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doonarose · 8 months

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Suddenly, Eagerly

Rating: Explicit, nsfw, no minors

Summary: There’s a fifty percent chance that any moment now, Aziraphale’s name is going to be scratched from the Book of Life. It will happen so fast, Crowley won’t even notice the loss. The possibility has Crowley stuck, helpless, in a bone-breaking panic, until suddenly Aziraphale’s there, and he’s safe and it’s over. And then Crowley kisses him, because he can’t not. Remarkably, unexpectedly, Aziraphale kisses him back and then wants all of him, desperately, miraculously fast.

Frantic 'thank goodness you're okay' sex featuring miracles, love confessions, and both of them going to pieces.

(Un)rationale: After failing to write a quick little fight and fuck fic with Precarious, But Worth It, I tried again without the fight, but with a little bit of 'threat of non-existence panic and subsequent relief'. As with the previous attempt, I failed dismally on the 'quick' aspect, at least in terms of writing, and this ended up over 8000 words.

Big thanks to anything_thats_rock_and_roll for their helpful beta-ing and for letting me bounce random ideas and sentences off them. You can read this and all my other stuff on AO3 or just read the fic under the cut.

‘High stakes’ doesn’t even begin to describe their predicament and, what’s more, it’s too late for Crowley to do anything about it. Thwarting the second coming had been the easy bit but stopping the powers that be – pissed off angels and demons in heaven and hell, respectively – from scratching them both right out of the Book of Life itself, that was proving to be somewhat more challenging. But they have a plan, a good plan, and they’d agreed that it was as likely to work as to not, and then, devastatingly, they’d had to split up: Crowley to hell and Aziraphale to heaven.

And that was nine earthly hours ago, which was hopefully, approximately, nine heavenly hours, but one could never be sure. In hell, Crowley had been lucky, things had gone exactly the way he needed them to and now he is back in the bookshop, exhausted and high-strung.

But Aziraphale isn’t.

It’s still fifty-fifty that this will work. Maybe seventy-five, twenty-five since Crowley’s half of the task is done. There is perhaps more likelihood of success as there is of not. So, a good chance, a winning chance, that any moment now, Aziraphale will walk through the door, and it will all be blissfully over and the Book of Life will be out of everyone’s lives forever.

But there is still a substantial, frightfully real chance that, at any moment, an ethereal quill will scratch across an ancient page and just like that Crowley will cease to exist. Far worse a possibility, one Crowley hasn’t been able to stop thinking about, is that any moment Aziraphale will be scratched out.

Crowley can’t imagine what that will feel like – terrifyingly, probably, it will feel like nothing – he won’t even notice, he’ll blink and when he opens his eyes Aziraphale just won’t have existed, he won’t remember the name or the face or the smell of him, it will be impossible to miss him. He’s so angry, so fearful, at that possibility, it makes him want to scream and to set fire to the universe and to sob.

Alternatively, any moment now, Aziraphale will appear beside him, back in the bookshop, and everything will be fine. All Aziraphale needs to do is get out of heaven and they’ve won this, snatched victory and safety from the jaws of defeat once again – with any luck for the last time – and then they can relax and do nothing for at least a few centuries.

Except Aziraphale’s been gone for too long. He should have been back hours ago and with each passing second, Crowley crackles with mounting, immeasurable panic. Panic that in the next second the panic will disappear, having never existed. You can’t be gripped by mindless, electric-sparking fear over no one and nothing. Crowley checks again – the checking now constant – to make sure he remembers him, says his name under his breath as though the Book of Life wouldn’t be able to snatch the last syllable and leave it half-spoken on his lips, and then never uttered at all, not once, not ever.

Crowley’s skin is too tight and his clothes feel like they’ve got barbed wire threaded through them, he’s worked his jaw to locked, ground his teeth until they ached, and chewed the inside of his cheek to bleeding. His hands are balled into fists because a half an hour ago he cracked his knuckles so hard he accidentally snapped two of the bones, except now the blood’s stopped moving further than his wrists and technically the tissue at his fingertips has started to die off.

He stands, frozen still and ramrod straight, in the center of the bookshop, panicking.

Aziraphale. Aziraphale. “Aziraphale.”

And then Aziraphale’s there, standing right beside Crowley, in one piece and smiling even as he puts his hands on his hips and breathes hard and flushes red, looking like he’s just been running. Crowley barely manages to say, “Oh, thank fuck !” before he collapses, caught fast and gathered up against Aziraphale’s chest as the angel chuckles, disbelieving and so relieved, and lets Crowley grasp at him.

Crowley must have forgotten to breathe for a while there, because now he’s gulping it down, body wracked with silent shuddering swallows of desperate air, even as Aziraphale’s breathing slows and settles beneath him. Crowley’s heart hammers back to life, his fingers flush with blood and the bones mend without him thinking too hard about it. And he clings frantically to Aziraphale’s waistcoat and presses his face into his bowtie and his neck, trying to get himself back under control all the while working to commit the warmth, and the smell, and the embrace of Aziraphale’s body to memory. Tries to remember it well enough that even non-existence couldn’t make him forget.

“Shhh…” Aziraphale tries to calm him, rubbing a hand up and down his back in a heavy, soothing motion. “It’s okay,” he says into Crowley’s hair. “It’s done, it’s over.”

“You’re sure?” Crowley nuzzles his nose into the gap between the buttons of Aziraphale’s shirt, forcing his lungs to pull in deep breaths, so he can inundate himself with the scent of the skin there. In a moment, he’ll remember himself, will regain control, and stumble back and give some half-arsed excuse and play it off as nothing – and Aziraphale will let him – but for now, he can’t help himself, needs to know Aziraphale’s there and safe and real. The possibility of losing Aziraphale was a millennia-long, constant, throbbing threat that he’d almost grown used to; the idea of never having known him at all was soul-destroying.

But Aziraphale wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t over, he wouldn’t be anywhere. “Completely sure,” Aziraphale reassures.

Crowley breathes out a long shaky breath of relief and tries to find his feet again, realizing that for several long moments there, Aziraphale really was holding him up entirely. Awkwardness starts to flicker around the edges of him, threatening to make him pull back and away and try to shrug some of the desperate, pathetic, all-consuming caring off of himself.

Aziraphale’s still stroking up and down his spine though, shushing into his hair again and then he says, “I’m safe now. You’ve got me.”

Crowley pulls back to look at him, feet becoming reliable now, taking his weight back, but his fingers itching and filled with fresh blood, still trapped at Aziraphale’s chest because Aziraphale keeps his arms tight around him.

Aziraphale’s cheeks are still red from whatever exertion he went through in heaven, his face is open and soft and still smiling. Reassuring and calm and gorgeous. Crowley can’t help himself, he kisses him.

Kisses him because he’ll always want to kiss him, now that he’s kissed him once and felt his whole body come alive with it even when it was devastating and miserable. Even then, every inch of contact, every close-up intimate smell and taste and tiny vibration that didn’t quite mature into a sound, all of it burned into his core and now he doesn’t know how to be this close to Aziraphale, safe and steady against him, and not kiss him .

Crowley’s hands break free of the press of Aziraphale’s chest because Aziraphale’s arms have fallen away from him. Crowley tracks his fingers up, across Aziraphale’s waistcoat, along his neck, to his cheeks, holds him there, close, kissing him and feeling Aziraphale kissing him back, leaning in and pressing his mouth to Crowley’s again and again, rhythmic and sweet.

Crowley’s hands go across Aziraphale’s ears, fingertips tracing the shells and pressing at the spot just behind the earlobe on both sides, and then fingers splayed, up and into Aziraphale’s white curls, tangling, twisting, and grabbing. Crowley wants all of him, every inch of him, he needs to reach out and touch and come alive with it, he wants them wrapped up together, indistinguishable as two people for eternity because he almost lost him and just thinking about that possibility was almost the end for Crowley.

The kiss turns deliberately deep and then rough in seconds, Crowley taking, working his mouth against Aziraphale’s until he can slip his tongue between his lips and lick inside, into the closest thing to real heaven he can imagine existing.

Aziraphale makes a whine and it sounds pained, and his hands have found Crowley’s belly, are scrunching the wool of his turtleneck and grabbing such that it comes untucked and Crowley realizes he’s not meant to do this.

This isn’t what they do – Aziraphale has made that abundantly clear – and yet Crowley’s just literally thrown himself upon him, blinded by relief and strung-out fear and a body broken by days of amassing stress and terror. Collapsed and been caught and then just taken without permission. He yanks himself back and away from the angel, eyes wild at the sudden jeopardy that blankets the room, at the alarm on Aziraphale’s face.

“Fuck, I am so sorry,” trips off his lips in a rush as he stumbles back to enforce a meter of space between them. “I am so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that – I wasn’t thinking, it was just… It was just reflex, just stupid fucking… I’m a fucking stupid idiot.” Aziraphale’s still staring at him, the fight or flight debate raging clearly behind his eyes. “Please don’t freak out. Please, just pretend it never happened.” Crowley’s voice cracks with it.

Because last time Crowley kissed him, Aziraphale left. Last time he kissed him, it wasn’t enough, it was never going to be enough. Last time he kissed him should have been the last time because Aziraphale never said anything about it. Aziraphale never said any of it. They loved each other fiercely, but they didn’t say it, and they didn’t act on it. And Crowley had made his peace with that being enough so long as Aziraphale existed .

