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Aziraphale’s eyes open to the sensation of something heavy on his chest. He thinks of boa constrictors and being eaten alive, but that makes no sense. He is awake. This is not a dream, and he is not being consumed.
A steady, invisible tug forces him to sit up. He looks around and realizes he is in Crowley’s apartment, on Crowley’s couch. He doesn’t remember coming here. He sifts through his recent memories and all he can recall is being at the bookshop, restoring a Blake, and the tinkle of the bell above the door. He had looked up and there was Crowley. He took off his sunglasses and then...nothing. That is where the memories end.
Aziraphale takes a deep breath, but the pressure on his chest doesn’t go away.
The scuff of a boot draws Aziraphale’s attention, and he sees Crowley in the archway Aziraphale knows leads to his bedroom. A decadent room with a luxurious satin-covered bed. Very Crowley. Very not Aziraphale.
Aziraphale is relieved at the sight of his friend, but it does nothing to loosen the tight thread winding around his ribcage, the growing sense of his own lack of control. “Crowley, something’s wrong.”
Crowley slips off his sunglasses, and for a moment, Aziraphale thinks his amber eyes glow. But it must be a trick of the light. Then he’s crossing the room, slick-hipped and slow, coming to a stop in front of Aziraphale. Towering over him.
Fear flashes through Aziraphale. But that doesn’t make sense. This is Crowley. He’s safe with Crowley.
“What’s going on?”
He tries to get up, to move away.
“Stay right there.”
And suddenly, Aziraphale can’t move. He feels turned to stone, and all he can do is look up at Crowley, who has the gall to smirk again. The thin pupils of his eyes shimmer. “You know, it’s been a while since I’ve done the whole hypnosis thing. Glad to know I haven’t lost my touch.”
Aziraphale tries to move once more, but it’s like struggling against invisible bonds. Bonds so tight he can’t even lift a finger.
Crowley hums and cards his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair. “Pretty little thing.”
Aziraphale can’t do anything but let Crowley touch him. But he can still speak. “What do you want with me?”
“I think you know exactly what I want.”
The hand in his hair slides down to cup his cheek, then two fingers are under his chin, forcing his head back so he has to look Crowley in the eye.
“All these years playing the damsel. Oh, Crowley, I couldn’t possibly,” Crowley sneers, mocking Aziraphale’s tone. Shame flashes through Aziraphale. He had, on occasion, been lax about his safety when he had wanted to see the demon. He likes when Crowley shows up to save him, when Crowley uses his honeyed words to convince him to do things. It’s the way of their relationship. Not this.
“Well, I’m tired, angel. Tired of the game,” Crowley says, drawing even closer to him. “So I’m taking what I want.”
Aziraphale sucks in a sharp breath but before he can speak Crowley seals their mouths together in a harsh kiss. It’s nothing like Aziraphale has imagined. And yes, he has imagined. At least he can admit that to himself. But he can’t move. Crowley is simply taking. It thrills him more than it should.
His heart races in his immobile chest. His arms hang at his sides, a dead weight. He wants to reach up and thread his fingers in Crowley’s hair because that’s what he has imagined for all these years. But he can’t. With whatever force Crowley has exerted over him, he is stuck, and all he can do is let Crowley take him.
“Or rather, I’m going to make you give me what I want,” Crowley says as he pulls back. His eyes are truly glowing now, no trick of the light.
Crowley wraps his hand lightly around Aziraphale’s throat, thumb coming to rest in the notch at the base of his neck. “On your knees.”
The thing in his chest tugs at him until he complies, slipping off the sofa and onto his haunches. Crowley drops to the cushions and spreads out lazily. It’s one of those poses that Aziraphale has always found so alluring but now it sends a spark of fear through his gut.
Crowley cocks his head, considering him. “I think you could look a bit prettier, don’t you?”
He snaps his fingers and Aziraphale feels the rush of air on his skin, the slip of fine lace. He looks down at himself and feels his face and chest heat with embarrassment. Crowley has changed him into some ridiculous scrap of nothing. A black baby doll with lace cups that are too loose because his chest can’t fill them. The skirt of the thing is gauzy and would feel wonderful against his skin if he’d chosen to wear it. But the thing that makes him feel most obscene is the black lace knickers Crowley has manifested between his legs. They’re so small they might as well not exist and Aziraphale would use his hands to hide himself if he could move at all.
Crowley leans forward, elbows on his knees, and looks him up and down. A smile spreads over his face. “Look at you, pretty little pet. But I think you’re missing a little something.”
