The way Aziraphale handles him when he comes is nothing short of breathtaking. Crowley wouldn't ever have expected it, wouldn't have had even the slightest inkling if he didn't already know that Aziraphale can be a perfect bastard when he wants to be; even then it still manages to stun him with Aziraphale's hand tangled up in his hair and dragging his head back until he's arched beneath him, slamming his hips into him as he comes. How his seed stains him inside and out, hot and obscene and perfect on his skin. His fingers gathering up the come that drips down between his buttocks and slipping it into his throbbing, well-used hole. His breath catches at that, the slit pupils of his yellow eyes gone wide and black. "Fuck," he breathes in amazement, before his mouth is covered in a searing, filthy kiss. He makes a sound close to a whimper, nearly overcome with dazed pleasure and the sensation of being thoroughly debauched.
His hands move wonderingly over Azirphale's shoulders as his angel drapes himself over him, fingers sliding into the feathers at the base of his wings. "Didn't know you had it in you, angel," Crowley says, shaky and amused and absolutely enamored. He nuzzles at Aziraphale's cheek, leaving spent little kisses, fingers raking gently in his feathers. He feels--so full, almost glowing with this borrowed radiance, wanting Aziraphale to never let him go; his long limbs wind around him, keeping them together in their sated reverie.
"Didn't you?" he asks, curiously, smile widening at every little kiss that Crowley leaves on his cheek. To be quite certain, he hadn't thought Crowley capable of love, either, and yet here they were: Crowley, the lover, and Aziraphale the hedonist. Perhaps it was because they'd been on Earth so long, or perhaps it was just something about how they'd been all along that made them particularly suited for how they were at the moment, curled up in each other's arms sharing things that they really had no right to be sharing.
"Suppose I did have a little bit of you in me," he remarks suggestively. He would waggle his eyebrows if he weren't so spent at the moment, and instead his wings flutter and settle so that they're comfortable in Crowley's grip, lightly encouraging him as if he were playing with Aziraphale's hair.
After a bit of a pause, he asks: "Did you like it? I-- meant it, when I said I want to keep you satisfied. I want you to know it's not just lip service. I do care for your pleasure," he murmurs, carding a hand through black feathers and kissing his temple.
Crowley considers for a moment, his fingers winding through Aziraphale’s feathers. “Might’ve known,” he concedes in a low murmur, “if I’d thought about it.” After all, what is Aziraphale if not a great lover of all sensual and earthly pleasures? Crowley doesn’t think he’s ever known another angel to indulge in his appetites the way Aziraphale does, and he likes him all the better for it. And if this were to become one of his appetites, and Crowley just the thing to satisfy him...well, he would certainly have no arguments against that. "I couldn't, though," he adds, toying with Aziraphale's feathers, ruffling them up gently and then smoothing them down again. "Couldn't think about it, about you...I never let myself, you know. I just knew I wanted to be around you all the time."
If he'd ever stopped to think about what Aziraphale meant to him, what the pang of longing in his chest was, maybe he would have tried to tempt Aziraphale long ago. It almost makes him regret it, all these centuries past where they could have had this. Not wasted, though--Crowley would never say wasted. He loves Aziraphale too much, has loved every moment with him, even when his angel is saying such ridiculous things-- "A little bit?" he echoes in mock outrage. "That what you'd call it?"
Relenting when Aziraphale asks him if it was all right, Crowley turns his head to kiss him, pouring all his wicked, greedy heart into it. "Oh, you do. Keep me satisfied." Another kiss, his teeth dragging at Aziraphale's lower lip, his tongue as sweet and seductive as you please. "So much," he breathes, the yearning in his voice not at all feigned as Aziraphale strokes the edge of his wing.
He thinks about how easy this all is, lying in bed with Crowley exchanging banter with him, talking about their relationship and their future and, alright, their sex life. "Good," he replies, sucking a kiss from Crowley. "And no," he says, biting his lip and giving a bit of a pause. "It's not only a little bit."
He reaches down and gives Crowley's thigh a playful little whap. He must know, though, since he's a bit more endowed than Aziraphale is, and goodness is it a lovely cock. Aziraphale would, very happily, let Crowley bury it in various and sundry parts of Aziraphale whenever he would like to have the chance: in his mouth, between his thighs, and perhaps even someday he might manifest a perfectly cute vagina tinted pink, analogous to his cock which is also both perfectly cute and a pretty rose color. At least, he'd like to think so. Maybe not so much the "cute" bit.
