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It isn’t like the angel Aziraphale to make mistakes in his orthography, especially in the matter of summoning circles, but several unusual factors have conspired against him today. His reference is a page of the Munich Manual of Demonic Magic that, during its creation, was spotted with ink and ash in a few key places; he himself, while not what you might call drunk, has nevertheless been drinking; and, most importantly, Crowley told him this wouldn’t work, so now he feels like he has something to prove and he’s working just a trifle too quickly.
“I summon thee, Demon, to appear before me in thy earthly form and give an accounting of thyself!”
There’s rather more smoke than Aziraphale is accustomed to, and a terrible smell, and then a voice that’s not at all what he expected says: “What the fuck, dude, I was busy.”
Aziraphale makes a choked-off little noise in the back of his throat.
In the center of the summoning circle stands a very different demon than the one he’d had in mind: half a head shorter, built strong and broad, wearing a soft clinging grey t-shirt with a deep V-neck that shows off a nearly cryptographic assortment of tattooed letters and symbols. His grey hair is long and thick, held back from his face by gold pins; his grey beard is equally luxurious, and his pale blue eyes have slitted pupils rather like Crowley’s, though there’s a slight difference Aziraphale can’t define.
He is wholly unfamiliar and yet Aziraphale knows him.
“Fuck,” the demon says, and blinks hard. “You’re not — who I thought you’d be.”
“I could say the same of you,” Aziraphale says, sobering himself up with a shudder and then kneeling to examine the circle. “Dear me, I seem to have muffed it up somehow, but I can’t imagine…”
The demon kneels too, and suddenly their faces are quite close to each other, though separated by the intangible power of the circle. Aziraphale flushes, quite out of proportion to anything that the demon’s doing; he’s only running a finger along the innermost row of figures, careful not to touch. Even his hands are tattooed, how cunning! — though they could rather use a good scrub. “Well, there’s your problem,” he says. “You’ve got this clause inverted, and that’s a graph where you want a gon. Oh, that’s inventive, though, I see what you were going for. Don’t have your demon’s true name, huh?”
“One doesn’t ask, you know,” Aziraphale says primly.
“But you’re summoning him anyway.” The demon gives him a private little smile, as if they’re sharing a joke.
“Well, he… he bet me, actually, that I couldn’t summon him without it.” This ought to be more embarrassing — an angel, gambling with a demon on a matter of pride! — but in the face of interest from an obvious aficionado, Aziraphale’s enthusiasm has entirely outrun his discretion. “So what I’ve attempted with this clause is something along the lines of ‘the demon known best to me,’ which couldn’t possibly be anyone but him...”
“Right,” says the demon, his smile growing broader, “but what you’ve actually got is more like ‘the demon closest to me in nature.’” He looks Aziraphale right in the eye, and again the angel feels that shock of knowing, joined this time by a deep and disconcerting heat in his chest. “It’s the damn multiverse acting up again.”
“Beg pardon?” Aziraphale says, mostly to give himself time to think over the implications of that word.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve run into a different version of myself,” the demon says, “but it might be the first time he’s turned up on the opposite side.”
“On the opposite — oh, my goodness. So you’ve met, then, other demons like yourself? Like… like us? From alternate worlds like our own? How extraordinary.” Aziraphale beams, fascinated. “Oh, I wonder — in your world, do you have — that is, is there a — an angel, I wonder, possibly with red hair —”
The demon’s face lights up. “Some things really are a constant. Yeah, I know him. Tall, lanky, too clever for his own good, dominant streak a mile wide?”
Aziraphale, who was nodding along happily, suddenly freezes and goes very pink. “Oh,” he says, shocked by the casual admission of a relationship — and such a specific aspect of it, too! “I — well, I shouldn’t think so, though of course I wouldn’t know.”
“What do you mean, of course?” The demon looks him up and down with a frank appraisal that Aziraphale feels certain is making him three shades pinker. “I can tell you like him, and there’s no way he doesn’t like you, sweetheart.”
Aziraphale recoils, toppling back onto his bum and then scooting back on his hands and feet. “I say,” he sputters, “you needn’t speculate about my — my private matters!”
“It’s kind of my job,” the demon says, rising and sketching a little bow. “I go by Azmodeus, if that means anything here.”
