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Crowley jammed his fingers into the small space afforded by the pockets of his ultra-tight jeans, hips rolling as he walked. It was bright and sunny in London, for once, not a cloud in the sky. He was intent on enjoying the sunshine while it lasted; Hell knew that it wasn't going to be around much longer. Crowley had delivered the Antichrist unto the Earth the year prior, so the planet had just over a decade left before everything went bollocks-up.

His wandering feet brought him to Soho. No surprise there. Every demon he knew was chomping at the bit over the upcoming Armageddon, and, given that Crowley very much liked living on Earth, he wasn't particularly interested in listening to them fantasise about the glorious battle while humanity was torn asunder. That only really left Aziraphale to talk to.

Not that he only hung around the angel for lack of a better option. Crowley enjoyed Aziraphale's company, and - though he'd never admit it - he genuinely cared about the angel. Dare he whisper it into the darkest recesses of his own mind, Crowley loved him.

Maybe he would admit it, someday. If the world didn't end first.

Seeing how that was very much an extant possibility, Crowley was just going to pop into the bookshop to see if the angel wanted to take advantage of the weather, and have a completely platonic picnic in the park.

He'd just turned onto Aziraphale's street when the voice addressed him.

I SUMMON THEE, DEMON.

Crowley stopped mid-stride and looked around. It was a reflex; he knew the words had only been in his head, not spoken aloud.

I SUMMON THEE, AGENT OF SATAN.

He scowled. This wasn't Head Office calling - the texture of it was all wrong. No, Crowley suspected that some human that fancied themselves a bit of an occultist had managed to get their hands on a book with a genuine summoning spell. 

It was inconvenient more than anything. It had happened to him a few times over the millennia - less frequently in more recent years, as Aziraphale had quietly made it something of a personal mission to ensure such books were removed from circulation. Crowley would have to let him know he'd missed one.

I SUMMON THEE, SERPENT OF EDEN.

Oh. That was new. Crowley frowned. He'd never been summoned directly before - previously he'd just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and gotten caught in the drag net of whatever idiot had cast the summoning spell. Occupational hazard of being the only demon permanently stationed on Earth.

Thrice to thine, he thought absently, feeling himself being pulled unwillingly away.

And it had been such a nice day.

"Satan bless it," he muttered, and vanished.

--------------

Crowley curled his lip at the dank state of the basement room he was in. No furniture, no decoration excluding the demonic summoning circle beneath his feet, maybe ten feet across, strips of dark metal embedded in the stone floor. The walls were literally oozing - with water, or something else, he couldn't tell. His gaze flicked to the three hooded figures standing opposite the circle and fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Right, you summoned me, well done. What do you want? Make it snappy, I kind of had plans today." They mostly involved an unholy amount of wine and cheese, and lounging in the sun with a certain angel.

The closest figure drew back their hood, revealing an entirely bland man somewhere in his forties, his slightly receding hair the same shade as his unremarkable brown eyes.

What caught Crowley's attention was the golden chain around the man's neck, and more specifically, the tiny gold cross hanging from it. That was not usually a great sign.

Now that he thought about it, there was an odd thrum coming off the ceiling above him, prickling against his skin. His mind was drawn back to a particular night in London, to a gormless angel being threatened by a bunch of idiot Nazis and Crowley feeling like the soles of his feet were being blow-torched.

He was in the basement of a church, he realised with a jolt.

Definitely not a great sign.

"There is nothing we desire from you, demon," the man said calmly, dashing any hope Crowley had that this was just a bunch of previously devout folk that had gone a bit off the rails. A shocking number of the times he'd been summoned had been by people who held faith in God. This was the first time where it looked like one of them might try to exorcise him, though. Crowley surreptitiously glanced between the three figures to see if any of them were carrying anything that could feasibly hold liquid. "We are merely enacting the will of Heaven."

Oh, that couldn't be good.

"Listen, I'm sure you've got the wrong guy," Crowley said, offering his most innocent smile. He was pretty sure it was coming off a tad desperate.

One of the other figures spoke. "Are you not the Serpent of Eden? Tempter of Eve?"

