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And You Were Putting On Pearls

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Crowley distinctly remembered how they ended up here. A hedonistic angel begging for more, and Crowley indulging him. More fingers, fuller, more more more . And so, here they were, Aziraphale splayed out, cunt wet and hot and a little swollen around Crowley's entire hand. The angel was, quite rightfully, a dishevelled mess. His hair was sweat slicked, skin flushed pink, and his voice was hoarse. 

 

If it just so happened that Crowley was also a mess, the intense threads of desire that the angel had wrapped around him tightening, then that was another thing that they wouldn't discuss just yet, not when Aziraphale had just tightened again at the slightest nudge of Crowley's hand inside him. 

 

"Alright, Angel?" Crowley's voice was hoarse, wrecked even to his own ears. Aziraphale opened his heavily bitten lips to respond, and Crowley crooked his wrist just so , and words dissolved into a long and needy moan. Crowley's long fingers of his other hand were soothing around where Aziraphale engulfed his wrist, the skin pulled taut and looking irritated. The soft zing of demonic healing, the tingle that settled into the flesh for a fraction of a second before the miracle did it's work, had to be another pulse of arousal. It certainly was when Aziraphale broke out the holiness, the bright bite of a miracle that was never quite enough to hurt, just to tease. Crowley's finger, suddenly very slick, slipped in alongside the pulse point on his wrist. 

 

He could feel the rabbit fast flutter of his own heart, finger pressed as it was. He could also feel a much heavier thrum, the weight of Aziraphale’s pulse from inside. These corporations were so heavily anchored in humanity now. Originally, it had required effort to keep the heart beating and the lungs moving, but after 6000 years, it was a delightful set of habits, it was so ingrained that it continued even when Crowley was unconscious. Aziraphale nearly always kept it up, nearly always delighted in how the earthly sensations kept him tied to himself. But Crowley had also seen him indulge in a good book, reading for days without breath or movement beyond that absolutely necessary, dust laying across the angel like a blanket. 

 

“Angel,” Crowley croaked, his throat feeling incredibly dry as he marvelled at the things Aziraphale chose to show him. “Do you want more?”

 

The moan of delight that the angelic entity in his lap gave was more than enough of an affirmative for Crowley to slowly begin working a second finger on his second hand in. Aziraphale had trailed off into whimpers that weren’t totally coherent, asking Crowley to “please, my dear boy, please,” and how was Crowley supposed to refuse that ?

 

The quivering of the thick flesh of Aziraphale’s thighs was charming to watch, jiggling as it did over those incredibly strong muscles. His stomach tightened at random, seemingly, and Crowley gave a wicked, sharp edged smile with far too many teeth when Aziraphale twitched and tightened around Crowley’s hand and fingers.

 

“Too much?” Crowley asked, and made as if to withdraw.

 

“Nooo.” Aziraphale clamped those thighs hard around Crowley’s wrists. “Please, Crowley, more .” 

Crowley slid another finger inside. Aziraphale wailed.

 

It was all very erotic, thought Crowley, as he watched the angel begin to thrash his way through an orgasm. Watching the angel become so strung out from pleasure, breaking down that center of control. That was what Crowley loved most about this, even if his hands did have to experience some vaguely serpentine moments to avoid being broken by the strength with which that orgasm rippled through Aziraphale. There was no real sensibility to the angel anymore, and his corporation was beginning to slip, just a little. Divine light was leaking from several areas, and the gush of fluids that had accompanied the orgasm were just holy enough to make Crowley’s hands tingle. Somewhat luckily, in Crowley’s opinion, Aziraphale no longer had access to the cherubim form, so there were no extra heads involved when this leakage happened. How terribly awkward it would have been to be staring down the head of an oxen in bed.

 

As Aziraphale finished trembling, Crowley carefully looked him over. “Carry on?”

 

Despite how glassy the angel’s eyes looked, despite the state of his curls and the ruddiness that had come to his cheeks, Aziraphale smiled at him. “Did I say you could stop, dearest?”

 

Crowley twitched the fist that was still buried deep inside Aziraphale’s warmth and showed his teeth, canines slightly too sharp. “No need to be so bossy with me, angel.” The sibilants had gained an extra hiss, Crowley's tongue forking. Aziraphale threw his head back, letting out a high pitched, breathy moan.

 

Spreading his fingers, Crowley idly noted that Aziraphale’s thighs were starting to become tacky, the skin glistening. The forked tip of his tongue danced across the voluptuous flesh, and it darted through coarse, wiry hair to touch to the clit hidden in folds of skin. 

 

Another finger slipped in, and now they were so close to having two fists spreading Aziraphale open. Four fingers, one fist, a lot of slick wetness… The teasing twitches of the angel's insides combined with the overwhelmed cries as Crowley teased his serpentine tongue against Aziraphale had the demon rutting into the bed, his own cunt slick and throbbing, clit dragging against a fold in the soft covers. The angel was spread wide, and his eyes were hooded, pupils blown wide as he panted. 

 

"You're a hedonistic mess , angel," murmured Crowley, as he peered over the soft rolls of Aziraphale's stomach. His lips closed around that hidden clit, and he sucked . The angel's thighs quivered, his voice breaking, more of his juices wetting Crowley's fingers and wrists. 

 

" Crowley," Aziraphale moaned, hips twitching. " Please ." 

 

Rubbing his thumb over the taut skin where he was filling Aziraphale, Crowley soothed irritation before slowly edging the digit in. Each laboured breath Aziraphale drew expanded his ribcage like a racehorse ridden hard. His eyes were glassy, unseeing, as Crowley worked, slowly, carefully. His whole hand was sliding in, slick, and Crowley molded it around the other. Aziraphale was frozen aside from his deep panting, the beginnings of tremors twitching at his limbs. And then, Crowley made a second fist. 

 

Aziraphale's wail was no longer earthly, a choir of heaven that made Crowley's ears begin to bleed. His muscles rolled and twitched and convulsed, and the hold Aziraphale had on his corporation slipped much further than before, cracks of gold opening like kintsugi, these lines where Aziraphale's grasp of humanity were thinnest. Crowley burned, but his lips dipped to Aziraphale's clit, teasing and sucking and encouraging every last tense and release of muscle. 

 

Finally, finally, Aziraphale settled. 

 

"I do believe I'm done, dearest." His voice cracked and croaked, human voice box not enough and sore. 

 

"Mmkay," said Crowley, slowly and carefully withdrawing sticky hands. 

 

Aziraphale sighed, a sated and contented sound. "Do be a dear and pass me that book--no, Crowley don't touch it before you miracle your hands clean, honestly." 

 

Crowley shared a secret smile with a first edition Dumas, and leaned against his angel for warmth.