Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time Crowley sees them he completely forgets his train of thought. He stares and stammers and almost trips over himself walking up the carpeted stairs. He keeps on staring when he at last reaches the landing that leads to his box on the balcony of the newly opened Royal Albert Hall.

“Ah, Mr. Crowley… I was hoping you'd also be part of this marvelous night.” Her voice is higher than usual but still carries that soft cadance, her hair is long now and curls in white waves along her neck, her eyes still hold the same touch of oblivious mischief as she bats them at him.

“Miss. Fell, I presume?” Crowley does a clumsy little bow that he reserves for moments like this, for when Aziraphale chooses to appear like this.

“Quite right.” She smiles sweetly but then her brow ticks up. “Are you alright? Is there something on my dress?” She looks down on herself, down to where Crowley's eyes seem to be fixed.

Crowley opens his mouth, then closes it again. Then he puffs out his cheeks and shakes his head. “No...nope… you're… you're alright… yeah…”

Before Aziraphale can question him any further, a bell above their heads rings, beckoning them to take their seats.

“Shall we?” She holds out her hand to him.

Crowley knows she's only doing that because she is in fact a lady and it would be quite a spectacle for her to be without company. Otherwise she'd probably rather be discorporated than to be seen with her arm linked into Crowley's as they make their way into the box.

As they walk, Crowley feels them press against his arm, feels their weight as they bounce with every step. He mustn't stare, it's wrong on so many levels other than the whole demon and angel situation.

As the house lights go down, Crowley dares another look. Would he actually bother with some sort of penis, he'd be rock solid by now. Instead he just dwells on the most delicious tingle forming in the pit of his stomach.

For some reason - and Crowley doesn't dare contemplate any of them - Aziraphale has chosen to present herself with the most exquisite breasts Crowley has ever seen. They are huge but in perfect proportion to her body. They swell deliciously over the hem of her dress, threatening to slip free with every step yet at the same time modest and tempting.

Tempting… Crowley smiles to himself.

Of course, Aziraphale has not one lick of clue what she is doing to him looking like that, has no idea of the fantasies that manage to distract him from the opera for the next three hours.

It would take another 150 years for her to find out.

Chapter Text

The crimson rope stands out against Aziraphale milky skin as it loops and crosses arond her upper body. Over her chest it forms a pentagram that creates a nice tingle to her nerves. She doesn’t dare say how wet that gets her all on its own.

What really does it, though, and what Crowley now stares at with an admiring gaze, is that the bindings make her breasts fill and swell even more. Their tone is darker, the slightest shade of purple, her nipples a deep red and perfect pebbles.

“How does it feel, angel?” Crowley asks and he’s almost surprised by his own hushed tone. As if he’s not standing in front of her with a raging erection. A feature that - he has decided somewhere back in the 1920s - comes in very handy after all to take the edge of that buzz inside him.

“This is quite nice.” Aziraphale looks down at her swollen breasts, giving them a little bounce for good measure. “They feel heavy.”

Crowley reaches out a hand and touches the rope on her sternum. The length of rope slithers around her body, tightening down on her, wrapping her in. Her breasts are pulled up by the bindings, becoming rounder and darker.

“Goodness me,” Aziraphale whispers, pushing her chest out even more.

“They’re…” Crowley’s hands barely graze Aziraphale’s skin as he lets them ghost over her breasts. They are warm to the touch and harder than they looked back in 1871. His thumbs brush over those deliciously erect nipples and he can’t keep his tongue behind his teeth as he imagines what they’d feel like between his lips.

“Do you want to, Crowley?” Aziraphale asks, eyes glinting.

Crowley can’t answer. So all he does is nod.

“Do go on then.”

Crowley leans in and without preamble lets his forked tongue slither around Aziraphale’s left nipple. He moans against her skin, feeling her, tasting her. It’s such a simple touch but it has him reeling as he pulls back.

“And the other one?” Aziraphale asks innocently.