“I can leave?” Crowley offers. “I could just go away somewhere, and you could let me know when it would be okay to come back? When you are ready to forgive me again.” He doesn’t want to, but he will. He’ll banish himself for a century to fix this, for a millennium. Aziraphale huffs. Some new, palatable fear stirs in Crowley, that this will descend into a fight, that Aziraphale will shut him out completely, with no promise of redemption, of going back to the good old days of the Arrangement and a truce and crossing paths, at least. It doesn’t matter, he’s fucked it up: whatever the cost, he can handle it, though, he can live with whatever he gets, so long as Aziraphale exists.

Aziraphale’s face has turned angry, brow furrowed, eyes piercing. “You’re not leaving,” he snaps. “And... and you’re not asking me to pretend it never happened?” he asks, voice caught high in his throat.

“But we could, please, we could. It was a momentary lapse in judgment that won’t ever happen again and we can just forget about it and – ”

Aziraphale speaks over him: “Pretend it never happened as in scratch the last two minutes of you and I from the Book of Life. Erase it? ”

Ah, there is an uncomfortable parallel there , but the point of contention eludes Crowley. His mouth opens and closes but he has no idea what to say to fix things.

“We need to talk about some things,” Aziraphale says, quietly, dangerously. “But I do wonder…” His eyes flick, very deliberately, very obviously, down to Crowley’s lips and then back up and Crowley can’t understand it. Aziraphale’s brow furrows even further.

The room goes quiet, the air increasingly heavy, and Crowley imagines the very worst ways this can play out. Aziraphale steps towards him and Crowley mirrors him, stepping back, keeping the protective, critical distance between them.

Still dangerous, still low, Aziraphale says, “I do wonder if sometimes talking is overrated.”

Before Crowley can utter a single syllable, Aziraphale has him up against a bookshelf. Three steps toward him, the last a dance between them as Aziraphale pushes him back by the hips, and catches him between hard wood, the spines of old books, and Aziraphale’s warm insistent body and his hot open mouth. And Crowley can’t maintain the space between them; Aziraphale presses against him, hips locked against hips, creating inescapable friction.

It’s a messy, deep, completely off-kilter sort of kissing and it turns ravenous and purposeful in seconds. Aziraphale’s hands are all over him, once he’s got their hips lined up. Fingers and palms moving quickly from the blades of Crowley’s shoulders to the notches of his spine and back to the sharp brackets of his hip bones. Aziraphale’s hands move up over the planes of Crowley’s chest, pressing to feel the heartbeat, to find the peaks of his nipples and the dips of his clavicles, every touch burning too hot and too rough through the wool between them. Aziraphale grabs at the muscles between Crowley’s throat and his shoulder and then a hand wraps around the nape of his neck and squeezes. Aziraphale’s lips are hot and open against Crowley’s and Azirphale’s tongue, his sweet, lush, searing tongue, fucks into Crowley’s mouth.

Aziraphale grinds into him again in a way that feels remarkable for all its tenuously held control and calculated friction and Crowley’s brain short-circuits to realize he’s already rock hard in his jeans. The length of him is straining, caught up against the zipper but he’s still rocking, rushing forward to meet the grind of Aziraphale’s hips.

Grabbing him by the waist, Aziraphale shifts him, gets a thigh between Crowley’s legs and, in turn, one of Crowley’s thighs between his own, and thrusts against him. What Crowley’s mind had been ignoring out of a misplaced instinct for self-preservation for several seconds – Jesus Christ, this has only been going for seconds – is suddenly undeniable. Aziraphale’s equally hard cock, hot and thick and promising of what could still be yet to come, is right there, being rubbed with intent against Crowley’s leg and they’re both quickly spiraling out of control.

It's almost a miracle, the way the human flesh and bone and blood is reacting so fast, so well, almost a miracle , maybe it is, and Crowley dares to speak, to ask, “How?”

Aziraphale pulls back just long enough to capture Crowley's eyes, to grin, turned on and dirty at him, and deliver a devastatingly unexpected answer. Aziraphale moans it into his mouth, “ You, ” and then bites Crowley’s top lip and holds his face in his hands. “ You, Crowley. ”

“ Fuck .” This is astronomically better than Crowley’s best-case scenario of his best day of all eternity in the best of all the potential universes. This is a deep, dark fantasy he’d never even allowed himself to have, but better because it’s become real and the reality is better than anything he could ever think up. Every touch and taste and sound is so much more , and now that he’s started to speak, he can’t stop. “Want you,” slips from his mouth into Aziraphale’s and before he can even wonder if he’ll be misinterpreted, stopped, denied, Aziraphale’s got a handful of his arse and he’s making a mewling little sound that Crowley swallows and knows means Yes.

“Want you so bad, angel,” he tries again, and is again rewarded with more of Aziraphale’s tongue and his noises and the push of his cock up against Crowley’s leg. Crowley’s still speaking, almost without sound into Aziraphale’s lips and his cheek, his lips pressing words up against Aziraphale’s tongue as it licks at him. “Wanted you like this so badly, for so long.”

It’s an admission and Crowley stops to try to catch his breath but it’s just more of Aziraphale who simply says, high and breathless, “The feeling is very mutual.”

The idea that it wasn’t just him all this time, that isn’t news to Crowley but hearing Aziraphale say it outloud… that draws more out of Crowley, tighter hands grabbing at Aziraphale’s clothes and his lips to Aziraphale’s jaw. Crowley bites there, even if it’s just so he has the space to suck down breath and this spot tastes just as much of Aziraphale as the inside of his mouth – salt and spices, the raw-cut wood of ancient trees, and varnishes from two centuries ago.

“Want all of you,” Crowley continues to confess, clinging and grinding with his teeth against Aziraphale’s skin. “Need to touch all of you so badly .” And fuck it, he’s in, he’s all in, because he can’t ever come back from this and Aziraphale is there with him, desperate-bodied and just as rough-edged, it’s unbelievable but it’s there, undeniable, under Crowley’s body, against it. “Need you so badly, angel, want so badly to be inside you.”

“Yes,” breaks quickly from Aziraphale’s lips and Crowley moves to kiss him again. “Yes, yes, yes please. ” More than acquiescence or permission, Aziraphale’s yeses are begging, pleading. “Yes, please, Cowley, please.”

And each little utterance seems to reveal an entire new world of potential, like the universe is growing bigger and better and Crowley’s shell-shocked by in and then shook out of his reverie as Aziraphale finally relents and pulls back, just from his mouth to fix him with a dazzling, burning stare. “Everything, I want everything with you. Right now,” and it’s almost a challenge and, Crowley recognises, Aziraphale’s own confession.

It makes him buck against Aziraphale’s thigh and his whole body throbs. Aziraphale can’t offer him that – everything, right now – and not expect him to take it. He can’t control himself around such a temptation and he tries to explain that, but it comes out strangled, “You can’t… but I – Fuck,” as his hips roll, “Fuck, I’m sorry .”

Aziraphale looks shocked but keeps a tight hold of him, hands at his hips and blue-grey eyes piercing. “What on earth for?”

Crowley screws his eyes shut and tries to reign in just an inkling of control, to walk this back because they should talk . “This is too fast. I can’t –”

Aziraphale manages to get Crowley’s belt unbuckled and pulled loose, the button and zip of his jeans undone, and his fingers are dipping inside Crowley’s underwear in a timespan quicker than nerve endings can even spark. Aziraphale gets his hand over and around the arch of Crowley’s cock, still trapped in his underwear, and it’s hot and ridiculously good and all in an instant. It’s an unstoppably fast move, definitely a miracle , none of which matters because every point of Crowley’s focus is on the impossibly perfect feel of Aziraphale’s hand, there, stroking him.

Crowley’s lips let loose a guttural, shuddering moan that he can’t hold in as he grips the jut of a shelf behind him with both hands and Aziraphale smiles at him, hungry and vulnerable but refusing to stop until he's told to, braver than Crowley’s ever been.

“Is it too fast for you?” Aziraphale asks and it’s unclear whether he means the frenetic kissing and dry humping of a few seconds ago, or the hand in Crowley’s pants now, or the soon-potential of everything that he keeps asking for.

Aziraphale’s hand stills when Crowley takes too long to answer, still wrapped around him at the base, knuckles pressing back into the sensitive skin of his balls, but the grip, the enormity of it, loosening.

And the vulnerability on Aziraphale’s face starting to turn to concern.

Crowley forces himself to say, “No.” Because no, no, definitely not. But if this isn’t too fast for Crowley, and if it isn’t too fast for Aziraphale, it’s going to very quickly become a lot and the thought is all consuming.

Still concerned, Aziraphale asks him again, “Are you sure? Because it could be and that would be entirely fine, I mean at this point, I’m basically the one jumping you and it is… oh it’s a lot , I can feel it too, it’s a lot and if you need to stop or… slow things down, I really wouldn’t mind.” Crowley has no idea what his face looks like, he’s lost control of the muscles, still just stunned and overwhelmed.

And Aziraphale’s checking in on him, Aziraphale’s the one pushing him up against bookshelves and shoving a hand down his pants, so eager he used a miracle to get his belt loose, and yet still, Aziraphale’s showing such exceptional caring and if that isn’t the sexiest thing Crowley’s ever even heard of… Something about Crowley’s face gives him away and Aziraphale tries another experimental stroke, tighter, and pulling a gasp from Crowley’s lips which brings a smile to Aziraphale’s.

“I want this,” Crowley admits, although at this point it’s not really a secret. “I want you, very, very much,” he says trying to hold his voice and his gaze steady even as his hips roll into Aziraphale’s touch. “It’s not too fast for me if it’s not too fast for you.”

