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Trade Secrets

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It's been one hell of a day. Week? Decade really. All this business with the antichrist and then not the antichrist and then the antichrist again. And yeah, they had a lot of fun as Nanny and Francis in the early days. Crowley still drags that getup out from time to time. But that whole bit after with on again off again and the bickering and the Satan rising up from the depths of hell part sure left a lot to be desired. 

Crowley snorts picturing Gabriel's face when he'd breathed hellfire at him. That part was good too. The pulling one over on heaven part. So satisfying to give the whole lot of them the proverbial finger. He was riding high after that. Even so, the first thing he'd done when he'd come down that ethereal escalator was call Aziraphale to make sure he'd made it back up ok. It probably wasn't smart. Phone in hand before he'd even made it out of the building. But Crowley's been to heaven before. Used to call it home even. It was Aziraphale's first time downstairs, though, and Crowley was worried. 

They agreed to keep their distance for the rest of the day. Make sure they didn't have any tails. Meet up later for the old switcheroo. And that's exactly where they are now. Side by side on a familiar bench. Double checking that the coast is clear. 

Crowley glances at Aziraphale wearing his face. He looks smug. Bored. Maybe a little more upright than Crowley would normally bother with, but he's doing an admirable job. Not everyone can be so effortlessly cool. 

Crowley takes one last moment to enjoy wearing Aziraphale's body. Feeling what he feels. Including that sunshine warm aura of love radiating off of his own corporation sat next to him. The way it envelopes him and makes him feel held even with the distance between them. It's almost a shame to have to go back to his own body. But all good things must come to an end. Well, almost all of them. He's pretty sure if he and Aziraphale can withstand the apocalypse, they'll last through just about anything. 

Their hands meet and Crowley can feel their very essences mixing. Dark with light. Soft with sharp. Temptation with... 


Oh someone. 

Oh fucking hell!

Crowley, fully back in his own body, springs up off the bench like there's a rocket strapped to his arse. He almost doesn't get his feet under himself in time. Lands with his stance wide. One hand on his belly and the other groping for the bench. 

"What... did you do?"

Aziraphale wiggles, clearly satisfied with himself, and if Crowley weren't certain he'd embarrass himself, he'd snatch him up off the bench and shake him. 

"I do believe the Bentley has parked itself around here somewhere. Illegally I'm sure, but then again she is your car. I wouldn't expect anything else."


"I think I'd quite like to go back to yours. What do you think?"

Crowley straightens up and whimpers. His legs shake. "You... Is… I..." There's a rush of sensation deep inside of his body as he tries to sit back down. His belly twitches. Aziraphale must have kept at it for hours. Every movement feels like it's going to do him in. 

Crowley glowers at him. "You're cruel... "

Aziraphale tsks. "I hardly think so. In fact..." He smirks. "I seem to recall you begging for more." Crowley wishes that didn’t make him somehow, impossibly, hornier. But Aziraphale’s always been good at having that effect on him. Crowley grits his teeth and tries to take deep breaths.

Aziraphale gasps from his perch on the edge of the bench. “These nails are just lovely.” He looks up with a mischievous grin. “They’re going to look perfect wrapped around your…”

Crowley snaps his fingers, and by the grace of God (which he tries not to think too hard about) they actually end up in the Bentley. Its engine rumbles to life and it starts in the direction of Crowley’s flat while Crowley is still doubled over from the abrupt meeting of his arse and the seat. Just when he’s nearly caught his breath there’s a hand on his thigh. And then another slipping under his jacket and across his chest.

He wants to protest, but at this point it’s really just habit. Made worse by wearing his rather opinionated Angel all day. Instead, he goes against his very nature and gives in. Molds to the shape of the driver's seat with a whimper while the hand on his thigh creeps up to work his zipper down. 

“You’re a bastard.” 

Aziraphale ignores his feeble attempt to retain his dignity and slips his hand into the pocket that lies against Crowley’s racing heart. 