“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale says, “er, yes, it does rather.” A Prince of Hell, held by most authorities to personify the sin of Lust — Aziraphale honestly can’t see how such a powerful being could be any version of himself, but that sense of connection is impossible to fake. “Well, I suppose it is your job, but surely you aren’t on the clock?” He pushes himself up, feeling awkward, and dusts his trousers. “I mean, this isn’t even your… dimension, or universe, or what have you.”
“No,” says Azmodeus, still with that appraising look. “It isn’t.”
Aziraphale, no one’s coward, still quails for a moment under the sharpness of that gaze, which somehow strikes him as both predatory and… sympathetic? “Well,” he says eventually. “You can call me Aziraphale. We’ll need to fix this circle before I try sending you back, so I’ll have to let you out. I’d rather not perform a straight banishment, if it’s all the same to you, so...”
“Believe me, I’m not dumb enough to challenge a Principality in his own house,” Azmodeus says. “All I want is to get back to my angel in one piece.”
Aziraphale kneels again to scuff out the mistake in the circle, and so the demon’s possessive phrase doesn’t immediately register, but when it does, he bites his lip. He needn’t rub it in, a miserable little voice in his mind says. That he has what we can’t. Aziraphale shushes it, but the sting of it remains. Perhaps Heaven and Hell were different in this demon’s world; he can’t imagine outright approval of such a relationship, but they might be inclined to turn a blind eye. How could any version of himself, even a demonic one, be so horribly reckless otherwise?
The circle breaks, and Azmodeus gives a sigh of relief. “Oh, that’s better, hate those things,” he says. “Can I see the text you were working from? I’m a collector myself, but it wasn’t familiar to me.”
“Oh, yes, well, do please be careful,” Aziraphale twitters, feeling bumbling and bashful as he hands Azmodeus the battered volume. “I’ve only just acquired it, you can see it’s in dreadful shape, haven’t had time to fix it yet, it was such a fascinating little problem, I’ll just go make some tea, shall I,” he wraps up before he runs out of breath entirely, and scurries off to fill the kettle.
It would have to be a Lust demon, wouldn’t it?
It’s easy enough to see how Aziraphale made this mistake, Azmodeus thinks; most of your really potent grimoires are printed by sketchy little underground outfits with shitty equipment, and the results are what you’d expect. He can’t say he wouldn’t have done the same, not that he’d ever felt like summoning anyone he knew. He could definitely see Doeley asking him to, though, greedy thing that he was.
“Got some paper?” he asks when Aziraphale returns with tea. “This book doesn’t exist in my universe. I wanna take a few notes.”
“Oh, certainly,” the angel says, fumbling around in a stack of miscellany that looks familiar — it’s better organized than Azmodeus’s own hoard, but the vibe is the same. “Do you think there are texts in your world that don’t exist in this one, then?” he asks, with a covetous look that’s definitely familiar, and Azmodeus laughs.
“The answer is yes, and I already have exchanges going with a couple of others — I think we could fit you in.”
Aziraphale’s face practically glows at the thought of accessing books from multiple other worlds, and it’s the cutest goddamn thing Azmodeus has ever seen. But then, with disconcerting speed, he reels it back in and sits on it, as if letting his happiness show too much is a sin to be punished. Who taught him that and where’s the line to kick their ass, Azmodeus wonders.
“I suppose that’s not very… angelic,” Aziraphale says regretfully.
“Eh, call it keeping tabs on the opposition,” Azmodeus says, “I mean, we are literally conspiring across universes to exchange occult information. Someone has to make sure we aren’t plotting dastardly deeds.”
“And what about your red-headed angel?” Aziraphale asks, trying to match his teasing tone. “Can’t he keep you in line?”
“Oh, that’s never been an issue,” Azmodeus says, with his best lecherous wink, and then laughs at the poleaxed look on the angel’s face. “Oh, sweetheart, if that’s enough to make you blush I don’t know if you’ll survive our book club meetings.”
“I am not blushing,” Aziraphale says, frowning into his tea. He’s so pretty like this, pink spots high up on his cheeks. Azmodeus would tease him every day, if he belonged to him.
“And what about your red-headed demon?” Azmodeus says. “Who’s keeping you in line, hmm?”
“Oh, do leave off,” Aziraphale snaps. There’s real pain in it, and Azmodeus is startled — they really aren’t together yet? Sure, every universe is different, but so far that’s been a constant. “I suspect you know perfectly well why it would be a bad idea, and for some reason you’ve gone ahead anyway.”