“Good,” and Aziraphale seems to reward him with a twist of his wrist as his fingers squeeze around the head. “Because I really do want all of you. This instant. Really, quite quickly.”

Aziraphale’s thumb presses into the slit of Crowley’s cock as Aziraphale stares deep into his eyes and breathes heavily, it sparks electricity down Crowley’s spine and a throb deep in his balls. He feels a weak pulse of precome leak out under Aziraphale’s touch and watches the hungry excitement manifest in Aziraphale’s eyes as his thumb spreads it around.

“I don’t – ” Crowley’s voice comes out too broken to form the syllables so he swallows and tries again. “I don’t think I could slow down at this point,” he says, and then, again, because he genuinely loves hearing himself say it, “I want you. I want you right now.”

“Immediately?” Aziraphale seems to tease, but he sounds so serious with the burning eagerness of it all.

“Yes,” and Crowley plans to say something about kissing him quickly, but Aziraphale cuts him off by doing just that, hot and filthy and his hand still working around him.

And then there’s the jolt of the physical planes moving around them and when Crowley opens his eyes and leans back from Aziraphale’s mouth they’re no longer between the shelves of the bookshop, they’re not even in the same building anymore, although the walls are the same warm yellow.

A miracle and now they’re in a bedroom but not one Crowley’s ever seen. It doesn’t matter, it’s softly lit and the cream-colored bedsheets look to be of the highest thread count and are already pulled back and yes, most importantly, there’s a big four-poster bed right behind him and Aziraphale’s just looking at him and his hand is no longer shoved down the front of his jeans.

Aziraphale’s expression is equal parts mischief and consideration. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Crowley says, flabbergasted by the boldness on display. Turned on beyond reason and just wanting whatever comes next, already chasing release and wondering what the next time, and the next time, and the next time is going to be like, because there will be a next time because Aziraphale’s right here making it happen. “Yes, please ,” Crowley says again, earning himself an arched eyebrow.

And Crowley’s always been curious, always been one to tempt and to tease the grey areas out of everybody – and this is exactly how he always most enjoyed being with Aziraphale, pushing him, seducing him, challenging him, to more and higher and better pleasures. And just because Aziraphale holds so much control and that’s left him a little bit off-balance and here in their back-and-forth he sees an opportunity to score a point, he dares, “Yes, please , angel, faster .” Crowley slips into place his most lascivious, decadent, tempting grin and watches Aziraphale’s eyebrows shoot up and his lips curl into a smile in response.

“I need you,” Aziraphale says, his fingers drawing power down from heaven as they drag down Crowley’s chest and under Aziraphale’s fingertips, Crowley’s suddenly, miraculously, completely naked, physics shifting around him and he is vaguely aware that in the femtosecond it takes his clothes to disappear, in the next he can sense them reappearing, folded and stacked on a newly created emerald green armchair that’s appeared in the corner of the room. And it’s cold air and goosebumps and vulnerability – oh that is fast and weirdly uneven, because Aziraphale’s still bow-tied and waist-coated.

He tries to think of a witty retort, a way to score another point and balance them, but his voice dies on his lips as Aziraphale drops down to his knees in front of him, never once looking away from Crowley’s face, still watching, still checking, as he runs his palms up the backs of Crowley’s shins, behind his knees, his thighs, feather-light touches that Crowley trembles against. “I really need to taste you, my dear,” Aziraphale whispers, and Crowley feels his breath, warm and wet, across his cock.

He’s achingly hard, curved and jutting out from his groin, arched up towards his stomach, thick and thrumming, his cock glossy-tipped as it bobs and throbs obscenely, an inch from Aziraphale’s mouth.

Aziraphale doesn’t ask permission. He licks his lips and takes Crowley onto his tongue, filling his mouth with him, getting half of the length down before he starts to suck and Crowley’s legs almost give out. Crowley can feel the lave of Aziraphale’s tongue, the experimental press of it up to the underside of his cock, the twists of it around, back and forth, and then the tip of it seemingly trying to trace out every vein and ridge and pulse of blood.

Aziraphale pulls back and Crowley has to watch the hollows of his cheeks as he sucks at the head, as he grabs the base with one hand so he can lick up each side like it’s an ice lolly and, based on Aziraphale’s urgency, one that’s quickly melting. He has to watch as Aziraphale sits back on his haunches and just stares with slick-wet, pretty pink lips and continues to stroke him with his hand, working him over and coaxing a thick dribble of precome from him, just so that Aziraphale can lean forward, pause to look up and lock eyes, and then deliberately lick at the slickness of him with the flat of his tongue.

Aziraphale moans at the taste, the vibration loud in the flesh of Crowley’s cock, reverberating back into his balls and his belly and straight up his spine. Crowley grabs blindly for Aziraphale, a hand into his hair and the other at his shoulder, nails digging in as much as they can through the jacket, the waistcoat, the shirt and, in all probability, some other unknown layer beneath. He tries to grab him up but Aziraphale just makes a frustrated, needy sound and sinks his mouth back down around Crowley’s cock again.

This time he doesn’t stop when his mouth is full, greedy, Aziraphale takes him further, into the back of his throat as his eyes flutter closed and he breathes quickly through his nose even as his cheeks hollow and flutter, his throat convulsing as the spit runs out the corners of his stretched-tight mouth.

Crowley almost comes right there and then at the feeling of being fully embedded in Aziraphale’s hot, tight, wetness. He twists his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair in silent, urgent warning as he tightens everything about him to stop from spilling down Aziraphale’s throat without warning.

What seems like an eternity later but is probably only a couple more impossibly long seconds of all-encompassing pleasure, Aziraphale pulls off gasping. He doesn’t go far, his arms clinging around Crowley’s thighs, his face nuzzled in, still perilously close to Crowley’s cock, but for a moment content to rest his forehead and cheek to Crowley’s hip.

“I want more,” Aziraphale speaks into his belly, lips catching on the fiery-red hair and pressing kisses to the soft, thin skin beneath. “I want – I mean, I want to feel you, more of you. Can I?”

He doesn’t wait for the litany of ‘yeses’ to fall from Crowley’s lips, just slides his hands up and back from his thighs, grabs handfuls of the lithe, tight muscles of Crowley’s arse, pulling him forward as he kisses a sloppy kiss to the underside of Crowley’s cock, and then pulls his cheeks apart and dips his fingers into the crease.

It's cold air again, as he’s shockingly, unexpectedly exposed, but this makes so much sense, and instantly feels oh so right. And Aziraphale’s fingers are mapping the skin between his cheeks, feeling the scatter of soft hair and the dimpling of skin against the cold, and then his fingertips press unmistakably at Crowley’s hole. It’s a testing touch that Crowley thinks must be able to feel every involuntary flutter and contraction and weakening of his muscles as physiological reactions he ordinarily wouldn’t even entertain war with his mind which he usually has unwavering control over. He knows, in that instant, that this is how he wants it, and that he needs it as soon as possible. Aziraphale just nuzzles closer into his stomach and says, “I need to be inside of you, Crowley, right now, please .”

Yes, that . Crowley is nodding eagerly and Aziraphale is just staring up at him with storm-blue eyes, pupils blown wide with passion and lust.

Another miracle, Crowley can feel the prickle of it in the twinkling that it happens, the physical planes moving again, a one-eighty of the world around him and simultaneously Aziraphale shifts himself, standing up toe to toe in front of Crowley, and then around behind. The entire room stabilizes, the bed in front of Crowley now and Aziraphale behind. If he had the capacity to admire the manipulation, the power of the shift, the finesse of the miracle, he would. But as it is, all of that is left completely unthought as his own corporeal form alters – not against his will, but not with it, and certainly not in reaction to the genuinely physical, not with any cause and effect, just with Aziraphale’s will.

From one moment to the next, he’s opened up, the tight muscles of his hole suddenly slacker and slicker, and then gaping, stretched loose, but around nothing. Unexpectedly lacking something filling him, where there was no lack before. It’s as though he’s been fingered and tongue-fucked to within an inch of his life except he hasn’t . And that’s… a lot, again. And it’s not fast, it’s instantaneous, and a remarkable miracle on his own demonic corporation executed so immaculately by his angel. When he looks over his shoulder to see, Aziraphale is simply a little breathless, and he has no way of knowing whether that’s from the miracle itself, or perhaps the fact that twelve seconds ago Aziraphale was whole-heartedly sucking his brain out his cock and now Crowley feels lightheaded with it.

Oh, but he still really, really fucking wants .

Aziraphale’s hands come back to Crowley’s skin again, up his sides from behind, all the angles and presses completely different to having Aziraphale’s hands on him when they’re facing. And Aziraphale is no longer exploring or testing, Aziraphale, so strong and so sure, is manipulating his body, maneuvering him and covering him, his clothed front to Crowley’s naked, exposed back. Aziraphale could throw him on the bed and Crowley would go so, so willingly. But instead it’s a more calculated press forward, pushing Crowley’s knees onto the mattress to get him kneeling at the edge. Aziraphale then using a knee to push Crowley’s apart, further and wider until Aziraphale can step in close behind and Crowley feels the dangerous friction of buttons and cotton up against his arse, digging into his balls and against his spine and the sensitive skin of his thighs.

Aziraphale pushes down at the center of Crowley’s back, sending him falling into the sheets of the bed to find that they are exactly as soft as they looked and strangely – no, miraculously – warmed to body temperature. He catches himself there on his elbows and flushes to think of what he looks like to Aziraphale.