“Aren’t you curious?”

Crowley huffs. “Perpetually. Whole reason I ended up downstairs in the first place.” He wasn’t finished. Had a whole tirade ready to unleash. He’s sure of it. He might be going down, but he’s going down swinging. That was the plan, at least. All the fight goes out of him the moment Aziraphale pulls him out of his trousers and commences with the most torturously gentle handjob that’s ever been performed in the history of the world. Crowley would know. He was there for all of it. 

Crowley watches through heavy lids as Aziraphale draws his phone out of his breast pocket with his free hand and sets it down on his thigh. He swallows thickly when Aziraphale swipes open the screen and taps on the photo album icon with one plump, beautifully manicured finger. 

“You see… it all started innocently enough…” 



Aziraphale looks up at the mirror above Crowley’s bed and runs his hands down his beloved demon’s body, admiring the long lines of his torso and finely shaped legs. “I can see why you’re such a vain thing, my dear.” The angel whispers to himself, sounding odd in Crowley’s voice, but exciting nonetheless. At little more than teasing fingertips, Aziraphale notices his cock growing hard against his belly. “…Angel.” Aziraphale tries in a smooth voice that, when in his own corporation, makes him tingle with excitement.

Oh yes, this is going to be good.



Aziraphale smirks as he pumps his fist slowly. He swipes to the next photo and watches Crowley’s eyes bulge.

“Oh darling. Don’t try to pretend you didn’t have a little fun with my corporation too.”

Crowley’s head falls back and he snorts. “Oh, Angel…” 



Aziraphale’s corporation is soft. Warm. Secure. It feels almost as much like home to Crowley as his own. He runs the fingers of one hand against the palm of the other. Traces their lines and smiles fondly at the memories attached to them. He turns his hands over and looks at his nail beds and cuticles. They're getting ragged. His nails themselves are rough and uneven. It's unusual. So far removed from the normally pristine state of the angel's hands, regularly so well kept. Crowley would know. He's spent the last several decades holding and kissing them. Watching them sink into his hips and his waist. Letting them slip between his lips. To see them in their current state brings to mind the recent hardships they've faced. The past few days have really taken their toll. Crowley's struck with an idea. He grins, and it feels so sweet to do with Aziraphale's face. 

"Let's set you to rights, Angel. I've got just the plan." 

A short jaunt down the street and Crowley finds himself in Aziraphale's favorite salon. He has his feet in a hot burbling bath and his fingers clasped between the palms of a lovely young woman before he can even scan the shop's offerings. 

"The usual, Mr. Fell?" 

He isn't normally one to go for a spa day. Doesn’t know the first thing about what kind of treatments are even available. The only time he’s ever been on the receiving end of pampering, it’s been from his Angel. And he’s pretty sure Aziraphale wouldn’t appreciate that kind of attention at his favorite salon. He searches the room and fails to find the offerings.

"I'll take... The works. All of it. Pamper him. I mean... Ah... Me." 

A young technician takes a seat on a small rolling stool next to his feet where they’re still happily cooking away. She points a remote at the television behind her.

“Can you believe it? First Evan and then Nicola?”

Surely she isn’t referring to a tv show? It’s like pulling teeth just to get Aziraphale to settle in for a movie. He shakes his head slowly and has to stifle a giggle as she flips the channel and Coronation Street comes on the screen. 

“Do you think Pat is going to get away?” He sputters as she picks his foot out of the water by the back of his calf. Pat? Not only does Aziraphale watch this garbage while he’s getting his nails done, he’s on a first name basis with the characters? “It’s going to be Phelan and Eileen all over again. You just wait.”

So this is what Aziraphale gets up to when Crowley’s sleeping. And he pretends he can hardly work the remote most days. He’s tucking this one away for later. 

The technician digs into his feet with her thumbs. Really gets in there. It’s all Crowley can do not to squirm in his seat. 

Goodness he likes it a bit rough. 

