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This Dream is not Perchance

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Crowley wakes up slowly because his dreams are full of Aziraphale’s scent, rich on his tongue and on the top of his mouth, drawing the air in slowly to savor all of the notes in it. His snaketongue is already flickering, the rest of him asleep, but he can taste Aziraphale in the air: angel, and love, and the soft pillow taste of sleep and oh, well, that’s lust he’s tasting.

Which makes sense as Crowley slowly awakens more, his consciousness pulled back into the rest of his body, to feel Aziraphale’s hard cock idly pressing up against his buttocks, Aziraphale’s scent still thickly asleep.

Oh. His angel is dreaming. Aziraphale does this, sometimes, now that they’re intimate — and now that Aziraphale has learnt to sleep. Somewhat: Aziraphale sleeps lightly, for all that he lets his body move into this very human stage in his sleep, all want and dreamthick desperation.

Crowley realizes he’s also hard and aching; whether it’s because of his own dreams, or because of Aziraphale gently rutting against him this morning — doesn’t really seem to matter. His entire body is warm with want and if Aziraphale’s asleep, well, that just gives Crowley an opportunity, doesn’t it?

He rolls over, immediately hooking a leg over Aziraphale’s and tugging the angel partially on top of him. Aziraphale hums, subconsciously realigning his hips with Crowley’s, grinding down in his sleep until he sighs, somewhat dreamily, into Crowley’s hair.

This is delicious, though; it lets Crowley shift further, align his body against the angel’s. These kinds of dreams Aziraphale has always fill the bed, it seems: Crowley always wakes up hot, and heavy, and so full of desire he can barely stand it.

He wants. But his angel’s such a light sleeper; it won’t do for Aziraphale to wake up too soon, will it? Crowley wants to keep him in this dream: to see what he can get out of his angel, what kinds of noises and reactions he can drag from his sleeping human form. Aziraphale’s eyelids are already fluttering; this won’t do at all.

Crowley licks at the meat of Aziraphale’s shoulder, letting his tongue numb the skin over Aziraphale’s deltoid. His own body’s still a bit snakish - this happens sometimes, especially after a very deep sleep - and Crowley laps at the muscle until the skin beneath is asleep itself, letting him easily sink his fangs into Aziraphale’s upper arm with no more than a wistful sigh from the angel. He doesn’t use too much of his venom; he isn’t looking to knock the angel out entirely. What he wants is just to prolong Aziraphale’s dream-state, and see whether he can influence that dream himself.

Crowley waits. Aziraphale makes a noise in the back of his throat, and then his entire body sags down into Crowley’s in sleepy relaxation, all of his muscles releasing under Crowley’s snakevenom. His breathing is even, soft, and all of the tension is gone from his body.

As a test, Crowley gently rolls Aziraphale off of him, to rest again on his side. Aziraphale murmurs something but his body obeys so sweetly, his arm flopping a bit against Crowley’s side as it moves.

Crowley sits up. Aziraphale’s asleep, and still hard, and Crowley wonders just what he can do with a sleeping angel before Aziraphale awakens. He palms his own cock - already aching for touch - and stares at Aziraphale’s face. Hell, he’s still the luckiest demon in the world, isn’t he: Aziraphale’s pale eyelashes, those delightful cheeks, his lips rosy and a bit parted.

Crowley inches forward until he’s knelt in front of the angel’s face, cock bobbing as he adjusts a pillow under Aziraphale’s head so that everything is at the right level — and then Crowley takes his thumb and presses it gently against Aziraphale’s lower lip.

Aziraphale’s mouth parts for him instantly and Crowley presses in, rubbing the pad of his thumbprint into Aziraphale’s tongue. The angel’s throat works in his sleep, swallowing; Crowley withdraws his thumb and slips two fingers into Aziraphale’s mouth, pressing down on his tongue. Aziraphale, sleeping, does nothing.