Crowley nodded slowly, grimacing. "I… did do that, yeah, but look what you got out of it! The knowledge of the difference between good and evil, free will, the whole lot, surely you've enjoyed that?"

"Our own thoughts and desires are irrelevant," the first man said.

"That's healthy."

"We received guidance from a heavenly messenger to bring you here," the third figure intoned, her voice startlingly young. "We are merely vessels for divine action." 

The three of them turned in perfect unison. It was creepy, and not the kind of creepy Crowley liked. As one, they headed for the door.

"Don't suppose you got their name?" Crowley called after them. The door slammed shut. "Lovely."

Crowley paced to the edge of the circle. Unsurprisingly, given the obvious effort that would have had to go into setting a metal summoning circle into stone, it was the real deal. He fetched up against the edge of the circle, hands pressed up against an invisible forcefield. It did not escape his notice that he probably looked like a particularly edgy mime. He clicked his fingers, just to be sure, and was again not surprised to find that nothing happened.

He held onto the feeble chance that the 'heavenly messenger' they were talking about was Aziraphale, and that this was the angel's idea of a joke. This didn't really seem like Aziraphale's particular brand of bastardry, though, and in any case, Crowley certainly hadn't done anything in recent memory that warranted something like this. 

Which could only mean that another angel had arranged for him to be summoned here, with his powers bound.

Crowley began frantically pressing up against the barrier surrounding the circle, trying to find some sort of give. There was none.

Which of the angels would even want to have him summoned? Probably someone higher up the food chain, someone with enough clout to convince some humans to summon a demon and get away with it. With a sinking feeling, Crowley realised that probably meant it was an Archangel. 

It wouldn't be Sandalphon, surely, that creepy little bastard would have smote him already. Smited? That didn't seem right. Smitten?

Focus.

Jophiel was out too, she would have insisted whatever was about to take place occur somewhere a little more tasteful than this dingy basement.

Wait. Heavenly messenger. Oh, Satan, it better not be-

"The Archangel Gabriel," Crowley drawled, casually leaning one forearm on the invisible barrier trapping him. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I know you've been attempting to seduce the Principality Aziraphale."

Well. This isn't off to a great start. "For all the good it's done me," Crowley replied easily, ignoring the way his pulse immediately began thundering in his ears.

It was okay. He knew what this was about, now, he could spin this. Crowley had been thinking that something like this was bound to happen eventually, had already plotted out how he'd respond to such allegations, whether they came from Heaven or Hell.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows, a look of polite disbelief on his face. "Oh? You didn't succeed?"

"He'd hardly still be reporting in to you if he'd Fallen, would he?" 

"So, you don't deny it? That you've been trying to Tempt him?"

Something seemed off. Crowley powered through despite his encroaching sense of trepidation. "What, do you want me to write it out in triplicate and sign on the dotted line? Yes. Obviously, it hasn't worked, or I'd be busy taking him on an office tour of the Nine Circles, instead of being here. Mind telling me what exactly your plan is, here?" Crowley had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't going to like it. Still, better to get it over with and hope that Gabriel didn't discorporate him when it was done.

"Well," Gabriel said broadly, spreading his hands as he stepped into the circle. Crowley fought the urge to step back - he knew that while his own powers were bound by the circle, an angel would experience no such restriction. "You've just admitted that you've been plotting direct against a member of the Heavenly Host. As an Archangel, it's my duty to ensure that such a transgression is…" He drew in an unnecessary breath, the sound too smug to really be called a sympathetic wince. "…Punished." Gabriel reached forward, gently removing Crowley's sunglasses and tucking them into his own breast pocket. He regarded the demon's slitted pupils with mild distain.

"On your knees."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, isn't that a bit-" he cut himself off with a startled cry as a sharp pain struck at the backs of his knees. His legs buckled and he found himself entirely involuntarily obeying the Archangel's orders.

"You know what I think?" Gabriel asked, folding his arms behind his back.

"Didn't realise you had the capacity for it," Crowley snarked under his breath.