She doesn’t let up. Applies pressure precisely in a number of seemingly specific places while Aziraphale’s corporation begins to react on its own. Melts into the plush seat and sighs. When she pulls out a device that looks more appropriately applied to a hunk of parmesan cheese than to his feet, his corporation fingers the buttons on the chair. Muscle memory, he guesses. He shrugs internally and taps one. The chair whirrs to life. The meat of his low back gets pummeled. The undulation travels up. Rolling spheres pressing and kneading the muscles along his spine. Then the seat gets in on the action. His thighs and glutes prodded by slowly swiveling ball bearings moving under the upholstery. 

Crowley, in Aziraphale’s voice, squeaks. “Oh lord have mercy…”



Crowley’s corporation is sensitive to the lightest touches, Aziraphale finds. The pad of a fingertip dragging over a peaked nipple would barely register to his senses in his own body. In the demon’s body, it causes a sensation like static electricity tingling a line directly to his prick. He doesn’t bother fighting temptation. When it comes to Crowley, surrender is easy. Looking up at the mirror, he wraps a slender hand around the demon’s long cock, sliding a loose grip up to the head. With a flick of his thumb, he spreads precome around the crown teasingly and puffs out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 


Aziraphale alternates between pulling and plucking each nipple as he reaches over to the nightstand, feeling around inside the drawer for the lube bottle he’s well acquainted with by now. Pulling out his prize and clicking the cap off, he squeezes some into his right palm and tosses it to the side. His left hand resumes giving attention to the demon’s pebbled nipples, gently scraping a thumbnail over each. The lubed hand wraps around the base of his love’s prick and begins to pump in a teasing rhythm, the head becoming a deep purple, the shaft pulsing with each sweep of his fist.

How very desperate you look, my love. Just aching for it. For whatever I give you.

“Please, Angel, please.” Aziraphale begs in Crowley’s voice, husky and strained. The angel feels a shiver up the back of his neck and continues playing into the fantasy. “Aziraphaaaaale, I need it,” the demon’s voice whines.

What do you need, darling? Use your words and perhaps I’ll have mercy on you.

“Let me come, please let me come. I’ll do anything.” His begging is followed by a very undemonic nasal “hnnnhhhh!” as a briefly tighter grip around the top of his prick pulls forth a dribble of precome. He lets go entirely and watches the demon’s flushed cock throb with need, letting another drop land just below his navel in the ginger hair there. 

“Fuck, fuck, please. Touch it, touch it, touch it!” Aziraphale sobs in Crowley’s voice, hands clenched at his sides.

So good for me. So beautiful. I’ll give you what you need, my heart. I will always take care of you.

Aziraphale wraps a slick hand firmly around his cock and strokes in long, smooth pulls from root to tip. In the mirror, he sees Crowley’s mouth hanging open in a soft “O”, eyebrows pinched together, overwhelmed with pleasure. It only takes a few pumps and a swirl of a slender thumb over the slit at the tip before he’s coming in hot pulses all over his stomach and chest. 

If it feels like that for him, it’s no wonder he has trouble stringing a sentence together during.

Aziraphale was enjoying this insight into Crowley’s pleasure. All of the experiments thus far had been quite successful, if he did say so himself. Having cleaned up from his orgasm with nothing more than a thought, he suddenly remembers that there’s something that he’s always wished to try and would be remiss not to take advantage while in such a flexible corporation. Concentrating, he feels his spine going more serpentine.

Deeming the refractory periods of humans thoroughly unnecessary, he feels his long, thick cock hardening once again against his flat belly. Sitting up and swinging long legs over the edge of the bed, he slumps his torso over experimentally, seeing how far down he can reach with his lips. Aziraphale grips his prick and manages to use a long swipe of his tongue to wet the crown. Focusing on the serpent inside himself, he lengthens his tongue as well and manages to wrap it around the head. His cock reaches full hardness quickly under his ministrations and throbs expectantly. The angel wonders briefly how often Crowley treats himself to this kind of self-attention. The thought fades away as the temptation to flip onto his back takes over. He hikes his legs up into the air and bends them. Walks them back over his head, spine bent unnaturally and brings his flushed red prick close enough to his lips that he’s able to open his mouth and let it sink right into the wet heat within.