Crowley gently gets one hand into the angel’s soft hair, the other on his cock as he gently rubs it against Aziraphale’s lips. There’s no response except, maybe, the slight loosening of Aziraphale’s jaw, the way his lips start to part as Crowley sort of wiggles his cock into that space. He slowly presses in. There’s a hint of teeth but that’s almost as delicious as the sensation of Aziraphale’s mouth being opened entirely by Crowley’s dick, the texture of it a bright shock that lights up Crowley’s spine from the base.

The head of his cock is in Aziraphale’s mouth. Hell, but it’s a sight: Aziraphale’s eyes closed, breathing soft, unmoving as Crowley presses forward. He ends up with his other hand at the back of Aziraphale’s head, cupping his jaw so that he can feel it slowly open as he watches his length disappear into Aziraphale’s slick wet mouth. Crowley holds Aziraphale’s head in his hands just so, tenderly, cradling it as he tentatively slips his cock out a bit before pressing it in even further.

Aziraphale makes a sleepy sound, but otherwise doesn’t move, apparently unaware that Crowley’s cock is pressing against the back of his throat.

Fuck. Crowley’s thumbs are rubbing gentle circles into Aziraphale’s skin and scalp, palms keeping his head in place as Crowley continues to slide his cock in and out of Aziraphale’s mouth. His lips and jaw are lax, relaxed, no suction or tension on Crowley’s cock, but somehow that’s hotter: the lack of effort, lack of response, the tease light and wet and slick as he takes Aziraphale’s mouth. The angel is, apparently, drooling. Aziraphale hitches a bit, and Crowley notes that his hips have turned down into the bed, clumsily rubbing against the sheets. Oh, fuck, is Aziraphale dreaming about this now? Crowley has to stop, take a deep shuddering breath, with his entire length inside Aziraphale’s soft responseless mouth: the feel of it, the visual, but the thought of it, Aziraphale’s dream deepening and changing as Crowley uses his sleeping body. He can feel his scales tracing up his spine, the prickle of delight making the surrounding skin tingle. He shudders.

He gently slips his cock out of Aziraphale’s mouth and gently wipes away the tendril of saliva that follows it. His entire body is shuddering with the desire to be more snake. Crowley leans down to press gentle kisses against that soft cheek, the closed eyelids, those sleeping lips. Aziraphale makes a lovely sleepy sound, his hips moving once against the sheets. His angel is still blazingly hard.

Crowley’s body abruptly decides it wants that cock inside. His genitals have a moment of confusion - he’s aroused, and eager, and curious, which means most of his higher brain functions have gone the way of the serpent - before settling on some combination of human holes and snake-vent opening beneath his dripping cock. Oh, fuck, Crowley thinks. He wants to ride Aziraphale asleep. Yes. Yessss.

———

“Crowley, darling,” Aziraphale started one morning, when they were lying in bed in a post-coital mess of human pheremones. Man, human chemistry was annoying sometimes, but Crowley loved this piece of it: dirty, sticky, heat-filled and stupid-making. Go— Sata— Fuck, but he loved how goddamned dumb human hormones could make him feel. Dumb and deliciously full of lust-raging pleasure, absolutely swamped with it. Even his most demonic instincts died down beneath the force of that raging wave.

He rolled his head to the side and made some sort of noise he hoped was encouraging.

“I have to admit,” said Aziraphale, “that I love waking up like this.”

“Hnnngffff,” said Crowley. His brain synapses were still firing at a ridiculous rate and his entire body was just wrecked with sodding pleasure. “Me too.”

“And, my love,” Aziraphale continued. He was looking a bit coy; it was the look he gave Crowley when there was something he wanted. Crowley tried to calm his fingers and toes down enough that he could focus on the angel; this was important.

“I wouldn’t mind, em, waking up in a similar way in the future,” Aziraphale said, walking his fingers up Crowley’s bare chest to rest against the pulse in his neck. “If you’re interested, that is.”