His fantasies of this, of the first time he coaxed Aziraphale into bed with him, after months and months of tempting and kissing and testing, were never like this, they were never well lit, never with him buck naked to Aziraphale’s still completely well-put-together look, never with him on his knees and elbows, waiting to be taken.

Crowley revels in it.

Aziraphale pets along his back, Crowley straining to look back, to watch him over his shoulder. Aziraphale’s palms press and sooth muscles either side of his spine, touching as far forward as he can reach without falling over him, and then tracing back, nails scratching, pressing into the flesh enough to be felt. His touch is lighter over the soft curve of Crowley’s arse, already spread by his widened legs. Crowley watches Aziraphale’s gaze, how he stares at Crowley’s body, stretched out and naked and pulled taught, miracled open, and ready for the angel’s cock – surely, Aziraphale will give that to him now . He whimpers with the thought, the longing, the idea of the act itself, and Aziraphale’s gaze flicks up to meet his, to exchange a smile and a glimpse of shakiness that reveals how new and remarkable all this is to both of them.

Minutes ago, Crowley was offering to go away, to forget a kiss.

Aziraphale’s hands grip and massage the curves of his arse, spreading him further, until there’s a pulling tightness of flesh down the core of him that threatens to split if forced more. Breathing out, Aziraphale mumbles something that doesn’t resemble a sentence. “ Gorgeous, wanting it, open, desperate, mine. ”

Still holding him open with one handful of arse, Aziraphale slides two fingers deep into him – checking to see how the miracle took – and finding Crowley pliable and slick with something – Crowley doesn’t even care what – and wanton and pushing onto his touch. Arching his back to get the best contact inside him and trying to ride back onto Aziraphale’s fingers even though it isn’t at all what he needs.

“Yes, soon, my love,” Aziraphale says, strikingly sweet and soothing when he’s got two fingers buried and his hard cock pressed through his trousers to the back of Crowley’s thigh. “Soon, any moment, I’ve got you,” he promises.

Crowley feels the pull of Aziraphale’s fingers from him and his hips push back, chasing, even though he knows what’s next will be more, will be everything. He can’t convince his neck to continue craning back, is sure the angles of it all wouldn’t let him actually see where they’ll be joined, where he wants desperately to see, and so he lets his eyes flutter closed to feel the press of the head of Aziraphale’s cock up against his hole, slick and hot and definitely some sort of miracle.

And Aziraphale starts to slide, slow and agonizing and delicious, into him. The tightness, the filling of him, just right, just the perfect edge of too much stretch and welcome challenge and full . Aziraphale, now, goes slow, hands holding Crowley’s hips steady, so he doesn’t push back like he wants to, Aziraphale allowing himself to sink in inch by inch, savoring and letting Crowley savor, the lighting up of new internal nerve endings, neurons anchored all the way to his heart and his brain and tripping a cascade of potent, decadent, sexual fulfillment and hunger for more. Aziraphale pushes in until he’s buried all the way, balls, hot and tight and unexpectedly soft up against Crowley’s.

And now, Aziraphale stops moving at all. Time seems to stutter and pause except for their labored breathing and the twitches of muscles unconsciously impatient with want. And Crowley reels at the feeling of it, at the fullness that seems to stretch up through his veins and out to his fingertips. It’s perfection and so, so fast, even as they hold still, and that speed makes it fragile and… and… Crowley reels at ‘ my love ’. That’s new and daunting and surely that means something, means everything , means so much?

In the pause of Aziraphale deep within him, Crowley starts to worry at his bottom lip and he’s unsure if he should try to look back at him properly now, instead Crowley just stares at where his hands are twisted into the soft cotton sheets.

He hears Aziraphale swallow hard, once and then again, like his mouth’s too wet or too dry. Even Aziraphale’s breathing. now, every drawn in and released breath of him, Crowley can feel it reverberate through where their bodies touch, through where Aziraphale’s buried deep inside him. And that echoes out and makes his own cock, untouched since Aziraphale’s mouth – just a couple of minutes ago – twitch and leak where it almost, but not quite, brushes against the bed beneath Crowley’s spread legs.

Perhaps his body has given something away beyond his chewed-on bottom lip, or perhaps Aziraphale is just taking care – so much care – when he asks, voice tight and high, “Is this okay, sweetheart?”

Crowley has to loose his teeth from his lip to answer, and he’s honest when he says, pleasure-riddled and raw and unable to keep from elongating the ‘s’s, “ S – so good , yesss .”

And Aziraphale starts to draw out, agonizingly slow, and better and worse and completely different from the first push in. And when it’s just the tip of Aziraphale keeping him open, every breath felt as a tiny vibration within him, then Aziraphale fills him up again, a fast, careful thrust in, making sure to let Crowley feel each inch of burning hardness and stretch.

Aziraphale bottoms out again, fully sheathed inside Crowley with his hips pressed up tight against the curve of Crowley’s arse, and both of them grunting with the power and press of it all. And before Aziraphale can start to pull out once more, Crowley betrays himself and says, “ Wait .”

Aziraphale freezes, holds his breath, but remains undeniably connected to him, cock-deep and hot hands on his hips and he could move away but that would be agony for them both, he seems to at least know that. Crowley loathes himself for saying anything but it was necessary, he thinks, and possibly, maybe, worth it, for this. And now he has to find the strength to look back at Aziraphale.

He twists – and, oh, maybe this should be a miracle? – pushes himself up onto his hands, working incredibly hard not to moan and tighten as the angle of Aziraphale inside him changes and he raises up on his hands and then grabs behind him at Aziraphale’s skin, raises all the way up until Aziraphale takes the hint and wraps an arm around his chest to hold him back to him.

Once again, Crowley can feel Aziraphale’s breath on his neck, on his cheek, and can twist himself to see him there. Fuck , still clothed, still fully, perfectly clothed, his bowtie’s still done up, and only a little askew, but in contrast Aziraphale’s face and his neck and his hair look wild with it. Aziraphale’s eyes, when Crowley meets them, are imploring and desperate, and so concerned because Crowley said wait and Aziraphale’s holding himself taut to do as he’s been asked even as Crowley presses back, naked against him and clenches around his still hard, stretching-thick cock.

Crowley can see that this moment, this pause, not in pleasure, but in allowance – because he asked – is demanding everything from Aziraphale.

And this is the worst possible moment to have this conversation but Crowley rationalizes that maybe it wouldn’t be right not to have it now, and the down-trodden, usually-beaten-quiet optimist in him has to wonder, couldn’t having it now actually make this better?

“You said ‘my love’,” Crowley says, his voice kissed and fucked raspy and raw and his eyes searching Aziraphale’s face for confirmation, rejection, confusion, anything. Aziraphale looks like he doesn’t remember, or doesn’t understand, and it was all of fifteen seconds ago and said in the heat of the moment so Crowley presses, waits, “I – Did you mean that?” And when Aziraphale just breathes heavily and his sweaty brow knits, Crowley is immediately ready to back away. Stupid: this is already a million times more than he’d ever dared dream, this is plenty, this is enough . “You – no, look it doesn’t matter –” And he tries to rock his hips back and turn away to face the sheets again, ready and willing to fall back to his elbows and take all the pleasure he can.

But Aziraphale snakes an arm under his, a hand grabbing him by the chin to hold him looking back so he can see the moment recognition dawns and Aziraphale’s eyes soften. “Of course,” Aziraphale breathes and it’s a shuddering breath, hands tightening on Crowley’s hip and around his jaw, holding him close and with their eyes locked. Perhaps two seconds between asking the question and deciding he didn’t want the answer was hasty, but then Crowley has a history with asking questions and regretting it. Now, though, Aziraphale is looking at him like he hung the moon and the stars, and like Aziraphale knows exactly what he said and that he meant it and that is so much better.

Aziraphale gives a little roll of his hips, just an easy slip of his cock an inch out and then back in, fully seated and hot and full and Crowley could live like this for the rest of everything. My love.

“Of course, my dear, you must know ,” Aziraphale says, burying his face into the back of Crowley’s shoulder. He releases his face and both hands slide around him, embracing him fully from behind and holding him back against him, plenty enough heat and closeness, even through all that cloth. “You are,” he says, and kisses chaste, warm kisses along his shoulder blade. “My love.”

Crowley breathes out heavy and sighing, a moan caught deeper in his throat because hearing that has ruined him. What could be more sublime, more divine, more miraculous than being like this with someone who calls him my love.

Aziraphale’s hand slips forward from his hip, around Crowley’s cock, who almost winces at the contact, already over-stimulated and on-edge and he wants to draw this out forever but also just desperately wants completion, to collapse on the sheets with Aziraphale and start building towards whatever comes next.

Aziraphale gives him a few too-soft strokes, feeling the curve of him and the throb of his blood within, as Aziraphale continues to kiss back and forth along his shoulder blades, and at the curve of his spine. His other hand leaves Crowley’s hips and goes around his neck and his jaw and he draws Crowley’s face back, off-center and stretched to his limits, for a long, urgent kiss. It starts gentle, just lips on lips, but Aziraphale is quick to start pressing his tongue in rhythmically, asking, begging for more as his hips jerk in small needy thrusts against Crowley’s arse.

“Of course, I love you,” he says, up against Crowley’s mouth like it’s precious and secret and marvelous, just between them, but loud and sure enough to echo right through them.

Crowley rocks, back onto Aziraphale’s cock, and then forward into Aziraphale’s still hot hold around his cock.