"I think that Aziraphale knows exactly what you're doing. That he's known for a long time." He began striding in a wide circle, moving behind Crowley's back. Crowley's hands tightened into fists, pressing down against his thighs as he strained to keep himself from twisting around to follow Gabriel's movements. He wouldn't give the Archangel the satisfaction. "I do have to wonder what the other Archangels would say about that. It'd be… disappointing, having to advocate for an angel to Fall. It's been such a long time since the last one, I'd hate to have to break that record."

"I told you, he didn't do anything." Crowley fought to keep the sudden desperation out of his voice. Not that. Anything but that. Crowley knew that Aziraphale would loathe being a demon, and the agony of Falling wasn't something he'd wish on his worst enemy.

Well. Not entirely true. Crowley would definitely find some gratification in watching the ground crumble out from underneath Gabriel, pristine white wings burning their way to black as he tumbled at light speed to the sulphurous pits below. He knew how callous and dismissive Gabriel had been to Aziraphale over the years (although an insidious voice in his head delighted in pointing out that Aziraphale had very likely downplayed just how bad it was), the prick deserved it.

Point being, he didn't want Aziraphale to go through that.

"You're right," Gabriel said amicably, giving him a condescending smile before moving out of Crowley's periphery once more. "He didn't do anything. Didn't raise a hand against you, his demonic adversary. Didn't smite you where you stand."

"So, what, you'll make him Fall because he had mercy?" Crowley sniffed, striving for nonchalance they both knew he didn't feel. "Doesn't seem very angelic of you."

"You're a demon, what would you know about mercy?" Gabriel said dismissively from somewhere behind him. Crowley's neck itched from the desire to turn around. "He's been indulging in the attention you've been giving him, just like he does with everything else on this dumb mudball of a planet."

"He doesn't even notice what I'm doing," Crowley protested, then immediately clamped his lips shut and stared hard at the floor, hearing the forlorn longing in his voice.

Too late. Gabriel's feet stopped a little to his left, and he could feel the Archangel's triumphant smirk prickling against the top of his head.

"…Oh, this is too good, really, it is." Crowley cringed at his delighted tone. "You think you have feelings for him, how pathetic."

Crowley ground his teeth, saying nothing as Gabriel laughed and began orbiting him again.

"You have to know that he'd never feel the same way about you." His words sounded so sincere that Crowley would have thought the emotion behind them genuine, if they'd come from anyone other than Gabriel. They still spoke to Crowley's deepest ingrained doubts. They still hurt. "I know, I know, angels have an endless capacity for love, blah blah blah, but that doesn't extend to demons." Gabriel sounded insulted by the mere notion. "Y'know, I'm beginning to think having him Fall would be a good punishment for you. It'd be your fault, then, I doubt he'd want anything to do with you after that."

"Don't," Crowley blurted before he could stop himself, condemning words spilling out of him uncontrollably. "Please, don't hurt him. I'll do anything."

Gabriel smiled. "Relax, that soft idiot would probably forgive you anyway, and then where would I be? I can't go giving you exactly what you want." He tilted his head consideringly, gaze raking up and down as he moved out of the demon's line of sight once more. "No, I think I'm going to do something a little different."

"You can do whatever you want to me," Crowley whispered, briefly squeezing his eyes shut, shoulders sagging. "Just promise you won't touch him."

"Don't worry, I know exactly what I'm going to do with you," Gabriel told him, starting up his pacing again. "You see, I'm a big fan of reciprocity. I think that the punishment should fit the crime." He finished his loop around the demon, ending up in front of him at a distance that contravened the etiquette of personal space. Crowley couldn't help but have his attention drawn to the fact that he was currently eye-level with Gabriel's crotch.

Or, perhaps far more significantly, mouth-level with Gabriel's crotch.

He blinked up at the Archangel in sudden, stunned comprehension. "You can't be serious."

Something dangerous gleamed in the otherwise calm lilac of Gabriel's eyes. "Oh, I can assure you, I am."

Crowley couldn't help quirking an eyebrow, regaining some of his usual snark now that Aziraphale was safe, relatively speaking. "So how exactly does you getting a leg over with a demon fit into the Divine Plan? That's just begging for a one-way ticket Downstairs for you, if you ask me."