Crowley managed to flip his entire - soul-singing, pleasure-washed - body over to face Aziraphale. “Tell me more, angel.”

Aziraphale blushed a bit - something Crowley loved seeing now - and said, “well, have you ever had one of those dreams? You know, darling. And you drift through that bit where you’re a little awake, a little asleep, and … so very much … aroused?”

“Angel,” Crowley said, sitting up now, fully awake and absolutely delighted. “What are you asking me to do?”

———

And this part is ridiculously easy. Crowley gently rolls Aziraphale onto his back, tenderly placing his limp arms at his sides, anchoring his heels into the blankets. Yesss, he thinks, as he moves his palm up Aziraphale’s cock with miracle-slick fingers. He wants Aziraphale to feel this. He wants to take advantage of Aziraphale’s dreaming, but even more, he wants Aziraphale’s dream to skyrocket with sensation. He gently moves Aziraphale’s arms so that he can kneel over and slowly sink down, his body ready and dripping. He sighs as the head of Aziraphale’s cock enters him, and can’t help a long slow groan as he takes it in, inch by inch. Once he’s settled himself on Aziraphale’s hips, fully seated, he watches as Aziraphale’s hands twitch, one fisting. His angel lets out a sigh, a small puff of air that tastes like desire to Crowley’s flickering tongue.

Crowley starts to move, just small jerks of his hips; he isn’t sure whether he wants Aziraphale to wake from this or if he wants to just take: take his own pleasure, working the angel in little circles, enjoying the feeling of fullness. Again, there’s absolutely no tension in Aziraphale’s sleeping body. He’s making soft sounds occasionally, sporadically, still wrapped up in his dream: gasps and groans, clumsy and unintentional and with no rhythm, as if his body’s aware something pleasant is happening but isn’t quite sure what. Crowley leans forward to snakelick Aziraphale’s neck, sucking at the tendon, pressing his mouth against the angel’s pulsepoint. He feels full to the breaking point, both snake and human sides content with the thick hardness inside.

As Crowley’s hips move faster, Aziraphale’s limp body moves too, incrementally shifting downwards and then up against the sheets. Crowley leans forward experimentally, sliding almost the entire way off of Aziraphale’s cock before jerking back down onto it with a bit more force. Aziraphale makes this delicious lax little grunt, and Crowley has to work his hips again, harder, watching Aziraphale’s body shift against the sheets. Every time Crowley sinks back hard onto Aziraphale’s cock he gets another little grunt. Oh, heaven and hell, what’s Aziraphale dreaming about? Is he dreamfucking Crowley, his own body responding in his sleep? Is he lost in a haze of slumbering pheremones, just experiencing a haze of pleasure?

Crowley feels wild, strung out, high on pleasure and pheromones himself; at this angle Aziraphale’s hitting against that perfect spot, sending electric jolts up his snakespine, nearly in time with Aziraphale’s sleeping noises. There are scales spattering his fingers, trailing up the backs of his hands like veins. He can taste the urgency in Aziraphale’s scent. Crowley feels like he might explode, but he has to hold back; he wants to watch Aziraphale come in his sleep so badly. He knows humans do it, sometimes. That’s half the point of this, to see how far he can push Aziraphale, to see what Crowley can manage to do to him.

He grips his own cock at the base before starting up a faster pace, nearly bouncing himself on Aziraphale’s cock. The way Aziraphale’s body bounces beneath him is captivating: his torso jerking up and down with the movements, his arms occasionally rolling against the sheets. Even his head, lolled to the side, is moving against the pillow. Aziraphale’s mouth is open, as if he’s panting in his dream, and Crowley grinds down on him because he can taste the tension — a tension only in Aziraphale’s loins, between his legs, the rest of him still soft in sleep.

