the size of the boat

The man let out an agonized groan as his softening cock slipped free from Crowley’s ass. “Fuck,” he said. The bed creaked as he flopped onto his back. The sheen of sweat on Crowley’s skin began to cool, leaving him feeling chilled, only furthering his irritation. “That was brilliant,” the man continued.

When Crowley glanced over, he saw that the man’s eyes had drifted closed. Of course he was going to fall asleep once he’d gotten his rocks off. Crowley knew the type all too well. While the demon in Crowley was pleased at the display of selfishness, the demon in Crowley was also irritated that this whole encounter was going to end with only one orgasm a piece.

“Right,” Crowley said. He hopped off the bed and went looking for his shirt and his trousers. He should have known better by now of course. Sex with humans was generally not worth it, no matter how beautiful their cocks were. And this man’s cock had been gorgeous, so very long with a good amount of girth, distracting enough that Crowley forgot his better senses and decided to give it a spin.

Credit where credit was due, it wasn’t a bad shag or anything; there were parts of Crowley that were very pleasantly sore right now, stretched open and aching, a bit wet from lube and the man’s come. It just wasn’t enough and Crowley still felt empty and hungry and wanting. No wonder the succubi and incubi were always killing off their victims. Their humans were probably keeling over from dehydration before they even noticed.

“I’ll just see myself out then,” Crowley said, but the man had fallen asleep already. Not that Crowley was bothered. This way he could clean himself and miracle his clothes back on with a snap of his fingers (really, one leg at a time? How did humans survive the tedium?).

He was considering going back to the club to find someone else to fuck, but he felt too wound up, irritated and antsy, to go through the rigamarole of vetting potential partners and then end up only moderately satisfied with the experience. Might as well go back to his flat, dig up the largest dildo he owned, and rodger himself silly with it instead.

He drove back towards Mayfair, dodging late night traffic and fuming to himself, while Freddie Mercury warbled away about traveling at the speed of light and insisting that Crowley not stop him now. At some point along the journey, Crowley managed to chuck the CD (which had started its short life as Now That’s What I Call Music! Vol 92) out his window, allowing him the blissful silence of just his own thoughts and several dozen angry car horns (which did, in some respects, resemble the sound of Crowley’s thoughts as they rattled around his brain). He told himself he was making a detour to visit the bookshop because, well, he wanted to ensure that it was still standing. There had been that whole scare with the fire and the discorporation and the end of the world. It was-- being a good friend. Yes, that was Crowley’s motivation.

He pulled up, sliding into a miraculously empty parking spot right in front of the entrance, and as he climbed out of the car, he caught a glimpse of a light flickering deep inside those dusty windows. Now that he was here, he was being reminded that this was a bad idea. Spending time around Aziraphale while horny always had a way of messing with Crowley’s better senses. It was bad enough lounging on the couch in the back room while imagining what it would be like to curl up in Aziraphale’s lap. Adding in the fantasy of licking Aziraphale’s nipples was liable to confuse all his inhibitions in a very unproductive way. But Crowley rarely did the more sensible thing when the less sensible one was willing to offer up wine and company, so he hopped out of the Bentley and shoved his way through the front door, blithely ignoring the “Closed” sign hanging in the window.

“Angel!” Crowley called out.

“In the back, dear,” Aziraphale responded.

Crowley slinked his way into the back room, which was the same as it ever was. Aziraphale wasn’t in his armchair reading, though, much to Crowley’s surprise. He was poking through an overflowing shelf, searching for a particular book, judging by the furrowed brow and the sour twist of his lips. His fingers lingered on the spines with reverent and delicate touches, and Crowley’s skin -- which was already feeling a couple sizes too small -- shivered and sparked with sympathetic sensitivity.

“Ah, Crowley!” Aziraphale said. “I wasn’t expecting you so late. You are so fond of your little naps.” He smiled, sly and a bit teasing. Crowley tried desperately not to remember how often that expression showed up in his wank fodder (and failed).