Crowley is more than happy to oblige her, all but diving in to give her right nipple the same treatment.

When he lets up again, he lets his fingers dance around her areolas and Aziraphale hisses when she feels the steel rods push through her skin. When she looks down, her nipples are adorned with barbells that hold rings in place; rings with devil horns on top and a spaded tail curling around the bottom.

“I never took you for one to indulge in something so whimsical,” Aziraphale comments.

Again, Crowley tightens the rope by a touch of his hand, watching how Aziraphale’s breasts become an even darker shade of purple, and suddenly - for the first time in millenia - he gets hungry for sweet, ripe plums.

“They’re perfect,” he hears himself whisper in something close to awe.

“Lick them again,” Aziraphale almost orders.

Crowley does and with every touch of his tongue, he lets out a little moan that Aziraphale matches. She reaches down between her legs, finding her frilly panties soaked. As she pushes her fingers beneath the wet fabric, she pushes her breasts forward, smothering Crowley if he’d needed to breath.

“Are you close, angel?” Crowley asks, running his tongue long his lips. He already knows the answer, he can smell it, almost feels it himself. But seeing her nod, white curls bouncing as she rocks against her own hand, is very well worth the redundant question.

“Pinch them,” Aziraphale pants, her voice an even higher pitch now. She comes with a little squeal when Crowley pinches her pierced nipples between his fingers, the thrash of her body makes him tug even harder.

Before Crowley can fully comprehend what is happening to him, Aziraphale sinks to her knees in front of him and unfastens his buckle. He’s probably overdone it on the cock but as she frees him from his way too skinny trousers and holds him up against her chest, he cannot care any less. His length lays perfectly between her plump breasts, sliding along her cleavage as if it’s been created to do so.

“Come, my sweet,” Aziraphale breaths and that’s all it takes.

He spends himself on her, on her perfectly round and perfectly purple breasts. It’s endless and beautiful in its debauchery and his knees almost buckle at the final spurt.

“Goodness me… that was quite something, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale sits back and regards their work. She touches a finger to the ropes and they fall from her body, the sudden release making her shiver.

Crowley sinks to one knee in front of her, ever so softly cradling her breasts in his palms as they begin to regain their usual color. They are still sensitive to his touch but he leans in nonetheless to clean them up with his tongue.

“You are very thorough, Crowley, but you did forget something,” Aziraphale almost coos.

He looks at her, a bit bewildered.

She pushes him back until he has to sit on his haunches. Then she touches her nipples and the piercings change. The tail disappears and the horns shift into a pair of little silver wings.

“Now they’re perfect.”

Chapter Text

The string digs hard into Aziraphale’s skin whenever she only attempts to straighten her legs.

It’s no use.

Crowley has tied her up perfectly. Thread fine as floss around her nipples, held in place by her piercings, attached to thicker rope that goes to her toes, keeping her legs open and bent at an angle. Whenever she so much as takes a deeper breath, she pulls at her nipples.

She’s on perfect display, open and vulnerable and dripping wet. And she smiles triumphantly up at Crowley who stands between her knees, naked and almost helplessly aroused.

She hasn’t let him in yet. Whenever he’s tried to push forward, to take her, she’s closed her legs, keeping him out. And by doing so, she’s tugged at her own breasts, pulling them taut and making herself wince at the sting of pain.

“Please, angel,” he breaths at his n-th attempt, his cock hard and neglected. Seeing her like this, her heavy breasts pulled into opposite directions just to spite him… that’s devilish.

He is at her mercy, and they both know it.

At last - and if Crowley actually had a circulation, he’d have probably fainted by now - she lets him. She lets her knees fall open, baring herself to him, the movement harsh enough to draw the strings taut and her nipples even tauter.

Aziraphale does feel like heaven. Warm and smooth and silky. She’s so wet for him that he barely needs to push to slide all the way into her.

“Are you enjoying that, my sweet?” she asks, knowing full well that he does.