Aziraphale makes a noise in the back of his throat and then sighs, a long soft expulsion of air as his cock jerks inside Crowley. Crowley slows down, working his hips to milk every last drop of it. Aziraphale’s entire body shudders with the release; one of his hands fists again, an unconscious gesture, his back arching slightly. His eyes flutter, and his mouth is moving, trying and failing to find words in his sleep. It’s fucking beautiful. It’s probably the softest Aziraphale’s ever looked, coming inside Crowley; his angel is usually so focused, so determined. Crowley thinks this orgasm, so lax and dreamy, is the best gift Aziraphale could have given him.

Crowley feels hot and full and incredibly tender watching Aziraphale’s face relax back into unconsciousness. There’s a trace of a smile on his lips, as if his dreams have turned pleasant. Crowley likes to hold Aziraphale’s cock inside of him after he comes, because he enjoys that fluttering hummingbird feeling as it softens inside him. But Crowley’s still hard, aching now to come. A few strokes of his cock and he could release all over Aziraphale’s soft stomach. He could leave the spatter there until Aziraphale woke up, the mess as proof that his dream had been touched by reality.

———

“Anything,” Crowley said, frowning a bit but undeniably intrigued. “You mean it. Anything?”

Aziraphale giggled; he’d become even more excited about the idea as they’d continued to talk. “Darling, I trust you. Use me however you like.” He sighed. “I’m just worried I won’t sleep through very much of it. You know how lightly I sleep. One touch and I’ll probably be rolling you over.”

“That’s an equally enjoyable outcome,” Crowley told him, smirking.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he did so. “I know, darling, and I’m not arguing. It’s just…” His angel gave a delightful little shiver all around, his eyes fluttering closed for a second. “The more we talk about this, the more I truly want to explore it. Do you think I should, hm, miracle myself asleep?”

“Angel,” Crowley said slowly; he was delighted at Aziraphale’s enthusiasm, and simply wanted to make sure the angel had a good idea of what he was fully consenting to. “If I were to bite you ...no, you silly creature,” he added, when Aziraphale’s smile immediately went sly. “If I bit you bit you. Just a bit. It would put you to sleep.”

He wasn’t prepared for the way Aziraphale’s eyes went dark at the suggestion, pupils dilating immediately. He should have been - Aziraphale adored when Crowley let go enough for his snakeside to emerge - but this was instant. Aziraphale shifted towards him and Crowley noticed that the angel was half-hard again already. Something about that - the anticipation, the way Aziraphale threw himself into these physical aspects of their love - sent a pulsing jolt of want right down to the base of Crowley’s spine.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, already pulling Crowley towards him, for a long and passionate kiss. “Yes. That’s exactly what I want.”

“Tell me,” said Crowley, already nipping at Aziraphale’s jawline. “Tell me everything you want me to do to you.”

———

Crowley’s fingers are tracing Aziraphale’s chest, lingering on curly hair and nipple as they pass. If he thought Aziraphale was lax in sleep before, it’s nothing compared to now: post-orgasm, still asleep, his angel looks relaxed and sated. Sleeping Beauty, Crowley thinks, dazed by want and lust and amazement; it’s terribly cheesy and he would regret it if he had any brain cells left to think.

He slowly lifts himself up, feeling the slide of Aziraphale’s half-limp cock drag out of him delightfully, messy and dripping. Aziraphale moans a bit in his sleep, his head twitching. Aziraphale had been very specific about things Crowley could do, and now Crowley wants to press at it — to see just how far he can go before Aziraphale wakes up.

There’s a bit of awkwardness as he rearranges himself, moving Aziraphale’s boneless legs, spreading them outward, eager hands on Aziraphale’s thick thighs as he presses them out and up to expose Aziraphale entirely. Crowley gives an experimental rub against Aziraphale’s hole, fingertip slick as he circles it: no movement.

