Chapter Text
Crowley growled in distaste as his TV was interrupted by a demonic message, telling him he had to return down below to deal with some paperwork. He was sick of Hell just warping the words of whoever was on screen to communicate with him, instead of just sending a text or an email or something. He suspected they did it on purpose just to piss him off.
He waved the TV off and headed out to drive across the City to the earthside portal between above and below, grumbling as he went. He’d hoped to meet up with Aziraphale that evening, ostensibly to discreetly swap information, but he couldn’t kid himself that most of their excuses to meet were contrived at best. He simply enjoyed spending time with the only other immortal being on this godforsaken planet who understood him. He doubted any other angels or demons working topside had anything other than the standard deep rooted hatred for each other.
Armageddon had not yet come and gone, all that was still yet to come, sooner than they realized. But before that, Aziraphale and Crowley were to go through their own trials on a less than global scale.
After an irritatingly long time dealing with red tape and purposefully complicated forms designed entirely to infuriate, (and how Crowley regretted his hand in developing that concept), Crowley was finally free to go.
As he made his way from Dagon’s offices out into the bustling and stinking public halls of Hell, there appeared to be more chaos than usual. He’d had the misfortune to visit just when the younger demons were returning from a hunt.
Not all demons are Fallen; only the very oldest, like Crowley and the senior dukes and princes of Hell. The major arcana, as it were. The rest are spawned and mature under the guidance of the older demons. These had never been angels and knew nothing of the time before the Fall.
Every few years, as young imps matured into fully fledged demons, they set out on an angel hunt. Older demons were also free to join in. It wasn’t just angels, but particularly holy humans, or anyone that Hell deemed close enough to getting into Heaven was fair game. Saints-to-be, some of the actually decent priests, and of course any angel on Earth was a prime target. They’d be caught, brought back to Hell, tortured, and then generally released again once the demons had finished having fun with them.
The humans were typically left traumatized but due to the demonic nature of the experience, tended to believe they’d been experiencing some horrific nightmare. Or worse, they knew exactly what had happened, and unable to convince anyone else that what occurred was real, ended up committed to psychiatric care and rarely recovered. Angels, of course, always knew exactly what was going on.
Aziraphale had always been relatively safe from such hunts by virtue of occupying Crowley’s territory on Earth, but with Crowley down below when the hunt took place, it seemed that some demon or other hadn’t got the memo.
Crowley stiffened in shock as a familiar scent assailed his senses, and he urgently scanned the seething crowd of jubilant demons to pick out what he was looking for among the rabid throng.
Aziraphale.
Aziraphale, chained and terrified, his powers useless down here. They’d torture him to find his deepest fears, and then reenact them on him, over and over, until he begged them to stop, and then do it some more until he was broken. Crowley had seen it enough before, although he’d tried not to. He’d avoided taking part, and managed to get by with his excuses of being far too busy being good at his job to be diverted by such things.
Crowley wasn’t so much good at his job, as he was good at bullshit. The things he really did to humans were mild; annoyances at best. But the things he took credit for - that’s where his notoriety came from. Among Hell he was renowned for fearsome wide-ranging acts of depravity which in reality he’d had nothing at all to do with. He simply watched what the humans did, and filed a report claiming their own awful ideas as his own. No one ever checked.
Sickened as he’d been by the entire Spanish inquisition episode, if one good thing had come out of it, it was that by pretending it had been his idea, the kudos he gained from his seniors for it, meant that they never looked too closely into the quality of his lesser, and more real achievements.
And by taking credit for human’s depravity, Crowley had curated for himself a fearsome reputation as one of the most dangerous demons around. A reputation that was entirely unfounded, but very much to his benefit, and he played it up as an act of self-preservation. It meant he was mostly left to his own devices, to get on with his clearly very important work. It meant that junior demons lived in fear of him, and that suited him just fine.
And to be king of bullshit, meant being a master at bluffing. Crowley was able to project a terrifying alter-ego persona purely for the benefit of his fellow demons, which had most of them thinking he was far more powerful than he really was. The time had come to put that to his advantage.