Moaning around the hard length, he uses the leverage of his legs to rock his hips down, pressing himself further into his mouth and bumping into the back of his throat. He reaches up to cup his bollocks and squeeze gently, making his prick twitch in the seal of his lips. Aziraphale cranes his neck up a bit with each rut of his hips, picking up the tempo satisfactorily. He sucks harder each time his cock slips between his lips. Uses his thin, split tongue to tease underneath and swirl around the head, moaning when drops of precome begin to spill into his throat.

Just when the angel truly begins to mentally praise the serpentine qualities of his beloved demon’s corporation, he recalls one that he has yet to avail himself of. 



Crowley can't believe how much muscle the young woman has. Such a skinny little thing. More than Crowley himself. And she'd drawn sounds from Aziraphale's lips Crowley's never heard before. Imagine that. Six thousand years, and two thumbs corkscrewing into the ball of his foot is all it takes to learn something new. His body had... reacted. To put it mildly. Perked right up imagining how he might be able to recreate that sound. How he might be touching Aziraphale tonight once they’re back in their own corporations. Then he'd caught sight of that post-pedi cheese grater (which, he realized, would have had his own sides splitting with laughter the moment it touched his own corporation) and any semblance of arousal had died on the spot.

While a new technician soaks his fingers and trims his cuticles, he’s lost in Coronation Street. The scandalized gasp that escapes his lips when Anna stabs Phelan is overwhelmingly familiar. Fills him to overflowing with warm fuzzies. He's then immediately embarrassed for being so swept up in the soap opera. Even still, he tries to scheme ways he might be able to convince Aziraphale they should watch it together. For the wiles. Obviously. Not because he has to know if Phelan is actually dead or if he's going to come back by some miracle of medical science next week.

"Just a clear coat today, Mr. Fell?"

He hums. He's always been a fan of a little varnish. Never seen it on the angel before though. A little fun never hurt anyone. Well… that may not technically be true. As the original tempter he knows a fair bit of fun that’s ended up going spectacularly bad. But in this case he’s pretty sure he’s safe.  

"Why don't we try something a little different. Maybe something with a little... sparkle."

"Oh Mr. Fell. I've got just the thing."

Five minutes later his nails are under a blue UV light glittering bright gold. The ring finger on his left hand a deep crimson. He wiggles those plump fingers with a warm smile. An Aziraphale smile. That same stupidly pleased smile he gets on his face when he's practicing magic tricks or dancing the gavotte. The same smile Crowley gets the pleasure of seeing just for being himself. A demon not very good at being a demon. In love with an angel not very good at being an angel.

He wishes he could blame the mushy sentimentality on Aziraphale's corporation. But that's all him. Crowley always has been the sensitive one.

He's still admiring his nails when a technician gathers him up with a hand on his elbow. "Your esthetician is ready for you dear."

Crowley doesn't even know what an esthetician is. But if it's part of the full package, why not? He lets the woman lead him away for his next treatment while still watching that damned soap opera out of the corner of his eye. Inside a private, vaguely modern looking room he lays back in a reclining chair and closes his eyes as a young man gently cleanses and exfoliates his cheeks and forehead and nose. It's more relaxing than he'd have imagined it would be. Having a stranger touching his face. The only person he can actually recall touching his own face is Aziraphale. Never really trusted anyone else to get so close. He’s starting to understand, though, why the angel goes in for a bit of pampering now and again.

An hour and quite the head, neck, and shoulder massage later, the young technician is only just applying something called a facial mask. Crowley was expecting… well… a mask. He isn’t expecting something warm and thick hitting his cheeks and chin. And he isn’t expecting that little uptick in Aziraphale’s heartbeat when it does. Or the way it echoes low in his belly.