“Yes?” Aziraphale asks.

Crowley’s quickly losing coherence and Aziraphale’s still checking that he’s okay. His tongue feels thick and his whole soul is a sea of lusting, loving, want. He manages a convincing garbled mumble of consent, one of his hands finding Aziraphale’s hip behind him and grabbing, urging him on.

And Aziraphale finally starts fucking him properly, fucking him like he loves him . Slow draws out and then faster pushes in, deep and dragging and inexplicably good for what is just the friction of flesh against flesh. He keeps a hand around Crowley’s chest, refusing to let him fall back onto the bed, needing his breath close enough to hear and to taste, needing the press of his back to his chest.

Aziraphale’s other hand sets to work drawing Crowley’s orgasm out of his cock. The tight grip of Aziraphale’s hand meeting and matching every thrust of his own length into him, finding the most sensitive spots inside and along the length of him all at once.

But like so many things on the physical plane, the angles don’t add up and Aziraphale has to let go of Crowley’s cock to grab at his hip, to pull him back with more power and speed onto him, rubbing over his prostate, rough and relentless, building with every thrust and pulling breathless little groans from Crowley again and again.

“Oh yes,” escapes him into Crowley’s neck, “Oh that’s perfect, you’re perfect” he says, as he fucks into him and it occurs to Crowley that Aziraphale’s chasing his own bliss, with his hand at Crowley’s hip, taking his own pleasure over using his hand to give Crowley his and that’s absurdly hot, gluttonous and depraved and gorgeous: that Aziraphale wants him like that.

Aziraphale fucks into him again and again and Crowley is alight with it, sucking on his lips and the insides of his cheeks, eyes closed to the euphoria of it, both trying desperately to finish it and also needing to try to draw it out.

Aziraphale’s mouth, open lipped and teeth scraping finds the sharpest notch of Crowley’s spine, near the base of his neck and high between his shoulder blades and nothing could prepare Crowley for Aziraphale’s request. “Touch yourself, my love, I can’t last.”

Crowley cries out with it, just with the knowledge that he’s about to bring Aziraphale over the precipice, that twenty minutes ago they were nothing like this, that moments before that they were on the cliffs-edge of never existing. And now this, the raw depth of it, layers and layers of touch, taste and feeling and that new, exceptional pet name that Crowley realizes, in an out of body moment, Aziraphale will no doubt wield much to his advantage. And, oh, it’s delicious , the two of them like this. Skin on skin and hungry and playful and loving.

Crowley arches with it, takes Aziraphale deeper in with the next thrust, up against all the right places inside him, pleasure radiating out from within and where he’s grabbed a hold of his cock and is stroking urgently fast and tight, trying to match the thrusts inside of him. His whole both writhes and shakes and needs .

Crowley arches further until the muscles down his back and through his thighs cramp and he ignores it, just presses his head back into Aziraphale’s chest as he says, “Fuck, I can’t – I’m too close.”

“Good,” Aziraphale says in that low, broken, hungry voice that Crowley will set to coaxing out of him more after this. “Wonderful,” and it’s such a strange thing to say, rasp-voiced and relentlessly fucking into him. “You feel… Perfect . You’re so perfect like this. So tight and good and perfect for me.”

And Crowley whines, accepts the praise because he has no choice, feels himself pulled back even closer to Aziraphale, and then closer to the edge by Aziraphale daring to say such things warm and out loud into Crowley’s sweaty, arched spine. And Aziraphale’s just a bit incoherent, but still verbose and rambling, still him , but rendered ineloquent and dirty. “You should come for me.”

Aziraphale’s hand releases his hip once more, the other arm still wrapped up around his chest keeping him upright, but now his hand moves from Crowley’s hip, forward to his cock, sliding over and between Crowley’s fingers where he’s tightly gripping as he fucks his own hand and back onto Aizraphale’s cock. The strength of Aziraphale’s grip, of his body behind him, enough to maintain the contact and the thrust and the closeness of it all as he keeps pressing into him. His hand tightens over Crowley’s grip around his cock, twisting and pulling and dragging the orgasm out of him and –

Holy fuck… Crowley can’t stop himself, can’t back off, can only screw his eyes tight and try to hold himself taut, here at the peak of pleasure forever. But he can’t, he pulses and shudders, his muscles clenching and twitching as he comes spine-meltingly hard. Crowley spills across the cream sheets in front of him, his and Aziraphale’s hands stroking together down to the base at the same moment Aziraphale pulls almost all the way out of Crowley’s gaping, desperate arse. Spurt after spurt onto the bed and then caught in their fingers as Aziraphale continues to stroke and to thrust into him.

Crowley feels his hole convulse, reflexively and out of his control, as he continues to ride out his orgasm – just one more second, one more pulse – his hole tightening hot around the push of Aziraphale’s fat heavy cock and, just as Crowley’s starting to come down, to lose the ability to wrench more pained pleasure from his body, he feels Aziraphale fuck into him, particularly deep and filling, and then hold there. Crowley senses the spread of Aziraphale’s spend, wet and molten, deep within him and the spasm of Aziraphale’s hips pressed close against his arse, the tightness of Aziraphale’s balls up against the skin behind his own. And, oh hell , he wonders, for a moment, if he could come all over again, just keep riding it all out. Considers miracling himself all the way there but then that would be cheating and so far only Aziraphale is allowed to do that. Christ, that’ll be an interesting dynamic to maybe explore.

Aziraphale stills, fully sheathed and still twitching within him, and somehow still working Crowley’s hand around his cock, over-sensitive, borderline painful, but when Crowley looks down, still spilling little dribbles and bubbles of come. He’s been moaning the whole time, he realizes, low, breathless groans with each pull and now, finally, a whimper as Aziraphale loosens his grip over Crowley’s and they both let go.

Crowley’s cock flops down still mostly hard and obscenely wet with come and sweat and Aziraphale’s hand, similarly slick-marked, grips back around Crowley’s hip. Aziraphale manages two more, rough, deep thrusts into him, and then he’s not just fully spent, it’s become too much.

Still, Aziraphale’s arms hold Crowley up to him, keeps them both upright although Crowley can feel the teetering and the swaying as gravity pulls their drained, tired bodies down. He’s barely keeping his knees under him, the rest of his weight relying on Aziraphale and he wonders at the strength and the power of him. So much just beneath the surface of soft and curved and sweet. So much so, that Aziraphale was the one to put Crowley – demonic and too fast and wicked – over the edge into sodomy and wonderment and bliss. Crowley loves him so much.

Aziraphale’s grip on him starts to loosen, fingers going soft against Crowley’s skin as he releases his hold and lets Crowley collapse forward, sliding off his softening cock with a groan and onto the bed face first.

Crowley takes two deep breaths, face pressed into the sheets which somehow smell of Aziraphale and then pushes himself over, onto his back, his arms hanging off towards the edges of the bed with one leg bent at both the knee and the hip. His body must look debauched with sweat and overheated skin and fingertip marks and bitten bruises. His cock must still be slick and flushed red even as it softens.

And there’s Aziraphale, still fully clothed, just his cock out – gorgeous, thick and hanging over heavy, full balls and there are so many things Crowley is going to want to try. But for now, he just looks at him, runs his eyes over the wrinkled lines of all Aziraphale’s clothes, at the gape of his trousers and the heady deliciousness of his cock, framed there, and at his smiling lips and sweaty, flushed face. And, in turn, Crowley lets himself be looked at, fucked open and naked and splayed; smiling, sweaty and flushed just the same.

Crowley quite likes them like this, raw and honest and debauched. He watches.

Aziraphale still seems to be catching his breath, but his eyes keep raking up and down Crowley’s stretched out form and Aziraphale seems to be considering letting himself get turned on all over again. Crowley preens and stretches his body out further and offers with a deliberate tilt of his hips. Aziraphale huffs and blushes.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale says quietly, suddenly shy, after all of that.

Crowley can’t imagine. Shakes his head. “Any time?” he tries and it’s so high-pitched and far from the off-the-cuff that he seems to have been aiming for, so ridiculous, that they both have to laugh and it’s glorious .

Aziraphale swallows. “That was alright, wasn’t it?”

“Oh angel,” Crowley goes up on his elbow and manages to regain some of his classic swagger, a growl, a tease. “That was far better than anything I’ve ever imagined. And I’ve imagined a lot.” And this time he feels no risk in the revelation, only relief that it’s all out in the open. He’s imagined, and so has Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s eyebrow arches but he lets it slide. “Well then,” he begins, “May I, perhaps, join you for a nude, post-coital cuddle?”

And that sounds deliriously good so Crowley nods and smiles, lays back against the pillows and beckons with arms spread and his fingers motioning Aziraphale down. Maybe he hasn’t learned his lesson, or perhaps he definitely has.

Because instantly Aziraphale’s naked and all pink skinned and gorgeous, scrambling into the bed and finding his spot under Crowley’s arm, curled up, soft and snuggling beside him. Somehow – not somehow, a miracle – there’s a pre-warmed duvet being brought up and around them and the lights dim to almost darkness, and nothing in the entire universe, has ever felt so lovely.

