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Humming along to the Beethoven on the gramophone, Aziraphale folded his clothes neatly and placed them on a chair in the corner of the room. The many pillows that decorated his bed were nicely fluffed, and, on the nightstand, he had his book and a glass of whisky, to finish the evening in the manner to which he had become accustomed.

Everything was set for the perfect evening in.

Fully undressed, he climbed onto the bed, settled back against the cushions and picked up his book. It fell open automatically at a particularly well-thumbed chapter. He hummed in pleasure as he let the story take hold of his imagination: a red-headed demon – sorry, pirate – seducing the innocent blond deckhand.

As the story progressed, he began to touch himself slowly. A gentle petting really, just the faintest hint of sensation to build up his appetite. His flesh began to fill and gradually rose to stand firm against his belly.

By the time the demon pirate had the deckhand bent double over the side of the ship and was taking him roughly, Aziraphale was tugging frantically at his erection as pleasure stormed through his veins.

Before long, the book fell from his hand and dropped to the floor, forgotten. Aziraphale lay back, legs splayed, as his hand worked fiercely. His imagination warped the scene in his head; the deckhand became an angel, and it was Crowley fucking him over the side of the ship.

With Aziraphale’s free hand, he reached down behind his balls and scraped nails very gently against sensitive skin. Ah, to feel Crowley’s serpentine tongue right there

With the pressure building, pooling and spilling through his limbs, he thought Crowley, Crowley, Crowley…


Pleasure exploded through Aziraphale’s body and, with a final, wild thrust into his clenched fist, he was spilling his seed over his hand and stomach.

Through the fog in his brain, he almost thought he’d heard something.

With a deep sigh of contentment, he hauled himself back up to a seated position and glanced towards where Crowley was standing in the doorway, before turning to pick up his whisky.


“Crowley?” Aziraphale hastily scrambled to pull the duvet over his lap. “What on Earth…?”

Crowley leaned back against the wall, arms folded across his chest and a smirk curling his lips. “No need to be embarrassed, angel.”

“It’s not what it looks like –“

“Eeeeeh,” said Crowley, “I think it’s pretty much exactly what it looks like. But I’m not exactly shocked. You’re the biggest hedonist I’ve ever met. I’d be shocked if you didn’t indulge every now and then.”

Aziraphale grumbled something incoherent as he miracled himself clean and dressed, wondering if he could discorporate from sheer humiliation. 

Crowley watched him impassively. “Since it looks like you’re finished, dinner?”

Aziraphale wanted to shout at him to go away, and, actually, he liked to indulge in a bit of a nap – a terrible habit he had picked up from Crowley, no less – after a session of self-pleasure. But, as soon as Crowley mentioned dinner, he began to crave something sweet. Before he could think better of it, he mumbled, “Yes, all right.”

Crowley watched him climb off the bed and straighten his waistcoat, inclining his head. “Curious to know why you summoned me...?”

Aziraphale’s brain faltered. “I didn’t summon you.”

“Uh-huh, you did though. I was minding my own business, messing with the ticket machines at Oxford Circus, and suddenly poof.” He made an explodey gesture with his hands.

“I’m sure I haven’t the faintest idea,” Aziraphale said, as casually as he could manage. “Do you have a restaurant in mind?”

“Hmm, Ritz again?”



The next time it happened, he had quite deliberately selected a book with no redheaded participants at all. The stableboy was blond, and the nobleman had long black hair that fell about his shoulders in waves. Nothing to remind him of Crowley at all.

Of course, telling himself not to think of Crowley was the surest way to ensure that he did, and, before long, he was idly thinking about how much he liked Crowley with long hair. He wondered what it would be like to grab handfuls of it while Crowley swallowed his cock. That got him back onto Crowley’s tongue, a constant source of fascination. The things that tongue could do!

He wasn’t actually certain what that tongue could do, but he’d been having a lot of fun speculating…

As the stableboy was bent over a bale of hay, being roughly taken from behind, the book fell off the bed as Aziraphale dedicated both hands to his task. He was definitely not going to think about Crowley taking him like that… after a long night of drinking in the bookshop… being bent over the sofa… what Crowley’s fingers – his tongue, good Lord! – might feel like against – 


Aziraphale froze. With one hand on his cock, and a finger pretty firmly wedged up his arse, he would do anything for a convenient blanket right now. Unfortunately, he seemed to have lost all motor functions.