Perhaps, if he was so bold, he liked to think that Crowley had a similar thought about him: that someday, maybe not tonight, but someday, they could have found a million different ways to make love, and though they had favorites to return to, they'd have so many more to try. A lifetime would not be enough. And then his thoughts wander again, to asking himself that if Crowley made a womb, would he be able to carry a child? Would he be able to carry Aziraphale's child?
But that was too much, too soon, and for a second he looks struck, sad. He takes a deep, ragged breath, and covers his face with a black wing to kiss its feathers.
"And don't you forget it," Crowley whispers at Aziraphale's mouth, close enough to graze his lips. He, too, is certain that there is no end to the manifestations that he or the angel could make to satisfy one another, to join together in all sorts of configurations. Aziraphale has a perfectly lovely cock as well, in his demonic opinion, and would no doubt manifest a lovely cunt too if the whim took him; though Crowley, playing the role of the princess, might decide to try it first. He hasn't thought as far as giving himself the means to carry a child, though. If he did...
If he did, it would be Aziraphale's: a creation that belonged to the two of them, born of an angel and a demon. In all his wildest imaginings, Crowley never went so far as to envision their own child. But then, he never let himself envision, either, a day when he and Aziraphale might be wed. And of course he's considered, since their betrothal, the expectation that the princess will carry the princess's heir--but she would have to prove sadly barren, wouldn't she? Could such a child ever be dreamed into existence?
He catches the brief sadness over Aziraphale's face before it's covered with his own wing, the angel lathing the black feathers with kisses. Crowley tentatively strokes his cheek with the edge of his wing. "You all right, angel?"
"Yes," he answers with immediacy. "Yes, I'm better than I have been in a long time." But Crowley is owed an answer, an explanation for his melancholy, as his wife. And so he freely gives it: "It's just, you know. They'll expect us to start a family. And I know we agreed it would be best not to, but I'm feeling particularly foolish tonight," he says, as he draws Crowley close to him.
"I'd never-- before, I'd never wanted a child with anyone." But Crowley, of course, is the exception. He's always the exception. And perhaps he wouldn't even want to carry one, even if he could. All that was all fine, and would make things all the easier. "Maybe it's better I not think about it, but that's all." It's nothing to do with how happy he is about the two of them, because he couldn't be moreso.
Still, he presses a kiss to Crowley's temple and dreams. Maybe, someday. And yet, why would they want a child who might grow old and die someday? He couldn't bear it, not for Heaven or Earth or Crowley, to watch his own flesh and blood age and wither even as he remained the same. Neither could he let the child die in youth. "Yes," he repeats. "Better we not think about it at all."
"Ahh." Crowley sighs, lets himself be drawn to Aziraphale and kisses him in consolation, slipping his arms around his neck. He understands well what's like to have something better than you've dreamt of but still yearn for more. For centuries he had Aziraphale's company when he sought them out, when circumstance threw them together or when his angel needed him to get him out of some trouble (usually of his own making, Crowley suspects) and he'd been content enough with those opportunities, those stolen moments, not expecting better. Certainly he wouldn't have expected this.
Couldn't they dream of more?
"It's not likely to happen though, is it?" he says tentatively, testing the thought. "Even if we wanted--I mean, you being what you are and me being me." Of course they could give themselves the right equipment for it, but surely it wouldn't be as simple as that. Surely it would be...well, a miracle for certain. One he's not sure is within their power.
"It was a silly idea anyway," he answers, not wanting to unpack all this on their wedding night. He had more than he deserved and he supposed that perhaps having a child would make it, in the eyes of their hosts, slightly more of a permanent arrangement. Though naturally that wasn't the purpose, and he knew he would love the child and knew that Crowley would as well; he trusted the both of them to be good parents to any child that was their own. But it would have been the easiest thing, he thinks, to let Crowley know the depth of his love, that he should want to be joined with him in bond but also in blood, or at least in the trials that come with raising a child together. And he wants to give this gift of life for the both of them but to Crowley, especially, who might find reflected in a child's eye a little piece of innocence he'd forgotten he still had.
