The blindfold must be enchanted. Within seconds of it being wound around his head, it smothers all light, muffles all sound, leaving Aziraphale alone with the binding around his eyes, the padded leather cuffs restraining his wrists to the headboard, and the comfortable bed beneath him. Anticipation knots tight in his gut, and Aziraphale’s cunt trembles and leaks just imagining Crowley watching him now, laid out like a feast, like a sacrifice to some ancient and terrible god: at his mercy and for his pleasure. He squeezes his thighs together, shifting his hips in a paltry attempt to stave off the desire that roars to life within him. If it just so happens to end with Crowley pulling his ankles forcibly apart, well — it’s merely a happy accident.
Crowley releases him, and Aziraphale bends his legs at the knee, thighs sprawled wantonly open. As tempting as it is to deny Crowley access until he takes it by force, it’s much more satisfying to tease him like this: with a clear, unimpeded view of everything Aziraphale has to offer.
For a long moment, there’s nothing. Aziraphale remains splayed out, open, undeniably eager. His sense of modesty has no place here, and as for shame? Aziraphale has never been ashamed by his enthusiastic enjoyment of sex.
The mattress dips under Crowley’s weight. Aziraphale tracks the slow slink of Crowley’s progress up the bed. There’s little hints as to what’s coming: the mattress doesn’t shift from one side to the other as Crowley crawls; the bottom end grows heavier and heavier by the moment, pitching at a slight angle under the weight; and the sheets slowly drag over Aziraphale’s feet, up to his ankles and snagging on the angle of his legs instead of being brushed aside, pushed off.
He’s breathless before Crowley’s even touched him, burning with the desire to see every magnificent coil of him, to get his hands on his smooth scales, to look into his burning eyes that are no less lovely, beautiful, or keenly intelligent when Crowley’s in his serpent form.
Aziraphale twists his wrists, tugging futilely at the cuffs. If he were to put any muscle behind it, the cuffs or headboard would surely snap. It takes real strength of will to keep himself in check, but it’s not a hardship by any means. There’s something deliciously indulgent about being tied down like this, expected to take and feel, subsumed entirely by whatever Crowley chooses to do to him. He’s meant to enjoy himself, and he intends to do just that.
Crowley’s broad head nudges against his calf, questioning. Aziraphale lifts his foot, skimming up Crowley’s body until he feels the shape of his head. He hooks his heel around the angle of it, pulling Crowley closer. A warm huff of air rushes over his skin — a laugh, most likely — and Crowley noses up his leg. He stops to nuzzle at the crook of Aziraphale’s knee, and his tongue flickers over the soft skin of his thigh.
His snout slides higher, and Aziraphale spreads his thighs a little more.
Crowley ignores the invitation. His head goes over Aziraphale’s hip, and Crowley pushes his body against the apex of his thighs. Aziraphale’s breath catches, and he wraps his legs around Crowley. Every movement requires a powerful flex of his long body. His underbelly drags deliciously against Aziraphale’s dripping cunt in waves.
Aziraphale ruts against him, hips canting into the pace Crowley sets as Crowley wraps around him. His body slides against Aziraphale’s side as his head ducks under Aziraphale’s bound wrists. He curls between Aziraphale and the pillows and slithers down the other side. He props his head on Aziraphale’s chest, and Aziraphale feels the way Crowley’s eyes bore into him as he deliberately manipulates the bit of his body currently between Aziraphale’s legs. It’s a slow, decadent slide, a cool glide of soft scales against the most vulnerable and sensitive skin. Aziraphale moans; the sound pierces the all-encompassing silence, echoing through his head. He burns with it, basking in Crowley’s attention.
Crowley lifts his head, sliding more of his body up and around Aziraphale until there’s scales on all sides of him, and he’s no longer sure how large Crowley must be. When his head returns, it nudges under his jaw, and Aziraphale’s head goes back in an instant, baring his throat. Crowley’s tongue tickles at his skin, scenting the pent-up desperation, the lust that Aziraphale’s drowning in.
Finally, oh, finally, one of Crowley’s cocks slides against him, lewdly rutting at the junction between his thigh and body. Aziraphale’s whole body throbs in anticipation. Crowley waits that barest moment, until Aziraphale breathes, “Crowley, please.” The words ring in his ears before being swallowed by the silence, and Crowley shifts, nudging the head of his cock against Aziraphale’s cunt.