“Well, yeah,” Azmodeus admits, “but staying apart wasn’t a good idea either. It was killing us, and I can tell it’s killing you.” It’s not just the usual temptation rigamarole, either, you need it so bad, baby. Aziraphale is all cramped up and crushed down inside, full of guilt and shame and anxiety, hiding real suffering behind his fussy-little-shopkeep act. It isn’t all about sex, but a good, thorough fucking would go a long way toward relieving the pressure, in Azmodeus’s professional opinion. “Don’t you think he’s hurting too?”
“I know he is,” Aziraphale says miserably. “He would take the chance, if I let him. But Hell wouldn’t even bother with punishment if they found out that he — that it wasn’t simply a temptation. They’d destroy him for it. And it’s not as if I need it, you see, so.” He shrugs, defeated. “It’s worth it, to protect him.”
“What if,” Azmodeus says, slowly, “someone offered to… help take the edge off. Just a little. Wouldn’t it be easier to bear if you got it out of your system for once?”
Aziraphale has the strangest look on his face: shock, and not a little reproach, but also a dawning realization. “Are you propositioning me?”
“Absolutely. Are you into it?” Azmodeus extends his arm along the back of the couch, hand open, inviting. “No obligations, of course. No strings attached.”
“It’s still dangerous for you,” Aziraphale objects, but then he takes a deep breath as if to settle himself, and his lips tremble. Oh, the poor pretty thing, he really does need it that bad, but he’ll go straight out the window if Azmodeus pushes right now. It’s like coaxing a feral kitten to take the food it needs, from the human hand it fears.
“Not nearly as dangerous as you’re making it out to be,” Azmodeus says. “I’m not even from here. Odds are I haven’t even turned up on the local celestial radar, and on the off chance someone does come to check in, you can just banish me and claim it as a smiting. Worst case scenario, I turn up at home pantsless.” He grins. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Now do you want kissing lessons, or not?”
“Don’t poke fun,” Aziraphale says, in his quiet voice the memory of a hundred nasty little jibes and jokes at his expense, and oh, that’s the game Heaven’s played with this sweet boy, is it? Cut him down every time he spoke up, made him feel small and silly... no wonder he won’t take risks, they’ve taught him he’s not worth it.
“I’m not,” Azmodeus says gently. “I mean, okay, I am a little, I’m an asshole and this is… be honest, this is kind of funny, isn’t it?” He lifts his eyebrows and the angel gives him the tiniest, shyest smile, and shit, he is gone. “But I also really want to do this for you. You’re beautiful, and you’re very sweet, and I think you deserve to have someone make you feel good.”
Aziraphale makes a crumpled little sound, fists clenching on his knees, and then he stands up abruptly, as if he’s been fighting with himself and one side’s finally won. He looks down at the demon on his sofa — not the demon he really wants, of course, but Azmodeus is going to do his damnedest to make up for that — and says, “I’m afraid you’ll have to be patient with me. I… don’t suppose I’m any good at this.”
Azmodeus holds out the hand that isn’t on the back of the sofa. “You don’t have to be ‘good at sex,’ you know. That’s not really a thing. Just… pay attention and follow my lead.”
Aziraphale takes his hand, and Azmodeus draws him down gently so they’re sitting side by side, turning to face each other, knees touching. “Can I touch your face?” Azmodeus says.
“I… suppose,” Aziraphale says, and then he stiffens as a warm, broad hand cups his cheek. A shudder runs through his whole body and he curls in on himself. Azmodeus can feel the starving pain in him, hot and fierce.
“Okay there?” Azmodeus says, removing his hand. No one’s touched this sweet boy in any way for far, far too long, that’s obvious, and the last thing Azmodeus wants is to overload him. Well. Not like that.
“I… I think so,” Aziraphale says, and then he curls forward further and his head comes to rest on Azmodeus’s shoulder. “It’s… more intense than I thought,” he admits, his breath coming short and sharp, a damp heat through the demon’s thin t-shirt. “I didn’t realize, until you did that, how much I had felt its absence. I’m so sorry, I’m sure you expected more than this…”
“Shh, baby, shh,” Azmodeus says, stroking the angel’s hair carefully. “I got nothing but time. You’re all right.”
“May I,” the angel says cautiously. He lifts his hands from his lap, slowly, as if he fears they’ll be slapped away. “If I could touch you a little, I think it might help.”
“Anywhere you like,” Azmodeus says cheerfully. He isn’t quite expecting the tentative trace of fingertips along the neck of his shirt, then following the shapes of the eyes tattooed above his collarbones, and he shivers. “Oh, yeah, that’s good.” He pushes forward a little, rubbing his face along the side of Aziraphale’s like the great cat he is, nuzzling at the corner of his jaw, and Aziraphale gasps.