To answer her, he lets his hands trail along the outside of her breasts where she’s ticklish, along the underside of her nipples where she’s the most sensitive, and over the soft round of her belly where she’s the most vulnerable.

“Touch me there,” Aziraphale orders with a soft voice that feigns something close to shame.

With all too gentle hands he parts her around his cock, opening her to his touch, to one curious finger that finds her center. She squirms against him, against the bounds, torturing herself and him alike when just for a second it seems as if she might come apart at the seams.

Then she reaches up for him, tugs him down by the hair that he keeps longer now to indulge her, and presses her lips to his. When she pulls back, he looks down at her almost dazed.

“Let me feel your teeth,” Aziraphale says and he’s properly dazed now.

They both come when he bites down on her breast.

Needle-sharp teeth pierce her skin, leaving twin points. Once. Twice. Over and over.

She clenches around him, holds him in tightly, letting him ride it out against her.

At last Crowley pulls away, still staying inside her even as he sits back. “They’re beautiful, angel.”

Aziraphale’s skin is peppered in bitemarks, little dots in pink and red and purple strewn around her stretched nipples.

“Untie me, my sweet,” she says, following his admiring gaze over her marred flesh.

Crowley pinches the strings between two fingers each and they fall to dust at his touch.

With a little groan, Aziraphale stretches her legs, wiggling her toes. Then she gently cups her breasts, fingers playing over her abused nipples, eliciting a little moan with every touch.

“Do they hurt, angel?” Crowley asks not entirely without glee.

“Not if you kiss them better.”

Chapter Text

A thick splotch of red lands on Aziraphale’s right breast, followed by another and another. It splatters in a loose pattern over her skin, a contrast to the white marks already left there by the first candle.

With every new drop of hot wax Aziraphale hisses, biting her bottom lip to stifle the urge to move.

Crowley has made sure she won’t get away. He’s not only tied her to one of the sturdier chairs she owns but he’s also slipped into her lap, taking her cock deep inside.

It still surprises him how they somehow manage to make their bodies match however they see fit without having to talk about it. Maybe it’s a signal he sends off or she can feel what he needs, maybe it’s vice versa or something else entirely.

So today he gently rocks down on her while letting wax dribble onto her breasts.

They are already caked in white as he adds the red now, another - black, of course - will follow.

“Paint me a pretty picture, my sweet,” she coos as another drop of wax lands just above her left nipple.

More red lands on her, covering the cusps of her breasts, some slides all the way down to her belly.

“I could make a mold of you, angel,” Crowley muses, dribbling more wax across her cleavage, making her writhe against the restraints. “Cover all of you and cast you anew.”

“Wouldn’t you like that…”

“And have more of you? Yes, I would.”

Aziraphale smiles, her cheeks blushed crimson. “You know I can make them bigger. And so can you.”

Crowley clenches around her at the thought. For some reason, that possibility had never crossed his mind. Maybe because when Aziraphale had first appeared in this form, she had already found the perfect size to fit her body, to go so well with the round of her belly and the swell of her hips. Why mess with perfection?

“Maybe next time,” Crowley says at last and they both know it’s a lie.

“Take the black candle now,” she orders. “That one burns the hottest.”

Chapter Text

“Make sure the cups sit nice and tight,” Aziraphale instructs as Crowley faffs about her, fiddling with the pieces of the ridiculous equipment. They could have done this without it but she had insisted they’d use it.

Tying her up had been Crowley’s idea. He had strung her arms up over her head, her ankles were tied to the bedposts, spreading her open.

“How is that, angel?” Crowley asks when he’s set everything up, looking down at his handiwork.

“Quite nice so far. You can start now if you like.”

If he likes… likes… this has been on the top of his list and now she has the audacity to make him feel coy about it.

Crowley climbs onto the bed, kneeling between her thighs. He arranges the tubes once more, then takes the scissor-shaped handle in hand and gives it a first squeeze.

“Oh… oh that’s quite… exquisite.” Aziraphale’s eyes flicker close when the clear plastic cups are sucked against her breasts. “Again.”

