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strong poison

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“Part of the whole package,” Crowley had explained, waving a hand at himself. “Meant to be a useful tool in temptation, I guess.”

“Fascinating,” Aziraphale said.

“Just one bite, and the vi— the bite-ee goes all sleepy, and can’t really move, either.”

“A paralytic?”

“Semi-paralytic,” Crowley clarified. “And, er. Bit of an— aphrodisiac.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but lean forward. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said casually. “Arousal, hypersensitivity, the—” He cut off abruptly, noticing Aziraphale’s expression. “Nononono. I’m not going to bite you!”

“Whyever not?” asked Aziraphale innocently. “You’ve tied me up, held me down, plenty of times. This is just— an advanced technique.”

“You make it sound like a science project.”

“Well, we are introducing new chemicals into the mix.”

“Are we?” said Crowley. “I still don’t think I’ve agreed to do— oh, bloody hell.”

Aziraphale’s Look (patent-pending) had done the trick. Crowley flung himself into a dramatic lean in his chair, waving a hand in acquiescence. “Alright, I’ll— I’ll bite you, then.”

The angel clapped his hands together in joy. “And then you’ll fuck me, obviously.”



“It can’t be undone with your own powers,” Crowley was saying now, for about the third time that night. He slipped off his black t-shirt and folded it neatly before setting it on the floor, as he always did, a habit which Aziraphale found unbearably charming, especially in the context of his own cluttered bedroom above the bookshop. “So if you don’t like it, you’ll have to tell me.”

“Yes, dear, I know,” said Aziraphale, leaning back on the bed, and didn’t Crowley see that that was the whole point? To be completely taken over with no recourse, every inch of his body claimed for Crowley’s. As if he’d ever want to miracle it away, if it really turned out to be everything Crowley had promised.

Aziraphale couldn’t hold it against Crowley for double-checking, though. He was always a maker of plans and backup plans, every future eventuality mapped and understood. That was just who he was— in contrast to Aziraphale, who preferred to live in the moment.

And Aziraphale could really think of no better way to live in the moment than what awaited him tonight.

“Alright,” Crowley said, fully naked now and an irrepressible, hungry glint visible in his eyes. Despite his initial protests, Aziraphale knew Crowley was just as excited for this as he was.

Crowley opened his mouth and leaned forward, but Aziraphale caught him on the chin with a finger of his outstretched hand, tilting it slightly so that he could watch as Crowley’s incisors sharpened into serpentine points.

“Beautiful,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley’s blush was visible for just one wonderful moment, before the demon lowered Aziraphale’s wrist, set it down at his side, and then leaned down to bite it.

Crowley’s fangs were so needle-fine that Aziraphale didn’t feel them break the skin. He only realized they’d gone in when he felt the warm pulse of venom spreading up his arm.

He didn’t know why he’d expected it to be cold, but it wasn’t. Crowley’s venom felt like a perfectly heated bath, like a mug of cocoa on a chilly winter night.

For all the times he’d had Crowley inside of him, the feeling of the venom working its way through him was somehow the most intimate thing he’d known. It poured into his chest and hit his heart, which gave a few panicky quivers before being overtaken and subsiding to a slow, drugged thump. From there the venom radiated outwards, down into his legs, settling with a heady weight, and up his neck, where it pulsed behind his face in waves that made him moan softly, his eyes rolling back into his head, his vision going momentarily white.

He felt like he was falling— no, floating— no, something in between. It was the sensation of zero gravity, terminal velocity. Like Alice, dropping down into Wonderland. I’m late for a very important date, Aziraphale thought, a bit madly.

Desperation was blooming throughout him; an intense yet vague feeling that clarified itself when a lock of Crowley’s hair brushed against Aziraphale’s arm as the demon raised his head. It was enough to set Aziraphale fully aflame with need in an instant.

He wanted it, wanted more of that, suddenly needed more, and he immediately tried to move over towards where Crowley kneeled, but his own well-loved body, usually so sprightly and eager, refused to obey. He managed, with some effort, to flop his head to the side, bringing Crowley fully into view.

Crowley had done this to him, and now he was just sitting there, watching Aziraphale with apprehensive curiosity. It was unbearable how beautiful he looked, one white fang biting his bottom lip, his hands pressing down atop muscled thighs.

Aziraphale could feel himself growing hard, heat pooling rapidly in his cock as he lay sprawled and vulnerable, semi-paralyzed by Crowley’s intoxicating ichor.

It felt so good to just lay there, weighed down by want; it felt proper, even, as if to even try to move would be an affront to this gift he’d been given. It was ever so dreamy, cozy even, the venom like the softest quilt draped over him, and Crowley nearby, as he should be, everything just so perfect the way it was.

But with each leaden blink of Aziraphale’s eyes, Crowley’s presence, so close yet altogether too far, grew ever more maddening. Aziraphale could only squirm, his every limb locked into sedation. The inside of his head, so often a frantic, multi-layer lattice of frets and fears and voluble chatter, had all been seamlessly redirected, braided into a single strand of need.

“Crowley,” he said, his tongue feeling absurdly thick and heavy in his mouth, and Crowley was hovering over him in an instant, peering intently down at his handiwork.