“It’s soft!” he says, wondering, and touches Azmodeus’s beard, stroking through it and back into the fall of his hair. “I didn’t expect it to be so soft.” He keeps petting, scratching behind Azmodeus’s ear, and the demon purrs loudly. “Oh! I think I may have guessed your demonic aspect, then.”
“Mm-hmm,” Azmodeus purrs. He could honestly settle in for an hour or so of the good scritches, the angel’s hands are so soft, but this isn’t about him. He pulls back a little and grins. “How about those kissing lessons?”
“Wretch,” Aziraphale says, but there’s none of that sad defensiveness this time. “If you must.”
“Oh no, you’re not pulling that shit with me. I get enough of that from D — from my angel.” Azmodeus brushes their noses together, just a little, but when Aziraphale leans in he pulls back. “If I ask you a question, I want a straight answer. You dance around it, you don’t get what you want. Got it?”
Aziraphale looks away. “I’m not… I don’t usually get what I ask for.”
“I can imagine,” Azmodeus says, and he can: it looks a little different when Hell does it, but Heaven knows how to twist desire into vulnerability, to punish unwise confessions of need. “That’s not how it works with me, sweetheart. It’s a yes or it’s nothing.”
Aziraphale’s been trembling even harder as he speaks, and for a moment Azmodeus is certain it’s too much — not that he’s even crossed a line, just that the prospect of actually being satisfied after all this time must be terrifying. And then the angel says, in a rush, “Kiss me, please.”
Azmodeus smiles, and with smiling lips kisses the angel, soft and slow. They trade pressures for a long minute or two, just their mouths sliding against each other, and then Azmodeus breathes out softly and touches his tongue to the tender inner part of Aziraphale’s lower lip. The angel stifles a sob and digs both hands into his hair, not pulling but clutching in sudden desperation, and Azmodeus pushes his tongue into that willing mouth. Aziraphale sucks on it with little moans that light him up all the way down his spine, quivering against him, and Azmodeus pulls back a little. “Shh, shh,” he whispers in the angel’s ear, and licks at his neck with a soft rough tongue. “Relax for me, sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m, oh — frightfully s-sorry,” Aziraphale stammers, “oh, yes, just there, please — I’m really not holding it together, am I?”
“That’s fine, baby, I know where you’re at,” Azmodeus says. “I just don’t want you jumping too far ahead, okay?” He nuzzles Aziraphale’s throat and sucks, very lightly, at the spot on his neck just up from the shoulder that always drives him crazy. He’s found that same sensitive spot on every single alternate version of himself, and Aziraphale has it too, if his astonished little cry is any sign.
“It’s… it’s so overwhelming,” Aziraphale complains when the demon looks up to check on him. “I hardly know what I want, and if you need me to say, I haven’t the words…”
“Come on, now,” Azmodeus teases, “you’re an angel of the world, you know the options.”
“Of course I do. I do read,” Aziraphale sniffs. “But it doesn’t follow that I know what I would like.”
“Which is why I told you. I’m not gonna make you ask, but you do have to answer.” Azmodeus tugs at the collar of Aziraphale’s shirt. “Like so. Do you want this off? Do you want to feel my hands on your skin?”
“Oh… oh goodness.” Aziraphale licks his lips. “I… yes. Yes, I want that.”
“Good boy,” Azmodeus says, and oh, isn’t that an interesting reaction, the angel going rose-red and positively squirming against him. “Come sit on my lap, sweetheart, let me get your buttons for you.”
“If you don’t want me to get overwhelmed,” Aziraphale says, trying to sound disapproving but swinging his legs over Azmodeus’s all the same, “perhaps you ought to stop that.”
“Do you want me to stop, or do you just feel like you should?” Azmodeus says, making short work of the angel’s upper garments. He looks amazing, satin-white with the most delicate, innocent pink flush, and Azmodeus bites his lip at the sight of his hard broad hands, dark with tattoo ink and ground-in grime, spreading out over that tender flawless skin.
“I like it,” Aziraphale says softly. “I’m just not certain it’s right.”
“What, it’s fine if you get your rocks off, but not to feel good about it?” Azmodeus shakes his head. “They got you fucked up.”