#doonas fic #good omens fanfic #good omens fic #thank god thats done i need a nap #tomorrow we begin the multichapter smutathon huzzuh

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pjisskullourful · 4 months

Text

┊ 𝙀𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙮 𝘿𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 ┊

🐦Ethan × reader

NSFW🔥 filthy smutathon

° Ethan Torchio/female reader insert

° making premature ejaculation work for you & your boyfriend

wordcount::: 6,326

° commissioned by dat boi jace(@punk-gremlin)💋 always a great time being on the same wavelength as you [requests are open but commissions get priority- there are 2 fics in cue, secure your own spot right here]

° [ITA:] principessa: princess - amore: love

It had been an incredible date, this was proving to be the norm in your relationship with Ethan. You didn’t think he was capable of taking you on a subpar date, even if he tried.

You were eight dates in, and he was still impressing you - taking you to places that you could brag about visiting and giving you nights full of sparks. He gave you butterflies each time he picked you up and none of your meals had been marred by awkward silences.

Tonight had seen you dining at a recently-opened seafood restaurant. Because it was so new, it was hard to get reservations, but his notable name got you into places without a fuss. Seafood was a favourite food that you shared, both of you intrigued by almost everything on the menu. This was more low-key than some of the other dates he had taken you on (axe throwing had been especially memorable). But that didn’t make it any less interesting. You had enjoyed getting to hear so many stories from his childhood trips to Costa Rica - a country you had never visited.

Everything had been so perfect. But by the time you arrived back to his place, you were pretty much done with keeping your hands to yourself. You were tired of (bordering on bored) being polite and acting according to society’s rules. This behaviour went against what you wanted. You wanted to get to the real main event of the night - him. All of the food had been delicious, but what was going to keep you buzzing into tomorrow was him and that amazing body.

Being back in his luxurious apartment had you inundated by memories of thrilling conclusions to other nights. They were recent and powerful, getting you to the point of practically salivating over experiencing more of that Heaven he could take you to.

Luckily for you, he was under no false pretences of why you were here. He didn’t waste your time pretending that you were here for a night cap or to see any souvenirs from Costa Rica.

You quickly found yourself in the master bedroom, your lipstick making a mess of his face and neck as he held your body close. Held up against the wall, you were kissing him with all of the enthusiasm that you had been keeping a lid on. Your hands had found their way into the open collar of his button-down, while his hands were pushing up the hem of your dress. You couldn’t recall who had started it, but you were immensely enjoying the steady grinding your bodies had set into.

You separated from his mouth, whimpering a little in response to the rising passion. “Mmn, I wanna fuck you.”

He paused, leaning back enough so that he could look you over with a furrowed brow. “Really, that’s what you want to do now that we're here?” You nodded, eagerly licking your lips. “I thought I was gonna turn the lights down so that we could share spooky stories.”

You laughed and gave his solid shoulder a shove. “Ethan…”

“What? I’m genuinely surprised that’s not what we came in here to do.” He said before dropping the farce. He showed you his more serious side, pinching your chin with his fingers to keep you looking at him. “I wanna fuck you too.”

You were smiling as he came in, initiating more kisses. But you didn’t let yourself get entirely carried away by this - not while you had an important point to make. “I mean that you don’t have to eat me out…”

This time he looked at you with sincere confusion. “But I like to- I love eating your pussy. Do you not like it? Did I go too hard or something last time? Because you can tell me to change anything at any time. I just really love making you feel good like that. I’ll do it any way you like-”

To silence him, you put one of your hands over his lipstick-smeared mouth. “It’s perfect, there is absolutely nothing wrong with how you eat pussy. I have no notes for your technique ‘cause there’s no part of it that I don’t enjoy. If there were such a thing- I’d give you an award for how great you are at it.

“But I just thought that for tonight, we could go straight into the fucking. You eat me out every single time. Maybe we could try things a bit differently tonight.” You said.

You weren’t prepared to see uncertainty on his face, but he nodded all the same. “Yeah, of course, we can try anything you like.” He briefly kissed you. “All that matters to me is that you come.”

“Well, are we gonna talk about it for the rest of the night, or are we gonna do it?” You asked.

He smiled as he lowered his centre of gravity slightly and relocated his hands to the backs of your thighs. He gripped you here, fingers digging into your skin as he lifted you off of the ground. You wrapped your arms securely around his neck as your heart began racing. Without a single second of trepidation or unsteadiness, he carried you over to this bed. You were invigorated by the ride, stealing a couple of kisses from him as he crossed the room.

You didn’t release your arms from around him, so when he lowered you to the bed, he was pulled down as well. You kissed him more as he laid down on top of you. You lifted your legs from the mattress and wrapped them around his waist, tensing them so as to keep him securely in place. After a whole night of holding back, you had a lot of time to make up for.

Your bodies fitting comfortably together, he started to grind on you again. You reached your hands into his loose hair as you enjoyed this friction. He buried his tongue into your mouth as his hands gripped your back, making you feel so wonderfully secure. Your cheeks rushed with heat as you noticed something below the waistband of his pants digging into you. You were still fully clothed, but the promise of nudity and more already had him erect. It was so flattering, just another testament of how into you this unbelievable man was.

A brief pause was taken so that you could each get undressed and he could grab a condom. He asked if there were any specific positions that you were craving. You didn’t care if it made you seem vanilla, you said missionary - ready to be obsessed with, knowing there was nothing more erotic than seeing him on top of you.

He turned down your offer of helping to apply the condom. So you just got comfortable on his bed, keeping your legs parted as you laid your head down on the pillow. As you took this opportunity to admire his body, you noticed him doing the same to you.

Then he began to get into position, filling the available area between your thighs. He braced himself with his hands on the pillow as he moved in closer than before. He appeared to be putting some concentration into this, his brow furrowed to go along with the serious expression he now wore.

Meanwhile you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that there was nowhere better than your current position. Your fingers played with his cascading hair, refusing to allow it to hide his handsome face at all. As you ran your fingers through the long locks, you found the singular plait that started at the nape of his neck and you wound the thin plait around your pointer finger. This was his ‘secret’ plait, not there for any particular reason. You had to be very close to even know of its existence - there was something so intimate about that, making you appreciate it more, giving it significance.

“Principessa.” He said, the pet name always made you feel precious. That was especially true now as he started to bury his dick into you.

You relished the feeling of your cunt stretching to accommodate him as he came in even closer - you were ready to feel him as close as possible. Your heart was consistently racing now, each time you were daunted by the size of him, needing an opportunity to settle in. But it did nothing to dampen your excitement and you could hardly wait to explore everything that took you from daunted to satisfied beyond belief.

That serious look remained on his face and you assumed he was worrying over hurting you. You took it upon yourself to show him how much you were enjoying yourself. You kept one hand playing with his hair, while you wrapped an arm around his shoulders, easing his chest closer to yours. You lifted your head, getting close enough to cover his mouth in enthusiastic kisses.

At first he couldn’t quite keep up with you, his breathing somewhat laboured between kisses. Then his mouth was responding more, it seemed that his focus was shifting and the two of you began to find a synergy. All the while, he was moving deeper into you and you expressed your appreciation by kissing him harder.

You chased greater proximity by wrapping one of your legs around his waist. You worked your hips, eagerly pumping yourself closer to him. As you further explored the fun to be had with your current range of movement, you swiped your tongue at his lips.

Instead of letting you into his mouth, he was breaking the kiss altogether. His head somewhat slumped, mostly falling out of your field of vision. For the moment you placed your concentration on mastering your movements.

On top of you, you could feel his uncontrolled shivering. He met each of your hip snaps with his own powerful yet unpredictable movements. These thrusts were accompanied by his heavy breathing, the occasional moan falling from his lips to denote his efforts. On either side of your head, his hands were curled into tight fists and you admired the way his muscular arms bulged as they framed you.

You felt him letting you take the lead and you sought for a maintainable pace. You gained almost all of his length into your cunt, enjoying this with your continuing rocking.

“Yes, Ethan.” You whimpered as his reckless movements invited new sensitivities into your body. “Give it to me.”

“Oh.” He gasped, following his hips slamming into yours.

Shakily, he rocked himself back again. But you were quickly thrusting yourself forward, your pussy greedy for more spellbinding stimulation. You pushed his hair back from one side of his face, instantly revealing the expression he wore, almost frowning, with deep lines all over his features. It was a look you had seen before, when the two of you had had a Netflix and Chill date, watching the documentary Our Father together. You hadn’t seen it mid-fuck before and you weren’t sure it suited the scenario.

You endeavoured to kiss it off of his face. You started on his cheek, kissing across his cheek, towards where his mouth was hanging open. He didn’t respond much, seemingly too caught up in the reactions he was gaining from your rutting.

You pushed your lips against his, but you couldn’t follow this up with anything more. He was soon turning his face away, it was only slightly, but you noticed it all the same.

You tried to not apply any meaning or emotions to it, just trying again. He dodged you again, a bit more noticeably this time around. His eyes were squeezed shut and with his face slightly turned from yours, it was almost like he was avoiding this connection with you. So much for not applying meaning to his actions…

“Ethan, is something wrong?” You asked, feeling a bit too vulnerable for your liking.

He paused, falling out of the pacing that you had been slowing. “Huh? No, I’m fine…”

You didn’t care for this answer, and he still wasn’t looking at you. “Are you sure? The vibe is kind of off.”

He stopped moving altogether, letting out a shaky sigh. “I’m just trying not to come.”

“What? Why? What are you talking about?” You asked, this abrupt change almost totally throwing you out of your mood.

He finally opened his eyes to look at you. “Do we really have to talk about this right now?”

“Yes.” You said, cupping his face in your hands. “I don’t want you to hold anything back from me, especially not while we’re fucking.”