“Was in the neighborhood,” Crowley lied, “figured I should drop in.”

Aziraphale took a step back from the bookshelf and let his arms fall to the side. “Well, I’m glad you did. It’s always a pleasure to have you, my dear.” His voice was threaded through with such tenderness that Crowley’s chest felt as though it were caving in. And just because the universe and God were cruel and unmerciful, Azriaphale tilted his head to the side, and all Crowley could think of was how much he wanted to sink his teeth into the curve of Aziraphale’s neck.

Crowley’s eyes dipped downwards in an act of self preservation, but then they got stuck in the vicinity of Aziraphale’s crotch. As far as Crowley understood, Aziraphale didn’t bother manifesting genitals most of the time, at least not a cock. He had even ensured his clothes were tailored without them by feeding his tailors a sob story about accidental disfigurement that ensured that no one pried any further. Sex was definitely off the table even if somehow Crowley convinced Aziraphale to tolerate all of Crowley’s other messy desires.

Several centuries after Eden, Crowley had worked up the courage to ask Aziraphale if he’d bedded any humans yet. Crowley himself had been exploring just how much he enjoyed his orifices filled with body parts for the past decade or so, and he was deeply curious as to whether or not he would enjoy it more if they were Aziraphale’s body parts. As a demon, he wasn’t stupid enough to confuse love and sex, but he did see humans mix the two successfully from time to time, and he was, well, inclined towards asking questions. Aziraphale had reacted with all the scandalized primness of a Victorian gentleman -- for all that the British Isles hadn’t been settled by humans yet -- and refused to speak to Crowley again for the next few centuries. Crowley never broached the topic again.

At present, he found himself slouched against a different bookcase and examining one of Aziraphale’s many, many antique snuff boxes in an attempt to distract himself from the restless, itchy energy that had taken up residence in the muscles of his corporation. “You up to anything fun tonight, angel?”

“Hmm,” Aziraphale said. “Well, I was going to reorganize the biology section and tidy up the medieval manuscripts, but I’m sure that all sounds a bit dull when compared to your evening activities.”

There was acid in his tone that took Crowley by surprise. “Um,” Crowley said, his head whipping up to meet Aziraphale’s sharp gaze. “Er.”

“Oh, don’t play coy, my dear. One only needs one whiff to know you’ve been up to.” Aziraphale wrinkled his nose in distaste and arched one perfect eyebrow, and Crowley’s stomach tried to crawl out of his throat from the humiliation. It wasn’t that he ever felt any particular amount of shame regarding sex, but Aziraphale’s frosty displeasure always made Crowley want to shrivel up and die inside, and this particular instance was no different.

He tried his best to bluff his way out of this whole discussion. “Are we at the stage in our relationship where we talk to each other about our sexual conquests? Because I’ve gotta say, angel, you’ve really been holding out on me.”

Unfortunately, instead of Crowley’s desired reaction of blushing and stammering and redirecting the conversation back to less-fraught topics, Aziraphale’s displeasure only became frostier. “I’m sorry if my preference for discretion has inconvenienced you in any way, but not all of us feel the need to flaunt our assignations.”

“Assignations?” Crowley said before he could stop himself. His body valiantly attempted to choke on its own saliva to stop him as he said the words. “You have assignations?”

“Oh, don’t act so scandalized. I know how much you enjoy your dalliances with humans. Just because I may have partaken in a few of them myself over the millennia--”

“You’ve partaken?” Crowley said, in a tone that was definitely not a screech (though it was perhaps veering a bit close for comfort). At some point, he would have to contribute something to this conversation besides repeating things Aziraphale had already said, just louder, but his brain was attempting to dribble out his ears, which made stringing together words difficult.

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale sniffed. “It did look like good fun, and it hardly seemed polite to turn down every generous offer that was directed my way.”