And that was the real reason, wasn't it? That he wanted to show Crowley and the world exactly how much he meant to Aziraphale, that giving him all his love and devotion still felt short of what he could give. But once he thought of it, he realized that there were other ways. There must be other ways, to let him know; this had just been the most direct.
He pulls Crowley close for a kiss light as nectar. "Forget I mentioned it, my dear." He lays a hand over Crowley's heart, and wonders what he is thinking currently.
Crowley tilts his head to study Aziraphale for a moment, his eyes speculative, wondering. It's such a curious thing to bring up in the first place--not at all the sort of thing a demon ought to go in for, probably rather ridiculous in the face of it. Imagine him a mum, coddling some little beast. A perfect hellion, it'd probably be, and Aziraphale would know exactly where it got that from. All right, Crowley has perhaps a little bit of fondness for kids, but that doesn't mean he ought to try parenting one.
Except. Except it's caught hold of him a bit, stuck under his ribs. "All right, then," he answers when Aziraphale kisses him and says to forget it, puzzled and, secretly, perhaps a little disappointed, but never mind, he'll soon turn his mind to other things. Crowley covers Aziraphale's hand where it rests over his heart, gazing at him, vulnerable with his eyes unconcealed and yet making no effort to hide them. He's an open book: whatever Aziraphale wants of him, he can have. "You know I'll make you happy," Crowley tells him softly, and his lips tug into a smile. "You'll wonder how you could've done without me."
"Oh, don't worry about that dear, I already do," he responds, one of his hands on Crowley's cheek. "Wonder what would have happened if you hadn't crawled up to me on the wall, or if you weren't the one who'd been stationed to Earth." He's certain for one thing, that he wouldn't have another in his bed right now, and wouldn't have another lay claim to his heart. But he does wonder if he would wander the Earth alone with the feeling that something was missing, a tugging on his soul that draws him to wherever Crowley is.
Perhaps he feels that way because they know each other, now.
But he can't even remember what it felt like before that. Even though he knows that he would have, before this assignment, sworn up and down that Crowley was his adversary and that they were enemies and all that sort of talk, he knows in his heart that should he have been pulled away at the time, that Aziraphale would have missed him terribly. He would've hated whoever replaced Crowley on principle, and also because he was supposed to hate whoever replaced Crowley on principle.
Regardless, he takes Crowley's hand and smooths it out so he can interlock their fingers. "You already make me happier than you know."
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His hands move wonderingly over Azirphale's shoulders as his angel drapes himself over him, fingers sliding into the feathers at the base of his wings. "Didn't know you had it in you, angel," Crowley says, shaky and amused and absolutely enamored. He nuzzles at Aziraphale's cheek, leaving spent little kisses, fingers raking gently in his feathers. He feels--so full, almost glowing with this borrowed radiance, wanting Aziraphale to never let him go; his long limbs wind around him, keeping them together in their sated reverie.
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"Suppose I did have a little bit of you in me," he remarks suggestively. He would waggle his eyebrows if he weren't so spent at the moment, and instead his wings flutter and settle so that they're comfortable in Crowley's grip, lightly encouraging him as if he were playing with Aziraphale's hair.
After a bit of a pause, he asks: "Did you like it? I-- meant it, when I said I want to keep you satisfied. I want you to know it's not just lip service. I do care for your pleasure," he murmurs, carding a hand through black feathers and kissing his temple.
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If he'd ever stopped to think about what Aziraphale meant to him, what the pang of longing in his chest was, maybe he would have tried to tempt Aziraphale long ago. It almost makes him regret it, all these centuries past where they could have had this. Not wasted, though--Crowley would never say wasted. He loves Aziraphale too much, has loved every moment with him, even when his angel is saying such ridiculous things-- "A little bit?" he echoes in mock outrage. "That what you'd call it?"
Relenting when Aziraphale asks him if it was all right, Crowley turns his head to kiss him, pouring all his wicked, greedy heart into it. "Oh, you do. Keep me satisfied." Another kiss, his teeth dragging at Aziraphale's lower lip, his tongue as sweet and seductive as you please. "So much," he breathes, the yearning in his voice not at all feigned as Aziraphale strokes the edge of his wing.