Centering himself for a moment, Aziraphale manifests two hemipenes where his singular cock had been. They lay side by side, rather than on top of one another as he had been suspecting, proving how ill informed of reptilian reproductive biology he is, making a mental note to locate as many herpetology textbooks as possible in the near future. The cocks appear human enough save for the flushed, reddish pink coloration. And the fact that they protrude from a slit in a patch of jet black iridescent scales tucked underneath coarse red hair. 

Wrapping a hand around each cock, the angel gives them a squeeze, taking turns licking each tip. They leak a copious amount of slick and using it to ease the way, he pumps into both tight fists and attempts to get both into his mouth at once. With a thought, his jaw unhinges helpfully and he manages to fit the hemipenes inside. He eases them deeper until they hit the back of his throat where the narrow shape can’t accommodate the obscene width of both at once. Gripping the base of each cock, he pulls his mouth back and cranes his neck forward again, swallowing down one at a time in rotation.

With one cock enveloped in velvety wet heat, he squeezes the other from root to tip with a skilled hand until he's groaning. In his mind, Crowley is gripping his hair, pushing insistently into his throat and fist, Aziraphale garbles “Oh, fffuck” around his mouthful, orgasm approaching like a freight train. How Crowley ever gets anything done when he's able to do this is a mystery. The thought of watching Crowley do this to himself is fleeting, but pushes him over the edge. The hemipenes spurt their release at the same time, one deep down his throat and one over his face. It manages to hit chin, lips, eyes, forehead, and even lands in his hair. He lays there for quite some time afterwards, feeling quite boneless and thoroughly relaxed. 



“My hair? In my hair, Angel?!” 

Aziraphale swipes the photo away. “You liked it.”

Crowley runs a trembling hand through his mane. Finds it’s perfectly coiffed and free of any unpleasant stickiness. His voice is losing all of its bluster as Aziraphale finally tightens his grip around his cock on the next upstroke. “You liked it.” 

“Oh darling. Most certainly.” Aziraphale tilts Crowley’s face toward his own. “Do you really mean to tell me you only had a spa day? That you didn’t…” He glances at his own cock, straining against his trousers. “”



"Goodness, how did I get so lucky. Gorgeous thing like you." Crowley turns slowly in front of the mirror. On the way back from the salon, pink and clean and fresh, he'd popped into the sunny little corner shop down the street for a bottle of wine. Nothing too fancy. Aziraphale's usual. What he grabs on a Sunday afternoon to take to the park when they picnic. Or a Wednesday night when Crowley finally convinces him to settle down with a movie and a blanket. Back in the bookshop he'd snapped a glass into his hand and enjoyed the silky texture on his tongue. Tasted the earth and spice in the way only Aziraphale can. Then he'd caught sight of himself in the mirror. And had to stop to admire those gentle curves. 

"Why don't we see what we have under here." He takes one last sip from his glass and sets it aside to peel off his jacket. Traces his fingers over the buttons of his waistcoat. Such a familiar sensation, plucking each one from its hole. But altogether new. New fingers. Old memories. It's a disorienting sensation. His bowtie goes next. Falls onto the floor and neatly folds itself alongside the articles of clothing he's already shed. 

"Such a beautiful angel. Soft in all the right spots. All those secret indulgences that make me love you so, taking up residence here..." He runs a palm over his hips. "And here." He slides his hands down over his ample backside and cups himself gently. Watches himself in the mirror over his shoulder as he squeezes and lifts. 

"Sinking into your arms at the end of the night is almost better than sex." His hands trail back around his hips and down the fronts of his thighs. They stop to frame his crotch. "Almost."

"Stubborn and strong and fussy. And absolutely perfect." He works open the front of his shirt as he turns back toward the mirror. "Never would have made it up here without you, you know?"  He runs his palms over his waist and then works his trousers open and over his hips. 