“Fun,” Crowley croaked, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

“And while not every encounter was a resounding success, the vast majority of them were pleasurable, so I don’t see why you must be so skeptical of me.”

While most of Crowley’s thought processes were occupied trying to compute the idea of Aziraphale having sex and enjoying it, a few rogue braincells manged to become distracted by the idea of going back in time to hunt down the humans who had somehow been granted permission to touch the body of the angel Aziraphale and then managed to make the experience anything less than extraordinary. “How dare they,” Crowley hissed. He would have to comb through all the souls in Hell (and he was sure they were in Hell) to find them and exact a suitable revenge, but Crowley could do it, probably, maybe.

Aziraphale’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click, his lips pressed together and his chin taking on a stubborn tilt. “You won’t tempt me into divulging any of the details, but suffice to say that the, uh, limitations were on my part, not theirs.”

That brought Crowley up short. “Oh, because of the--” He made a gesture with his hand towards Aziraphale’s crotch.

Aziraphale ducked his head and a flush began to creep up his cheeks. “Well, yes. Not all corporations are as malleable as yours, and when Heaven issued this particular body, certain things weren’t, ah, configurable, as it were.”

“That’s hardly an excuse,” Crowley insisted. Humans of every generation liked to believe they’d invented sex and depravity, but Crowley had lived long enough to know that he’d either seen or engaged in just about every possible sexual act that a human body was capable of (and some that it wasn’t). “Just because of--” Another hand gesture. “-- doesn’t mean it’s okay that they didn’t make it good for you.”

“It’s hardly as if I came away unsatisfied. There are plenty of other options besides mere penetration, and I’ve found even, ah, receiving to be enjoyable on occasion.” Aziraphale was still refusing to meet Crowley’s gaze, but he did miracle himself up a glass of wine and took a delicate sip of it.

Crowley attempted to convince his stupid traitorous body to not become aroused at the thought of Aziraphale receiving penetration and even mostly succeeded by also miracling himself some wine from Aizraphale’s extensive collection and then drinking it straight from the bottle. “And your… partners, they never asked any questions?” Maybe Aziraphale did have genitals, just a vulva instead of a penis. That wasn’t all that unusual for men, and maybe not even for vaguely man-shaped beings either.

“Oh, they did,” Aziraphale said. He shot a glare in Crowley’s direction, eyebrows raised at the bottle in his hand as if its existence (though it was more likely to be Crowley’s tackiness in not bothering with a glass) was somehow offensive to him. And that was normal. Aziraphale’s mild and fussy disapproval with Crowley was the normal state of things, even if nothing else about this conversation was in the vicinity of normal. Crowley let himself relax and took another swig of the bottle.

Which turned out to be a mistake, because then Aziraphale continued to speak. “Most of them were genuinely curious as to why my penis was so large.”

Crowley spat out his entire mouthful of wine. “What?” he asked while the wine dribbled awkwardly down his chin. His brain, which had settled in for a typical night of alcohol and rambling discussions about transit planning and/or the mysteries of belt buckles, ground to a screeching halt.

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “Were we talking about something else?”

“But you never-- it’s never--” Crowley said, doing his best to grab onto something, anything that made sense.

“It’s quite annoying to carry it around all the time as it is, my dear,” Aziraphale huffed. “I keep it tucked away for convenience’s sake.”

Crowley couldn’t stop gaping, his eyes once again drifting towards the space between Aziraphale’s thighs, trying to get a hint of what must be hiding there. “How--What--”

Aziraphale was off on a tangent, though, and he could not be stopped. “As you well know, the Almighty went off and created the humans by Herself, and when it came time to issue the rest of us bodies, She hardly left us any specifications to work from. I hate to point fingers, but some of the Dominions were less than precise in their calculations. I did try to get it, ah, corrected at one point, but Liriale was so very insistent that everything was exactly as it should be and refused to change a thing! Not that she has ever had to deal with the difficulty of having one herself.”