“Well,” Crowley sighed dramatically, “looks like I have some catching up to do…” He shrugged off his jacket and began to toe off his shoes.

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale exclaimed, suddenly recovering enough functionality in his limbs to abandon his effort in favour of grabbing a cushion to cover his crotch.

Crowley was unfastening his belt. “Isn’t this what you summoned me for?”

“I absolutely did not summon you. And it is extremely rude to enter without knocking.”

“Didn’t get much of a say in the matter. I was at home, quietly enjoying Gardener’s World when, all of a sudden, I’m whisked here to enjoy a very different show.”

Crowley was beginning to tug his jeans down now. Desperate to put a stop to this, Aziraphale pleaded, “Please leave.”

“Did you summon me here just to send me away?”

“For the last time, I did not summon you!”

“But you did!”

“I don’t even know how to summon you.”

Crowley paused with his jeans around his knees. He actually had the gall to look confused. “You’ve summoned me before. Lots of times.”

“I most certainly have not.”

“Have you forgotten the Bastille? The Blitz? The time I rescued you from that really boring party with Lord Byron?”

“I am, of course, most grateful for the many occasions on which you have assisted me, but I am quite certain I have no idea how you came to be in any of those places.”

“You were thinking about me.”

“Excuse me?”

“In situations of… extreme stress. You think hard enough about a specific demon. That’s how you summon us.”

“Aren’t there rituals? Candles? Recitations?”

Crowley shrugged. “Nope.”

“That seems inefficient.”

“Works quite well, usually. When people are desperate is when they’re most susceptible to temptation.”

“Well, there must be some mistake, as I am under no particular stress at this moment and most certainly do not require assistance, other than to exorcise the demon from my private quarters.”

“Well, yeah, this particular situation hasn’t come up before, as far as I know. I guess the Powers That Be don’t get out much, can’t tell the difference between I’m-about-to-be-discorporated stress and I’m-about-to-have-a-mindblowing-orgasm stress. Not many people thinking about specific demons in the latter case, I’d guess. Although, I have my suspicions about Gabriel and Beelzebub…”

Aziraphale grimaced. “Thank you for that image,” he grumbled.

“In any case. Works out well, because you were apparently imagining me doing some very fun things, and – ta-da! – here I am to do them. For real.”

Absolutely not!”

“Why not? You know I love you.”

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale could hardly deny that; he could sense love and it had been growing for centuries. “But you don’t… not quite like that.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Yes, very much like that. And I’m guessing, from these repeated summonings, that you have at least some interest.”

“It’s really none of your business.”

Aziraphale’s voice sounded firm enough, but he felt disappointed when Crowley shrugged and started to pull his jeans back up.

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Crowley sighed. “Just seems a shame for us to sit in our respective flats wanking over each other when we could be killing two birds with one stone.”

“I don’t want to kill any birds.”

Crowley started doing up his belt. “I’ll call you later, then. Still want to check out that new production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream before it closes?”

“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale agreed. A beat, then, “Wait. Are you saying you’re going to go back to your flat and…”

“Wank myself silly over you? Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“Is that…” Aziraphale looked down and idly traced out a pattern on his duvet with one finger. “Is that something you’ve done before?”

 “All the time. For centuries.”

“Well, in that case… in the interest of efficiency…”

Crowley’s jeans were around his ankles and being kicked off into the corner of the room in an instant. “All right, tell me how you want me.”

“I don’t know,” said Aziraphale, blankly. “What do you want?”

Crowley tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it absently into the corner, and oh, Aziraphale’s deflated cock was very much regaining interest in the proceedings. Crowley knelt on the edge of the bed. “Tell me exactly what you were picturing when I rudely interrupted you.”

“It’s not important,” Aziraphale muttered.

“Oh, come on. It’s not a big deal. You’re getting a bit too human if you get embarrassed about this.”

Fine, we were on the sofa.”

“The one in the back room of the shop? Nice.”

“I was bent over it and you were… well, you were behind me.”

Crowley held up a finger. “Question: in this scenario, I’m fucking you, yes?”

“Uh, yes. Is that all right?”

“Yeah, ‘course, just making sure I’ve got the right Effort. All good. Can I make a suggestion?”


“This bed is much more spacious. And we’re already here, so...”

“Oh, yes, that’s quite all right.”

“Okay, then.” Crowley made a twirling motion with his finger to indicate that Aziraphale should turn around. Still slightly dazed, he complied.

