Chapter Text
Aziraphale claws at his thighs, leaving marks on his skin. He’s used to not touching, not that there is much to touch to begin with, but today the urge is particularly strong. Briefly, he glances down between his legs, his balls are an impatient shade of red, contrasting the gleam of the steel cage encasing his cock. He’s already leaking through the holes of the cap, making his desperation all the more pathetic.
“Hmmm enjoy what you see?” Crowley manages, catching a glimpse over his shoulder.
“Very,” Aziraphale breathes, nodding eagerly. “I love it.”
Of course he loves seeing Crowley naked, his slender body bent over the leather-padded bench, his back in a deep arch with his perky arse in the air. Of course loves seeing sweat glistening on Crowley’s fair skin and how his hair sticks to his forehead now. Of course he loves seeing Crowley take the fat cock of his Bull right in front of his face.
“Fuck yes…. harder,” Crowley growls, his voice hitching on the words. “Harder.”
On their own accord, Aziraphale’s hips tick forward and he can barely bite back a groan of frustration.
Muriel had mounted Crowley for the third time this evening, their stamina as impressive as their cock. For the first round, they hadn’t even bothered to strip out of their uniform, their skirt bunched up around their hips, plowing into Crowley until both had finished with a scream. The second round had been slower, drawn out, their thick shaft sliding in and out of Crowley’s drenched cunt with such ease that it had made Aziraphale almost dizzy with desire. Not the desire to be in Muriel’s place, that was impossible, but to be in Crowley’s. To feel what he felt, to be stretched and filled like he was. To come like he did.
And now, for the third round, Muriel is only clad in their knee-high socks and shoes, leaning over Crowley as they fuck him. Letting him feel every inch of their length, every centimetre of their girth. Hard. Fast. Deep.
Crowley yelps with every thrust, with every time Muriel’s balls slap against his clit, driving him towards yet another orgasm.
Aziraphale knows the heft of them, knows how they feel in his hands, and he itches to reach out and touch them, but he knows he’s not allowed. He can only watch, watch and wait until they are finished.
“Getting close, Sir,” Muriel pants, their voice strained with exertion. “I need to…”
“Don’t stop.” Crowley presses through his teeth. He snakes a hand between his tights to help himself along. “Fill me up.”
It doesn’t take long for Muriel’s rhythm to falter and they hunch over Crowley, their balls drawing tight as they empty themselves. The quiver of Crowley’s thighs gives away that he comes as well, almost secretly, milking more from Muriel.
At last, they both stop moving and their heavy breathing is the only sound.
“Good Bull.” Crowley is the first to speak and it’s barely more than a whisper. “Good Bull. Pull out now.”
Both groan in unison as Muriel slowly eases their cock from Crowley’s used cunt. Aziraphale is eager to hand them a towel.
“Stuff me, pup,” Crowley orders, pressing his knees together. “Quick.”
“Yes, Daddy.” On his knees, Aziraphale shuffles forward, pressing the blunt tip of a thick plug against Crowley’s opening. “What a mess they made of you.”
“Mmm, they better,” Crowley mewls when the toy slides into him. “They’re the perfect breeding Bull.” He winks at Muriel who blushes adorably.
“They are.” Aziraphale runs a hand over Crowley’s flank. “Thank you for letting me watch.”
“Well, you’ve been a good pup this week. You deserved to see me getting fucked by a real cock.”
“Thank you, Daddy.” Aziraphale smiles brightly, basking in the praise. “Do you need anything else?”
“Just some orange juice and a blanket, babe.” Crowley shifts, letting his head loll forward. “And for this seed to finally take. My back is killing me.”