“Can I see it?” Crowley said, the words escaping before he could swallow his tongue. He’d seen some very hung people in his quest to take bigger and bigger cocks up his ass, and while he would have been more than happy to do little more than hold hands and cuddle if that was all that was on offer, he also wanted to see how Aziraphale’s dick could possibly measure up.

Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to be surprised. “Can you what?” he asked, his expression scandalized. If he had pearls, he’d be clutching them.

“Come on, angel,” Crowley said, letting just the tiniest bit of temptation leak into his voice. “Just let me have one little peek.” He wanted this so badly, the desire had taken on an almost physical presence, a weight sitting heavy on his tongue.

“No, I refuse to let you make a mockery of my corporation,” Aziraphale huffed. The stubborn tilt of his jaw was back, and Crowley wanted to press his lips to it, wanted to hold Aziraphale until all the tension drained out of him again.

“I wouldn’t!” Crowley insisted. He placed the bottle on the shelf and tried to make himself look as earnest as possible. “That’s not--” He was tripping over his words again. “Look, you mentioned, or at least implied, that you’d never-- uh, penetrated anyone before.”

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed, some of that frosty displeasure came back. “Well, yes. All the humans I’ve interacted with have been rather scared off by the size and decided they’d rather not.”

“I could-- If you’d like--” Crowley said, swallowing down a lump of saliva that his mouth had secreted just at the thought of even being able to see it. “You could fuck me.” This was dangerous territory, of course, because it was so very close to what Crowley wanted, the chance to touch Aziraphale, to be close to him, and the thought of being nothing more than a sexual experiment that Aziraphale could indulge in made his insides feel tender and wobbly. But he was also riding the sexual frustration of a disappointing shag, and he had spent the last six thousand years taking whatever scraps Aziraphale deigned to give him. What was one more scrap to add to the pile of them?

He watched as Aziraphale stilled, the glass of wine resting between his fingertips. “Really, my dear. There’s no need to make any sacrifices on my behalf.” Crowley recognized the expression that crossed his face. It was the one he wore when he was feeling conflicted. Crowley had seen it enough to know that all it would take is the slightest nudge to tip him over to Crowley’s point of view. He wanted to be convinced.

“No sacrifice on my part,” Crowley said. “I like ’em big.”

Aziraphale let out a tiny snort. “That’s what they all say,” he muttered.

Crowley leaned more heavily on the bookcase in an attempt to prevent himself from falling over. It did work. He stayed upright for the most part, even if he did end up half draped over a shelf. He wondered if this is what fainting maidens felt like all the time. “I’m a demon,” he said. “Not nearly as breakable as those humans you’ve been playing with. You know a chance like this doesn’t come around often, angel.”

He could see the moment when Aziraphale’s resistance crumbled, his shoulders unbending and a sigh escaping from his lips. He set his own glass of wine down on a small table by his favorite armchair. “Oh, all right,” Aziraphale said. He snapped his fingers, transporting them both into the bedroom of the flat above the bookstore. For the most part, it matched the look of the store below it, old-fashioned and musty and filled floor-to-ceiling with books of all kinds. The four-poster bed itself was, surprisingly enough, free of books, though the sheets were covered in a thick layer of dust. A single Tiffany lamp sat on the bedside table, giving the room a dull, if also warm, glow.

“You bring humans back to this place, angel?” Crowley asked, only managing to fend off a coughing fit through sheer force of will.

Aziraphale bristled. “It’s been at least fifty years since I last had to make use of it, and you know how it can be, you look away for a few decades and suddenly everything’s fallen into disrepair.”

