Work Text:
Aziraphale eases inside in one torturously slow push. He holds Crowley’s arsecheeks in both hands, palms spreading him apart to make room for him to fit. Crowley is eager for him, always, but his body is more reluctant to adjust to the thick erection. Despite biting down on his lip, a grunt forces out of his throat when the fat middle of Aziraphale's cock breaches his rim.
"Oh darling, none of that," Aziraphale admonishes. He pauses his slow thrust and dips a hand into Crowley's tresses, scratches softly at the nape of his neck. "Stay relaxed for me. Nice and easy now. I know how much you can take."
Crowley nods. The gentle scritch of fingertips against his scalp sends warm waves of comfort through him, a ripple of relaxation snaking down his spine, through his limbs. He slows his breathing, letting his eyes fall half-closed.
"That's it. Let me take you. Let me make you feel good. That's all you need to do, just be still and trust me." Aziraphale keeps up the soft litany of encouragement as he sinks deeper into Crowley's arse.
"Guhhh," Crowley moans when Aziraphale bottoms out in him. His cock is reaching so, so deep. It must be bigger this time but he hasn't even seen it yet. Belly down on the bed, face resting on a pillow, Aziraphale takes him from behind.
“There. How are you feeling, love?”
Aziraphale’s thighs bracket Crowley’s hips, warming the sides of his body. His belly sinks over him, the curve of it pressing against Crowley’s arse with how closely they fit together. One hand rests on the small of Crowley’s back, the fingers curling over the slender waist, while the other still holds his neck, the fingertips offering a ticklish tease of a scratch. Inside, Aziraphale’s glorious cock splits him apart, hard and hot, leaking precome like drops of grace into Crowley’s soft, unprotected depths.
All over, above and around and in Crowley, there Aziraphale is. Warm, reassuring, safe. Moulding Crowley’s body to his shape, bending him with no resistance to his will.
“So full.” Crowley murmurs. “Just feel you.”
Aziraphale’s weight shifts as he bends to press a kiss to Crowley’s shoulder blade. In the ether, a brush of divinity against the profane. Angelic lips bestowing a blessing to cursed wings.
It stings with a searing cold, then scatters like glittering laughter, cascading across Crowley’s hidden feathers to the core of his form.
Crowley’s physical body trembles.
“So good, so very lovely and sweet and patient for me,” Aziraphale coos.
“Angel,” Crowley gasps. His hands clutch at the sheets, seeking, searching, desperate.
“I’m here, I’m here.” Aziraphale’s hands, never losing contact with his skin, glide over Crowley’s arms until he entwines their hands, his palms covering the back of Crowley’s hands, fingers squeezing them together. “I have you, love.”
“Love, love you,” Crowley manages to say. The shock of the divine kiss has faded, and he squirms, yearning.
His wriggling jostles the cock buried in him, pulling a moan from both their mouths. Aziraphale has Crowley fully pinned to the bed like this, lying on top of him, belly to back, and Crowley can feel the rumble of Aziraphale’s chest with his voice.
“I’m going to give you more, now. Be good.” Another reassuring squeeze of Crowley’s hands.
Then Aziraphale’s blessed mouth finds Crowley’s wing in the other plane once more, dropping a line of tender kisses along the bow of it. Crowley cries out at the renewed sizzling burn, the chilling freeze, his body arching of its own accord, away from and back into the power imbued in each kiss. Aziraphale holds him down easily, whispering lines of Enochian poetry as he makes his way from one wing to the other.
It’s like holy fire dancing across his feathers, but it never scorches Crowley. Each kiss starts with that same wrenching shock before exploding, dissolving. Fireworks and lightning sparkling across his occult being. Shooting stars of passion, devotion, protection, arcing through him, rising and falling and sinking into the centre of his heart.
The ancient language Aziraphale breathes into his skin is lost to Crowley, but he feels the power and the love roiling through the Enochian with each word.
It’s devastating. Ruinous. This taste of Aziraphale’s ethereal love poured over him has Crowley shaking apart, tossing his head, bucking his body as if his puny corporation can do anything with the weight of a Principality pinning him down.
It might be the best sex Crowley’s ever had, and Aziraphale hasn’t even moved in him yet.
He’s sobbing, only distantly aware of the tears on his cheeks or heaves of his ribcage.
What feels far realer is the press of Aziraphale’s grace deeper into his wings. There are more mouths manifested now, Crowley realises. More lips and tongues exploring him, speaking praise that reverberates through many languages. The Enochian morphs, Aziraphale’s love too great to be contained in one speech, until his voice splits and echoes and thunders.
He’s whispering about how beautiful Crowley is in Aramaic, telling him to breathe easy in Italian, reciting sonnets in English, singing love songs in a dozen more voices. A choir of one.
All Crowley can do is lie there and take it, just as Aziraphale asked. It’s so much, overwhelming in its intensity, but he wouldn’t dream of calling an end to it. Despite his corporation’s struggle, still bucking and fighting uselessly as he’s overpowered, he knows Aziraphale knows it’s only a reflex. Knows that Aziraphale can see into the tangled, writhing serpent core of him. That he’s seeing all the love there, offered up openly.
He has only the faintest tether to his physical form by this point, so lost in the dizzying, burning splendor of exposing his form to Aziraphale’s divinity, that Aziraphale’s orgasm takes him entirely by surprise. A hundred voices ring out in hallelujah. It’s blasphemous and beautiful, as Aziraphale curls tight around Crowley and gives all of himself to the demon. Come floods Crowley’s tender arse, far more than a human body could produce. More warmth and pressure fills him as he expands with the volume of angelic semen, his flat belly rounding out beneath him, pressing into the bedding.
Crowley cries out. It’s a wordless shout and he’s shaking, shaking, so high he can’t breathe. Brilliant lights dazzle him behind his eyelids, more and more of those glittering divine sparks pumping through his veins.
Only as he’s coming down, at last, from the shattering bliss of it all, does Crowley realise he’s come as well, his cock spitting a last few drops of come against the mussed bed sheets.
“Crowley, my love, my bright star,” Aziraphale is whispering. He’s back to one voice, the room still and quiet in the absence of the cacophony.
Crowley is still beyond words as he resettles into his corporation.
Aziraphale kisses his teary cheek, the only side of Crowley’s face he can reach for now. His mouth no longer burns with grace, and Crowley aches for it even as he’s relieved that they’re done now. Aziraphale's soft cock stays buried in Crowley for the moment, though come begins slowly leaking out around the shaft, Crowley too full to the brim contain it all.
“How was it? Did anything hurt?” As he speaks, Aziraphale carefully unclenches their hands and runs his fingers over Crowley’s arms, his sides, feeling the skin with care, checking more than just his physical corporation for damage.
Crowley croaks a garbled laugh at the question. “Just felt you, angel. Just you.”
Cassie's art that inspired this fic:
Art Cassie made with their trueforms showing:
