Chapter Text
Crowley sits against Aziraphale’s headboard and shifts again, tugging at the garter about his thigh and hoping that Aziraphale will come the fuck upstairs soon.
He’s put in all this effort and he doesn’t exactly love waiting.
It’s their second “anniversary” and while they’ve tried nearly everything on the list—Crowley has discovered the joy of vibrators, cock rings, dildos, nipple clamps, and butt plugs—a few things had yet to be crossed off.
And that’s how Crowley had found himself staring at a sea of black lace and leather trying to pick the thing that Aziraphale would like best.
Aziraphale’s comfort with miracles had not yet spread to Crowley and while he feels ok doing a few things—mostly mischief making and his normal demonic whatsits—conjuring a lingerie set seemed a bit risky. Last thing he needed was Beelzebub rolling into the bookshop and sneering over his choice of thigh high.
The mortifying ordeal of asking a shopgirl for help had resulted in a purchase of garters, fishnets, a tie up leather sort of corset thing that Crowley thinks has no right being called a corset. He wore one back in the day and they were much firmer.
It's topped off with a set of lace panties that are barely more than a scrap of fabric.
That had been on Aziraphale’s list. Crowley in lace.
So here Crowley is. In lace.
Waiting for his angel to come upstairs and get ready for the dinner date Crowley had set up in advance and hopefully find Crowley in his bed. Maybe Crowley will get to see that dopey, shiny-eyed look that Aziraphale sometimes gets when he’s very interested in doing something to Crowley.
Which honestly Crowley honestly hopes he will be.
Even with all the things they've done his favorite is still when Aziraphale pushes him down on his back and slides into him, a heavy weight atop him, warm and steady as he moves his hips.
That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love everything else: the mouths, the hands, Crowley had even tried his own vagina once which had been amazing but not as intense as the way Aziraphale could make him scream by angling his hips just right and twisting his wrist while stroking the head of his—
A sharp intake of breath draws Crowley’s attention and he’s very disappointed that he missed the way Aziraphale entered the room because now he’s frozen in the doorway with his hand on the door handle and steadily turning red.
“Crowley?” he asks, dreamlike.
“The one and only,” Crowley says with a smirk, more confident than he feels. It’s hard to feel confident when your balls are tucked up in satin and lace and the seams of your thigh highs are tugging at your leg hair.
Aziraphale takes a step forward and runs a hand through his hair, mussing it so that it stands straight up. Crowley wants to put his hands in it.
“Are you alright?” Crowley asks innocently, letting one leg fall to the side so that even more of his body is exposed. It feels silly but when Aziraphale makes a noise low in his throat, Crowley finds he doesn’t care.
Aziraphale approaches the bed and then lifts his hand, tentatively placing it on the exposed bone of Crowley’s hip where his corset doesn’t quite meet the line of his panties and then tracing the lace down to the crevice of his thigh. “Oh, my dear boy.”
As powerful as Crowley had felt moments before, he knows his upper hand slipping away as Aziraphale runs his hand down his thigh, plucking at the thin strap of his garter with his thumb before slipping his hand under Crowley’s knee and sliding it down to his ankle. Crowley shivers.
“Happy anniversary,” Crowley chokes out. Aziraphale smiles at him softly and then he steps away from the bed, shrugging out of his coat and then rolling up his sleeves with such intense focus that it sends a jolt of arousal through Crowley who knows exactly what that focus means.
“I am going to take you apart piece by piece until you beg me to stop,” Aziraphale says and yes, he still says embarrassing things in bed but sometimes, he also says things like this, things that make Crowley feel the need to stand at attention and obey.
“Right,” Crowley says, really not able to think of any other response.
“Lay back for me,” Aziraphale says as he takes a seat on the foot of the bed and Crowley scrambles to do as he says, eyes not leaving the angel’s the entire time. Ah fuck he’s so hard. He wonders if Aziraphale can see the line of his cock through the thin lace of his underwear.
“I love you,” Aziraphale says, lifting Crowley’s hand to his lips and brushing a kiss over the sensitive skin of his inner wrist.
Crowley’s gotten better at saying the words even if it’s sometimes like yanking out a stubborn tooth. But despite Crowley’s difficulties, Aziraphale says it all the time. He says it when Crowley rolls out of bed in the morning, when Crowley comes home from his demonic misadventures, when Aziraphale places tea at his elbow and kisses his cheek.
Coming up to straddle Crowley’s thigh, there’s something wildly exciting about Aziraphale, fully clothed, staring down at Crowley’s body like he can’t decide where to start. Then he runs an inquisitive thumb over the dip of Crowley’s collarbone and brings his hand down his chest until it meets the corset, tangling in the laces and tugging.
The pressure against his ribs makes his heart kick in his chest and then Aziraphale’s mouth is on his, tongue swiping over his just the way that make his knees go weak. The hand that isn't lifting him by his corset has dipped even lower, stroking over the lacy fabric covering his cock with delicate fingers. It’s not enough and Aziraphale knows it.