He pulled out, rocking his weight back onto his knees to create some distance between you. “I have this thing where I always come super fast. Prematurely, some might say. And it’s really disappointing for the woman. I didn’t want that to happen ‘cause you’re not close, not even a bit. Am I right?”

You sat up. “Well, yeah but-...”

“I really like you and the last thing that I want is to let you down in any way.” He said and you were grateful when he let you hold his hand with yours. “I don’t wanna be a shit lay for you, I’m trying really hard not to be because you deserve the best. You deserve to not have someone come so fucking fast that it’s over before you really get to enjoy yourself. You deserve someone with the right amount of stamina to live up to your expectations. And I’m trying to be that-...”

You silenced him by crawling over to place yourself in his lap, instantly wrapping an arm around his shoulders. You put your hand to his cheek so you could direct him to look at you. “My only expectation is for us to have fun together. And if you having fun means you come quickly, then come quickly, amore.”

“You say that now, but it’s-”

“I say it ‘cause I mean it.” You said, leaning in closer so that he had no choice but to meet your eye - you had never seen him this insecure before. “Actually, it’s kinda hot. Some people have these strong poker faces when it comes to sex, it’s impossible to tell if they’re having a good time or not. But you’re so honest with how much you love it that you can’t even hold back, you can’t wait to come and hit that highest high.

“It’s sexy to know that I can drive you so wild like that.” You took the opportunity to press a soft kiss to his mouth. “Will you let me drive you wild?”

“Are you sure it’s not a turn off?” He asked.

You changed how you were sitting on him, moving so that you could straddle him and push more of your body against his. “The opposite. I think it would be physically impossible for you to do anything that could turn me off.” You were pleased when he let you kiss him some more, finally beginning to kiss you back. “Can I show you how much it turns me on?”

“If you’re sure about-...”

You cut him off and with your hands on his shoulders, you began to push him down. “No more expectations. Get out of your head and just be here with me, Ethan.” You got him down on his back. “Come when you wanna and let’s have fun with each other’s bodies.”

You didn’t think he looked entirely convinced, your words wouldn’t be enough to dismantle his insecurities at once - especially because this seemed like more than just a passing anxiety.

But he didn’t have any further arguments against your points, and this was good news to you. The good news continued when, upon laying your body on top of his, you discovered that his erection hadn’t gone away. You wrapped your hand around it, pleased to find he was still in an aroused state, similar to you.

As you kissed him, you started to stroke your hand up-and-down his shaft. He kissed you back, helping you release the worry that he might not be into this. Now you could put your concentration on feeling his body’s reactions, which were so exciting that you were soon finding yourself firmly in the mood again.

He didn’t ask you to slow down, instead he was holding you tighter as he kept up with your kisses. You braced yourself with your knees on the mattress as you repositioned your hips. You kept stroking him as you directed his head towards your awaiting pussy.

You felt him suck in a quick breath when you started to bury his cock inside of your cunt. There was that moment of being daunted again, but nothing was going to deter you. You let the greediness inspire you.

“Oh…” He moaned as he broke away from the kiss.

Your clenching walls were taking in more of his length and you could hear him thoroughly losing his breath again. You kept easing yourself down, wanting to get back to what both of you had been enjoying earlier.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” You said, waiting for that moment when you felt his body relax.

There were a few soft kisses shared. But the majority of your focus went to discovering how your bodies could move together in this new position. He let you take the lead again and your eager grinding on him developed into bucking. You worked your hips, so happy to give into the rush of desires.

You were still so worked up (the sensitivities in your pussy had hardly faded away during that little discussion/intermission), each collision invigorating you more and you didn’t hesitate to increase your speed. You found a consistent pace to stroke yourself up-and-down his erection, gaining more thrilling stimulations for yourself as he writhed beneath you. Your cunt stretched accordingly, letting you pursue everything that could come from these quick movements.

With his hair splayed out on the bed around his head, you could enjoy an uninterrupted view of his face. He held his eyes shut and although some frown lines were still visible, his expression wasn’t as extreme as before. He had lost some of his seriousness as he resisted far less.

“It’s okay, amore.” You said as you felt more of his body responding.

His hands took on the appearance of claws, his fingers digging into you as he held you so tight. You could feel the need in him, especially in his enthusiastic responses to your bucking. And it made you want to give him more.

His hips jutted up into you, not always matching your timing. But you didn’t allow this to throw you off of your momentum because it felt so promising. You tensed your thighs against his hips and gave him back the energy that he showed you.

As you mercilessly pushed one another up to that edge, there were moments of synchronisation. These impacted you much deeper, noises falling from your lips as you felt these true threats to your composure. But they were few and far between. With his thrusting so unpredictable, you couldn’t capture them for yourself, leaving you unable to unlock that greater pleasure.

He left all control behind, whimpering through his constant, yet inconsistent movements. Until, with one final snap of his hips, he captured the peak for himself, quickly disappearing over the edge.

You couldn’t enjoy watching what the orgasm did to him. Because he was swiftly taking his hands off of you so that he could cover his face with them. He groaned into his hands as he fell back to the mattress, his body slumping.

You stilled yourself, letting this moment be all about him as you stroked his chest. “It’s-”

“You weren’t even close, were you?” He asked, interrupting you.

“It doesn’t matter to-”

“All my ex-girlfriends hated it. I didn’t want to embarrass myself like this in front of you.” He said and his disappointment was clear.

You put your fingers around his wrist but he wasn’t going to let his hands be taken from his face so easily. “Ethan, why are you embarrassed? I like it, this is what I wanted. I’m really into it. I’m so happy that you came for me, can’t you be happy too? I mean, it did feel good, didn’t it?”

He lowered his hand, looking at you with one eye. “Of course it did. I wouldn’t have come if your pussy didn’t feel so amazing.” You smiled at that, wanting to hear more - not just for the benefits to your ego, but because he was sounding less miserable now that you were on this topic. “You left me with no choice. Especially with you on top like that- fucking spectacular.”

“Spectacular?” You repeated.

“Yeah, I would say that’s the correct way to sum it up.” He said.

“Good, I wanna make you feel spectacular.” You said. “You really have no idea how hot it is that you want me so bad you can’t hold off.”

He took his other hand off of his face so that he could stroke your arm. “Well you’re fucking sexy.”

“So are you, Ethan. So are you.” You said, leaning in and kissing him a few times. “And it has nothing to do with expectations or stamina, or any other shit. You just are and you turn me on so much, so stop wasting my time being embarrassed.

“You must be very sensitive.” You said of his dick, still nestled inside of you. “Do you want me to get off?”

“No. I mean, yes, but no.” He said. “Yes, I am sensitive, really sensitive. But no, you don’t need to move off. Obviously you can if that’s what you want. But don’t worry about me when you’re making your decision. If this is how you want to come, then by all means, stay put.”

“It kind of sounds like you’re encouraging me to use your body.” You said.

“Oh, absolutely, I am.” He said, nodding his head.

You grinned as you began to sit up, rocking your body weight down towards your pelvis. “I’ll use you, I’ll use you to make me feel so fucking spectacular.”

“Amazing, that’s exactly what I want.”

You gained your balance and slid yourself further down his shaft. He was done with hiding his face, now his eyes were wide and watching every single thing that you did. You loved his attention, you didn’t shy away from it, too elated for shame. You could see the admiration in his eyes and it was so clear that he was out of his negative headspace, able to enjoy himself now. That made you swell up with pride.

You started to ride him. “I’m gonna use you so hard.”

“Yes.” His voice was quieter now and he put his hands to your hips.

You grinned, you were truly bordering on cocky now. “I’m gonna treat you like one of my toys.”

He bit into his bottom lip, but this did nothing to contain the moan he was making. Watching his eyelids flutter, your face lit up. A blush began coming into his cheeks - this one was meant to be celebrated.

“You like that idea, huh?” You said and he nodded, still appearing slightly bashful. “I like it too.” You put more power into your next swing forward, getting ready to abandon all restraint. “Come on, be a good toy and make me come.”

“Yes.” He said with another moan as you kept moving. “Yes, that’s all I want.”

You were confident in your movements, locking into the need that was so present. You could feel yourself elevating from the tingles that had been populating your body while he captured his orgasm. They had felt good, but you knew there was more you could claim, prompting you to drive yourself harder into him.

You were ready to work yourself to the explosions that would overshadow the tingles altogether. You didn’t struggle to find the right momentum and you put all of your effort towards rutting into him, as quickly as you needed. You were no longer daunted, settling into the ideal speed.

You felt him writhing beneath you, leaving his embarrassment behind as he grinded to meet your persistent pounding. Upon viewing his body from this new perspective, you couldn’t help thinking that you had found a sight more erotic than being beneath him. The power that you felt went directly to your head, wanting to intoxicate you. As you watched his every reaction (they were getting bigger, less restrained), it made you hunger to uncover what else you could draw out of him. How would he feel when you controlled him more?

“Can I rub that clit?” He asked through his laboured breathing.

“Yes.” You answered at once. “Hell yes, baby.”

He propped himself up with his elbows and his gaze went down to your cunt. He reached a hand out, coming at you with his index finger extended. He pushed this between your labia majora, getting at where your clit was already swollen from the surge of blood into this concentrated area. He rubbed the tight bundle of nerves lightly, moving his finger gently up-and-down.

“I miss how it tastes.” He said, playing his finger in a swirl around the hood, before taking it away.

His eyes moved back to your face as he placed the finger into his mouth. You maintained eye contact, fascinated by the way he licked this moisture off of his digit. There was something so seductive in how he was looking at you, letting you enjoy the connection that had been lacking earlier.