What was he doing? Was he trying to get Gabriel to use a more traditional means of exacting his retribution?

"I didn't ask you." The calm in Gabriel's eyes went ice cold. "You seem to have misunderstood. This isn't going to be a mutual exchange." He smiled nastily. "This is punishment."

"Right," Crowley nodded. "My bad, you're going for Wrath, not Lust. 'Course. That tracks."

The Archangel's hand fisted in his forelock, yanking hard. Crowley let out a sound that was more offended than pained, although the hairpulling most definitely did hurt. He didn't bother trying to remove the Archangel's hand, knowing it would be useless, and just scowled up at him instead. His gaze involuntarily flicked down when Gabriel's free hand began undoing his trousers. Crowley could tell he wasn't currently making an Effort, but surely that was about to change, and-

Well. This was hardly fair.

"Did always wonder if your attitude was you compensating for something. Guess it turns out you're just a dick," Crowley muttered, eyeing the obscenely large, fully erect cock now in front of him with no small amount of trepidation. Surely the vanity required to conjure up an Effort that size fell under the purview of Pride? 

Whatever the case, the sooner he started, the sooner this would be done.

Steeling himself, Crowley leant forward, only for Gabriel's hand to bring him up short. "Careful, there, Serpent," he tutted, mock-concerned. "I might get the impression you want this, if you're going to be so eager."

Crowley glared up at him. "What I want is to get this over with," he retorted through clenched teeth. "You gonna let me suck you off or what?"

Shit. The way he'd phrased that last part almost did make it sound like he wanted this.

"Get on with it, then, demon," Gabriel ordered, and Crowley sorely wished he could spit venom right now. All that happened instead was that his mouth flooded with saliva.

Well. That'll come in handy, anyway, he thought bitterly, wrapping his lips around the head of the Archangel's cock.

"Much better," Gabriel told him approvingly, smirking when Crowley glared. "Can't run your mouth when it's full, can you?"

Crowley hummed in dissent, and also because he was more than a bit of a bastard. A tendon in Gabriel's jaw jumped and he let out a low, rumbling groan, using his grip on Crowley's hair as an anchor point to push his cock in deeper. And deeper.

And deeper.

Gabriel had to be miracling Crowley's throat wider, there was no way it would have fit so readily with so little build-up otherwise. He doubted it was out of any sense of compassion - the Archangel was probably just saving himself the trouble of having to deal with a demon with a ruptured throat. Crowley had sucked his fair share of dicks over the years (just because he'd spent six millennia pathetically pining after Aziraphale didn't mean that he had been chaste the whole time, too), so he knew well the physical limitations of his corporation. What was happening now was far beyond them.

Breathing wasn't a requirement for Crowley, but he'd spent so many years pretending it was that his body didn't seem to know any better. His throat spasmed and he choked desperately as Gabriel pressed further in, deep enough for Crowley's nose to brush against the cashmere sweater covering the Archangel's stomach. Gabriel smirked at his pathetic flailing.

"You're telling me that he's never done this?" Gabriel lifted an incredulous eyebrow. "Never used you for the one thing a demon's good for?"

Sweet Lucifer, had Gabriel done this before? The prospect was more than a little concerning. 

Crowley stayed very still, just focusing on getting his body to acknowledge that it didn't need air to function, not entirely sure how this was going to go. Did Gabriel just want him to kneel there, cock in his mouth, as he was insulted? Did he want to force Crowley to give him an enthusiastic blowjob? Was he just going to use Crowley's mouth and be done with it? The unknowns swirled around in his head, circling around the biggest question mark of them all:

If Crowley's performance wasn't up to Gabriel's standards, what would happen to Aziraphale?

Gabriel laughed down at him. "Come on, demon," he murmured, voice low, and Crowley hated the shiver that went down his spine. "Let me show you what a real angel's like."

