Crowley leaned out of the closet, where he’d been digging for paper towels, with a dubious look on his face. Without even needing to look back, Aziraphale called, “Hurry please, won’t you darling? This coffee is already staining the duvan, and I cannot possibly miracle it away willy-nilly now that I’m on heaven’s blacklist.”
“Er, right.” The roll of paper towels went flying towards Aziraphale’s head, and he only narrowly caught it before it clocked him. “What’re all these candles for, then? Trying to get back in their good books?”
“Hmm?” Aziraphale was too busy mopping up the mess to register what Crowley meant for a moment. When he did, however, he was at Crowley’s side and furiously trying to shove him away in a flash. “No, those are - oh, bother.”
Stubbornly, Crowley refused to move, instead turning one of the royal blue pillar candles in his hands. “Who are you, Winnie the Pooh?” He sniffed the wax, and made a face. “It isn’t even scented. What’s the point?”
“Putting in extra oils changes the melting point,” Aziraphale replied with a huff. He plucked the candle away, tucking it back where it belonged, amongst its various multicolored fellows. They were all in different states of melting, and he knew Crowley was only going to be more curious after how he’d reacted.
Sure enough, Crowley was asking, “Why does the melting point matter? Angel? Why are you making that face?”
“Because I would’ve thought,” Aziraphale said primly. “That a demon like you would know what this sort of thing can be used for.”
A very specific expression crossed Crowley’s face, wherein his nose and brows all scrunched up. It was always how he looked when he was annoyed that Aziraphale might be right about something he was unsure of. “What, is it a sex thing?”
“Huh.” Crowley still didn’t look certain. “What, like you drip wax on people.”
“And you can’t change the melting point because you might… burn them?”
Aziraphale muttered, “Or not burn them enough.”
He looked back and forth between the box of candles and Aziraphale’s pout, then snorted and said, “Angel, I already knew you were a bit of a sadist.”
“I just like making humans happy,” Aziraphale said with a sniff. “And I enjoy works of art, no matter how temporary they might be.”
“You’d call a naked person covered in wax and burns art?” His tone made it obvious Crowley thought Aziraphale was being pretentious, lying, or both.
“Well, you wouldn’t?”
“Why would I?”
Sighing, Aziraphale sat down on the couch, though he was careful not to plant his butt on the portion still covered with the duvan. “Don’t tell me you’ve never even seen a picture. I know what sorts of websites you’ve taken credit for making.”
To his surprise, Crowley was blushing lightly, and (judging by the tilt of his head) he had his eyes averted behind his sunglasses. “I don’t need to actually see a website to take credit for it.”
“So… you don’t know about wax-play?”
Crowley shook his head.
One of those rare, devious ideas entered into Aziraphale’s head, and he said, “What about shibari? You spent some time in Japan, I’m sure you ran into that.”
Again, Crowley shook his head. Aziraphale closed his eyes, breathed in through his nose, and smiled. “I could show you, you know.”
“How magnanimous of you,” Crowley snarked.
He continued to snark, even while he stripped naked, and Aziraphale took off his waistcoat. While Aziraphale led him to the backroom and set up an anchor point. While he pulled out the ropes and began tying Crowley. While he lit the candle so that it could melt a bit before he wanted the wax.
“This isn’t a ploy to save my soul, right?”
As he tugged another knot tight, Aziraphale sighed. “Crowley, I’m currently engaging in two taboo human sex acts. How is this in any way holy?”
“You’re holding me captive and lighting a candle in my name, and between you and me, I’m not seeing any hard dicks yet.”
True enough, but Crowley wasn’t even fully suspended yet. He was going to be mostly horizontal, facing down, but his left foot was tied up above his head, which forced his body into an elegant arch. His right leg was bound up closer to his torso, his arms behind his back, and generally he was looking rather beautiful. There was a rope around his neck to compliment the ones around his torso, but it was purely cosmetic, not carrying any weight. Aziraphale wished Crowley still had long hair, so he could tie that back too.
Finishing that up took the better part of twenty minutes, and by the end of it Aziraphale’s arms were pleasantly aching. He was sure Crowley was in quite a bit more pain than he was, though, judging by the gradual hardening between his legs.
“What was that about not seeing any hard dicks?” Aziraphale asked smugly.
His demon huffed. “Don’t say you’re not enjoying this, too. Open those trousers up and I’m sure we both know what we’ll see.”
Nice as the invitation sounded, Aziraphale had something else planned. He stroked Crowley’s scalp, gently scraped his fingernails until he felt Crowley shiver under him. “Later,” Aziraphale promised, and he meant it. He could leave a demon suspended as long as he wanted, which was a luxury he’d never experienced before.