Heart pounding in internal terror, he steeled himself for the act of a lifetime, in order to try to save Aziraphale. He hoped to fuck that Aziraphale was smart enough to play along.
Fortunately, Aziraphale was even smarter than that. He was clever enough to instigate the scene, although taking things in a vastly different direction than Crowley had intended. It was probably for the best. Individually, Angel and Demon had good ideas, but millennia of secretly working together meant that together they were unstoppable.
Crowley shouldered his way through the swarm of bloodthirsty demons, snarling at any who didn’t make way fast enough, and ran his gaze over the prisoner, as if evaluating him. Aziraphale locked eyes with him and the barest flicker of knowing passed between them. If they hadn’t known each other for thousands of years they’d never have developed this level of unspoken communication, but each knew the other inside out and could read them like a book.
While other captives would have usually been already begging for their lives at this point, not knowing what punishment was intended for them, Aziraphale dropped to his knees and sobbed, addressing Crowley directly.
“Please don’t rape me, please I’m begging you, I’ll do anything, just not that. Anything but that, please don’t…”
Crowley was briefly caught off guard, but was experienced enough not to let it show. He removed his shades and strode over to the kneeling angel, then captured his jaw in one hand, gripping tight and turning his head up as if to inspect his face.
“Damn right you’ll do anything. You’ll do anything I damn well tell you to, Angel,” he spat the word as if it were an insult. Only between them did they know it was normally an affectionate nickname. Crowley lifted his own head, with far more confidence than he felt, and addressed the crowd in general with a fierce glare from his uncovered eyes. If he spoke with enough authority, he might be able to blag it. If he could inject enough authority into his voice and stance, no one would dare question him. He hoped to fuck it would work.
“This one is mine,” he declared, brooking no argument. He simply stated it as a fact, with an unspoken threat tacked on the end that anyone who attempted to dispute the fact would very much regret doing so. Wasn’t he the famous Crowley responsible for some of the worst genocides in history? Wasn’t he favored by the senior demons and tasked with the important jobs? Of course he was entitled to claim any prisoner as his own. Who would question it? Besides, if any were to do so, he could point out that they’d taken the Angel from his own territory without his permission.
He’d made sure to draw upon his power of demonic suggestion to add weight to his words, and before any objections could be heard, he grabbed Aziraphale’s chain and dragged him to his feet.
He’d hoped he’d be able to drag Aziraphale off to his private chambers in Hell, rarely used as he spent most of his time on Earth, but unfortunately his bullshitting could only carry him so far. He was surrounded by bloodthirsty demons who expected a show. They wanted to watch every prisoner get tortured, and Aziraphale was no exception. They leered and jeered in eager anticipation, but blocked Crowley from being able to leave with his prize.
“Where you taking him? Not going to show us how we treat his kind down here?” The same sentiment was echoed by many hundreds of voices all around him, and demons even began grabbing at Aziraphale, trying to rip his clothing off. Crowley rounded on them in a fury, hissing savagely and striking out with talons manifested on his hands.
“I said, this one is mine,” he reiterated. “Keep your filthy claws to yourself, only I get to play with my new toy, back off!”
“SHOW US!” the crowd demanded, pushing back, but at least now not touching Aziraphale. Crowley’s bravado couldn’t get them out of the problem entirely, but Aziraphale knew what to do in order to escape relatively unscathed. He fell to his knees once more and grabbed desperately at Crowley’s leg, tears in his eyes, pleading.
“Please, please don’t rape me, please don’t defile me, I’d be befouled and heaven would never want me back, please…”
Crowley locked eyes with him and saw the truth of what he was asking. He was offering a solution that was acceptable to him, by pretending it was the very thing he was scared of. Crowley hadn’t missed millennia of longing glances. He knew what a hedonist Aziraphale was at heart, he also knew how much Aziraphale trusted him to look after him. But he had to be sure. He couldn’t risk hurting his angel for anything, and amid a baying crowd, it was going to be difficult.
