Chapter Text
They had settled into a rhythm. Crowley liked that. Well, she didn't like it, but it was easier than the alternative.
Every panting breath Aziraphale released was pronounced. Beads of sweat which looked suspiciously like tears tumbled down his flushed cheeks. He was fucking Crowley with the best dick he'd ever manifested; her splayed out on the nearest table they had come upon moments earlier, him in a standing position, rutting into her with the grunts and groans of a furious wounded animal.
Crowley appeared positively relaxed as she leaned back on her hands, head tilted upwards slightly, the cascading crimson waves of her hair falling over her tits, with her legs enveloping his hips so he could fuck her deeper. Not only did she have a delectable view of Aziraphale unravelling before her, but from this position, she was also able to maintain the distance required to keep her from grabbing at him, or kissing him, or worse - crying her fucking eyes out.
In other words, she had everything under control.
That is, until Aziraphale, without leaning forward, wrapped one hand around her neck.
Wordlessly, he continued to thrust into her without breaking eye contact. She stifled a whimper as the pad of his thumb pressed into her skin with disarming gentleness. Sporting a pair of pupils as dilated as Aziraphale had ever seen them, Crowley clasped Aziraphale's occupied wrist with both hands and clung on for dear life. Though uttering a moan would be conceding to him too much, she knew that with the minimal effort of keening a couple of times through deep breaths, she could drive him dangerously close to insanity.
So, that was what she did, glaring back into Aziraphale's eyes with an intensity that she would certainly regret if she was able to perceive the look that adorned her own face. Aziraphale's countenance betrayed nothing, but for a split second, Crowley felt his thumb move markedly downwards, as if he was determining whether or not to caress her with it.
Then, Aziraphale let go.
"Bad girl."
As his arm fell to his side, so did both of Crowley's hands. Her heart did that thing where it's sort of like - what was that cruise ship called that went down about a century ago? Well, yeah, it did a thing rather like that.
"Fuck you," Crowley spat back, with such bile that a flash of guilt immediately assaulted her gut.
"Very bad girl," Aziraphale retaliated without so much as a moment's pause while he continued fucking her. "What happens to bad girls, my-" he broke off and cleared his throat. His voice rang out an octave lower the second time he attempted to speak the same sentence. "What happens to bad girls?"
"B-bad girls don't come." The stammer that accompanied Crowley's speech was borne more out of confusion than anything else. She still failed to understand why Aziraphale insisted on establishing that each time they fucked - after all, he never kept his word. She came more than he did, every time, but her orgasms were not administered with the patience or the tenderness required for her to really lose herself in them. Instead, they wounded and incensed her (but not as much as they drove her wild with passion, and the desire for a warmer, more rewarding form of intimacy with him; no, never as much as that).
"That's right," Aziraphale growled. "Touch me like that again and..."
Crowley raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently for the end of Aziraphale's statement. She rolled her hips and felt Aziraphale's dick hit just the right spot as she did so, serving as a reminder that two could play this game.
"... You are impossible."
Despite knowing better, Crowley wanted so badly for him to be right. She grinned a grin which didn't quite reach her eyes while Aziraphale's nails sunk into her thighs just hard enough that, if she were human, they would've drawn blood.