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He reaches down and gives Crowley's thigh a playful little whap. He must know, though, since he's a bit more endowed than Aziraphale is, and goodness is it a lovely cock. Aziraphale would, very happily, let Crowley bury it in various and sundry parts of Aziraphale whenever he would like to have the chance: in his mouth, between his thighs, and perhaps even someday he might manifest a perfectly cute vagina tinted pink, analogous to his cock which is also both perfectly cute and a pretty rose color. At least, he'd like to think so. Maybe not so much the "cute" bit.
Perhaps, if he was so bold, he liked to think that Crowley had a similar thought about him: that someday, maybe not tonight, but someday, they could have found a million different ways to make love, and though they had favorites to return to, they'd have so many more to try. A lifetime would not be enough. And then his thoughts wander again, to asking himself that if Crowley made a womb, would he be able to carry a child? Would he be able to carry Aziraphale's child?
But that was too much, too soon, and for a second he looks struck, sad. He takes a deep, ragged breath, and covers his face with a black wing to kiss its feathers.
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If he did, it would be Aziraphale's: a creation that belonged to the two of them, born of an angel and a demon. In all his wildest imaginings, Crowley never went so far as to envision their own child. But then, he never let himself envision, either, a day when he and Aziraphale might be wed. And of course he's considered, since their betrothal, the expectation that the princess will carry the princess's heir--but she would have to prove sadly barren, wouldn't she? Could such a child ever be dreamed into existence?
He catches the brief sadness over Aziraphale's face before it's covered with his own wing, the angel lathing the black feathers with kisses. Crowley tentatively strokes his cheek with the edge of his wing. "You all right, angel?"
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"I'd never-- before, I'd never wanted a child with anyone." But Crowley, of course, is the exception. He's always the exception. And perhaps he wouldn't even want to carry one, even if he could. All that was all fine, and would make things all the easier. "Maybe it's better I not think about it, but that's all." It's nothing to do with how happy he is about the two of them, because he couldn't be moreso.
Still, he presses a kiss to Crowley's temple and dreams. Maybe, someday. And yet, why would they want a child who might grow old and die someday? He couldn't bear it, not for Heaven or Earth or Crowley, to watch his own flesh and blood age and wither even as he remained the same. Neither could he let the child die in youth. "Yes," he repeats. "Better we not think about it at all."
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Couldn't they dream of more?
"It's not likely to happen though, is it?" he says tentatively, testing the thought. "Even if we wanted--I mean, you being what you are and me being me." Of course they could give themselves the right equipment for it, but surely it wouldn't be as simple as that. Surely it would be...well, a miracle for certain. One he's not sure is within their power.
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And that was the real reason, wasn't it? That he wanted to show Crowley and the world exactly how much he meant to Aziraphale, that giving him all his love and devotion still felt short of what he could give. But once he thought of it, he realized that there were other ways. There must be other ways, to let him know; this had just been the most direct.
He pulls Crowley close for a kiss light as nectar. "Forget I mentioned it, my dear." He lays a hand over Crowley's heart, and wonders what he is thinking currently.
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Except. Except it's caught hold of him a bit, stuck under his ribs. "All right, then," he answers when Aziraphale kisses him and says to forget it, puzzled and, secretly, perhaps a little disappointed, but never mind, he'll soon turn his mind to other things. Crowley covers Aziraphale's hand where it rests over his heart, gazing at him, vulnerable with his eyes unconcealed and yet making no effort to hide them. He's an open book: whatever Aziraphale wants of him, he can have. "You know I'll make you happy," Crowley tells him softly, and his lips tug into a smile. "You'll wonder how you could've done without me."
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Perhaps he feels that way because they know each other, now.
But he can't even remember what it felt like before that. Even though he knows that he would have, before this assignment, sworn up and down that Crowley was his adversary and that they were enemies and all that sort of talk, he knows in his heart that should he have been pulled away at the time, that Aziraphale would have missed him terribly. He would've hated whoever replaced Crowley on principle, and also because he was supposed to hate whoever replaced Crowley on principle.
Regardless, he takes Crowley's hand and smooths it out so he can interlock their fingers. "You already make me happier than you know."