He was already pulling rank that he didn’t technically possess. If too much of a riot broke out over him digging his heels in, it’d attract the attention of those with serious rank, like Hastur, who wouldn’t hesitate to ‘spoil his fun’ as he’d see it. He’d likely take Aziraphale for himself, and that didn’t even bear thinking about. Crowley had seen what Hastur was capable of.
“You want to see what we do to miserable angels around here?” Crowley roared at the crowd, hauling Aziraphale to his feet by his shirt collar in one hand. The assembled demons howled in approval. Crowley miracled up a flat rock platform, and pushed his realistically trembling angel back on it without even looking, as if he didn’t care. His very heart tore at having to act so insouciant toward him. He had to do this, so that no one else would. He could at least do it in such a way as not to hurt Aziraphale, while making it look real. At least he hoped he could.
Crowley climbed atop Aziraphale with a threatening snarl, both still fully clothed at least for now, but he needed to try to establish communication as best he could amidst this literally hellish situation. He ground his hips against Aziraphale’s, and ensured that while he’d manifested suitably demonic claws, they didn’t actually have a sharp point while they touched the angel. He used his hands to pin Aziraphale’s wrists to the rocky slab.
Aziraphale was either truly terrified, or merely doing a fantastic job of acting it. Perhaps both. It would be understandable for it to be both. Crowley hissed threateningly then began to speak his threats out loud for the benefit of the crowd, before gradually lowering his voice as he moved his head in closer to Aziraphale’s, as if he were whispering more dire threats in his ear, allowing the jeering cacophony to drown out his words so only Aziraphale could hear what he was really saying.
“I’m going to fuck you until you beg me for mercy, I’m going to force you to orgasm even as you try your hardest not to, again and again. I’m going to split you in half on my demonic cock and fill you up over and over, I’m not going to rest, nor give you any, until I’m completely satisfied and you’re utterly broken…” his voice dropped as the crowd’s cheers grew louder in approval. He dropped his lips close to Aziraphale’s ear with a cruel looking snarl.
“... Angel, try to bite me if you’re ok with this. If you’re truly not, lie still, do nothing.”
He raised his voice again as if continuing his litany of threats as he raised his head once more, and Aziraphale made direct eye contact with him, seemingly defiant now. All of a sudden, he struggled and lashed out, aiming a bite at Crowley’s nose, missing by mere fractions of an inch.
“You’ll never have me, demon,” he spat.
“Oh but I will. You’re mine now, Angel. My little plaything, and no one else’s. Going to keep you to myself and violate your body every way I please.” He gradually lowered his voice again as he spoke amidst the roar of the crowd to cover his next words. “You know what we do to impudent angels around here?” Crowley put his lips next to Aziraphale’s ear once more to whisper: “If you need me to stop, try to kick me twice, got it? Try to bite me again for yes.”
Once again, Crowley jerked his head away as angelic teeth snapped shut a hair’s breadth from his own ear.
“It doesn’t matter how rough you are with me you fiend, you won’t break me,” Aziraphale snarled back, fighting against Crowley’s grip. His eyes flashed in defiance, but it was clear his words were true, and an instruction to Crowley that he had free rein to make things look as realistic as he liked.
Crowley growled and stood up, miracling the chains to hold Aziraphale secure, albeit with more wiggle room than any sensible demon would have left. Allowing his claws to actually sharpen, he used them to shred the clothing from Aziraphale, knowing that afterwards he’d miracle them back into undamaged condition once more. He hoped Aziraphale realized that as well, but frankly, a bit of fabric was the least of their worries right now, regardless of how particular Aziraphale was about his belongings usually.
Eschewing his claws once more for normal hands, he ran them over Aziraphale’s naked body, spreadeagled out over the bare rock. Crowley’s innards felt like they were wrenching themselves into painful knots at the thought of how he was having to treat the only person in the world he cared about, but he reminded himself he was doing it to save him from much, much worse.
He wished they were in a situation where he could properly appreciate Aziraphale, worship his body gently and smother him with kisses. Even as roleplay, the kind of behavior Crowley would have to display was not the sort of thing he’d ever want to do as a first time. True, they knew each other better than anyone else on earth, but not in an intimate way. At least not yet. He had to remember that Aziraphale had placed his trust in him to get him out of danger, and had voiced the method himself. It was too specific, and aimed directly at Crowley, not to be a cry for assistance. He could have begged against any other kind of mistreatment, but instead chose a carnal one, seemingly on purpose.