“Touch— me...”

It seemed like a million years passed, between Aziraphale’s plea and the moment when Crowley lifted a graceful finger and ran it lightly up the rise of Aziraphale’s stomach. The gentle touch was impossibly intense, Aziraphale wanting to arch up into it, capture it, but without the power to.

He was unbearably aroused, cock standing swollen against his belly, and Crowley’s other hand was dancing feather-light over the tops of his thighs, circling but never coming in for a landing.

Crowley teased one of Aziraphale’s nipples and then the other, and Aziraphale had always been especially sensitive there, but the way Crowley’s fingers lit up his skin was novel in its electric intensity. When Crowley withdrew his hand, Aziraphale felt the loss dearly, but could only communicate that with a wordless sigh, and a slow writhe on the bed, a movement of mere inches that left him panting from overexertion.

“You look so delicious, angel,” said Crowley above him, with a grin that showed off his elongated fangs perfectly. “I’d swallow you right up. Eat you alive, and you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Aziraphale felt his cock twitch helplessly between his legs. He wanted Crowley’s sharp mouth on him, he couldn’t think of anything else. But the internal list entitled Things Aziraphale Could Do was a short one, consisting solely of the entries: Breathe, Moan, and Need.

Still, he had to try. With an enormous effort, against the resistance of his syrupy contentedness, he dragged the hand that lay at his side up the side of his thigh, to point vaguely towards his cock.

“Oh, I see,” said Crowley slyly. “Well, if you insist.”

Every sensation so far had been heightened, and this was no exception. Crowley swallowed Aziraphale down with his inhuman, exquisite mouth, taking him deep and sending hot waves of pleasure up Aziraphale’s already hypersaturated body.

“Hhh— fuck,” he mumbled, overwhelmed immediately. For a only a moment he wished he could be his usual eloquent self, Crowley deserved to know precisely what he was doing to him— but that desire dissolved like sugar in water with the next caress of Crowley’s impossible tongue.

Before Aziraphale could come any closer to the edge, Crowley was releasing him, coming up for a deep, urgent kiss. Aziraphale couldn’t kiss back like this; he could only hum his pleasure into Crowley’s mouth, feel the demon’s lips twist greedily at his own. Crowley’s hands were at the side of Aziraphale’s face, pressing and thumbing at his nose and his brow, possessing every inch.

“Right, turn over,” said Crowley, sitting back, as Aziraphale gazed up at him.

I’m afraid that’s quite impossible, you’ll have to move me, Aziraphale tried to say, but what tumbled out of his numbed lips instead was a low groan of, “Mmm— move me.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow playfully, and some tiny remnant of rationality tucked into the back of Aziraphale’s mind reveled at the clear indication that he was really and truly enjoying this.

“M-move me, please,” Aziraphale got out, and Crowley was swift to obey. He put his arms around Aziraphale and lifted the angel up off the bed, bringing him close. Aziraphale’s head lolled back, his weakened limbs dragging against the sheets, unable to do anything but feel Crowley’s body against his. He wanted to grind up into it, his cock aching for friction at the pressure of Crowley’s abdomen, but Crowley was holding him deliberately, tantalizingly still.

Slowly, he cupped the back of Aziraphale’s head with one broad hand, lifting it and leaning in. Aziraphale could barely get his eyes to focus on Crowley’s face; his features were swimming in and out of focus, an impressionist painting of red, yellow, shadow.

“Sweet thing,” Crowley whispered, “precious thing, my angel, I could do anything I wanted to you, with you like this. Couldn’t I?”

Aziraphale sighed in agreement, willing his eyes not to flutter closed. Gosh, it’d be embarrassing if I fell asleep like this, he thought, but in response his mind offered up, in a vivid flash, the image of waking up, woozy and weak, to the feeling of Crowley already doing what he would with him…

Crowley was nuzzling in towards Aziraphale’s ear, flicking his tongue against its rim. “I could fuck your mouth, and you wouldn’t even be able to gag,” suggested Crowley, his voice dropping to a growl. “Or I could ride your cock, and you’d watch me take you, just looking, no touching...”

“Y-yes,” Aziraphale tried to say, he wanted it, he wanted all of it, everything Crowley had to offer—

“Or... I could just—” and now Crowley set Aziraphale down ever so casually, letting him flop back onto the sheets like a ragdoll, sprawling out in a new position, limbs askew and head at an unruly angle. “Make you wait.”

The fall took only a second, but the sensation of weightless descent lingered as Aziraphale lay there. He was entirely, utterly at the demon’s mercy, and that knowledge made him ache all over, made the weight in his joints sit even deeper, even more magnificently. His stomach was smeared now with his own wetness and Crowley’s, from where they’d been flush, Crowley’s cock grown stiff and red now above its fiery curls.

Aziraphale let out a desperate groan, trying to reach an arm out and draw Crowley back to him, but for his trouble he was rewarded only with a shy spasm of his fingers.

Crowley, his vision sensitive to motion, clearly noticed. But he was taking his sweet time deciding what to do with his angel, running a sultry tongue against one fang, looking every inch the predator.