Slowly - so very slowly - he slides one miracle-slick finger inside, just the tip, just up to the first knuckle. The sight of it is always so fucking arousing; the knowledge that it’s Aziraphale, that Crowley’s fingers are allowed to give him pleasure: a wet dream six thousand years in the making. As he gently presses in, to the second knuckle, Aziraphale makes an encouraging sleep-noise, a soft moan on an exhale. Fuck, to know what Aziraphale’s dreaming about now? Now, as Crowley’s gently pumping the tips of two fingers in and out and around Aziraphale’s opening, shallow and soft?

It’s all slick and hushed like a secret. Crowley opens Aziraphale slowly. He maneuvers up so that he can press kisses to the angel’s belly, and flick his snaketongue against Aziraphale’s peaking nipples. Aziraphale’s flushed now, his eyelids fluttering, and he periodically lets out a moan in his sleep that has Crowley spiraling downwards with pure desire.

By the time he sheathes himself inside of Aziraphale - fully; down to the very last inch of himself - Crowley feels like he may be caught up in the dream as well. Everything seems hazy, half-real; Crowley’s been aching for so long, ever since the tip of his cock slipped into Aziraphale’s limp lips. At this point he feels like he’s been on the edge for hours, but he has to hold back; he wants to see just how hard he can fuck Aziraphale before he wakes up.

It hits him, low in his gut: with Aziraphale asleep, Crowley can do whatever he wants. He can take Aziraphale, over and over. The lust slips down over his eyes until it’s like he’s watching Aziraphale through a halo. Aziraphale asked for this; Aziraphale wants Crowley to use him, wants to feel this through the filter of his sleeping body. Fuck. What will this feel like to Aziraphale? Will his dream be clear or hazy? At which point will those eyelids flutter open?

Crowley starts to thrust, slowly opening Aziraphale up further on his cock. Aziraphale’s tight around him, but also softer than normal: his muscles sporadically clench around Crowley, but it’s an unintentional instinctive reaction as Crowley hits his prostate. That’s incredibly hot to Crowley for some reason. He’s getting to experience how Aziraphale’s body reacts to him without Aziraphale consciously doing it — squeezing down or shifting his own hips. This is Crowley, just Crowley: it’s him and him alone that’s making Aziraphale’s body feel good. Fucking hell. The thought makes him feel dizzy.

Encouraged as Aziraphale continues to make subdued sounds in response, Crowley presses his thighs up farther, changing the angle so that this time when he thrusts he slips in deep. Crowley can’t help but groan at the sensation, Aziraphale’s muscles fluttering around him unwittingly. Crowley holds Aziraphale’s legs in place as he works at him, thrusting hard. Aziraphale’s limp body jerks against the sheets and his mouth is open, slightly drooling, occasionally gasping as Crowley’s cock strikes his prostate. Fuck, it’s too much; Aziraphale’s soft cock twitches, as if Crowley could make Aziraphale come again in his sleep, just like this — and Crowley cannot handle this.

He slams into Aziraphale, the slick heat around his cock stripping pleasure from him, watching Aziraphale’s eyelashes flicker. It’s that more than anything - the sliver of white he can see between Aziraphale’s eyelids - that has Crowley coming, hurling into orgasm, nearly sobbing with the force of it as he jerks, holding Aziraphale’s hips tight as he empties himself inside. Everything’s white, the scales down his spine rippling as waves of release roll through him like stormclouds, leaving him shuddering.

Crowley blinks himself back into awareness. He’s got his face buried in Aziraphale’s neck, and he’s breathing hard as if he’d just climbed a mountain. His hips are jerking into Aziraphale with clumsy aftershocks. He feels messy and filthy and sated.

Beneath him, Aziraphale twitches, a hand coming to rest in the small of Crowley’s back.

“Angel?” Crowley manages to say, reminding his mouth how to make words.

“Hmmm.” Aziraphale hums. When Crowley lifts himself up above Aziraphale, the angel’s eyes are closed, and he’s smiling. “Crowley.” His voice is a soft sleepy mumble.