Crowley took reassurance from that at least, because he had to know that Aziraphale was ok with it if he was going to manage to do this. After all, Crowley had to be able to get his own body sufficiently aroused to complete the task, and without knowing that Aziraphale was willing to participate, that wouldn’t be possible at all.
He skimmed his hands all over the soft welcoming flesh, squeezing appreciatively and donning a suitably lecherous leer to please the crowd. Aziraphale put on a show of straining against his bonds and throwing hateful glances at his captor. Crowley’s hands wandered lower and between Aziraphale’s thighs. He was a blank canvas, with no genitalia present yet, and without the power to amend his corporation down here. Crowley would have to do it for him.
“You think this is going to stop me?” Crowley taunted. “I can make you whatever I want you to be.” But knowing that a vagina would be less easily damaged or hurt by rough penetration, he decided to go with that to lessen the risk and discomfort to the angel at his mercy. Anal penetration took practice to relax into, and now was not the optimum time to start pondering over Aziraphale’s experience in that regard, or lack thereof.
Crowley ran his fingers up against the blank skin between those soft thighs, and tweaked at Aziraphale’s corporation to create a nice vulva. He carried on teasing with his fingers to ease Aziraphale into it, and was shocked to find how quickly he became wet, given the circumstances. Was it possible the angel was really getting off on this? He shoved the thought aside. Of course he wasn’t. This wasn’t that kind of situation.
But merely feeling the delicious wetness between Aziraphale’s thighs was having the desired effect on his own corporation, and he was growing painfully hard in his pants. He kept one hand ostensibly groping Aziraphale’s cunt for his own pleasure, and with the other, rubbed at his own crotch through the fabric of his jeans, showing off the growing bulge there to the angel laid out before him. Aziraphale stared openly, masking any real emotion with simulated defiance.
“You wouldn’t dare defile an angel of the lord,” he said, fighting against his bonds to no avail.
“Oh but I do dare,” Crowley replied. “And you’re going to lie there and take it.”
He stood straight and shrugged off his jacket, drawing things out for effect. Then Crowley tugged his henley off over his head, exposing his lean torso. Was there a brief, hungry glint in Aziraphale’s eye at the sight? If there was, it was gone as soon as it came. Then the demon unbuckled his belt with cocky slowness, slipping it from the loops one by one, then holding it up to show Aziraphale. He strutted around the slab, seemingly to taunt his prey.
“Shall I blindfold you, do you think? So you can’t see what’s coming? Or leave your eyes uncovered so you can watch exactly what I’m doing to you?” He placed the belt over Aziraphale’s eyes briefly in demonstration, then withdrew it again as if considering. “What do you suppose? With, or without?” He laid the belt over Aziraphale’s eyes once more, with no reaction, but once he removed it, Aziraphale aimed a bite at his hand, which seemed to follow the pattern of ‘bite for continue’. So no blindfold it was.
“No, I think I want to see the fear in your eyes as I fuck you,” Crowley said smugly, and cast his belt aside on the floor, reataking his position between Aziraphale’s spread legs, where he rubbed at his own crotch a little more, before grinding it against Aziraphale’s cunt, feeling the headying wetness there soak through the cloth. He shuddered with a delight he didn’t have to fake.
He locked eyes with his captive with a smirk as he stood straight again, and popped the button, inched the zipper down, then shoved his jeans and underwear down off his hips in one go, letting his cock spring free. Aziraphale looked shocked, for the briefest second, in a hungry way, before schooling his features into a facsimile of fear instead. Crowley stroked his shaft with a languid touch, as if showing off to instill more fear.