Aziraphale swallows. “Please…” he says, his voice barely a whisper.
Crowley ignores him. “Every good pet needs a leash.”
Then there’s the weight of leather around his neck, heavy and unyielding. Drooping from the loop at the front is a black leather leash that leads to Crowley’s hand. The demon wraps it around his hand twice and tugs, unforgiving, forcing Aziraphale to stumble forward on his knees.
“You’re being so good. Do you think you deserve a treat?” Crowley asks. “I think you do. I think you’d love something in your mouth, wouldn’t you, poppet?”
Aziraphale’s stomach flashes with fear and untimely arousal. He’s wanted Crowley for so many years but this…
In a flash, Crowley’s trousers are gone and Aziraphale realizes Crowley is not about to let him out of this. He can see the copper curls between Crowley’s legs, obscuring the folds of his sex. Aziraphale swallows thickly. He knows what’s about to happen but he’s not sure he can prepare himself. His stomach is hot and he shouldn’t want this so much. It’s wrong. He’s an angel, not some sort of wanton thing.
Crowley tugs on his leash again. “Lick it.”
Aziraphale tries to resist but he’s pulled inexorably forward. His tongue slides between Crowley’s folds and the taste of bitter salt floods his mouth. He withdraws. Crowley only said lick and he had done that. Perhaps that’s enough. Perhaps all Crowley wants to do is exert force and control.
“Don’t stop until I tell you to, naughty thing,” Crowley says, yanking on the leash and forcing a choked noise from Aziraphale’s throat.
He wants to stop. He wants to pull away but he can’t. He understands with dismay that the best he can do is obey Crowley and whatever power he has over him. It was going to happen either way and, as much as he’d like to pretend otherwise, the prospect thrills him.
Aziraphale takes a deep breath and presses in, fluttering his tongue over Crowley’s clitoris. It’s difficult, hidden as it is inside his folds. He’d use his hands to spread him open, to give him more access but they are still stuck to his sides because Crowley hasn’t said he should use them. He realizes the urge for what it is. The desire to make this good. To please. Shame flashes inside him alongside this sordid desire as Crowley starts making small noises of pleasure, hips hitching against his face. It’s maddening. He’s dreamed of things like this, but Crowley has forced him. He shouldn’t want to please him so much.
He’s torn between arousal and fear and he doesn’t know what to give into so he closes his eyes and fucks Crowley open with his tongue. That earns him a loud gasp and a hand in his hair holding him still. Crowley presses down against his face, effectively controlling Aziraphale’s ability to pleasure him. It’s then he feels Crowley’s thighs tremble around his ears and his cunt pulse as he gushes over Aziraphale’s mouth. Aziraphale chokes on the rush of fluid and Crowley pushes him away.
His slick is dripping down Aziraphale’s face, ruining the fabric of his lingerie. It only seems to inflame Crowley further. He leans forward and hooks his finger in the collar around Aziraphale’s neck.
“Go into the bedroom and lay on the bed,” Crowley hisses. Aziraphale hasn’t been told to stand so all he can do is crawl across the room. He lifts himself onto the bed and waits, heart wild in his chest. He hasn’t manifested anything between his legs and yet his body is already flushed with arousal.
Just as he’s settling into his breathing, adjusting to the weight on his ribcage, Crowley is on top of him, bare legs bracketing Aziraphale’s thighs as he sits back, pinning him to the bed. Not that it matters, Aziraphale can’t move under Crowley’s hypnotic gaze. He tries to breathe. He’s afraid he might not be able to.
Crowley pushes up the gauzy material of the lingerie covering his belly and caresses the bare mound between his legs. He hums thoughtfully. “I think I’d like you to have a cock. A pretty fat one. Just like you.”
Aziraphale gasps as Crowley dig’s his fingers into his stomach.
“Make me one,” he says darkly and Aziraphale feels his body change against his will. The tickle of lace on his newly made cock makes his hips twitch. He wants more stimulation. More anything. He has a strong feeling Crowley will give it to him.
“Isn’t this nice,” Crowley begins, running his fingers over the soft length of Aziraphale’s cock. “I could touch you for hours. Not let you come. I’d bring you so close to the edge over and over just to see your face get red. To see you desperate. I know you would beg so prettily.”
Aziraphale’s cock begins to fill at the thought. Crowley laughs and it’s cruel. “Perhaps another time.”