“Oh, it’s not just that, it’s the whole… you’re being so nice to me,” Aziraphale says, and then he looks stricken. “I’m so sorry, that was terribly rude of me, I shouldn’t have —”
“Hey, calm down,” Azmodeus says, honestly confused. “What do you mean, rude?”
“I just…” Aziraphale wrings his hands. “I really do know better than to call a demon nice, I know you hate that, I can’t believe I forgot —”
“Wait, we do?” Azmodeus snorts. “You damn well better think I’m nice! I am being exceptionally nice. That’s kind of the point here.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale says, looking lost. “But my… my counterpart always gets so upset…”
“Yeah, that sounds like a him problem.” Azmodeus nuzzles his temple. “I, on the other hand, am always up to be appreciated.”
“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale says, shaking his head. “I think we may be a matched set.”
“No sad thoughts,” Azmodeus says firmly. “Come back to me.”
Aziraphale kisses him this time, awkward but determined, his hands moving cautiously over Azmodeus’s belly and ribs as if trying to make out his shape in the dark. His hesitant sweetness is doing all kinds of things to Azmodeus, who feels oddly delicate himself under such a light touch, like he’s being cherished too. Then Aziraphale’s fingers run across his nipple piercings, and they both jump a little. “Goodness,” Aziraphale whispers. “How does one… er, how do I…”
“Gently,” Azmodeus says, though it’s not like Doeley hasn’t taught him to enjoy the alternative. “Just kind of… move them up and down — nnnh, yeah, like that.” He presses his face against Aziraphale’s chest and lets the angel explore, tugging lightly at the piercings through his shirt.
“May I…” Aziraphale says, touching the hem of his shirt, and Azmodeus should make him ask the whole question but instead he just pulls his shirt off, wanting to see those finely pampered hands on his body. They’re so, so soft, clean and warm, sliding up his belly and pressing flat over his chest, before Aziraphale starts sliding the barbell in his right nipple to and fro, a little tugging sensation that goes straight to his cock.
Aziraphale looks up at him, questioning. “Yeah, that’s good,” Azmodeus says, hushed, “that’s real good,” and Aziraphale taps at the ring through his other nipple, each tap jiggling it up and down, just a little. Then Aziraphale pinches both nipples lightly between finger and thumb and squeezes, to feel the metal inside them, and Azmodeus gasps with the sudden shock of pleasure. He growls and rubs his face against Aziraphale’s chest, breathing deep the scent of old books and outdated cologne, then licks over his left nipple with a flattened tongue, its rough surface dragging over the puffy, petal-soft areola and making him cry aloud. But before Azmodeus can stop to ask if it was too much, Aziraphale’s saying “yes, oh yes, that, yes,” he’s learning so fast, and the demon only has to pause to say “oh, you’re such a good boy” before licking him again.
Aziraphale grabs his hair, again not using it to direct him at all but just grounding himself with it, and Azmodeus moves at his own pleasure, licking slow and greedy over the soft sensitive undersides of Aziraphale’s little breasts, flicking a curled tongue tip at his nipples and then drawing one into his mouth to suck in long, hard pulls, his hands kneading the angel’s soft belly and hips. Aziraphale groans deep in his throat and drops his head forward, presses his panting mouth to the crown of the demon’s head and hangs on.
“Azmodeus,” he says finally, breathless. “Kiss me again, please, I want…”
Azmodeus kisses him, not the deep possessive thrust he knows the angel wants but a tease, because more than kissing even that sweet hot mouth he wants to know how that sentence ends. “You want what?” he purrs against Aziraphale’s lips, breathless himself. “Shall I guess?”
“Please,” Aziraphale says, and it’s almost a whimper.
Azmodeus takes a deep breath — fuck, that was sexy, but now is not the time to get ahead of himself — and puts his hand on Aziraphale’s thigh, high up, spreading out the fingers to show off how big it is. He gives one slow, firm squeeze. “What would I find,” he asks, “if I opened up your trousers?”
“A… a penis,” Aziraphale whispers, ears going bright red.
“Good boy,” Azmodeus says, biting his lower lip sharply — laughing now would be unkind, but it’s still possibly the least erotic word in history. “Can I touch it? Is that what you want?”
“God, please,” Aziraphale whines, and the blasphemy has Azmodeus growling deep in his chest, pulling the angel’s mouth to his and fucking deep into it with his tongue, hard but still slow, slow and thorough. He palms Aziraphale’s erection and finds it hot and straining in his hand, probably been like this since they started, poor thing.