Crowley rolled his eyes at that, because of course, Aziraphale still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of entropy. He snapped his fingers, cleaning the room in an instant. Everything seemed to shine a bit brighter, even the lamp. “That’s better,” he said. He licked his lips, suddenly remembering that they were here to-- that he was going to be-- and he felt like he was going to melt into a puddle of primordial goo if he spent one more moment looking in Aziraphale’s direction. “I’m just gonna--” Crowley turned away so that he could take the moment to collect himself. He tossed his jacket to the side and stripped his shirt and trousers off for the second time that night, kicking his shoes off and letting his socks follow. Perhaps he should feel more vulnerable and exposed like this, without his clothes, but he just felt more settled into his skin. This felt like familiar ground once again.

He turned back to see Aziraphale in just his pants and undershirt, folding his shirtsleeves and placing it in a neat pile next to the chair where he had hung his jacket and waistcoat. It was like watching the world’s most excruciating, oblivious striptease. Crowley could only stare as Aziraphale pulled his one last shirt off, exposing the lovely, soft skin of his back. Just the sight of it evoked memories of centuries and centuries of hopeless longing, the desperate desire to get close enough to touch. Aziraphale folded that shirt, too, giving Crowley a look at the ripple of muscles in his back. They didn’t have the defined sharpness of an athlete or a bodybuilder, but Crowley knew the angelic strength of them. The primal, demonic part of Crowley felt an instinctual fear, a sort of terror that was almost indistinguishable from arousal.

Then Aziraphale’s fingers hooked into the waistband of his pants and slid them down his hips, and Crowley’s brain, still struggling to deal with the events of the last half hour, shorted out entirely at the sight of Aziraphale’s bare thighs and backside. He wanted to put his hands on them, his teeth, his tongue. Even when the humans weren’t fond of wearing much in the way of clothes, the angel remained buttoned up. This was the most of his skin Crowley had ever seen.

Aziraphale turned. Crowley’s mouth fell open. “Holy shit,” he said, and his eyes bugged out comically wide behind his sunglasses. It was-- it was as big as advertised, maybe even a bit bigger. Still mostly soft, it hung between long and thick between Aziraphale’s legs in a way that reminded Crowley of all that art back in dear old Rome, when penises (and especially big ones) were considered a symbol of protection and good luck.

He was still staring when Aziraphale let out a put-upon sigh. “As you can see, it’s a bit unwieldy to have it on me at all times, so I keep it stored in the same plane of existence as my wings. Now you don’t have to--”

“I want it in my mouth,” Crowley said, before he could stop himself. He loved sucking cock, loved the stretch and the pressure, the smell and the taste. Aziraphale was so big, Crowley would have trouble shielding his teeth, would have to take him deep into his throat. Crowley didn’t bother with a gag reflex, and the breathing was mostly a bad habit anyway, but the thought of choking on Aziraphale’s cock made him hard, and fuck, he wanted it.

That seemed to startle Aziraphale into silence. “Really?” he asked, and there was almost something hesitant and shy in his expression.

“Fuck yes,” Crowley said. He went to his knees at Aziraphale’s feet, where he had an up-close-and-personal look at Aziraphale’s giant cock, the skin a rosy pink, the flesh hardening under Crowley’s attention. “Please, fuck, let me.”

“Oh, all right,” Aziraphale said, his voice a little breathy.

Crowley tasted the tip first, before letting the head fill his mouth. He committed this to memory, the salty, musky taste of Aziraphale’s skin. If Crowley had speculated before -- he may have, once or twice or several thousand times -- he would have thought that Aziraphale would taste like ozone, that lingering smell after a lightning strike, or maybe something clean and pure, like the clearest of springs. But instead, Aziraphale tasted like a human, a bit like soap and sweat and all the dusty old books he spent his days with, and Crowley loved it just as much as he loved every other detail of Aziraphale, all the quirks and oddities that made the most perfectly imperfect being in all of existence. One of Aziraphale’s hands fluttered, settling on Crowley’s shoulder. When Crowley glanced up, he could see a flush crawling its way from Aziraphale’s chest to his cheeks, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh, oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale moaned, and the sound of it wormed its way into Crowley’s brain. He would never forget it, never allow himself to forget it. He would take that sound, that sound that Crowley made him make, and replay it in his mind until the world finally did end.