"I could just look at you all day." As he admires Aziraphale in the mirror he wonders what Aziraphale is up to in his corporation. How he's killing time until they can finally meet again and swap back. Perhaps he's reading. Maybe his corporation led Aziraphale straight to the stash of historical nonfiction he keeps hidden away for when needs a good laugh. Or maybe he's stumbled across the stash of Magnum bars in his freezer and is indulging in Crowley's sweet tooth. Better yet, maybe he's finally discovering the utter satisfaction of a good nap. 

Crowley chuckles in Aziraphale's voice. "I know you, Angel. I'd bet you've had a little wank, haven't you?" His fingers drop to his crotch and he cups himself through his pants. "Curious, I bet. A little touch. Just to see. No worries, Angel. No harm done." He pulls his cock out of the top of his pants and strokes himself slowly. "Just a little curious..."

"Love you, Angel." He grins at himself in the mirror.. Looks himself in the eye. Speaks to himself using Aziraphale’s voice. "Love you Crowley. Sweet, kind demon." His belly flutters and he brings his other hand to it. Runs it over the soft swell. "So good. So ahh... Perfect." His breath hitches. His brain wants more gentleness and kindness, but his body is begging for something different. Something that he promises himself he'll take back with him and give to his Angel. Something harder and rougher. For now though, he watches his glittering fingers slide up and down his length. Catches sight of that crimson ring finger. A promise he's already made but maybe now won't have to hide. The weight of his own love radiates back onto him. And he can feel it, wearing an angel and all. It takes hardly anything at all to send him over the edge, gasping Aziraphale's name. 



Aziraphale miracles Crowley’s body and handsome face clean, sighing in wrung-out pleasure. He looks at the mirror intently, as if expecting the demon to do something as himself. Bending one leg and keeping his foot flat on the bed, he cocks his knee out a bit, catching sight of the demon’s thus far ignored pretty pink arsehole.

“Can’t neglect any part of you, my dear. I have a mind to leave you a lovely little parting gift.” Aziraphale says to himself.

With a devious smile, he hitches his other leg up and bows it out, pulling both knees back to expose himself further to the view of the mirror. Slender hands travel down the demon’s torso to the pert arse cheeks pillowed on the bed. One thumb on each hand rubs each side of the puckered entrance between and gently tugs, the rim fluttering expectantly.  The angel miracles the demon’s arse slick and pushes one long finger in, curling it up to massage his prostate. It's much more sensitive to stimulation than Aziraphale’s own. Much like the rest of his body has proven to be. At just a few strokes with one finger, the angel has to pull it out and calm himself. He wills his corporation back into a more human form at the same time, his cock already growing hard and dripping precome below his belly button. With a sly grin, Aziraphale miracles his favorite vibrator into his hand and pushes into the demon’s wet hole slowly, teasingly. He turns on the vibration setting and builds up a rhythm of grazing Crowley’s prostate with the toy for a few seconds and pulling back before it can send him over the edge. Pushing in, pulling out, lighting up the nerve endings in his love’s corporation, taking him right to the edge over and over, but never further. 

And now, darling, a gem for my gem. 

Aziraphale miracles the prostate massager away and replaces it instantly with a lubed, stainless steel butt plug adorned with a ruby red jewel in the shape of a heart. Pushing it into his well-stretched arse, the angel hums in delight at the view of the decorated demon and feels the corporation he’s wearing practically vibrate in anticipation. 



They arrive in Mayfair and the Bentley parks itself safely outside Crowley’s building. Aziraphale carefully tucks the demon’s hard cock back into his trousers and pants and zips him up, patting the bulge for good measure as if it was the bonnet of a car. He swipes away the last photo, and slips Crowley’s phone back into his pocket as he whispers into his ear. “It’s been quite a day. You’ve been so good to me, my heart. May I be good to you?”

Crowley whimpers, hips twitching up toward Aziraphale’s palm where it still rests on his crotch. “Please.”