“You want this? Want it jammed up that pretty little snatch of yours? Want me to split you open on my demonic cock?” He stroked himself to full hardness, while teasing at Aziraphale’s labia with his free hand, subtly circling his clit now and then, hoping the demons wouldn’t notice or care, provided they were getting their show. He tried to mentally block out the surrounding crowd, as he was sure Aziraphale was too. “Well, you’re going to get it regardless,” he declared. Crowley climbed up, and ground his cock against Aziraphale’s slit with an earthy groan.
He only had to half pretend to be lost in the moment when he dropped his head down by Aziraphale’s shoulder close enough to whisper in his ear again while the assembled demons howled in approval and made obscene suggestions that Crowley ignored.
“Please, Angel, let me know you’re ok. Say the word and I’ll die fighting them all for you if I have to. Try to bite me if you want me to do this. If you want me to stop and try to fight to get you out of here, say ‘god in heaven’ and I’ll do it.”
Aziraphale bared his teeth and managed to hiss back in Crowley’s ear just before he aimed a bite at him: “you’re not dying for me. Fuck me like I always wanted you to.”
With that he lunged as if struggling, teeth gnashing in fury and only just seeming to miss each time.
Crowley managed to mask his shock at his Angel’s words by pretending it was at the ferocity with which he’d apparently fought back. But it seemed that the ferocity of the attempted bites were Aziraphale’s way of reinforcing the strength of his affirmative answers. The subtle twitch of his hips upwards to meet Crowley’s was something he doubted the other demons would have noticed, but he felt like a jolt to his loins with the sensitivity of his cock.
Crowley rallied round by biting back at the angel below him, as if in retaliation. He grabbed hold of Aziraphale’s neck in his teeth, but didn’t break the skin. He didn’t miss the vibration in Aziraphale’s throat heralding his mostly unheard groan of approval at the maneuver. Thankfully the clamor of the assembled mob drowned out any of their quieter noises from being overheard.
He released his grip and licked up Aziraphale’s cheek in a lurid show of possession.
“You’re my property, and I’m going to fuck you until you scream out that fact for everyone to hear,” Crowley growled, and slammed in.
Aziraphale screamed out, but must have seen the brief flash of concern well concealed behind Crowley’s eyes, as he followed it up with a spirited attempt to bite again, so Crowley hoped the scream had either been for effect, or from genuine pleasure. Thankfully pleasure and pain could produce similar sounds and facial expressions, which would go a long way towards providing a convincing ‘torture’ scene.
Crowley grabbed at Aziraphale’s neck as if to restrain him, which had the advantage of looking more vicious than it was, given that he didn’t apply any pressure, and kept his weight on his other arm, and through his arm and elbow on the angel’s chest and not the hand itself. Aziraphale snarled and pretended to submit.
Releasing his neck, Crowley withdrew almost completely, and paused there. Part of him wanted to take his time and take it slow. He ached to make soft sweet gentle love to Aziraphale, to kiss him and treasure him, but there was literally no way in hell that was possible. So he slammed back in again hard, again and again, setting a punishing pace. Aziraphale gasped out at each thrust.
Aziraphale, meanwhile, was also battling an urge to show how he really felt. He longed to hold Crowley tight, to capture his lips in a deep passionate kiss, to claw at his back in urgent need to drive him to fuck into him harder still. But instead he had to do the opposite of his instincts. He had to buck, to claw at Crowley’s chest instead as if pushing him away, to twist his head away as if to avoid Crowley’s lips. At least on the last point, Crowley managed to make it real for him, somehow on the same wavelength that whatever it was that Aziraphale wanted in this scenario, he pretended he didn’t.
So Aziraphale found his jaw gripped in Crowley’s strong hand, forcing him to make eye contact as the seemingly savage demon fucked into him, and then ‘forced’ him into a possessive and frenzied open mouthed kiss. He thought his heart would give out at that moment, and resisted the urge to kiss Crowley back with equal desperate ferocity. He groaned into the kiss, knowing at least he couldn’t be heard over the din, but that Crowley would be able to feel it, and understand.
He knew Crowley was feeling conflicted over this, and that they’d need to have a good long talk over it once it was all over and they were safe again. But he’d done everything he could to reassure Crowley that this was ok, and the best way he could think of to get through the ordeal without real distress. At least he wasn’t being physically tortured with red hot pokers or worse.