“Good boy,” Azmodeus hisses in his ear, and flicks open the button fly with professional ease, working by touch to open Aziraphale’s pants and take his cock in hand. “That’s my good boy. Let me give you something nice, sweetheart, I know just what you need…”
“Fuck,” Aziraphale says, with all the fervor of prayer, as Azmodeus miracles a handful of lube and starts massaging it over Aziraphale’s hot, hard cock, not so much stroking as kneading, with slick fingertips tracing slow, firm circles along the shaft. He wants the angel to feel every touch, every slide, but he’s not going to let him come just yet. “Oh, oh goodness, that’s, oh.”
“You like that?” Azmodeus asks. “Come on, use your words.”
“Of course I like it,” Aziraphale gasps, absolutely his usual self for a moment, “stop fishing for compliments.”
Azmodeus laughs, loud and deep. “You’re such a bitch, I need you to meet Doeley,” he says, and he doesn’t mind giving up the name, there’s no way this beautiful darling would ever do them harm. “You two would be a fucking trip.”
“I am not a — oh,” Aziraphale says, as Azmodeus rubs two fingers over the head of his cock, pressing into the slit a little. “Oh, oh, you tease, oh…”
“You can take it, can’t you?” Azmodeus says. “I like a little teasing, I thought you might too. And right here?” He strokes, with the lightest possible touch, the sensitive spot just where the foreskin pulls back, and Aziraphale bites back a wail. “Oh, that’s beautiful, that’s very good.”
“No more,” Aziraphale says, “please, not now, it’s too much,” and Azmodeus wraps his hand around Aziraphale’s prick and starts pulling him off with long, slow strokes, his grip gentle but steady.
“That’s right,” he croons, deep and rumbling, “you tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you. You deserve it. You’ve been a very, very good boy and you deserve it.”
Aziraphale’s moaning helplessly now, little shocked oh oh oh sounds falling from him, and Azmodeus speeds up. “Do you need to come?”
“Yes, please, yes, please…”
“Please what? Tell me.”
“Please, I… please make me come,” Aziraphale cries out suddenly, “please make me come, please please please —”
“Oh, God,” Azmodeus growls, feeling the angel’s hard cock tensing in his grip, hearing the obscene slick sounds of his pumping fist. “God, you beg so pretty for me, baby, I’m gonna make you come, I’m gonna make you —”
Aziraphale wails and digs his fingernails into Azmodeus’s back, shuddering as he comes in long shivery pulses up onto his belly and chest, his hips bucking up hard. Azmodeus strokes his hair, pulls him close as he shivers through the aftershocks. “Good boy,” he murmurs, “oh, you sweet boy, you did so well.”
“I rather think you did all the work,” Aziraphale says, muffled into his shoulder.
“No, that’s what I call the fun part,” Azmodeus says. He sneaks two fingers down and swipes them up Aziraphale’s belly, getting himself a taste of come. Aziraphale swallows hard and watches with wide eyes as he sucks his fingers, so he makes a little show of it, pushing them in deep and drawing them out with a pop. “The rewards are outstanding.”
“I hope you don’t expect to clean me up that way, it seems dreadfully inefficient.” Aziraphale looks around for something to use. “Though I confess I’m reluctant to use a miracle. Gabriel checks up on my logs at the most inconvenient times.”
Azmodeus imagines Heaven calling Doeley to account for the sorts of raunchy miracles he uses on a weekly basis, and snorts. “I gotta say, this is one of the pettier versions of Heaven I’ve encountered,” he says. “I can see why you’re used to keeping secrets, though.”
“Yes, well,” Aziraphale says, a little testily, “you needn’t bring it up.” He shifts on Azmodeus’s lap, and the demon stifles a groan as that pretty little arse presses hard for a moment against his erection. “Oh! How on earth did I not notice that before, my goodness.”
“You were preoccupied,” Azmodeus says. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But you must let me — that is,” Aziraphale says, squaring his shoulders and trying to look brave, “I… don’t have any experience, of course, but I’ll do my best to, ah, reciprocate.”
Azmodeus does not like that nervous hitch in the angel’s voice at all. “You don’t owe me anything,” he says immediately. “That’s not what this is about.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t — it would be unforgivably rude to just… take my pleasure of you, and then leave you to your own devices.”
“I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself,” Azmodeus reassures him. “It really isn’t a big deal, I promise you.”