Another squeeze of the handle and the cups tighten once more.

Aziraphale’s breasts swell into the suction cups, her skin darkening. Her nipples stretch under the pressure, her piercings pulled flush against her flesh.

“You needn’t hold back, my sweet. Go on.”

Crowley gives her three more pumps, watching her breasts grow even more into perfect rounds.

“Do you want to touch them?”

Crowley shivers at the words. Carefully to not hit the emergency release, he puts the handle down and wraps his fingers around her breasts just below the cups, squeezing gently. “Can we do one more?” he asks almost anxiously.

“You know you can.”

By the sixth pump, Aziraphale is struggling against her bounds, sucking in a heaving breath. Her nipples are plump and swollen, the flesh of her breasts slowly turning purple.

Crowley gives her two more pumps, watching how she tries to get away from the pain but it’s futile. Just because he can, he gives her another and just a little bit more. Just to see her twist in agony, to hear to her moan in something that sounds almost like delight.

She is wet, her folds glistening invitingly. He can smell her, almost taste her on his tongue, too.

Suddenly, something appears in his hand, a small plastic tube with a clover-shaped screw on top.

“Please…,” Aziraphale breaths. “Please, Crowley.”

For a moment, he isn’t sure what to do with this but then she thrusts her hips up and he knows.

Crowley scoots down on the mattress. Carefully he parts her, her slick coating his fingers immediately, and sets the tube against her clit. At first, it won’t take hold but after a few turns of the screw, the tube sits snug against her.

“Oh sweet hea… yes… more.” Aziraphale’s voice rises in pitch.

The building pressure sucks at her clit, pulling at it until it begins to swell in the tube to match her stretched nipples. With every revolution, it gets bigger, a deeper shade of red. And with every rotation, Crowley gets more and more hungry. For her. To taste her, to feel her on his tongue.

She is a mess in front of him now, pulled into every direction at once, in pain and aroused at the same time. And she’s doing it for him, she’s allowing him to have this.

“May I, angel?” he hears himself say, his voice so low it almost doesn’t make a sound. To make his point he gently taps against the pump between her legs.

“Yes,” she groans. “Yes, I want…”

The pump comes off with a wet plop and Crowley wraps his tongue around her swollen clit. She comes in his mouth immediately, screaming at the top of her lungs as he sucks it out of her.

He makes her come like this two more times and by the third time she almost begs him to stop. Almost.

When he finally lets up, his chin is covered in her spendings and if he’s ever longed for a drink it’s this.

“Please, my sweet,” she begs, bonelessly nodding at the pumps that still stretch her breasts.

With nimble fingers Crowley releases the pressure and it makes her scream again.

Dark circles stretch around her nipples and for a long moment they stay in that shape, plump and ripe and tempting to be sucked at. But Crowley doesn’t. Instead he pinches her pierced nipples between two fingers and it makes her tugs so hard at the binding around her wrists that the rope snaps.

“Oh you fiend,” she breaths, slapping his hands away.

“You are beautiful,” he replies.

Aziraphale shoots him a glare, rubbing at her wrists, but then breaks into a smile. “Come here,” she beckons.

Gladly, he accepts the offer, cradling his head between her gorgeously bruised breasts. She’s soft and warm underneath him and maybe… just maybe… he lets his tongue slither around her nipple when he realizes she’s fallen asleep.

Chapter Text

“Do you know what you’ve done wrong?” The words feel alien on Crowley’s tongue but she’s asked him to say them. Exactly like this.

“I have given in to temptation,” Aziraphale replies in a small voice.

“Explain, angel,” he orders as he rounds her.

She’s kneeling on a chair, her upper body bent over the backrest, hands tied to a hook in the wall. Her breasts hang down, heavy and plump and delicious. Below her, he has spread all the implements they have agreed to use.

“I was used for pleasure,” she continues. “For the pleasure of a demon.”

A tingle rolls down Crowley’s back. “Did he use his demonic powers to force you?”

