join him in front of the screen.
“You wrote this!”
“I most certainly did.”
Crowley felt his pulse in his throat. “You are so… ghhhhh… unbelievable!”
Crowley clicked on the ‘My Works’ section and noticed that Aziraphale had published more than five stories. (One-shots, judging by the length.)
He also had another draft, and Crowley was too curious for his own good to let this go. When he opened the not-yet-published work and read its title, he gasped in outrage.
“How to sense your way into seducing a demon? Really?!”
“It’s just a working title; I can change it if you don’t like it.”
Oh, the smug bastard. “You are using me to get inspiration for writing filthy fanfiction?!”
Aziraphale smirked and parroted his previous words back to him. “I never heard you complain about it.”
Crowley spluttered some consonants, reveling in the touch of his husband’s fingers on his still bare and chocolate-y chest. “I– Ngk.”
“You gave me such good feedback to work from. My Demon Exclamation Mark Crowley will love what Angel Exclamation Mark Aziraphale has in store for him.”
Crowley chuckled and kissed him fondly. Then a doubt suddenly plagued his mind. “Angel?”
“Mmh?”
“Do they even actually die? In the other fanfic, I mean.”
Aziraphale wiggled an eyebrow at him, another wicked smile on still-swollen lips.
“No. They find a loophole.”
“A loophole?!” Crowley gaped at him.
“They jerk off on their own while saying the filthiest things to each other. They don’t touch, so technically– they are following Jimbriel’s rules for their captivity. They don’t ride. Thus, they can’t die.”
Wonderful kinky angel. Crowley smiled mischievously. “Bloody brilliant wankers.”
He was still laughing when Aziraphale kissed the sound directly from his lips, giggling joyously at his perfect one-liner.
“I’m not even sure Crowley can reach himself, with how I’ve positioned him on my lap, but– you know, it’s fanfiction.”
“And Psycho-Jimbriel is there watching all time?” Crowley laughed at his angel’s guile and imagination.
“He barges into the room all sorry and apologetic just in time to see you finish.”
“Why me?”
Aziraphale smirked. “With the way you look at me in the fiction, it takes me less than a minute to come. I spend the rest of our time as captives guiding you with my voice.” He squeezed his eyes as if something had just occurred to him. “All things considered, it should be Mr Fell’s voice. What do you think?”
“I think we should have a second round of practice in order to allow a better assessment of the drawbacks and benefits of such a stimulation,” Crowley said, brushing his fingers through Aziraphale’s beard. “See how well that loophole of yours works… under duress.”
Aziraphale kissed his jaw, beard tickling Crowley’s skin.
“So, when do we start… training for that?” Crowley inquired as suggestively as he could.
Aziraphale pulled back, tragically depriving Crowley of the pleasure of kissing him, only to say, “You promised me crêpes, remember?”
Don’t Ride or Die
Angelic_Whore_in_the_South_Downs
Summary:
Crowley and Aziraphale find themselves chained together in a 'Don’t Fuck or Die' situation. Will they manage to keep their hands to themselves or will they succumb to their mutual attraction... and die?
Slutty_Demon_in_a_Bentley left kudos on this work!
# The-Clue-Squad: The-Clue-Squad
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