There were a million worse fates that demons could inflict on their victims, but seeing Crowley there had given Aziraphale an option to seize upon, where Crowley could appear to be savage, where Aziraphale could appear to be tortured, but in which he could actually indulge in something he’d dreamed of for thousands of years anyway. He was grateful that Crowley had understood the intention behind his words and actions, and played along.
While Aziraphale’s inner thoughts echoed Crowley’s, wishing that their first time together could be a slow, tender, loving experience, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to himself that he’d secretly lusted after a scenario like this one as well, at least in future. To pretend to be ravished by a demon, while knowing he was completely safe at the same time. The public sex and humiliation aspect was also a secret fantasy.
But in a way, this was still a loving experience. This was Crowley putting his own life on the line to protect him in the best way he could, and pretending to take him against his will, looking the part, and yet not actually hurting Aziraphale at all. On the contrary, every touch, every guarded bite, every scratch that never broke the skin, and every hard thrust, was exactly what he desired, and his cries were of pleasure, thankfully misinterpreted as pain by anyone watching who didn’t know what the real situation was.
So wrapped up in the experience, and so focussed on Crowley, Aziraphale had almost forgotten about the hundreds of baying demons surrounding them on all sides. They’d faded into insignificance compared to the exquisite pleasure he was experiencing at Crowley’s hands. Somehow, his particular demon was managing to make a staged torture feel incredible. Every move that looked like pain, was having the exact opposite result.
Aziraphale wanted to lose himself in the sensations, and wondered if he just lay back and pretended he’d given up, it would look better or worse than his mock resistance or fighting back. But there was something so deliciously vital in the pretense, to be seen to be actively needling the terrible demon into his depravity rather than submitting in apathy.
He clawed back at Crowley’s chest as much as his chains would allow him and squirmed, bucking his hips, of course it should seem like sheer coincidence that his writhing should be timed just right to help Crowley thrust even deeper on each stroke.
Crowley wasn’t sure how long he should draw this out for. He didn’t want to inadvertently hurt Aziraphale for real, and wasn’t certain just how resilient an angelic corporation might be. He knew Aziraphale was strong, and he also knew he had to put on a convincing performance for the surrounding denizens of Hell to believe that he’d done the torture justice before they’d allow their captured victim to go free once more.
He did his best to act like the brutal demon that the rest of them thought him to be. He snarled, he bit, he called Aziraphale every insult under the sun. He called him things that hurt his very soul to utter, things he knew he’d spend an eternity apologising for afterward, and he fucked the angel.
He fucked in as hard as he dared, he made it look as brutal as he could, pulling his metaphorical punches where he thought he could get away with it, and fuck if it didn’t feel good. It shouldn’t feel good, he didn’t deserve to have it feel good, but it did, regardless of his wants. Fucking Aziraphale felt every bit as incredible as he’d always dreamed, and he hated himself for that thought.
Crowley didn’t want to fuck Aziraphale. Every desire in his body was to make love to Aziraphale, not to use him like this, no matter what the captive angel had communicated to him about it. And yet…
‘You’re not dying for me. Fuck me like I always wanted you to.’
Those words repeated themselves in his head over and over.
‘Fuck me like I always wanted you to.’
How could Aziraphale ever utter those words?
‘Fuck me.’
The urgency in that demand.
‘...like I always wanted you to.’
Always?
‘... always wanted.’
Always wanted?
‘...always.’
That was going to be one hell of a conversation after all this was over. There was a lot to unpack right there. But for now, he’d take it at face value. Aziraphale couldn’t have been any clearer.
So he fucked his angel, and fucked him hard. Making love could come later, if that’s what Aziraphale truly wanted.
Crowley needed to finish on a satisfying note for the audience, the audience he was mostly trying to blank out, not to allow his mind to dwell on the fact that the first intimacy with Aziraphale was on full display to all those who’d kill them both if they knew what was really going on between them. Acknowledging the audience was something his mind couldn’t deal with right now, and would no doubt haunt his dreams for decades, or centuries, yet to come. He didn’t intend to allow that door in his mind to be opened until this was all over.