“I let him.” Aziraphale licks her lips and shoots him the tiniest bit of a look. “I liked it.”

None of this is a lie and that’s what makes it all the more arousing. “Did you now… And what do you think we shall do about that?”

“I should be punished.”

“Very well, angel. Punishment you shall get.”

Crowley kneels down by her side. His hands gently cradle her breasts, feeling their weight, before letting them sag again. They bounce in front of his eyes and he wants to bury his face between them but that’ll have to wait.

He reaches for a set of clamps. Tweaking Aziraphale’s nipples once, twice, he attaches the clamps, making sure they sit painfully tight. He knows they do because Aziraphale tells him with a little moan.

Next, he attaches a chain to each clamp and to each chain a small cylindrical object. A weight. Four ounces each.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale breaths as her nipples are stretched down.

“We're not done yet.”

From a small pile Crowley takes a few clothespins. He tests them first, opening and closing them a few times, before he goes to work. He pinches the skin atop of Aziraphale left breasts and clamps a pin down on it. Two more pins follow in a straight line, one next to the other. He repeats this on Aziraphale's right breasts, decorating her with three more pins.

“Can you take more, angel?”

“Yes, please,” she answers almost eagerly which earns her a little slap to the underside of her breast.

“You shouldn't be enjoying this,” Crowley chides her without real heat behind it.

She gives him a gleeful little smile that gets her another slap.

Crowley picks up a few more clothespins and clips three each to Aziraphale's breasts, this time creating a line along the bottom. Once he's done he gently runs his fingers along the stretched skin, drawing up gooseflesh.

“They’ll look beautiful,” he muses, then he taps against the weights, making them dangle back and forth. “I believe we can add more here.”

It’s not a question but Aziraphale still answers with a “Yes, please.”

Crowley attaches another four ounce weight to each of the chains, drawing her nipples out even further. They dangle enticingly in front of his face and it takes a lot of his power to not just watch that display for maybe an hour.

“Does it hurt?” he asks almost tonelessly.

“Yes.” Aziraphale breaths.

Crowley scoots in front of her so that he can properly look into her face. Her expression is strained but there’s also a patiently pleased touch around her eyes. She is in physical pain but she’s also getting exactly what she wants.

“Are you ready for your real punishment?” Crowley asks, letting his fingers ghost around Aziraphale’s nipples, her skin heated to his touch.

“I am,” she answers almost eagerly.

“It will be painful.” That warning is more for him than for her.

“Do it, my sweet.”

He worms - pun almost intended - his way out from under her and rises. By the wall where her hands are tied to a sturdy hook leans a cane. Its surface shines with a deep red lacquer and the handle is an exquisite piece of wood turning; the shape of a snake’s head.

Crowley picks up the cane and flexes it in his hands. It doesn’t have a lot of give which is what they both had been looking for.

“Since you’ve been such a naughty angel…,” Crowley drawls, trying not to actually giggle at the words, “you’ll count out the strokes as I beat those clothespins off you. Am I understood, angel?”

Aziraphale is even worse at holding back a smile. This role doesn’t fall as natural to Crowley as they’ve assumed. “I understand quite well.”

The first strike hits her left breast harder than expected and the first clip goes flying. As a red welt blooms on her milky skin and she hisses a pained: “One.”

“Speak up, angel,” he orders. “Let me hear you.”

The second and third strikes follow with less aim, only finding flesh instead of the pins. Red streaks cross on Aziraphale’s breast and she counts obediently. The fourth takes off another clip. The fifth almost hits her nipples and she lets out a hitched little scream, struggling against her bindings.

“You mustn’t squirm, angel. It’ll only be more painful if you do.” They both know that Crowley could hit her precisely and only chooses not to.

Once Aziraphale has stilled again, the third clip goes under a particularly hard strike.

“Shall we do the underside first or your other breast?” Crowley asks.

“The other one, please,” she pants.