Off to the side, the candle had been burning away. A significant amount of wax now pooled in the middle, and Aziraphale was careful not to spill it when he carried it over to Crowley. The demon had consented to removing his glasses for once, and so Aziraphale could see the way the yellow candlelight made his irises look like they were dancing. He could also note how Crowley’s pupils dilated at the approaching fire.
“Do demons like fire?” Aziraphale asked, suddenly worried about something. “Or do they hate it? You’ve said Hell is kept fairly damp and cool…”
“I don’t know about other demons,” Crowley answered in an arousal-slowed drawl. “But snakes? We love the heat.”
“Maybe I’ll have to bring out the beeswax next time, then.”
“Beeswax? Are you trying to tell me you didn’t start me with - oh!”
“No,” Aziraphale confirmed, dripping a bit more into the cup he’d formed in the small of Crowley’s back. “I didn’t start you with the hottest one.”
“That’s - hmm,” Crowley bit his bottom lip in thought.
“Good, or bad?”
“Definitely good,” he assured him. “Just unusual.”
Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s side, then followed a line of rope to his navel. “Would you like me to keep going?”
“Obviously.” Crowley wriggled a bit in the ropes, just to illustrate his impatience, but he couldn’t manage much movement and mostly ended up looking ridiculous. Aziraphale loved that part of him, too.
First, Aziraphale drew a line of blue wax across the crease he’d formed in Crowley’s back. Despite how skinny the demon was, bending his body so harshly revealed those little pockets of foldable softness, and Aziraphale wanted to lavish them all with attention. He allowed fat globules to make their slow way down the back of Crowley’s raised thigh, then surprised him with a warm pool into the palm of his bound hand.
“Does it hurt?”
“Of bloody course it hurts,” Crowley hissed.
Much as Aziraphale didn’t like being called a sadist, because the word had more connotations than just its definition, he couldn’t deny what that knowledge did to him. He pressed his legs a bit more firmly together, rocked his weight from side to side a bit. Crowley eyed his trousers dubiously from the corner of his eye.
“You have a pussy today, don’t you?”
A bit of indignance had entered Crowley’s tone. Aziraphale petted his hair apologetically. “I did mean to tell you.”
“What, after I made fifty million jokes about us having erections? Or were you planning on rescuing me from myself after only a hundred?”
“So dramatic,” Aziraphale sighed. “It’s not that embarrassing.”
“Says the person who hasn’t made a dick joke in six thousand years.”
“Hyperbole! I’m certain I’ve made at least one.”
Banter with Crowley was certainly fun, but it wasn’t what Aziraphale had planned. His demon had a way of throwing a wrench into every plan, though, ineffable or otherwise.
“Yeah? What was it, then?”
Pouting, Aziraphale tried to remember. He wasn’t all that surprised when he couldn’t, so instead, he reached under Crowley and gripped his long, slender cock. “I don’t think I need to,” he said. “Being embarrassed about talking about genitalia is rather silly when yours is right out in the open like this, dearest.”
“Hmmph, you’re f-fighting dirty.”
Sure, Aziraphale was, but he enjoyed jerking Crowley off just enough that he could feel him approaching the edge. Hands fisting, cracking the circles of wax on his pale skin. His body slick with sweat and, around the corners of his eyes, tears he wouldn’t admit to. And then, right when Aziraphale knew Crowley was hoping he’d just let him come, he let go.
“Fighting dirty is what won us the world, dearest. Why wouldn’t I continue now?”
“Be-because you’re a bloody, fuck, angel.”
“But giving in feels so nice, doesn’t it? You’re the one who taught me that.” As he spoke, Aziraphale dripped wax down as much of Crowley’s spine as he could manage. He ended right at the nape of Crowley’s neck, and then leaned in close, kissed behind his ear. The shiver he felt and the goosebumps he saw raising on Crowley’s skin were as satisfying as actually being touched would’ve been. If not more.
“H-hoist by my own petard,” Crowley said, with as much of a sardonic laugh as he could manage. It was more of a huff than anything, Aziraphale just understood the meaning because he’d heard all of Crowley’s various laughs so many times.
Just because he knew it would hurt, Aziraphale pulled the wax off of Crowley’s neck, where it would catch all the little hairs there and make him inhale sharply. He had to be feeling the strain by now, having been up in the air for approaching half an hour. But, because he could manage as long as Aziraphale wanted, the angel dripped wax into the arch of his foot and smiled at Crowley’s yelp.
Their little “torture” session lasted right up until Crowley’s pride broke. Which wasn’t quite so long as some people might think.
“Please, Angel. You can’t j-just hurt me f-for-forever.”
“Technically I can. Would you like that? Me, keeping you helpless for as long as possible, and seeing how much pain you can tolerate?”
Enough really was enough, Aziraphale decided, and he gave Crowley a break. Undoing his trousers, he kicked off his clothing and stroked Crowley’s hair again. “As soon as you get me off, I’ll do the same for you. Sound fair?”
