“You look perfect, my dear,” Aziraphale says, sitting back on his heels to admire his work. “Not too tight, I hope?”
Crowley flexes his wrists, which are bound behind the wooden back of Aziraphale’s desk chair. As always, Aziraphale has fixed them perfectly, allowing the expertly tied rope a little give but not too much. Of course, Crowley could miracle himself free at any point if he wanted to, but he has no intention of moving until Aziraphale frees him again.
“‘Sssss fine, angel.” He can’t quite keep the hiss out of his voice, not when they play this particular game. The wood is warm under his naked arse, and his body is already responding to what it knows is in store, his hard cock straining for attention.
“Very well,” Aziraphale says, moving to sit between Crowley’s spread thighs. Crowley’s feet are bound, too, as a matter of course, because it pleases Aziraphale to have him like this, and it pleases Crowley to please Aziraphale.
Aziraphale looks from Crowley’s cock to his face, then back again, pursing his lips. “You’re very eager, my dear. I hope you don’t come too soon.” He sounds like he’s discussing the potential for inclement weather.
“You’d better not.” Aziraphale reaches for the little bottle of oil in the top desk drawer, flicks the cap, and pours a generous amount into his palm. Crowley is, as always, struck by the incongruity of this situation: Aziraphale kneeling fully clothed in front of him in his waistcoat and jacket, buttoned up so tightly he might as well be going to dine at the Ritz, while Crowley is sprawled naked, positioned just so under Aziraphale’s assessing gaze.
They are in the back room of Aziraphale’s bookshop. It is three in the afternoon, and hazy light filters in from the window behind Aziraphale’s desk, illuminating the angel’s cotton-fluff hair. Aziraphale is wearing his spectacles. If anyone saw them here, they might think he’d paused in his bookkeeping to retrieve something off the floor—except, of course, for the whole naked-demon-tied-to-a-chair thing.
Crowley hums with anticipation and nervous energy, the kind he can’t seem to shake ever since the end of the world that wasn’t. His cock, the only part of him—aside from his mouth—allowed free movement, flexes and leaks a dribble of precome, and he has only been touched by the the angel’s lingering stare.
“Quite eager indeed.” Aziraphale hums. His hand glistens with oil, but he makes no move to reach for Crowley. In fact, he seems content to wait until Crowley gets himself under control.
Crowley closes his eyes and wills his erection to behave. Aziraphale seems to appreciate his efforts. He is rewarded with a warm hand on his thigh, stroking him in slow, circular movements that come very close to his groin.
“Good,” Aziraphale says. “Very good. You’re so good, my darling.”
There is something in his voice that calms Crowley, makes him settle back into the chair and stop trying to fight. He feels the solidity of the wood behind him and under his legs as he is petted, almost forgets about his hard prick until Aziraphale grips it firmly with his oil-slick hand.
Crowley’s eyes snap open, and he bites back a gasp. He watches as his cock is liberally coated with slick, warm oil. It glistens lewdly between his legs, this human part of him that he has made just for Aziraphale, for this game they play.
“Lovely,” Aziraphale says with a sigh. His hand is a slippery, tight channel around Crowley’s prick. He slides it all the way down, releasing his grip to cup Crowley’s bollocks, and then trails back up to circle around his head, dipping his thumb into the sensitive slit. He does it again, and again, each pass setting the nerves on fire, but too slow to build towards any release. Crowley knows better than to expect it too soon. Still, he can’t stop the quiet moan that escapes him when Aziraphale adds a second oily hand, uses one to hold him still while the other rubs him, getting him so stiff he aches. It is always difficult in the beginning not to chase after his own pleasure, but to wait until Aziraphale allows him to feel it.
Aziraphale is so intent on his task, he might as well be polishing silver. That’s what it feels like, in a way: Crowley is burnished metal under his fingers, shining more brightly the more he is touched.
“Oh darling one, my dearest. Look at you.” If not for the hint of pride in Aziraphale’s voice, Crowley might think him completely unaffected. He has always marvelled at how Aziraphale can restrain himself, not need to touch himself or seek any release when they do this. It seems so against the angel’s nature; he is more of a hedonist than Crowley has ever been when it comes to food and the finer pleasures of life on Earth. With sex, however, he is content to focus all of his attentions on Crowley. It seems to work for them both, and that’s all that matters.
The chair creaks a little as Crowley shifts his weight from side to side, willing his body to submit. Aziraphale’s hands feel so good; he knows just the right ways to touch Crowley until he is shuddering, unable to do anything but shake and beg to come.
“Tell me when you’re close, my love.” Aziraphale rubs the beading moisture all around Crowley’s sensitive head, teases the frenulum with the pad of his thumb. There is another drizzle of oil, this one directly to his cock and lower abdomen. Everything is so slick and wet, warm and perfect, Crowley finds himself giving in to the rhythm, wanting to lift his hips but unable to from the way he is tied. His prick throbs as Aziraphale quickens his pace. It’s too good.