He pressed forward, so that he could take Aziraphale deeper, down his throat. Even just this much of Aziraphale felt like it was stretching Crowley’s jaw to its breaking point, and that was so very good, the way his body was scrambling and scraping to fit Aziraphale inside of it. Crowley took one deep breath (really, a terrible habit, that) and began to swallow.

The grip of Aziraphale’s hand on Crowley’s shoulder tightened as his cock pressed further and further into Crowley’s throat. Crowley watched as Aziraphale bit his bottom lip, his face a mask of pleasure not entirely unlike the expression he wore when he was sampling the most indulgent of French pastries. Sharing meals after this was going to be unbearable.

Crowley made a tiny noise, just because he could feel the press of Aziraphale’s cock against his vocal chords, and Aziraphale gasped out, “Oh, I’m going to, you should--” Crowley ignored him, taking him deeper and deeper until his nose was brushing against the white-blond curls of Aziraphale’s pubic hair.

The wet heat of Aziraphale’s come emptying down Crowley’s throat was a thrill, if also a disappointing one. He didn’t want this to be over so soon. Crowley wanted to worship at Aziraphale’s feet for hours, and maybe he could convince Aziraphale to let him do that one day, just kneeling underneath Aziraphale’s desk with that gorgeous cock in his mouth as Aziraphale did -- whatever it was that Aziraphale did when Crowley wasn’t around -- having Aziraphale use him whenever he wanted.

He pulled off, letting Aziraphale’s cock slip free from his mouth, still wet from his saliva. Aziraphale’s skin was still flushed, and Crowley wondered if he could just rub up against the softness of Aziraphale’s belly until he came and then nap until Aziraphale was ready for round two.

“That was so lovely, my dear,” Aziraphale sighed, plopping himself down onto the bed, legs spread. His eyes were heavy-lidded and warm, and Crowley felt that familiar squirming, bone deep delight that came from pleasing Aziraphale. “Not to rush you,” Aziraphale continued, “but you mentioned that you would be amenable to penetration. Is that still true?”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah,” he croaked out, his throat well-used and a little sore from the pressure. “Yup.”

“And could I take you up on that offer now?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley blinked and slipped the sunglasses off his face and tossed them aside, so that he could be sure that he wasn’t missing something. He wasn’t. Aziraphale was still hard, still ready. The one orgasm hadn’t slowed him down in the least. Crowley wanted that cock back inside him as soon as possible, preferably yesterday, so the answer was obvious. “Yes,” he blurted out as he clambered onto the bed. “How do you want me?”

“Whatever would be most comfortable for you,” Aziraphale insisted. “I-- I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” He fluttered a bit, nervous, and Crowley thought about kissing him, about trying to calm Aziraphale’s nerves with his lips. But this was about sex, about Aziraphale tearing him apart and fucking him into the mattress. This was not about Crowley’s feelings.

Crowley flipped over onto his back anyway. It would be easier if he were on his hands and knees, but he-- he wanted it like this, where he would be able to see Aziraphale the whole time. “Like this,” he said. He was so hard now, he felt light-headed.

Aziraphale smiled at that, but it was still a bit tentative. “All right,” he said. “I should prepare you.” He climbed onto the bed next to Crowley, settling on his knees between Crowley’s spread legs.

Crowley was still a bit loose, opened up from getting fucked earlier that night, and he was feeling impatient. He snapped his fingers again, slicking himself open just a little further, and covering his hand with wet lube. He could have just gotten Aziraphale ready, too, but he wanted to get his hands on Aziraphale’s dick again, and he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity. “Let me,” he said.

Aziraphale let out a soft moan as Crowley touched him. He was so big and so hard in Crowley’s hands, even Crowley’s long fingers didn’t quite wrap all the way around the thickness of it. Crowley slicked him up from root to tip, marveling at the fact that he’d already had it inside him once already and was going to have it inside him once again.