For a moment, Aziraphale thought Crowley was going to haul him back onto his lap, fuck Aziraphale with the angel’s head drooping heavily onto his freckled shoulder.

But instead, Crowley rolled Aziraphale onto his side and lined himself up behind him, arranging Aziraphale’s slack limbs with gentle, territorial intent.

And then without warning or preamble, Crowley was sliding into him, slicked by an unnoticed miracle, taking glorious advantage of Aziraphale’s altered state to fill him up in one hot, immediate instant.

A cry forced its way out of Aziraphale, a drunken, animal-sounding thing, not of pleasure or pain but something far beyond either. As Crowley began to move, the slow drag of him lighting Aziraphale up from the inside, the angel’s desire was not banked in the least— if anything, the more of Crowley he felt, the more he wanted. And the more he wanted, the less he could do anything about it, with Crowley’s perfect poison surging through him anew, setting him further adrift.

Aziraphale longed to fuck himself back onto Crowley, to rock and clutch and babble on about how good Crowley felt. Instead he was reduced to lying boneless back against the demon’s chest, hands limp and helpless to do so much as stave off the throb of his own cock, as Crowley’s pressed up with abandon inside him.

“So warm,” Crowley said into his ear, his voice nearly cracking with pleasure, “angel, you’re unbelievable—”

Was it better for Crowley like this, too? Aziraphale hoped so, because for him it was like nothing else. He was drifting in and out of lucidity, the stretch of Crowley inside of him the only thing keeping him grounded. Crowley’s wiry strength was doing the heavy lifting, taking control, and all Aziraphale had to do was feel.

And oh, did he feel. He felt like he might float away, were he not tethered to his own body by Crowley’s fingers on him, sharp nails digging into the soft flesh of his chest, each point of pressure a welcome reminder of what filled his veins at that very moment.

He felt taken over, taken care of, taken apart. His eyes drifted closed as he sank further into the dense, sublime buzz, so blessedly filled and warm, the burning rhythm of Crowley’s all-possessing thrusts making the venom inside him sing out in sympathy.

“How does it feel? Tell me, what’s it like? Talk to me, talk to me,” Crowley said, a knowing taunt, surely meant solely to draw out more whimpers from Aziraphale.

And it worked— Aziraphale keened insensibly, long, uncontrolled moans that caused Crowley to mutter, “Fuck, oh, fuck,” shudder all over, speed his motions and dig his nails in deeper.

When Crowley’s hand curled around the angel’s cock, it only took a few practiced movements before Aziraphale was coming, the immense orgasm surging through him, more solid and powerful than any he’d ever felt.

Crowley was close behind, spilling hot and familiar inside Aziraphale, letting out a moan of his own as his legs trembled, his arms clutching tight around the angel.

He didn’t let go of Aziraphale, keeping him close even as he pulled out, cleaned up with a soft snap.

At some point, held in Crowley’s embrace, the afterglow faded just enough for Aziraphale to realize that the venom, too, was evaporating from his system.

He blinked a few times, feeling his heart rate return to normal, his head clearing of that precious heaviness. He had the impulse to chase it, somehow, bring it back, he would feel so horribly empty without it—

But then it was gone, and the new sensation left in its wake was lovely in its own way. It was nothing like the dull ache of a hangover, or the equally as unsettling ache-absence that lingered after a miraculous sobering-up. It was a soft, bright shimmer, as if his body were made entirely out of champagne.

“My goodness,” Aziraphale laughed softly, stretching his arms out, experimentally wiggling his fingers in front of his face.

All at once, he wanted to see Crowley, look into his eyes, tell him how well he’d done, what a gift he’d given. He shifted, under his own power, in the demon’s arms, and turned to face him with a blinding smile.

“Crowley, my dear,” Aziraphale said, “that was absolutely marvelous. Like nothing I’ve ever felt— absolutely astounding. Like heaven.”

Crowley gave a start. “Ah— lowercase h,” Aziraphale said quickly. Yes, he certainly was still just a bit dazed. “The— human usage. Darling, you are full of such wonderful surprises.”

“Mm. Gonna make me full of myself,” muttered Crowley, burying his head in Aziraphale’s neck for one bashful moment, before drawing back, and pressing their foreheads together.

Aziraphale, reveling in the return of his volition, closed the distance and met Crowley’s mouth for a long, intent kiss, which Crowley responded to eagerly, his mouth opening sweetly and happily for Aziraphale.

“So, the effects of the venom are counteracted by orgasm,” Aziraphale mused, once they’d parted.

“I mean, usually, yeah. Could, er, try and modify the formula, though?” Crowley’s eyes darted to the side, and Aziraphale could see the creative gears already turning in his head; all the lengths he’d go to, in pursuit of being able to wring orgasm after orgasm out of a pliable, docile angel.

“Oh! Could you? For next time?”

Crowley chuckled. “Already planning for next time. You’re insatiable, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” Aziraphale said. “Mostly by you. Though I’m not sure you’ve got the proper standards to make such a judgement, given your lack of other experience—”

“You know, I think I liked it when you couldn’t talk.”

“So shut me up,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley did his best.