And so he upped the taunting and filth once more, thrusting in hard, trying to ignore his disgust at having to treat the most precious person in the world this way, but also needing to allow his body to feel the pleasure in it in order that he could climax and convince the onlookers that it was real.
“How do you like that, you little slut of an angel huh? Not so fucking lippy now I’ve fucked the insolence out of you, are you? Gonna fill you up, dump my load in that pristine little cunt of yours, despoil any angelic virtue you ever had and taint you forever with the knowledge that you let a filthy demon defile this oh-so-perfect body of yours…” Crowley was uttering bestial grunts between his sentences now, hammering in brutally hard and fast, dripping with sweat.
Aziraphale was still making the odd attempt to snap at him with bared teeth to reinforce the fact that he wanted Crowley to keep going. He’d been told to try kicking twice if he wanted it to stop, but his legs had remained resolutely lax throughout the entire ordeal so far. Crowley was confused when the struggling angel beneath him tipped his head to one side, eyes scrunched tight closed, and whimpered, tensed, and then came explosively, in a flood of unexpected wetness and a high pitched cry.
Momentarily stunned by this development, Crowley rallied around and used it to his advantage, hoping the onlookers didn’t notice his brief hesitation.
“Told you I’d make you come whether you liked it or not, didn’t I? Filthy little slut, you like this don’t you?” (He had no idea just how close to the truth these words were, despite hating himself for voicing them.) “I’m not done with you yet, going to do it again before I spurt inside you. I want you to feel the full shame of admitting you enjoyed being fucked by a demon. Who do you belong to? Tell me! Tell them all who owns you!”
“You!” Aziraphale sobbed brokenly. “I’m yours.”
“Louder!” Crowley demanded.
“I belong to the demon Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted, his voice cracking and collapsing into sobs again.
“Damned right you do,” Crowley snarled back. “I told you I’d make you scream it out before I was done with you.”
Crowley claimed Aziraphale’s mouth with his own once again, making the kiss look as fierce and possessive as possible, licking deep into his mouth, and feeling Aziraphale sneakily return the sentiment, caressing Crowley’s tongue with his own, knowing that little element couldn’t be seen. Then Crowley’s hand was shoved between their bodies, feeling for Aziraphale’s clit, and teased at it as best as he was able with the awkward angle. It may have not been his best work, but it was good enough, at least combined with Aziraphale’s overall involvement with his secret fantasy come true, to push him over the precipice once more, and to yank another involuntary orgasm from him. He tried to scream into the kiss, and Crowley swallowed his cries hungrily.
The wet slapping of their bodies coming together over and over, the squelching of his cock plunging in hard and fast into that deliciously wet pussy, and the feeling of Aziraphale’s body responding to his touch so blatantly, managed to shove the reality of the situation from Crowley’s mind enough for him to forget the audience, and focus on letting himself go.
He allowed himself to follow where his body was dragging him, and succumb to the imminent explosion of his own orgasm. He raised his head, thrust one more time, as hard as he could, and held there, gasping and shaking as he unloaded deep inside Aziraphale. The fact he was clinging to Aziraphale’s upper arms tight enough to bruise at least added to his authenticity.
Crowley was exhausted. He held himself over his ‘prisoner’, dripping sweat, chest heaving with exertion, then realized that Aziraphale had allowed himself to flop back with a blissed out expression for a moment. In a panic, he darted his head forward to bite at the angel’s chest sharply to bring him back into the moment and remind him of the need to look afraid, or angry, or literally anything other than sexually satisfied.
“Now you belong to me,” Crowley declared. “And no one else,” he added, lifting his head to glare at the assembled demons to drive the point home. “This angel is mine. No one else gets to fuck him or fuck with him. He’s my property now.”
He looked down again, and saw that Aziraphale had managed to summon tears. He hoped to hell that they weren’t real. Everything in Crowley’s heart hoped that this was just more good acting, because if it wasn’t, he’d make a date with some holy water no matter what Aziraphale thought about it. He’d straight up pour it into a champagne flute and chug the lot in one go if he ever thought he’d hurt his angel.