“Very well.” Crowley rounds her, taking in with gleeful pride how wet she is. He can smell her, too, and it makes his head spin just a little.

He beats the three clips off her in rapid succession, painting her breast with heavy red marks. She counts the strikes out loud and clear even if her voice begins to waver more and more.

“You’re doing very well,” he praises her, running the rounded tip of the cane along her nipples, giving them a little tap that lets the weighted clamps jingle and makes her moan in pained delight.

Crowley starts on her right breast as he proceeds to the underside to take off one clip after the other, beating them off her skin with well timed strikes. By the time he moves over to the left, Aziraphale’s face is streaked with tears. She numbles every count now, pressing the words through grit teeth.

“Just two more, angel,” he informs her and she nods.

Aziraphale all but jumps against the rope as the cane hits her skin. As she rocks forward, the weights attached to her nipples begin to swing and draw even more on breasts, making her squeal. When the last clothespin comes off, she breaks into a sob, burying her face against her arm.

Immediately, Crowley is on his knees beside her, threading his fingers into her hair. “Are you alright, angel?”

She nods, sniffling.

“Shall I take these off?” He carefully cups her breast around the cusp and the heavy clamp.

Aziraphale shakes her head, then beckons him with a tilt of the same. Crowley scoots even closer until her lips almost meet his ear. “Put it inside me,” she breaths.

Crowley sits back and looks at her, his mind reeling just a bit. “You want…”

“I do. And you tongue.”

If Crowley was one to get hot flashes, he’d definitely get one right now. He scrambles to his feet and steps up behind her. As if to make her point even more obvious, she arches her back, jutting out the round globe of her arse.

As if in some debauched prayer, Crowley kneels down behind her. With careful fingers he parts her, feeling her wetness, her heat. Even more carefully, he eases the tip of the cane into her.

“Yes,” she hisses, letting her head fall forward. “Please, my sweet.”

Crowley all but dives for her. His forked tongue easily finds her clit and he eagerly sucks it between his lips.

Aziraphale comes with a howl and a full body shudder that makes her thighs quiver and her bound hands tug at the ropes.

“Oh good lo…. Oh my,” she pants as wave after wave rolls through her.

When she finally comes down again, Crowley pulls back from her, slowly easing the cane from her body. He looks at the implement for a moment, contemplating, then he holds it up against her parted lips.

“Clean it, angel,” he orders.

Fascinated, he watched how Aziraphale wraps her tongue around the thin wood, sucking it into her mouth to have a taste of her own flavour. With a wet pop, she lets go of it when she’s licked off her juices.

“That was very considerate, my sweet,” she says with a sheepish smile.

Crowley lets the cane clatter to the floor and presses a hard kiss to Aziraphale’s lips. “Shall we free you now?”

“Yes, please.”

He takes off the weights first, then the chains and at last the clamps. The sudden release draws another little yelp from Aziraphale. This time, Crowley can’t help but suck her nipples into his mouth, easing her pain with a cool swirl of his tongue around the bruised pebbles.

Next, he loosens the ropes with a touch of his hands and Aziraphale all but slumps against him, sliding off the chair. He catches her in time and guides over to the worn sofa in the back of the shop.

She is a right mess. Her breasts are covered with red streaks that begin to turn purple at the edges. Her nipples are flushed and swollen. She has her knees pressed together and every now and then her legs twitch with just that little bit of an aftershock.

“You’re beautiful,” Crowley says in a soft voice as he goes to his knees in front of her. Gently, he cradles her breasts in his hands and places an almost chaste kiss to each of them.

“You made me so, Crowley. You painted me in your colours.” She runs a hand through his hair, wrapping one of the crimson curls around her finger.

“You let me.” He leans into the touch, his forehead pressed against her chest. “I don’t deserve this.”

“Yes, you do, sweet darling.” Aziraphale presses a kiss to the top of his head.

They stay like that for a long time, drifting in their blissful little bubble.

At last, Aziraphale speaks again. “We should go to the opera again.”