Crowley lets himself slip out of Aziraphale’s hole, feeling the soaked slip of it every inch of the way. Aziraphale releases a giant sigh, down to the bottom of his lungs.

“You awake?”

Aziraphale hums again, and his other arm comes up around Crowley. “Nnnnn. Go t’ sleep.”

Feeling awfully amazed and incredibly fond - and somewhat like his brains have been sucked out through his dick - Crowley allows Aziraphale to tug him down into dreams.

———

Crowley’s sleep is light enough this time that he can feel Aziraphale wake up - fully, this time - about an hour or so later. He feels the angel’s muscles jerking into awareness beneath him, and is filled with a rush of satisfaction as Aziraphale lets out a loud, pleased moan, the kind of groan that lasts for nearly a full minute.

It’s incredibly obvious, on waking, what has happened. Crowley’s long bones are still soaked in afterglow. Their tangled legs are sticky up to their bellies. The mess itself is telling, but Crowley hadn’t miracled any of it away — Aziraphale hadn’t wanted him to.

“Oh, Crowley,” he says, and Crowley’s scrambling up above him, kissing his cheekbone and his eyebrow, meeting his eyes, looking for feedback. There’s nothing but love in Aziraphale’s eyes; his eyelids are blinking slowly in sated pleasure.

“Was that — was that alright? What did you — what did you think?”

Aziraphale seizes him, pulls him in, kissing him with delight, the angel’s tongue pressing into Crowley’s mouth to open his lips immediately. Crowley, dazed, lets Aziraphale suck at his lower lip, lick a stripe against his tongue; lets Aziraphale pour his love and appreciation into the kiss until Crowley’s poor head is reeling.

When Aziraphale pulls back, Crowley’s breathing hard again, just from a kiss.

“My darling.” Aziraphale takes a deep shuddering breath. “I have ...I’m not even sure I can describe it. It was… incredible.”

“What you wanted?” Crowley asks, eager for the reassurance. “Good for you?”

“For heaven’s sake, Crowley.” Aziraphale smiles up at him, contended and pleased. “It was so — soft, like a dream, and almost blurry? Just ...images and feelings, moving in and out of my focus, and…” He brings a hand up to trace Crowley’s cheekbone. Crowley sighs, and turns his face into it. “Just pleasure, really. A haze of pleasure.”

Crowley kisses the heel of Aziraphale’s hand. “What was it like?”

“It felt amazing,” Aziraphale tells him, very seriously. “To be unsure whether I was awake or dreaming? To not know whether the sensation was real or imagined? To lie there, bewildered and dazed and aching, taking whatever you gave me?” Aziraphale shudders again, this smile so sinful it hurts. “I still feel it, Crowley,” his angel whispers, and Crowley melts against him, relieved and something like proud. “A haze of pleasure, all through me. To my fingertips.”

“Good,” Crowley says into his neck. “That’s what I wanted.”

“You?” Aziraphale murmurs against his hair.

“Fuck,” Crowley says intelligently. “Angel, it was ...amazing. Watching the way your body reacted to me unconsciously? The sounds you made? Fuck. So fucking hot.”

“Good,” Aziraphale croons, his fingers lacing into Crowley’s hair and tugging playfully. “Just thinking about it … remembering it … I’m nearly ready to tumble you again, my dear.”

“Hey,” Crowley protests, teasing, letting Aziraphale feel the smile against his skin. “One of us got to sleep the entire time.” He turns, grinning, to look Aziraphale in the eyes. “And the other one did all the work. I need a fucking nap, angel.”

“Hmmm.” Aziraphale hums, pressing a wet kiss to Crowley’s temple. Crowley turns to catch Aziraphale’s lips, responding with an almost desperate fondness.

When they part, Aziraphale’s grin has gone playfully wicked, that quirked lip Crowley loves seeing.

“You’re welcome to sleep through it,” Aziraphale says, light and teasing, and Crowley pulls his angel’s lips back to his own.