“B-but…” Crowley tilted his neck as far back as it could go, a grimace on his face. “The angle, it’s. Rather shit.”
“You’ll manage, won’t you sweetest? I can help, if you’d like.”
“Do I even want to know what - mmph!”
Slinging one leg over a line of rope that hung conveniently at hip-height, Aziraphale ground his pussy directly into Crowley’s face. His nose protruded enough to make it (somewhat embarrassing as it was) not unpleasant to grind on, but of course, that wasn’t the purpose of Aziraphale’s actions. And so he waited, felt the hot wash of Crowley’s breath as he opened his mouth, and licked his lips.
This was among Aziraphale’s favorite activities. The slick, sliding sensation, the barest little dips inwards tugging at his entrance, the trembling in his thighs that grew the longer he was posed like this. And it helped that Crowley knew exactly what he was doing, too, suckling Aziraphale’s clit with only the gentlest suction, then flicking the tip of his tongue against it in a rapid-fire assault that had Aziraphale’s stomach jumping.
However, it wasn’t as though Crowley could be trusted not to get a little mischievous. “Mind your teeth, please,” Aziraphale warned when he felt the brush of hard bones on either side of his inner lips. And then he gasped, because of course all his warning did was make Crowley turn his head to bite very high up on Aziraphale’s thigh.
Retaliation was rather simple. Aziraphale picked some of the wax off of Crowley’s neck, which made the demon whine directly into his cunt. Aziraphale sighed happily, grinding down as best he could. It didn’t take much pressure to increase the strain on Crowley’s neck, he knew, and he was fully ready to take advantage of that.
Diligent lapping brought Aziraphale close to the edge rather quickly. He’d already been riding high for quite a while, with the way he’d made Crowley all but sing for him. He knew he was sloppy and wet, Crowley’s drool and his own juices making their way down his thighs.
And then, all of a sudden, he tensed so hard he almost unbalanced himself. Crowley had decided to fight dirty. Far more dirty than Aziraphale would ever manage.
“Ch-changing your tongue like that is - mmn, cheating, damn.”
Sinful lips shifted, and Aziraphale knew Crowley was trying to fight back a smile. His tongue, now much longer and forked at the end, wriggled inside Aziraphale. It writhed rather than thrusting, a singular sensation that built pressure behind Aziraphale’s g-spot like nothing else.
That pressure broke, forcing Aziraphale to grip onto Crowley’s hair with one hand and the ropes with the other, curling his toes in the air. He scrunched his eyes shut, bit his tongue until he tasted blood. He felt breathless and knew he must be making some sort of sound, but couldn’t hear it over the rush of sheer feeling in his head.
Relaxing, Aziraphale became aware that Crowley was shaking. He carefully disentangled himself from the ropes, made sure he was steady on his feet, and then bent to get a good look at Crowley’s face. The tears in his lover’s eyes gave him pause - but then he noticed between his legs. Crowley had come, without Aziraphale needing to touch him.
“But you are a marvel,” Aziraphale breathed.
“W-what?” Crowley grit out.
“Nothing, nothing,” Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s cheeks, one at a time, then his lips. He still tasted just the tiniest bit sour - like candy, Aziraphale thought. What were they called? Sour patch kids? He would like some of those.
But not before he got Crowley down, of course. He did it slowly, resting Crowley’s weight on his shoulders very carefully, then setting him down on his belly. The leg that had been elevated was carefully cradled and massaged to help bloodflow. It wasn’t exactly the aftercare Aziraphale would’ve given a human, but he liked feeling Crowley’s flesh warm under his hands.
Even more, he liked the little, grumbly sounds Crowley made, the way he half-heartedly batted away Aziraphale’s hands. As if he didn’t need the care, which, he didn’t, and they both knew it. But he so enjoyed the attention, like a grouchy old cat, and Aziraphale adored that.
Pieces of wax kept falling onto the carpet beneath them, sharp little shards that cracked under Aziraphale’s feet. They would be a pain to clean up, but at least they were all cool by now, and the candle was safely extinguished.
“So,” started Aziraphale, stroking the red rope marks on Crowley’s forearms. “Have you changed your mind about waxplay yet?”
“What, like, do I think it’s art?” Crowley frowned, pulled his arms away, but then leaned against Aziraphale’s chest. “Hrmph. I dunno.”
Aziraphale smiled and nuzzled into Crowley’s sweaty, red hair. “Would you like another session, later? Just to see if it sways you at all.”
“Of course, just for that.” All of Crowley’s weight was abruptly on Aziraphale and, with a yelp, the angel went down under him. They both laid on the floor, Crowley huffing out a tired laugh and Azirphale pushing at his shoulder, trying to get him back sitting upright. It was, perhaps, an unorthodox learning experience. But one of the better ones Aziraphale and Crowley had shared, nonetheless.