“I’m sure you can,” Aziraphale says, “and I know I shouldn’t push, but...” His face softens, goes all wistful and pleading, and Azmodeus is struck with fondness. “Please, don’t think you have to deny yourself on my account. I admit, I am a little anxious about, you know, possibly doing something wrong, or… I don’t know, but I would hate to think that you went without, just because you thought I didn’t want to reciprocate.”
“You are unbearably sweet,” Azmodeus says. “I don’t know how your demon hasn’t eaten you alive by now.”
“Of the two of us, he’s much the sweeter,” Aziraphale says. “Though if you ever tell him I said that I shall deny it categorically.”
“Course,” says Azmodeus comfortably, petting his hair. “Anything you had in mind?”
“Well.” Aziraphale presses his lips together in a thin line. “I’m afraid I’m not quite ready for anything… penetrative. I apologise.”
Azmodeus rolls his eyes. “Didn’t I just get done demonstrating you don’t need penetration to have a good time?” he says, mocking Aziraphale’s tone just a teensy weensy bit, because he’s not made of stone. “In fact, having you here like this —” he squeezes Aziraphale close on his lap — “gives me an idea. Remember ancient Greece?”
“I do not wish to oil wrestle,” Aziraphale says flatly.
“Of course I don’t mean — wait,” Azmodeus says, because there’s a naughty little twinkle in the angel’s eye. “Was that a joke?”
“Well, I certainly do mean it,” Aziraphale says, “look at you, you’d have me pinned in no time.” He smiles and stands, pushing his trousers and pants down. “But no, I didn’t think you meant wrestling, though I believe oil will be involved.”
“Holy shit,” says Azmodeus, because he definitely wanted a crack at those thighs before, but seeing them unclothed is a blow to the gut. Aziraphale’s broad hips and thick thighs, his soft hanging belly and small, heavy breasts drooping softly to the sides, make him look like an ancient fertility idol. His cock stands up hard against his belly, where a gentle furrow from navel to groin separates it into two soft halves like a peach. Azmodeus is sorely tempted to fall on his knees in worship, for any number of reasons — the sheer glorious blasphemy of it, the fond memory of one of humanity’s oldest images of beauty and desire, and also the chance to get that stout prick as far down his throat as it’ll go — this is the problem with Lust, it’s damn difficult to stay focused when everyone’s so fucking gorgeous all the time. He undoes his belt and shoves his jeans down his legs, kicking them off impatiently. “Christ on a crutch, you’re a sight, look at you.”
“I might say the same for you, my dear,” says Aziraphale, looking down at him with a fucking ceiling light behind his head like a halo, because of course. “Good heavens. I’ve never seen those in person before, though of course I’ve heard — may I touch?”
“Yes, do that, absolutely,” Azmodeus says, and Aziraphale chuckles, unbelievable, as he extends tentative fingers toward the piercings on Azmodeus’s cock.
“Like the other piercings, then? Gentle shifts?” he asks.
“Yeah, I mean, they can take a good deeeeeaaal,” Azmodeus says, because Aziraphale is gently rotating the ring in his cockhead, pulling it back and forth through his slit, and it’s almost too intense to feel good. Almost. “Ugh, your hands feel so good, it’s criminal.”
“Surely you mean sinful,” Aziraphale says, his other hand counting the barbells on the underside of his shaft with delicate touches, and Azmodeus should never have put the idea of teasing into the angel’s head, because he’s going to do terrible things with it.
“Get up here,” Azmodeus says, and holds out his arms. Aziraphale goes happily to sit on his lap again, but Azmodeus gently moves him aside and has him kneel on the sofa, leaning up against the back. He pushes Aziraphale’s knees together and runs his hands up the backs of his legs, indulging in a double handful of that glorious arse, then up his back to his shoulders and down again. Aziraphale shivers at first, but as Azmodeus repeats the stroke he relaxes into it, pushing his hips back and letting his head rest on his folded arms.
“Ready?” Azmodeus asks, when the angel’s gone warm and pliant under his hands. He runs his fingertip down Aziraphale’s crack and then between his legs. “I’m going to take you right here,” he says. “Right between these gorgeous thighs. How’s that grab you?”
“It sounds wonderful,” sighs Aziraphale, and Azmodeus laughs silently to himself: the angel sounds like he’s talking to a waiter. He grabs himself some more lube and pushes one hand between Aziraphale’s thighs, and fuck, they’re so powerful — the muscles are so hard, and the fat’s so thick, that for a moment he wonders if he’s going to get his hand back. Oh, he’s going to fucking lose his mind if he doesn’t feel that on his cock.