There’s the least amount of resistance before Crowley is sliding into him, splitting him open, wide and deep. He’s hot inside Aziraphale; it feeds into the slight burn of his body stretching to accommodate Crowley until Aziraphale is writhing for more.
He can’t help the restless movements of his hips or the way the heels of his feet scramble against Crowley’s scales, struggling to pull him in. Aziraphale’s appetites are vast and varied, but even the most worldly connoisseur has cravings, and right now Aziraphale needs to be fucked.
Crowley eases back as much as Aziraphale will let him, then bears down into him in a hard, heavy thrust. His body aches with it, shuddering under the perfect weight of Crowley on top of him, around him, in him. The next time he fucks into Aziraphale, Aziraphale cries out and arches in Crowley’s coils.
He can feel the rhythm building through Crowley’s body, rising up between Aziraphale’s legs before it reaches where they’re joined. It feels like Crowley is somehow pushing impossibly deeper with each thrust until he manages to graze something that makes stars dance in the utter dark behind the blindfold. Sensation crawls under his skin; every nerve ending seems to pulse, throbbing until Crowley does it again.
The second time he nudges against it, Aziraphale bucks once then goes completely still, cumming on Crowley’s cock with a keen. Crowley’s breath runs hot and heavy over his sensitive throat, his nose tucked behind Aziraphale’s ear as he continues to fuck him, shallow but fast, into the rhythm of Aziraphale’s cunt squeezing around him. Aziraphale is lost in the sound of his own heart racing, his gasps echoing back to him as he tries and fails to catch his breath. Crowley’s coils tense, and he spills hot and heavy into Aziraphale, grinding deep into him until he seems, at last, sated.
Aziraphale bites his lip as Crowley slips out of him. He’s dripping from the aching emptiness of his cunt, desperately missing the weight and width of Crowley the moment he’s gone.
The very tip of Crowley’s tail drags through the mess they’ve made and pushes some of it back into him. Aziraphale grinds towards that soft touch and moans in disappointment when it flits away. “Crowley,” he breathes, meaning to sound stern in the face of such blatant teasing, but he sounds desperate even to himself, needy. Crowley shifts between his legs. Visceral, primal desire burns within Aziraphale, fueled by the worry that Crowley will stop before Aziraphale’s ready. He won’t let Crowley escape so easily, not without putting in a good effort to tempt him first. “Fuck me, Crowley,” he murmurs feverishly, turning his head so that the words fall from his lips and are pressed into Crowley’s scales, a litany of reverence and yearning. “Darling, please fuck me again. You’ve no idea how wonderful you feel.” Crowley’s coils tighten, something gloriously possessive in it. “I’m yours. Anything you like so long as you’re inside me.” With the softest whine, “I’m empty, Crowley.”
There’s a vibration pressed into the skin of his neck — a blessing he can’t hear but can feel, infernal and hot when it settles into his bones — and Crowley slides his second cock into Aziraphale. There’s an obscene gush that soaks the bed, Crowley’s underbelly, and Aziraphale’s thighs as the welcome intrusion displaces what Crowley left behind.
Aziraphale moans breathily, going lax now that he’s gotten what he wants. It’s so filthy, such a decadent mess, and Crowley feels so good as he fucks into Aziraphale’s loose hole. He can only imagine what it looks like — God, what it sounds like, every wet slap as their bodies come together — and hopes Crowley is enjoying it as much as he is. His arousal simmers at first but quickly fans into a flame, stoked to life with every push into him. Crowley’s avoiding that deep place within him where it feels like too much and somehow not enough, but Aziraphale doesn’t need it. It’s enough that every few undulations, Crowley’s underbelly brushes his clit, the texture of his scales dragging deliciously against his sensitive dick, sending shivers and sparks through Aziraphale’s entire body.
He’s lulled by the rhythm of Crowley fucking him; it’s certainly desirous but without that desperate edge. Aziraphale drifts on sensation, lost in it with only Crowley’s rhythm to guide him back. “Oh,” he breathes into the quiet, “this is lovely.”