On his hands and knees, arse pointing directly at Crowley, Aziraphale felt a blush rise on his face. An all-too-human reaction, but then this was an all-too-human experience.

He felt the mattress shift as Crowley knelt behind him, and then deliciously cool hands were running down his spine. He felt two thumbs part the cleft of his arse. Exposed, his heart started pounding. “Er,” he said, “before you get to the… point, as it were, I wondered if you might…” He trailed off as he felt a finger circle his entrance.

“Hmm?” Crowley prompted.

But Aziraphale’s higher brain functions had evaporated. He was still mentally trying to piece together a sentence when he felt something light and quick flicker against his perineum.

Oh, so that was what Crowley’s tongue felt like. It was even better than he had imagined. “Yes,” he gasped. “That, exactly.”

There was a small chuckle, and then that delightful tongue was flicking against his arsehole, causing Aziraphale to make a most undignified whimpering sound.

Oh well, what was the use of dignity when one had one’s bare arse shoved in the face of one’s best friend? He decided to lean into it, both literally and figuratively, and let out a delighted squeal when that tongue breached him.

There was definitely some sort of demonic miracle going on back there, because he was quite certain Crowley’s tongue wasn’t usually so long and – oh! – forked. Yes, definitely forked. It dived in and out in rapid succession, then circled him, before slipping inside again. Aziraphale grabbed handfuls of duvet and whimpered. His shoulders gave way and he dropped his head down onto the pillow, panting, his arse still wantonly thrust in the air. “That’s enough,” he gasped, when he couldn’t take any more.

Crowley finished with a long, wet lick, and withdrew. Aziraphale shivered as he felt cool air against his exposed arse.

“So, how do you want this?” Crowley asked in the same tone he used when they were perusing restaurant menus. “Slow? Rough?”

Aziraphale turned his head to the side. “Um. Not rough exactly, but… hard.”

“Got it. Uh, could you grab the headboard for me?”

Before his eyes, Aziraphale’s antique wooden headboard transformed into vertical iron bars. He tutted. “You’d better change that back when you’re done.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Aziraphale grabbed hold of two of the bars and braced himself. He felt blunt pressure against his entrance, and then, with one rapid snap of hips, Crowley was inside him. They groaned in unison. Crowley began to rock, landing deeper each time, until, finally, he was entirely buried in Aziraphale’s body.

“Harder than that,” said Aziraphale, between clenched teeth.

“All right,” Crowley grumbled. “Just getting in place. Ready?”

Aziraphale nodded and tightened his grip on the bars. Crowley pulled out and slammed in hard enough that the headboard knocked against the wall. He did it again and again and Aziraphale’s knuckles turned white. He could see bits of plaster flying off the walls, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, because it felt glorious. Like the burn of whisky going down his throat, but everywhere all at once. Crowley’s fingers dug into the flesh of his hips and his grunts of effort mingled with the obscene slapping of skin on skin.

Aziraphale released one of the bars to reach down and take himself in hand, but Crowley slapped his hand away and wrapped long fingers around him. Aziraphale moaned his approval and thrust into Crowley’s hand. It felt so much better than his own. He met Crowley’s increasingly frantic thrusts, rocking forwards into Crowley’s hand, then back to impale himself on Crowley’s cock. He felt he might discorporate right here and now.

Crowley fell forward against his back, and a forked tongue traced the outline of his ear. “You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured this,” Crowley growled. “You feel better than I ever imagined.”

“Ah – same – “ Aziraphale managed to gasp between thrusts.

“You’re such a good angel,” Crowley murmured against his ear. “So willing, so warm. Such a heavenly arse.”

Heat coursed through Aziraphale’s body and he came with a shout of blasphemy. He dropped his head down to the pillow, panting, while Crowley rode out his own climax. Then Aziraphale collapsed, boneless, on the bed, Crowley plastered over his back.

“Mmm,” said Aziraphale against the pillow. “Thank you.”

Crowley kissed that sensitive spot just behind his ear. “Y’know, next time you could just call me. The old-fashioned way.”

“Yes, of course. Sorry for interrupting Gardener’s World.”

“Eh,” said Crowley, who was definitely nuzzling the back of his neck. “That’s what DVRs are for.”

“What’s a DVR?”

“A magical device that lets you interrupt me for sex any time.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale gave a delighted wriggle. “Splendid.”