Crowley, being a snake at least part of the time, could do some very interesting things with his tongue. Gabriel, apparently, wasn't particularly interested in any of them, if the way he very rapidly began to fuck Crowley's mouth was any indication. The demon was barely able to keep his lips sealed and his teeth out of the way, and probably would have manifested proper fangs out of pure instinct if he'd been physically capable of it. He found a sick sense of relief that the circle was currently binding his powers, removing the option. Somehow, he doubted that Gabriel would respond kindly to his John Thomas going the way of John Bobbitt.

Involuntary tears began to sting at his eyes from the ferocity of Gabriel's thrusts, sending him in an awkward backwards knee crawl. Crowley let himself be shuffled backwards, only realising why that was a bad idea when his back hit the barrier at the edge of the circle. The Archangel's other hand rose to Crowley's hair, getting a firm grip on the shoulder-length strands, then started fucking his face in true earnest. Crowley felt like his skull was being crushed against the invisible wall behind him at the peak of every thrust. He didn't reach up and grab at Gabriel's thighs, no matter how much he craved even the slightest sense of stability - he knew exactly the smug, self-satisfied expression that would slide onto the Archangel's face if he did that.

It was brutal, and exacting, and his body was still insisting that it would like some air now, thank you very much. When Gabriel finally relented and pulled out, Crowley all but collapsed onto his hands and knees, gasping hoarsely. An ashamed flush spread up from his chest and crept over his collarbones as he realised that he was half-hard in his already too-tight jeans. He forced himself back up onto his knees, trying to ignore it, fighting to get his body under control. This was far from over.

Gabriel observed his struggling with all the professional interest of a scientist studying an uncooperative lab rat. He unwound the scarf from around his neck and shrugged out of his overcoat, dismissing both with a wave of his hand before rolling up the sleeves on his cashmere sweater.

Time to get down to business, then.

"Get up," Gabriel demanded.

"Make me," Crowley replied, voice hoarse.

The Archangel complied all too willingly, seizing Crowley by the hair once more and dragging him upright. Crowley snarled, squirming ineffectually as Gabriel spun him around and slammed him up against the invisible wall at the circle's edge. His other hand brushed Crowley's shoulder, fingers grazing his spine before coming to rest on his bare arse.

Hang on, since when had he been naked? Shit. He hadn't even noticed Gabriel miracling his clothes off, how on Earth did he miss that?

Gabriel's ethereally slicked forefinger slid along Crowley's cleft, running in a teasing line over his hole.

Somebody save him, he was really about to get railed by an Archangel.

"Wait," he rasped, mind reeling as it raced to catch up.

"I'm listening," Gabriel said, amused tone indicating that he was going to do nothing of the sort.

Crowley's mouth opened and closed like a particularly dense goldfish. What could he even say? There was no way he could plead with Gabriel to stop; not only would his pride not allow it, he knew Gabriel wouldn't give a flying fig. Not to mention, there was Aziraphale's ongoing happiness and wellbeing to consider.

"Well?"

"Aren't you going to buy me dinner first?" Crowley supplied lamely.

Gabriel shoved a finger into him.

Crowley swore at the sudden intrusion.

It didn't take long for Gabriel to find his prostate, sliding in a second finger as he stroked the sensitive bundle of nerves. He wasn't rough, but he wasn't exactly gentle, either. If anything, it came across as calculating - Gabriel's movements were controlled and precise, designed to coax Crowley's body into reacting to his ministrations in as efficient a timeframe as possible. The worst part was, it was working. His already half-hard cock was stirring with renewed interest, balls drawing tighter as it began to curve upwards.

Stupid physical body with its stupid physical responses. 

"Might as well give in and let yourself enjoy this," Gabriel growled against the shell of Crowley's ear.

What the fuck? Wasn't this supposed to be punishment? What was Gabriel even playing at?

"Might enjoy myself more if you were actually any good at this," Crowley spat, which only earnt him a few particularly vicious pumps of Gabriel's fingers, each striking his prostate dead centre. Crowley grunted, precum beading at the tip of his traitorous cock. Much as he might speak to the contrary, Crowley couldn't help but think that Gabriel had to have done this sort of thing before - the Archangel was, in fact, infuriatingly good at this. More than good enough for Crowley to know that, if he wanted to, the Archangel would be able to make him cum.