Another indulgent huff rushes over his skin as Crowley nuzzles his neck. The tip of his tail slides up Aziraphale’s leg, warning him what’s coming. Aziraphale nods, sweaty and overwrought, wanting more now that Crowley’s willing to give it. It takes Crowley a moment; his thrusting slows to a halt, and he lifts his head, turning his attention to the shift happening further down the bed.
His tailtip slides into the wet mess between them, slipping alongside Aziraphale’s dick. When Crowley leans into him again, it presses against him with every movement Crowley makes. Crowley settles again, his head nestled on Aziraphale’s shoulder as he rocks into him again. The slide against his clit is immaculate, just this side of too much given his recent blinding orgasm.
He twists his hands, tugging futilely at the leather cuffs. Oh, he wants to touch, to get his hands on all of those beautiful scales, to dip his fingers between them and feel how Crowley fills him, feel the wonderful mess they’ve made. He bites his lip and cants his hips, breathing harder as Crowley works them both up, pushing towards the peak.
Suddenly, he can hear every filthy noise: the wet suck of his hole when Crowley pulls back just before he pushes in again, the ragged breaths in his ear, the bed creaking under the weight of Crowley’s thrusts, the headboard bumping against the wall. “Angel,” Crowley says, his voice a low purr as he noses into Aziraphale’s hair. “Y’said anything—?”
“Yes,” Aziraphale agrees, dazed and so close. Crowley’s tail wiggles against his clit, and Aziraphale makes such a loud, high, inhuman sound that likely sets every dog in Mayfair to barking.
“You sure?” Then, undeniably anxious, as if Aziraphale hasn’t loved every moment of this, “We can get it out, y’know. Real quick. If it feelsss weird or y’don’t—”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, gently but stern, easing Crowley out of the spiral he’s likely been in since he first decided to snake his way onto the bed. “Plug me, darling.” Crowley hisses, and Aziraphale hears the doubt in it which won’t do at all. “I want you to.” Prissily, knowing Crowley will allow himself this indulgence if he thinks Aziraphale will be offended if he doesn’t, Aziraphale says, “The rest of the universe at large recognizes me as your mate; shouldn’t you do the same?”
Crowley muffles a groan against Aziraphale’s scalp, moving faster, harder, finally chasing his climax now that his fears have been assuaged. His tail falters and slips out of the way, leaving Aziraphale on the sparkling edge of orgasm while Crowley grinds into him and cums. His long body spasms in waves; Aziraphale feels how orgasm crashes through him, how he clings for something solid to keep from tying himself in desperate knots.
The warm spill inside of him is followed by another, made of something thicker that solidifies as Crowley’s cock slips out of his cunt, leaving him spread open, full in more ways than one. Crowley sighs shakily into his hair, heavy breath slowly evening out.
“Close?” Crowley asks. Aziraphale answers with another inhuman noise. His wings strain under his skin, and his body feels far too small for him. If he opens his eyes, if he stops gritting his teeth so hard they could crack, he might break open and apart and pull the whole of London into his halo. Crowley pushes his body back the way it had been at the start, settled firmly against Aziraphale’s sopping cunt. “Go on. Take it. Ssshow me.”
Aziraphale has no idea how he gets his body to cooperate, but he does. His legs tighten around Crowley’s body, and he ruts clumsily against his underbelly, hips moving in jerky, desperate motions. If he angles just right, it stimulates the plug, pushing it that slight bit deeper, making him feel it. Aziraphale rocks against Crowley, whimpering when he gets too close and goes stiff, needing that slight bit of pressure to push him over the edge.
Crowley’s whole body tightens around him, and his underbelly drags long and hard over his cunt, his clit, one stroke up and barely starting to go down when Aziraphale cums so hard he can feel the spin of the Earth hurtling through space and around the sun, swinging through the Milky Way without a care in the world.
He eventually settles back into his body, relishing the lingering aches, the slight stretch inside him, the way Crowley has further coiled around him in the interim, thoroughly embracing Aziraphale in full. “Blindfold?” Crowley asks first.
Aziraphale closes his eyes and settles into the cradle of Crowley’s body, his freed hands playing idly along Crowley’s scales. “Not yet, dear. A few more minutes.” He’d like to indulge in this, like most things, for as long as Crowley will let him.