He guided Aziraphale to where he was open and ready, but he couldn’t hold back a hiss as the head breached him.

“Are you-- Does it--” Aziraphale was fretting again, and Crowley didn’t have time for this; Crowley needed to get fucked.

“More,” he gasped out, grabbing at Aziraphale’s shoulders, his sides, his hips. “Need--”

Aziraphale pushed in a bit deeper, going agonizingly slow. It stung, of course it stung. Aziraphale’s cock had been huge in Crowley’s mouth and it felt bigger here, in Crowley’s ass. But Crowley also knew what he liked, and he liked the sensation of being pushed to the very limits of his corporeal form, of being overwhelmed and overtaken. “Is this all right?” Aziraphale asked, stopping again.

“‘S good, angel,” Crowley grit out. “C’mon, more.”

Aziraphale gave him more. The sharpness of the pain lit all of Crowley’s nerves up, his whole body tingling with it. He felt close to the edge already, ready to tip over, but the thought didn’t fill him with dread, the way it would with a human. They could keep going after that, going and going, until one or both of them was done. It could be hours. It could be days.

Even with Crowley’s encouragement, it did feel like hours before Aziraphale was fully seated inside him, filling Crowley up so completely that he was wondering if he needed to rearrange some of his organs to take it all in. He wrapped his legs around Aziraphle’s waist, and Aziraphale leaned over him, the angle shifting enough to push his cock in just a bit deeper.

They were face-to-face now, and Crowley was staring into Aziraphale’s tender, concerned eyes. It was too much, too much sensation mixing with too much feeling. Crowley slammed his own eyes shut, willing them not to prickle and tear up.

“Oh,” Aziraphale whispered, and Crowley had no idea what that was in his voice, what it meant. “Oh, my dear.” He pressed in impossibly deeper, and kissed Crowley.

It was a gentle kiss, almost painful in its sweetness, and when Aziraphale pulled away from it, Crowley let out a sound that was definitely not a whimper.

Aziraphale said, “I love you, you know. You’re the most remarkable thing She ever created.” One of his hands pressed against the flat of Crowley’s chest, and Crowley felt his head spin -- seriously, why did bodies need oxygen anyway? “You don’t have to say anything,” Aziraphale continued. “I know.”

“Please,” was all Crowley could say behind his closed eyelids, and he didn’t even know what he was begging for.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, and it almost sounded like a blessing, like the kindest sort of Grace. He traced a path from Crowley’s chest, down over Crowley’s belly, to where Crowley’s own neglected cock was hard and dripping. His careful hand wrapped around the shaft, and Crowley’s poor nerves didn’t know how to handle any of it. Aziraphale said, “I would love to see you orgasm, dearest.”

One more stroke of his hand was all it took. Crowley came with a deep moan, splattering seed all over his belly and Aziraphale’s hand.

“That was so very lovely,” Aziraphale murmured. He shifted backwards, like he was going to pull out, but Crowley tightened the grip of his legs, even as shaky as they were.

“Keep-- keep going,” Crowley said. “Want you to-- fuck me.” He blinked his eyes open, which meant he could watch as Aziraphale’s expression shifted from being soft and tender to something darker and hungrier.

“Of course,” Aziraphale said. Aziraphale thrust back in, the friction sweet and intense even with the generous amount of lube, and Crowley let out a strangled groan. His cock hadn’t kept hard the way Aziraphale’s had, but it was definitely interested in the ongoing proceedings.

Aziraphale thrust again, and Crowley clutched at Aziraphale’s arms, still desperate. “More,” he said.

Aziraphale gave him more. He fucked Crowley with long, deep thrusts that made Crowley shudder. It was just-- it made him feel so full, so open, split in half by Aziraphale’s cock and Aziraphale’s love. He was half-certain that he was going to discorporate from the experience, but that wouldn’t matter. It would still be worth it, every second of it.