“Fuck, you’re so good,” he says, and presses the pierced head of his cock against that delicious crevice. “I gotta fuck you, you’re so gorgeous.”
“Go on, then,” Aziraphale says, smiling back at him over his shoulder — is that a fucking challenge? Azmodeus growls and thrusts deep in between Aziraphale’s thighs, and oh fuck, having his hand in there didn’t even begin to prepare him for the incredible hot pressure, the plush swell of fat and the softest possible skin, the wet sucking drag as he pulls back out and thrusts in again, sheathing his cock. Aziraphale fucking bats his eyes at him and he’s made a huge mistake, teaching this gorgeous creature the power of his body, no demon is safe, he should probably apologize to demonic Doeley —
“Ohh,” Aziraphale moans, and rocks back against him so the head of Azmodeus’s cock pushes up under his balls with every thrust. “Oh, that’s lovely, I say, those Greek chaps really were onto something.”
“Gnnk,” Azmodeus says, because at some point there really aren’t words, and fucks forward harder, one hand on Aziraphale’s hip and the other squeezing his beautiful stomach. He pushes his face between the angel’s shoulder blades, where he has soft white hair like down, or maybe it is down, he’s not sure — either way he just wants to rub his face in it. He shuts his eyes and sets a slow, powerful rhythm, thrusting as far as he can go and then pulling all the way back out, letting his cock slip free so he can have the exquisite pleasure of parting Aziraphale’s thighs again, the way each slide inward tugs and tweaks at his piercings just so, the way the pressure mounts up and up as he sinks deep.
Aziraphale braces himself with one hand now and takes his cock in the other, breathing raggedly as he jerks himself. “Oh yeah, that’s good,” Azmodeus purrs, delighted. “Show me how you like it.” He wraps his hand around Aziraphale’s, matching his pace, thrusting faster in time with their joined pulls, feeling the fire building in his belly. “Show me how you make yourself come, baby, you’re so good, you’re gonna make me come too —”
“On me,” the angel gasps, and again, urgently: “on me,” and it’s such a marvelously filthy surprise that it pushes Azmodeus over the edge and he does, spurting sticky heat on Aziraphale’s thighs and bollocks, his final short, spasming thrusts making a filthy squelching noise in the mixed lube and come dripping between his legs. Aziraphale makes a noise like he’s been hit in the stomach and then he’s coming over their hands, panting and shuddering, struggling to stay upright. Azmodeus wraps his free arm around him and holds him up, though his own knees aren’t so strong right now either.
“Holy shit,” Azmodeus manages after a moment. He sort of tips himself over to the side and somehow gets most of himself on the couch, pulling Aziraphale over to rest against him, back to front. “That was amazing.”
“Really?” Aziraphale says, and he does this delighted little wiggle that makes Azmodeus want to bite him. “I’m so glad I wasn’t… well, I’m sure you must have tried all sorts of different things with different people and I’m just —”
“Well, shit, if you’re going to start comparing yourself to every single person the Prince of Lust has ever fucked,” Azmodeus says, and Aziraphale laughs. “You can’t do that to yourself, sweetheart, you’ll drive yourself nuts. I told you, there isn’t like… a prize for Best At Sex, okay? What matters is what you do to connect with another person. Or people,” he adds, smiling to himself.
“I suppose you’re right,” Aziraphale says. And then, very softly, “I hope someday Crowley and I can find out.”
Crowley, Doeley, it figures. The multiverse is dumb. “You’ll get your chance,” Azmodeus says. “I can’t imagine he’s going to let you off the hook forever.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale says reprovingly, and nudges him with an elbow. They rest together for a bit, in a comfortable, warm sort of silence. Then Aziraphale shifts a little and makes a displeased noise.
“Whoops,” Azmodeus says, and snaps his fingers to clean them both up.
“Oh, thank you,” Aziraphale says, sitting up and giving him a wonderful bright smile. “You really have been most remarkably kind, you know.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t be?” Azmodeus teases. “That I’d do all sorts of dreadful demonic things to the poor little angel?”
“Not really,” Aziraphale says, though there’s a flush on his cheeks that says the idea’s not without interest. “I just… you didn’t have to be so generous with me, but you were.”
“Eh,” Azmodeus says, because even he has trouble being praised for his virtues sometimes. “Then you wouldn’t have liked it as much and I wouldn’t have gotten as much out of it either, so really I was being selfish.”
Aziraphale laughs and shakes his head. “Demons,” he says fondly.