Chapter Text
Crowley slammed the door of his flat behind him, shedding his jacket off as he did so. After he locked the door, his skin burning underneath his clothing, he let a noise out that was somewhere between a sob and a groan. His angel was especially attentive tonight, and the demon found himself envious of the chocolate dessert that he hummed around earlier. Fuck, he didn’t even touch himself yet and he already was halfway to panting. He found that his desperation made him clumsy, and he tore at his tie to remove it. As a general rule, he didn’t bother to remove his clothes manually, realizing that Aziraphale would want to remove them the human way, the fucking tease that he is.
“Come on, come on you bastard,” he growled into the empty flat. “You whine and moan like you were made for it.” Crowley never bothered to imagine anyone else, and no one else could compare to the thought of his angel.
The said angel was almost obscenely noisy tonight, and Crowley wanted to him to take him apart in the same way that the angel’s tongue wrapped around the spoonful. If he didn’t know any better, the demon would have taken that as an invitation and pinned him against the wall behind him, consequences be damned, miracling them to secrecy and touching him until he reached his peak and dripped down his hand. He wanted his shirt sleeve to be drenched with the evidence of his angel’s need for him, and of the proof that Crowley has pleased him to the point of him coming from his fingers or his tongue. His chest was bare now, and he swore under his breath.
“Fuck, Aziraphale,” he gasped. “I need you so badly.”
He didn’t bother to remove his shirt, instead undoing his snake belt and taking a moment to cup himself through his pants. He imagined his angel kissing at his neck, leaving marks and love bites that Crowley would refuse to use a miracle to heal. He thought about Aziraphale running his hands through his hair, and moaning when he imagined what it would feel like if he gave it a tug. He wanted him to touch his heated skin so desperately that he was shaking with it.
Crowley stumbled to his couch and undid his pants, rolling them down his hips until he could see his cock. The sounds Aziraphale made tonight echoed in his head, and he threw his head back, imagining causing them with his touch and his tongue. He would want to be suave for his angel, to be confident and put together in a way that would be surely expected of a demon, but Aziraphale had always been able to unravel him in a way that would make that impossible. Crowley groaned at the thought of running his fingers through his companion’s hair, of kissing him until they were both drunk on it, of making the angel moan and whimper under his ministrations. Would he arch his head back, baring his throat for more of the sensation? Would he run his hands across the demon’s back, possessive and needy? Crowley hoped that he would, and he wanted to ruffle the angel and make him look deliciously disheveled under him. He wanted to feel his naked chest against him, to grind into the heat between his thighs, to find out exactly which spots were sensitive so he could catalog them away for next time.
He was stroking himself without realizing it, and he realized that he was quickly losing control over his movements. Crowley thought about tasting him, about using his long, long tongue to flick at his nipples and to lave at whatever he found below. Aziraphale once confided in him that he preferred Eve’s effort, as he said that it made his pants more comfortable and that it simply felt right for him. He didn’t care which effort he preferred, as the demon would be eager to taste him regardless. He imagined his angel slick and waiting for him, and remembered that one fateful time in Eden where he made his first effort and Crowley could taste him in the air. The sweet, musky tartness of Aziraphale has haunted him for millennia, and he still hasn’t forgotten it. The demon twisted a hand through his hair and pulled, eager to get closer to his angel than he ever has before.
“Sweetheart, please. Let me taste- ah!”
His strokes sped up as he imagined what the bookshop owner would look like beneath him, of how he would writhe under his tongue and make the same noises that he made today with the dessert as Crowley sucked and flicked and tasted the wanting cunt that he found between his legs. His angel would be bossy about it, indulging in his pleasure in the same greedy way that he indulged in food, grinding up against his face and pulling at his hair. He would never need to want for his touch, as Crowley would give it to him in any way that he wanted.
“That’s it, Angel. You’re so good for me, you look so gorgeous, I-“
Crowley could feel the heat twist up inside his abdomen and he groaned and tightened his grip. He would feel embarrassed for being so worked up so quickly, but he was always so responsive to the thought of his dinner companion. Crowley introduced him to food millennia ago, and that fact has sexually frustrated him since. He imagined introducing his angel to this world of pleasure, of flicking and sucking at his clit until his angel made a mess of slick beneath him and the bloom of this new taste was fully devoured by him. He would drink him down, not wasting a drop, until the angel’s thighs twitched with overstimulation.
With his tightened grip around his cock, his mind ran to the fantasy of pleasing his angel a different way. In his mind, the demon slid into Aziraphale and began to move above him.
“Oh-oh! You-I-mmm! Yes, yes angel please like that you feel- oh thankyouthankyou…“ He was falling apart now, and the angel in his mind moaned beneath him.
“Crow-! Crowley, you feel… you feel so good.”
Wanting to please his angel even more, he shifted his hips up, imagining hitting that sweet spot inside him that would have him throw his head back in lust and need. The demon was insensate with the need to please his angel, the only god that he still worshipped, to be useful and wanted and good.
“Ah,” His angel would say, shifting his hips beneath him until the demon’s pelvis was pressed up against his clit and rubbing against him with every thrust.
The angel was falling apart underneath him, his eyes screwed shut. “Please! Oh, Crowley, you feel so- you’re always so-“ Azriaphale would barely be able to speak.
“You’re so good to me!”
That did it. Crowley’s ears rang as he shouted to the ceiling of his flat, throwing his head back as he filled his angel. “Fuck fuck fuck oh god Aziraphale!” He rode out his orgasm, crying out for thanks or mercy, he couldn’t tell which, before he sobbed out and rested back into the seat of the couch. “So good so good so good oh please.” He babbled, entirely incoherent.
His body collapsed, abdomen twitching and the demon still letting out noises until his pleasure faded into a pleasant hum in his blood. After the apocalypse, Aziraphale had become more touchy, more attentive, more demanding. It drove Crowley mad, and he knew that he would need to do something about it soon, but he wanted to make sure that his attention would be reciprocated. He summoned a full glass of wine into his hand and sipped at it thoughtfully. What would his angel want? Would he want to be pursued in the way that humans do it, with flowers and chocolates and dinner? Crowley had already done most of that, but maybe he needed to try harder. The demon sighed and took a long, drawn out sip of the wine, snapping his fingers to miracle his clothes to cover him again and his spend to disappear. He would have his angel, and he would cherish him.
Crowley came up with a plan.