Crowley came again like that, gasping out Aziraphale’s name in between his useless breaths.

Aziraphale kissed him afterwards, ground in deep, and came himself. His eyes were shut, his mouth soft and pink and open. “Oh, I never--” he said as the orgasm passed through him.

He was still hard afterwards, and fuck, Crowley was never going to be able to fuck another human again -- not that he was planning on it -- because it would never be this good, this perfect, would never even be close.

Aziraphale’s eyes opened, his face still rosy and flushed. “I don’t wish to inconvenience you, but I seem to be, ah--”

“As much as you want, angel,” Crowley promised. He arched his back, pushing Aziraphale just that tiniest bit deeper.

Aziraphale wanted a lot, it turned out. He fucked Crowley through another three orgasms (two for Crowley, one for himself) like that, leaving Crowley sweaty and panting and shivering. Crowley was not complaining in the least.

After that, Aziraphale decided he wanted to try a different position, putting Crowley on his hands and knees, before sliding right back in where Crowley was open and wet with lube and come. He fucked Crowley harder like this, as if he were finally letting go of his self-consciousness and was finally ready to believe that Crowley was capable of taking anything that he gave him.

Around orgasm number five -- or was it six? -- Crowley’s arms gave out, and he found himself face-first in a pillow, teeth digging into the pillowcase, fingers clawing at the sheets as Aziraphale thrust in deep and came again. He lost track of time after that, his mind hazy with pleasure. Every patch of his skin felt overstimulated, oversensitized, but every push of Aziraphale’s cock in him was too much in the best sort of way, like he was behind the wheel of the Bentley, zipping through London’s rush hour traffic at 95 miles per hour, knowing that one wrong move could mean discorporation.

He did feel it when Aziraphale pulled out, finally, at the end of it, leaving him cold and aching and empty. He let out a pitiful noise into the pillow. He had lost track of orgasms, too, but there was a wet spot on the bed beneath him, and he could feel Azriaphale’s come still inside him. There was a wet spot on the pillow, too, where Crowley’s eyes had leaked all over it, but if anyone asked, he was just a drooler.

“Sssh,” Aziraphale said, his voice warm as he blanketed Crowley with the heat of his body. He turned Crowley over, so that he was on his side, and they were once again face-to-face. He ran a soothing hand along Crowley’s ribs, his waist, his hips, cleaning them and the bed as he did so. It was almost worse, not having the sticky reminders of what they just did, but it was impossible to ignore how stretched, how open he still felt. Aziraphale gazed right into Crowley’s eyes, cupped Crowley’s face with one hand. “Thank you,” he said, “for giving me this gift.”

Crowley wanted to blink, wanted to turn away, but he was-- he was too stupid, too in love. “Anything you want, angel,” he said, and it felt like too much honesty to say the words out loud, like he was peeling back a layer of his skin.

“Anything you want, too,” Aziraphale said. “You just need to ask. Now that we’re on our own side.” He pressed a kiss against Crowley’s forehead, which felt somehow more intimate than the mouth-to-mouth kisses they’d already shared. He smiled, so bright and so delighted, it seemed to fill up the entire room. “You can sleep here if you’d like.”

Crowley smiled back, helpless in the face of Aziraphale’s happiness. “Could do,” he said. He wormed his way closer to Aziraphale’s body, to Aziraphale’s light and his heat. “Think you’re up for fucking me on my favorite couch downstairs in the morning?” He squirmed at the thought of it, of being bent over the back of it or pressed into the cushions with his legs tucked over Aziraphale’s shoulders or riding Aziraphale in that armchair that he loved so dearly. Now he could indulge in all of those dirty fantasies he never quite let himself have.

“I said ‘anything,’ didn’t I?” Aziraphale said, and he sealed the promise with a kiss.

FIN.