Aziraphale snaps his glittering fingers and they’re side by side on Crowley’s absurdly large bed, already naked. Smirking up at the mirror above them, the angel lies back against the pillows and pats his lap. His prick, hard against his belly, for all intents and purposes looking like an arrow declaring “this angel is going to fuck you silly.” The demon’s serpentine pupils blow wider with lust and he scrambles to climb atop him. Crowley fists his hands in Aziraphale’s hair and kisses him roughly. Nips at him hard enough to make him gasp. 

Aziraphale pulls away enough to purr sultrily against the demon’s mouth.“Turn around, my love. I’d like you to share the lovely view I enjoyed all day.” He bites Crowley’s bottom lip gently before pulling back and grinning. 

“Fuck, Angel.” Crowley groans, turning over and bracing his legs on either side of Aziraphale’s, facing the mirror on the ceiling. His back resting against Aziraphale’s chest.. The angel runs his hands up and down the demon’s ribs from behind, teasing his fingers all the way down to the creases of his thighs on either side of his throbbing cock.

“I learned quite a lot about this lovely corporation today, dear heart. I’d love to show you…” Aziraphale whispers into the demon’s ear as he traces feather light touches to the inside of Crowley’s thighs then back up his stomach. The angel circles the pads of his thumbs gingerly over his already-peaked nipples, the areolas tightening in suit.

Crowley moans a loud, broken sound, followed by a sharp inhalation. He ruts his hips upward, seeking friction for his poor ignored erection and finding none. His arsehole grips around the plug inside, certain angles causing fleeting stimulation to his prostate and making tears of frustration well up in his eyes. Aziraphale continues grazing his fingertips over Crowley’s skin. Shivers himself remembering just how good all of those delicate touches felt. 

Aziraphale tuts at a frustrated whine that slips between the demon’s lips. Is as gentle with his words as he is with his hands. “None of that, my dear. I’m going to take care of you now. I know your body needs it desperately after the fun I had with it today.” Aziraphale hums into the back of Crowley’s neck, sucking a love bite into his skin. 

“Ahhh! Angel! Aziraphale! Yes, please!” Crowley begs, spreading his legs further in hopeful anticipation.

Aziraphale reaches for the plug nestled inside the demon’s slicked hole and pulls it out slowly. “Be sure to watch the show, darling. This is all for you.” He winks when he catches Crowley’s eye in the mirror above. 

“Ohhhhh fuuuuuuck.” Crowley rasps, his hole fluttering and trying to hold onto the plug unsuccessfully.

Miracling the toy into the ether and his cock slicked, Aziraphale grabs Crowley under each thigh and pulls his knees backwards until they’re nearly touching his shoulders. Then remembers just how flexible he’d found Crowley’s corporation to be and tugs them back even further, exposing the demon’s now empty hole to his hungry gaze. 

“Take me in hand now, there’s a dear.” Aziraphale coos. Crowley grabs the angel’s throbbing prick in one shaky hand and lines it up to his arsehole. “Are you ready, darling? Hold on tight.” Aziraphale warns right before he pushes inside in one smooth thrust, pausing as coarse blond hair meets pert arse cheeks. 

“Hnnnnnnnggggg!” Crowley whines as his eyes roll back into his skull. He reaches back to hold onto the nape of Aziraphale’s neck with his right hand while the left comes down to rest on the angel’s hip. Seeing Crowley folded so nearly in half makes Azraphale’s heart race. Brings to mind the sensation of having two cocks in his mouth at once. He pushes the thought aside for later and focuses on Crowley’s pleasure instead. He wants to fuck him in the one way he hasn’t already done today.

“That’s it, such a good boy for me. I’m going to give you everything now.” Aziraphale begins thrusting slowly, holding tight behind Crowley’s bent knees to keep him in position. 

