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Crowley clenches his fingers in Aziraphale's hair, thrusting up into his beautiful hot mouth, frantic and a bit out of control. "Oh," he says, and almost every single expletive he can think of is the wrong sort. "Oh, Je-- G-- oh, oh, fuck," he manages to choke out.
Aziraphale pulls off, slowly, his lips dragging at the too-sensitive skin on Crowley's cock, slick with saliva. He's smiling, looking down at Crowley as if the demon below him is something precious. His hand is still working, though, jerking Crowley slow and sweet. "Not yet," he says, and just like that Crowley can feel his impending orgasm fade away, distancing itself. He's still thrusting up into Aziraphale's hand, still gasping in short little breaths, as charged up as he was before but oh - hell and damnation - he's nowhere near finished.
"That's not fair," he protests.
The angel smiles at him, then leans back down to lick luxuriously at Crowley's cock, tongue smoothing hot and wet over the head. "Shh," he murmurs, soothingly, before his mouth moves again to suck on Crowley's cock.
He brings him to the edge again, wicked tongue and soft pink lips sweetly driving Crowley thoroughly insane. He's clawing at the sheets with one hand, the other tangled in Aziraphale's stupid blond locks, back arched and mouth open. "Please," he says, and "For fuck's sake, would you---" and again "Please, come on, come on, Angel--"
Begging, it turns out, doesn't help, even when Aziraphale wraps a slender hand around the base of Crowley's dick, tongue hot on his skin. "Not yet," the angel murmurs, chiding softly. "Patience is a virtue, Crowley."
Crowley sobs, and if he hadn't been trained from the very beginning of hi s existence to never feel shame he might be a little bit embarrassed at how absolutely pathetic he is, at how easily Aziraphale has managed to take him apart and keep him there. Fortunately, Crowley is utterly shameless and so instead, he throws his head back and moans, both hands tearing at the sheets as Aziraphale works him over again. And again.
"Please," he whispers, voice cracking after the third - or maybe fouth - time his angel miracles his orgasm away, needing it. "Please --- I want..." And it's no surprise that doesn't work either. "Please," Crowley begs. "Let me---"
"No,"
"Fuck," Crowley gasps, thrusting up and unable to stop himself (even if he'd wanted to, which he didn't, because Aziraphale's mouth was divine and perfect and lovely and all sorts of other things Crowley likes). "Oh, fuck. Angel, just-- would you just---"
"No,"
"Please," Crowley sobs.
He begs prettily, his mouth open and panting, sweat soaking his hair and the sheets beneath him. Crowley gasps and twists and arches upward, wanton beneath his angel's fingers and lips and tongue. He begs until his voice gives out and he is still desperate for more. And when he finally does come, he screams for God.
--
"You think you're fucking great, don't you?" Crowley mutters, too exhausted to really work up any sort of real irratability.
"Well," Aziraphale responds almost humbly, leaning back in a divine sprawl of pale and perfect limbs. "I really am,"
Well. He really is.
--