Your chest expanded, so full of anticipation, when he returned his finger to your clit. He worked it over with more pressure, maintaining contact and giving you something you could truly sink into.

The intensity was immediate, reaching deeper than his touch. It radiated out, shudders that went straight to your core, where the greatest pleasure could be unlocked.

With the tension increasing inside of you, your walls gripped to him tighter. Your hips gave an excited, unexpected stutter forward. Instead of trying to get back to your momentum, you embraced this new, quicker rhythm. You pummelled into him, giving yourself no time for recovery as the excitement bubbled up, more with each circle his finger completed.

“I- ah, ah…” He gasped, leaning back again. “I think I’m gonna come ah-again…” His hips moved to their own desperate rhythm. “Yep, I’m gonna-gonna, I’m gonna...”

“Yes, yes, do it for me, Ethan.” You said.

He gave a loud whimper to greet his next climax, then fell back entirely. His eyes were shut but no attempts were made to cover his face and you watched how he reacted, the expression on his face relaxing. There weren’t any of the earlier hints of worry, this was clearly a state of bliss.

Even though it appeared that he was tired, ready to just concentrate on his afterglow - he didn’t stop rubbing your clit. This kept you feeling those shudders and it made you unwilling to stop. You eagerly continued working yourself on his dick, still gaining the benefits of this unrelenting tempo.

You were soon in a frenzy, your whole body lit up with powerful stimulations. Your hips snapped endlessly forward and each collision let you feel those shudders harder.

You chased as they became cracks in your composure. Then they were bursting you open, incredible explosions gripping your body. You threw your head back, vocalising your triumph as you got lost in the lust.

You were joyful in your release and you stayed at this height. Beyond your control, and with limited coordination, you continued to move. You were still jackhammering your hips because this momentum was too rewarding to abandon yet, even as the fatigue wanted to creep in.

He came back into your awareness by springing up and wrapping his arms around your body. He was still moving as well, invested in his own pacing. You could feel the reckless nature of his bucking, sacrificing getting his breath back for this rhythm. You wrapped your arms around him, knowing you weren’t in the right state to give him much more - matching him was truly beyond your current capabilities.

“Oh, God…” He moaned, his hot face pressed into your neck. “Oh God, guh-ung. I’m- I’m… ah!”

He almost threw you off with his next energetic spasm, but there was nothing after that. The two of you fell into inactivity, clinging to one another through this quiet.

“Did you… again?” You asked.

“Yeah.” He said with a little chuckle. “When does the amount of orgasms get ridiculous?”

“I don’t think there’s a strict rule on that.” You said, running your fingers through his hair. “I asked you not to hold back, and- I guess you’re really enjoying this pussy, eh?”

He leaned back so he could look up at you. “So, so, so, so much.”

You stroked the hair away from his sweaty face, admiring the look he wore. “Maybe I should stay where I am?” His instant response was to tighten his arms around you. “I was thinking about how crazy sensitive you must be, so it seems like the right thing to do- to climb off and give you a chance at recovering.”

He persistently shook his head. “Uh-uh, I don’t want you to move off. I wanna keep you right here, if you’ll let me.”

“Wow, you like this pussy a lot, huh? It’s like you can’t get enough of it.” You said, the flattery glittering in your veins.

“Not yet.” He said and you noticed that he had gently started to thrust again. It was so subtle that you could have missed it, absolutely nothing like his earlier vigour. But the intention was definitely there - he was still so hard inside of you.

“How can you still be so needy?” You asked.

He leaned in closer, lining his mouth up with yours. “You just feel so, so good.”

You smiled after he kissed you. “You need this pussy, don’t you?”

He nodded and you hoped the obedience in his gaze would remain for a while because you weren’t done enjoying it and the way it made your heart flutter.

“Yes, I do.” He answered in a quiet voice.

You kissed him and his pumps were getting to be more persistent. Your hot body rubbed on his, all of these tantalising sensations were the perfect chaser to your orgasm. It wasn’t about pushing yourself to match him, it was about letting him work out the rest of this energy.

Chest-to-chest, you remained sitting on top of him. Your thighs squeezed at his hips as he bucked up into you.

“Do you think you’ve got another one in you?” You asked.

His building pace didn’t falter. “Let’s find out.”

With his eyes shut, he totally missed the way you were staring at him. You couldn’t help it, you loved everything about how he looked right now. It was an infatuation deeper than anything you had experienced before as you felt privileged to behold him in this state. He continued to hold nothing back - something important had been conquered here tonight.

You shifted on top of him as you felt some of his impacts shaking your core. It wasn’t consistent, but it was very enticing each time it happened. It had you starting to lose your breath before you initiated the next kiss. As he took the lead with these movements, he let you take the lead with kissing and soon your tongue was in his mouth.

This endless give and take between your bodies was intoxicating, you understood why he wanted to indulge in it some more.

You felt yourself clenching up again, whimpering against his mouth a little. With more energy coming back to you, you began to think about the possibility of coming with him. You were taken with the idea at once and your hand curled into a fist around his hair as you picked up your own tempo. You didn’t know if a moment so perfect was likely to happen, but you chased it with hungry pumps.

As your lungs burned for air, your mouth left his so that you could just rest your head against his. You let all of your effort go down to your throbbing pussy, which probably wasn’t going to be getting a break soon. You did your best to meet his wild jackhammering.

“Oh, oh, oh…” He let out a choked sob.

Your other hand went into his hair as well, needing something to grip as you found yourself riding that edge again. You wound that thin plait around your finger, unable to resist the urge to tug on his hair a little.

“Ah, ah… here I- yes, fuck, fuck.” He panted, writhing up into you one final time.

Almost immediately after this he was pulling away. You realised that your chance for another climax was gone, but you accepted this as okay, you still had plenty of wonderful sensations swarming your system - the next best thing to an orgasm. There would be opportunities to match him orgasm-for-orgasm in the future. Right now you didn’t want to push him further into exhaustion for something that might not happen, so you lived vicariously through his release.

It hadn’t been enough to just pull out, he had taken it upon himself to reposition entirely. Gasps and other incoherent sounds narrated his every movement. He got himself turned around and to where he could lay his head down on the pillow.

“Oh, I think- I overdid it.” He said. “Holy shit, my cock is too sensitive to be alive right now. Shit… I have never come that many times at once before.”

“Really?” You asked as you eased yourself up closer to him, not wanting to make him feel crowded straight away.

His eyes drifted over to you, but they weren’t entirely focused. “Yeah, four fucking times, that’s crazy.”

You couldn’t help but stroke the inside of his thigh. “This pussy is the only one that can make you come so fucking much, eh? See, we can still have fun. You just have to be open to new experiences.”

His eyes looked a little glassy as he watched you lay down next to his body. “I can’t believe how cool and okay and adaptive you’re being about all of this.”

“Well start believing it, baby.” You said, caressing across his forehead. “I’m not going to let anything keep me from enjoying you as much as possible. I meant every word that I said, Ethan- this is hot as Hell to me.”

“You’re amazing.” He said.

You gave his chest a playful poke. “No, you are amazing. And there’s not a single thing about yourself that you should feel embarrassment over.” You treasured the look on his face, knowing that your words were having an actual impact on him. “So, is that why your technique is always to start with cunnilingus? You wanna get me all worked up and happy, and then I’m so excited about my orgasm that I don’t notice how quote-unquote early yours is?”

“Kinda. But I do genuinely love doing it, and seeing how it’s been working for us has made me wanna keep doing it.” He said.

“Relax, it’s not mandatory. We can have sex any which way, we can experiment with anything you want.” You said. “I don’t want you to feel pressured to do things a certain way. You don’t have to do anything extra ‘cause you just being you is amazing enough for me.”

He smiled. “You’re being so sweet and romantic and making me feel so good by saying all of the right things. But I- I actually have nothing to say back. I hope that doesn’t make it sound like I don’t care, ‘cause I do. It’s just- literally all I can think about is that my brain is as drained as my balls.” You couldn’t help but giggle at that. “Is that bad, does that kill the mood? I just really, super overdid it.”

“It’s okay, I promise. I wasn’t saying those things to prompt you into saying anything back, I just wanted you to hear them, you deserve to hear them.” You said. You gave him a kiss on the forehead before you sat up. “You also deserve some water, which I’m gonna go get for you, my little cum-drunk angel.”

You didn’t require his guidance to find your way around the apartment. You fetched a glass and began filling it with chilled water. You weren’t lamenting the way that orgasm had slipped beyond your grasp at seemingly the last second. You were too busy celebrating all the good things that had happened, leading to this strictly positive resolution.

As you walked back to the bedroom, your mind did start to wander. You were thinking about other things you could try out sexually, now that he was willing to break out of his rigidity. What else could you do to pull him even further out of his shell? Surely there was something you could do that would lead him to more moments of feeling obedient - because this was a side you were truly excited to explore.

You didn’t get the chance to share any of these thoughts with him. Upon arriving back to the bedroom, you found him asleep. He didn’t rouse, not even as you sat down on the mattress beside him. You drank the water, feeling perfectly content as you admired him, caressing his smooth forehead from time-to-time.

“If we keep this up, maybe I’ll fuck all of those insecurities out of you.” You said and you leaned down, kissing him on the cheek. His head turned slightly in your direction, but his eyes remained shut. You laid down, wrapping your arms snugly around him as you soon joined him in slumber.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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