He smiles against Crowley’s mouth when the demon whines.
“Not yet,” Aziraphale says, teasing as he dips down to bite that spot under Crowley’s ear that always makes his foot twitch because it feels so good.
Pulling away, Aziraphale looks down at him, heavy-lidded and very pleased, and Crowley can’t do anything but stare back, because his body’s no longer working.
“Perhaps I’d like you to pleasure me first,” he says, cocking his head. “Would you like that? You’d look so pretty on your knees.”
It’s all Crowley can do to nod enthusiastically, if he let’s Aziraphale fuck his mouth then Aziraphale will say all sorts of things that Crowley loves hearing. Things like my love and sweetheart and your mouth, dear God, Crowley, your mouth.
He likes when Aziraphale takes the Almighty's name in vain.
Fingers still wrapped tightly in the laces of Crowley’s corset, Aziraphale pulls him out of bed, pushing Crowley to his knees on the floor while Aziraphale takes his seat, legs spread, waiting.
Cool as anything, Aziraphale releases Crowley, hand going to his own trousers to unbuckle, unzip, and wait.
Not waiting to be asked, Crowley shuffles forward and takes Aziraphale as deep as he can, savoring the taste of precome as the head slides over his tongue. Immediately, Aziraphale’s hand grips his hair, which Crowley loves, and then the words are tumbling out of his mouth like they always do.
“My dear boy, so good. You’re so good to me. Your mouth. Your hands. Beautiful.”
Crowley’s whole body tingles at the praise and he does something particularly inspired with his tongue because he knows Aziraphale is close. To his surprise, the angel pushes him off. “I want to come on you.”
Crowley’s vision blurs. They haven’t done that before. He licks his lips as one of Aziraphale’s hands sinks into his hair and the other fists around his cock and then there’s warm liquid on his chest, dripping down his corset, which he only has a moment to question before he’s being tossed on the bed unceremoniously.
They’re going to have to wash the sheets.
Aziraphale’s hand is shaking — Yes! — while he undoes the laces of the corset, letting the garment fall to the sides of Crowley’s chest and then exploring the divots of his ribs, his sternum, playing over his nipples before he leans down and licks away the single stripe of come on Crowley’s collarbone.
By the time he sits back, Crowley is keening beneath him, feeling rather desperate for friction, for anything. Aziraphale's fingers dance over the lace of his knickers. “I’m loathe to remove these. They look so lovely.”
“Take them the fuck off, angel,” Crowley says, surprised he can string so many words together.
Cocking an eyebrow, Aziraphale snaps his fingers and the panties disappear. “Fine but the garters stay.”
“Whatever you want. Just — just…”
“Yes, my dear,” Aziraphale says and then he kisses him, the taste of his come bitter over Crowley’s tongue but fuck, it’s so hot and he wants Aziraphale inside him immediately.
Aziraphale’s hands are firm as he prepares Crowley and then there’s a tongue beside the fingers, two three who knows, and Crowley isn’t paying attention to anything anymore until the slick slide burn of Aziraphale pressing into him.
It’s fast and sweaty and open-mouthed gasps and Crowley’s pretty sure Aziraphale rips a hole in his fishnets when he tries to grip Crowley’s knee to adjust the angle.
“Please, Aziraphale, please,” Crowley says into Aziraphale’s mouth when he purposefully slows his thrusts. Crowley loves how he can feel the bump of Aziraphale’s belly on the back of his thighs, the grip of his fingers on his hip as he tilts Crowley up.
“You have to say it,” Aziraphale says.
The torturous bastard.
He thrusts in and Crowley doesn’t care at all about how stupid he’s going to sound. “I want to come. Please.”
“Very good my dear,” Aziraphale says and then by some complicated maneuvar he sits back and takes Crowley into his lap with him, guiding Crowley’s hips up and down. “Fuck me however you like. I’ll take care of you.”
Hnggggg.
Crowley does his best to comply but it’s awfully distracting the way that Aziraphale’s hand moves just right over his cock, and his orgasm stutters out of him suddenly, shocking a gasp from his lungs.
Aziraphale continues to thrust up into him, disregarding his oversensitive cries and biting that place on his neck until Crowley thinks he might be sobbing. It’s awful in the best way.
The movement of Aziraphale’s hips slow as chokes out his own release and now they’re just breathing into each other, the huffing heat of their mouths entirely familiar and yet still so thrilling.
Crowley crawls out of Aziraphale’s lap and falls onto his back, strongly considering a miracle to clean himself up. He feels so utterly debauched — and he likes it so much — that he’s not sure his powers would do any good.
Aziraphale curls up next to him and rests his head on Crowley’s chest, disregarding the come-stained flaps of his corset and the general grossness that is the bed.
“So are we still on for dinner or…”
Crowley snorts into Aziraphale’s hair and says, “Of course.”