With his head thrown back and mouth gaping open, the demon’s eyes squeeze shut. The angel concentrates on the slick slide of his cock inside the demon’s tight channel, angling his hips to light him up with pleasure on every graze over his prostate. The angel sucks a bruise into the place where his neck meets his shoulder and a deep, vibrating groan works its way up Crowley’s throat. 

“You’re perfect. So perfect. Open your eyes, dearest one. Look how well you take it, how hungry you are for it.” Aziraphale rasps into Crowley’s ear and begins to pick up the pace of his thrusts. The demon’s cock pulses erratically and once opened, his eyes go glassy and unfocused despite being trained obediently on the reflection of Aziraphale.

“Angel… I can’t. Please, please touch me.” Crowley sobs, reaching both hands down to his thighs to touch the angel’s fingertips. 

“Alright, dear. Alright. I’ve worked you up quite enough. I’ll give you what you need. Hold your legs here. There’s a love.” Aziraphale soothes, moving his hands out of the way for Crowley to hold his thighs as best as he can with his shaking arms. 

One of the angel's hands moves to wrap around the flushed, leaking cock lying against the demon's belly. With his thumb he spreads the slick dripping from the head and Crowley does his best to thrust into the fist surrounding his length as the angel begins to stroke him. Aziraphale continues thrusting, harder still, and reaches his other hand up to tangle in the demon’s hair. He makes a gorgeous sight in the reflection above. Eyes gold from corner to corner and mouth hanging open. Flushed chest and fingers grasping his own thighs so tight his knuckles are white. Aziraphale knows what it feels like now to be so close to the edge in Crowley’s corporation. He knows every little sensation. His heart swells as he watches his toes clench and his body begin to tremble. He wouldn’t have imagined he could know the demon more intimately after 6,000 years together. It nearly makes the last week seem worth it.

“Fuuuuuuck! I’m gonna c-come! Give it to me, Angel! Fill me up!” Crowley stammers, arse clenching around Aziraphale’s cock and tears streaming out of the sides of his eyes. 

“Yes, my darling. I’ll give you what you need. Come for me.” Aziraphale’s hips stutter out of rhythm before his prick begins to pulse inside Crowley. He's come so many times with Crowley's corporation today that it's almost strange to do so in his own. The demon follows right after, the intensity of an orgasm after being edged for so long causing his cock to twitch and streak come up his chest and onto his face. 

When Crowley seems to have caught his breath again, he releases his legs and lets his feet fall slowly back down onto the mattress on either side of Aziraphale's thighs. He stares up at Aziraphale's reflection with a satisfied grin on his face.

"Next time I get to show you what I learned."

“Oh? And just what might that entail?”

“Well, for one you know perfectly well how to use the remote.”

“I don’t know what on earth you’re…”

“Anna stabbed Phelan.”

Aziraphale gasps, obviously torn between concealing his guilty pleasure and avoiding Coronation Street spoilers. 

Crowley continues. “Turns out Lewis Archer…”

“Ok enough! I caught an episode in the sixties after that whole… incident. Took my mind off things.”

“You’ve been watching that show for over fifty years?!” 

Aziraphale distracts the demon the only way he knows how. Drags his fingertips over his belly and toward his groin. Feather light. Breathes a sigh of relief as Crowley’s head falls back against his chest again and his cock perks up for the fourth time today. 

“Now darling. You said you’d show me what you learned, but all you’ve done is tease me instead.” He runs his hands over the creases of Crowley’s thighs. “What exactly did you learn, apart from my indulgence in a little drama here and there?”

“Your body likes its massage so hard it’s like tenderizing a steak. I’m going to give it what it needs and then some.”

“And what does it need, pray tell?”

Crowley smirks in the mirror above them. Drops his hands to Aziraphale’s hips and squeezes hard enough to leave handprints behind. “I’m gonna lay you face down on the bed and knead your muscles until you’re loose and pliant. Then I’m going to fuck you through the mattress.”

Aziraphale is already easing Crowley off of his chest and rolling onto his belly. “Mmmm, be a dear and make sure to use both your cocks, then.”