He wouldn’t find out until later, but Aziraphale’s tears were real, of a sort. They weren’t of pain or despair, but borne of the relief of release, the result of an overwhelmed and overstimulated body, of a sweet, undefinable mess of emotions about Crowley and how he’d managed to pull the whole thing off without hurting him, and Aziraphale had allowed them to flow in full knowledge that he could also use them to add to the illusion that he was now a mentally broken angel, rather than one who just had one of his deepest, darkest, fantasies come true.
But he had to sell it, and sell it hard, so he tipped his head sideways, avoided eye contact, let the tears flow, added realistic sounding sobs and sniffs for effect, and tried to look ashamed. Inside however, he could feel Crowley’s cock still twitching within him, he could feel the drip of semen dribbling out and down, pooling beneath him, and it felt good to be so publicly defiled. He wasn’t sure if he could ever admit that last part to Crowley or not, but if his demon didn’t believe him about the rest, then he would absolutely pull that fact out to push the point home if he had to.
But mostly it felt good to be so publicly claimed by Crowley in front of all of Hell. He understood why Crowley had done it. He’d used the opportunity to try to prevent any future harm to Aziraphale by staking a claim on him for all to see and hear. The very thought of belonging to Crowley was indescribable. Aziraphale had never belonged anywhere, but more than anything, he’d only ever felt he belonged with Crowley. Crowley cared more about him than Heaven ever had. And now he was officially under Crowley’s protection, with a valid excuse.
Crowley flinched in surprise to feel Aziraphale squeezing his pelvic muscles tight around his cock in a secret internal hug, with a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flash of eye contact to go with it. It was a relief to get a sign that Aziraphale was still ok in some way. He growled, and lifted himself up, then slid out and stood up.
He gazed down at the slick mess they’d made, the pearlescent runnel of semen dripping out of the well-fucked angelic pussy. Continuing the façade of uncaring assailant, Crowley painted a smirk across his features, and drew a finger through the ejaculate there.
“See what a beautiful mess I’ve made of you Angel. Marked you with my seed, tainted you forever with the stench of sin. Everyone will know you’re my own personal fuck toy won’t they?”
He plunged three fingers deep inside with a satisfying squelch, Aziraphale moaned, and Crowley felt his pussy walls contract in pleasure at the intrusion.
“I’m going to dress you again, but I’m not cleaning up any of this mess,” he continued, slowly fucking Aziraphale on his long fingers. “You’re going to feel it all dripping out of you as you take a nice long walk of shame with me upstairs. You’re going to know all that come I spurted into you is there, deep inside this despoiled little cunt of yours, dribbling out between your legs with every step. Every demon we meet on the way up is going to smell what I’ve done to you, and know that you belong to me, and me alone.”
Aziraphale met his gaze, fake fear and revulsion in his eyes.
“I’m going to take you back to your home, and watch every move on your face, I want to see the self loathing, I want to see the shame, I want to see the disgust you have as you sit down at home and feel all of this…” he wiggled his fingers inside, and Aziraphale’s hips jolted off the slab and he cried out. “... All of this glorious mess, and to know that you belong to me.”
Crowley drew his fingers out and met Aziraphale’s gaze once more, then slowly licked each of his fingers clean in turn, letting his tongue lengthen and play around them in an overtly sexual display. Once they were licked to his satisfaction, he raised his hand and snapped.
Aziraphale’s clothes were intact, and all neatly in place on his body once more, not a mark on them. Another snap and his shackles were gone. Crowley miracled his own clothes to rights again, then hauled the silent angel upright, on shaking legs, and glared around him at the assembled demons.
“We’re done here,” he declared, and marched Aziraphale towards the exit. The mob parted before them without question.
Gripping Aziraphale’s arm, Crowley guided him up the escalator, his expression a carefully crafted “do not fuck with me and do not interrupt me if you value your life” one, to ensure they weren’t challenged whatsoever. Aziraphale hung his head and tried to summon more tears, although with limited success. His whole demeanor however, at least matched the situation he was meant to be experiencing.