Somehow, he got the feeling Gabriel was going to blue-ball him on purpose, instead.

Crowley made a few abortive noises as Gabriel worked him open, trying to put on a front that he was not enjoying any aspect of this, but his body was betraying him. It was impossible to disguise the fact, given how the circle bound his powers, and he'd never felt more powerless. The way Gabriel chuckled behind him made it clear that he could tell.

"See? Isn't that better?"

"Go to Hell." The acerbity of his tone was marred by his obvious arousal.

Gabriel laughed unpleasantly. "Oh, I very much doubt that's on the cards."

The Archangel finally withdrew, but it didn't give Crowley any sense of relief. He knew what was coming next.

A large hand grabbed at his chin, forcing his head to the side, two fingers pushing into his mouth, pressing his face against the barrier. Crowley grimaced at the taste of himself. Not out of any principle of hygiene - he'd only ever used his arsehole for sex, one of the many perks of not requiring a functioning digestive system - but at the unneeded reminder of how thoroughly intrusive this whole situation was.

Speaking of intrusive…

Crowley tensed involuntarily as he felt the slicked head of Gabriel's cock butt up against his entrance. He drew in a shaky breath, knowing he needed to relax, needed to not undo the minimal prep the Archangel had given him. It really hadn't been enough, though, had it? Only two fingers, and Crowley was already intimately familiar with just how thick Gabriel's cock was, his throat still ached from the memory, it was much bigger than-

Gabriel teased his rim for a moment or two, then, without warning, shoved himself all the way in.

Crowley screamed. At least, he thought he did. It was a little difficult to tell, what with the way his vision had gone completely blank as his mind shrieked at him that he'd just been torn in half. He was pretty sure he'd lost a few seconds of time. He was definitely sure that Gabriel had performed some sort of miracle on him when he'd unceremoniously sheathed himself in Crowley's arse to keep him from actually splitting in two.

Of course, couldn't possibly get demon blood on his Holy Rod, Crowley thought distantly, hysterically, vision fraying at the periphery once more as Gabriel began to pull out in a slow drag.

Halfway through his equally slow push back in, Crowley's knees gave out, instantly dropping the demon several inches. Crowley groaned, and when Gabriel reached around Crowley's front to wrap a hand around his neck, pulling him back against the Archangel's chest, he clutched at the Archangel's arm. Not in an attempt to pull him off, but to give himself some small modicum of support as Gabriel pressed all the way up into him, the Archangel's other hand tightening on Crowley's hip when the demon tried to twist away. Gabriel let out a low, satisfied grunt when he was fully seated once more.

Crowley's toes didn't so much as scrape the floor, which didn't make any sense, he and Gabriel were practically the same height, had that bastard miracled himself taller?

Was Crowley drooling? He thought he might be drooling. Hopefully not, that would just be embarrassing.

He needed to say something. Come up with some snappy rejoinder, so that Gabriel would know that he hadn't won yet.

"Gluh," he managed.

Brilliant. That showed him. Right paragon of wit, me.

Bless it all, he was drooling.

"Not going to thank me, demon?"

"Muh." The contrast between the soft cashmere under his back and the tightening grip Gabriel had on his throat was making his head spin, and, horrifyingly enough, it wasn't an entirely unpleasant sensation.

"Typical." Gabriel pushed Crowley off of his broad chest, letting go of his neck, and the demon spilled forward, his spine apparently having quit its day job. He caught himself against the barrier using only his face, and it took him several seconds to muster the wherewithal to lift his shaky arms to support himself. Even then, his head still drooped, forehead resting against the barrier as his hair stuck damply to his face.

The Archangel's fingers stroked over his hipbone, so tantalisingly close to his cock that Crowley struggled not to move into the touch. He didn't completely manage to smother a disappointed sound when Gabriel moved his hand away.

"If you want it," Gabriel murmured viciously, "You're going to have to beg for it."