He hisses. “Ssssstop.”
Immediately, Aziraphale releases him and sits back on his haunches, so perfectly demure, he could be at a garden party. The rushing build of orgasm retreats like the tide and leaves behind a craving so powerful, Crowley thinks he might die. He throws his head back and takes deep breaths, and his pulse begins to slow.
“Very good. You’re so good. What a lovely, lovely demon.” Aziraphale is rubbing his thighs again, urging them open. Crowley dares to look again just as Aziraphale takes his cock back into his silky, tight grip. “You have such a pretty cock, my dear. I hope you are enjoying this.”
“Yess,” he manages, gusting out an exhale. Instead of beginning again slowly, Aziraphale wanks him fast, using both hands to create a long tunnel for Crowley’s prick. Crowley watches as he disappears into the angel’s hands again and again, the rhythm building to an inevitable crescendo, and then—
“Ssstop!” This time, he barely gets the word out, but Aziraphale smiles at him, pleased, and lets him go.
“Oh, very well done indeed. You are so exceptionally good, my dear.”
His cock twitches on his belly, and Crowely grits his teeth, arms and legs straining at their bonds. The urgency is so acute, for a second, he thinks he might safeword out, but it passes after another moment of deep, heaving breaths. Aziraphale watches his every reaction raptly, a slight flush staining his cheeks.
“I know you can do it, dearest. You can wait a little longer, can’t you?” Aziraphale drizzles more oil directly onto Crowley’s tight bollocks and runs his fingers over the tense skin, massaging and then dipping underneath. He finds what he is looking for almost immediately. Two fingers press inside without preamble. Crowley wonders how it is possible for Aziraphale to read him so easily, understand exactly what he needs. The searching fingers twist and press against the bundle of nerves inside him, and his cock leaks again onto his stomach.
He is hissing now, low in his throat, as Aziraphale grips his cock again, using only the gentlest pressure as the hand between his legs works and massages Crowley’s swollen prostate. A throb of pleasure blossoms from deep in his gut before he can control himself.
“Ngk,” he says. “Closssse.”
Aziraphale, kind as ever, withdraws his fingers. “A little too much for you today, I think.”
“Thank you, thank you.”
“I think you deserve a reward, my dear. Don’t you?”
His whole body trembles on the verge of his climax; he wants it so badly, but does he really deserve it? Does he deserve the angel sitting at his feet? He shakes his head.
“Oh, I think you do. You deserve so much, my darling. You’re so obedient.”
Crowley clenches his eyes shut. As the threat of his orgasm recedes and he begins to relax again, Aziraphale is rubbing his thighs soothingly, whispering how lovely he is, how much he loves him, how good he is, and Crowley lets himself drift. He is only vaguely aware of the clock chiming four, the smell of the dusty bookshop and Aziraphale’s familiar cologne.
“There is something I would like to do for you,” Aziraphale says.
Crowley opens his eyes. Aziraphale is very near now, up on his knees between Crowley’s thighs, his hands framing the hard line of Crowley’s prick.
“What are you . . .” he starts to ask, but the intention in Aziraphale’s eyes is clear. “No, you don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t have to do anything. That’s precisely the point.”
But Aziraphale is already opening his mouth.
Crowley nearly breaks free of his bonds. His back arches as the warm slide of tongue caresses his head, as Aziraphale’s plump lips close around him. Aziraphale gives Crowley a firm suck and starts to wank the base of his cock with one hand while he applies his mouth to the tip, licking and sucking and pressing against all his most sensitive places.
It sounds obscene. It looks so obscene Crowley can barely stand it. Aziraphale, still so tightly buttoned, his hair a golden halo, owning him completely. He will remember this until the day his being dissolves into nothingness.
“Mmm,” Aziraphale says, and vibration travels through Crowley’s cock like a rocket, sets him off. He can’t even warn Aziraphale as he starts to shoot hot, blissful pulses of come, his whole body contracting and shuddering with the intensity of it. He thinks his wings might burst free, isn’t even sure where he is anymore. The warm mouth on him is still taking him down—Aziraphale.
He realises he is babbling ridiculously as he comes down: things like thank you, thank you, and I love you, angel.
Aziraphale sits back on his heels and wipes his lips demurely with a handkerchief procured from his breast pocket, then looks up at Crowley with warmth and love in his eyes.
“You did very well today, my dear. I’m so pleased.”
Crowley can’t even object. He is boneless as Aziraphale miracles him clean and free, takes him into his arms. They hold one another tightly, and Crowley feels a few stupid tears leak from his eyes. He is utterly spent, relaxed in every way. He presses his face against Aziraphale’s shoulder and inhales his comforting scent. Aziraphale kisses his hair, his cheek. He strokes Crowley’s naked back and holds him until they are both strong enough to let go.