Crowley unhooks the leash from the collar and tosses it aside. “I don’t think you enjoyed your treat enough. So I have something else for you.”
There is a hand in his hair hauling Aziraphale across the bed, and before he can blink there is a cock in his mouth. He chokes, but that doesn’t stop Crowley from pushing him further down on his cock.
“I knew you’d be a marvelous cocksucker. This is what you were made for,” Crowley says, fisting his hand tighter in his hair as he fucks into his mouth.
Aziraphale gags and spit floods from his mouth, pooling at the base of Crowley’s cock and dripping down his balls onto the sheets. He’s being used. A toy for Crowley’s pleasure. Tied up and fucked.
He loves it.
He had no idea he’d get so caught up in this game of theirs. He feels abused in a way their scenes normally don’t bring out in him and he doesn’t want it to end. If he could just keep Crowley’s cock in his mouth, he’d stay in this place where he’s just an angel, being ravished by a demon against his will. He likes the thought so much he moans.
Crowley stills, tears him off and shoves him back against the pillows. “I knew you’d like this. Gagging for it, you were.”
Aziraphale is breathing too hard to speak. His throat feels raw.
Crowley bares his teeth. “Get on your hands and knees. I’m going to fuck you.”
Aziraphale lets Crowley’s hypnotic control move him until he’s fully obeyed. A hand is on his arse, kneading slowly before Crowley tears off his knickers.
“You’re going to be so tight for me. Fat, virgin arse. Just for me.”
Aziraphale moans at the wave of fear-tinged arousal those words cause. He’s just thankful Crowley preps him with quick presses of his fingers that probably aren’t enough for what is about to happen. He thoroughly doesn’t care. He wants this more than he can say.
The blunt edge of his cock catches against the tightness of his body before Crowley is pushing inside. It’s too soon and Aziraphale cries out. He’d be collapsing in pain if he hadn’t been forced to stay on his hands and knees.
Crowley pauses, halfway inside. He runs his hand down Aziraphale’s back. “Shh, poppet. I’ve got you.”
Aziraphale shudders and Crowley thrusts all the way in. It sets off an overwhelming flash of pleasure-pain and he whines. Crowley laughs and Aziraphale wants to say something—maybe beg—but then he’s being fucked. His body shakes with it. His own cock slaps against his stomach with the force of Crowley’s thrusts.
It feels so utterly good and he wants to fight against the waves of delicious sensation but he can’t. He moans. He lets himself. The last thing he has control over is his voice and he gives it over now too. Crowley’s hand tangles in the back of the lingerie and he picks up his pace, forcing new noises out of Aziraphale’s throat.
He knows he’s going to come from this. It’s just a matter of when.
He lets himself drift into the pleasurable ache in his belly, the coursing of his rising orgasm in his spine.
“Look at you,” Crowley says between gasps of effort. “Fucking enjoying this. I knew you would.”
With one particularly hard thrust, Aziraphale comes, an embarrassing mess on his belly and the black satin sheets. Crowley growls behind him, clearly satisfied by his response, and he fucks him through it until Aziraphale is so overstimulated he can hardly see.
It seems to go on forever, but finally, Crowley groans and comes inside him. Aziraphale is pinned to the bed by his slight weight and that insistent tug in his chest. He whines and Crowley seems to notice because Aziraphale feels the abrupt release of pressure around his chest. He can breathe again.
Crowley falls against the pillows next to him as Aziraphale presses his face into the cool satin. His body adjusts to this new freedom as he feels the wave of a cleaning miracle over his body. Crowley always takes care of him.
“So,” Crowley begins. “Did you like it?”
Aziraphale hums, feeling very well-fucked indeed. “It was very nice.”
“All of it?” Crowley asks, and Aziraphale cracks one eye open to look at him. He has that nervous pinch to his face so Aziraphale rolls onto his side and tucks himself against Crowley’s chest. “Didn’t hurt you, did I?”
Aziraphale shakes his head. “Of course not. Perhaps the lingerie didn’t really do anything for me, but I know you like it.”
“You look so good in lace, angel,” Crowley says, one hand ghosting over his side, toying with the garment in question.
“So you’ve said,” Aziraphale says, letting his eyes drift shut. “I think you just like seeing me in your colors.”
Crowley kisses his head and tugs him closer. “So are we adding this to the list of regular activities?”
“How about ‘special occasions?’” Aziraphale offers, feeling the steady drift of sleep pulling him down.
“Special occasions it is.”