"Ngh. Fuck off, Gabe," was Crowley's eloquent reply. Polysyllabic words were still currently beyond him. Seriously, how could anyone argue that the Archangel wasn't being lustful in the way he was treating Crowley right now? It was ludicrous. 

Gabriel's hand slid up Crowley's side, goosebumps trailing in the wake of his fingertips, before coming to rest between Crowley's shoulder blades. Crowley tensed, then Gabriel seemed to press through his back, reaching into the pocket dimension in which his wings resided and yanking them into the physical world. He took hold of one, right near the base, and for a dizzying, sickening moment, Crowley thought he was going to snap the fragile bones there. Instead, he used his grip almost like a rudder, steering Crowley onto his knees with his face pressed to the floor. The cold metal and stone felt like fire against his overheated skin. 

Then, Gabriel took hold of his other wing, and began fucking into him deeper than anyone ever had before.

Crowley's nails scraped desperately against the cold ground, leaving black trails of ichor as they broke, but there was no escape. He couldn't speak anymore, not with the way that Gabriel's cock seemed to be pushing up into the back of his throat (and, given the extent of Gabriel's powers and Crowley's current lack thereof, it was actually physically possible). Crowley quickly abandoned his feeble attempts at escape, knowing they were futile. He got one hand under himself, trying to push his body vaguely upright, but was only able to prop himself up on his other forearm, Gabriel's grip not allowing him to rise any further. Instead, he burrowed his head into the crook of his elbow and focused on his breathing. He didn't need to, of course, but the other option was to have his attention drawn to the way his own aching cock would slap wetly against his thigh every time Gabriel pulled back.

"That- that all you got?" Crowley panted once he'd gathered enough brain cells to talk again, grinning desperately. Any sense of self-preservation he'd ever had had apparently left the building. He wondered whether he might actually be going insane.

Impossibly, Gabriel's pace increased, his grip on Crowley's wings tightening to the point of pain. Crowley was fairly certain he could hear his bones creaking.

And whose fault is that, you idiot?

His perception of time grew a little fuzzy around the edges. It could have been hours, or weeks, and he wouldn't have been surprised either way. He thought Gabriel might have started talking again at some point, but if he was, Crowley's brain was refusing to parse the words into something comprehensible. There was only the Archangel's vice-like grip on his wings, the way he was incessantly pounding into Crowley's arse, and Crowley's own neglected cock dripping steadily on the floor.

Finally, mercifully, Gabriel's thrusts became erratic, an invasively deep heat spilling into him. The Archangel let out a guttural, satisfied sound, accompanied by the rustle of feathers as his wings sprang from his back - breathtakingly, devastatingly white. Crowley closed his eyes against the sight, unable to reconcile the proof of Gabriel's enduring divinity with the way the Archangel was still pumping hot cum into him. It seemed to go on longer than it naturally should, and when the Archangel pulled out, Crowley felt more of it splatter over his back, flecking against his wings. A slow trickle began to trace its way out of his abused hole and down his thighs. He shuddered with disgust and humiliation and a hollow emptiness that begged to be filled. He wondered desperately how this, this claiming of Crowley, so far beyond the bounds of what could be considered an honourable punishment, wasn't enough to make Gabriel Fall.

Was it because he was just a demon?

Was it because he was, despite everything, still achingly, shamefully, obviously aroused?

He dragged his gaze up away from the floor. Maddeningly, the Archangel was already looking entirely put together, rolling down the sleeves of his jumper with a disinterested expression.

Noticing the movement, Gabriel's head tilted to the side, the barest hint of a supercilious smirk tugging at his lips. "I've let the Principality Aziraphale know where you are, I imagine he'll be here soon. Wonder what he'll think of the state you're in?" Crowley's eyes went wide with panic, finally realising what the endgame had been, and Gabriel's smile twitched a little wider. "Until next time."

The Archangel disappeared in a dazzling burst of lightning. Crowley stared, blankly horrified, at the now-empty room, not even processing the implication that this would happen again in the face of what was going to happen now.

Aziraphale was on his way, and Crowley was still naked. Still hard.

Still stretched open and covered in Gabriel's cum.

"Fuck."

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