Chapter Text
But it is one thing to read about dragons and another to meet them.
Ursula K. LeGuin, A Wizard of Earthsea
He's made it. Fuck in heaven, he's made it.
The abandoned dragon eyrie sits far higher than Crowley had expected, after traversing turns and curves that could disorient anyone. When he reaches the top of the cliff, his hands are scraped raw, clothes dishevelled, body pulsing from the strain of climbing up the mountain side.
Not that he had much of a choice.
Trying to throw people off his trail, Crowley had discarded the bloodied cloak and his ragged boots down the side of the cliff. They offered little protection against the bite of the chill out here anyway, as torn as they were.
He hurries through the entrance, heart racing with the stress of his escape, and the pressing heaviness of his oncoming heat, already settled deep along his spine. Between his legs. Tight under his skin.
But even if he's destined to freeze to death up here, he deems it preferable to being finally gifted to Lucifer.
Stupid arsehole who'd won Crowley in a tournament, as if he were a breeding mare to be assigned as a prize. He’d had to hand it to his father too, for scheduling the whole thing perfectly so Crowley's already toeing into his heat, just hours away from becoming a pliant heap of flesh ready for any alpha.
Even Lucifer.
Mating with the Butcher of the Plain Fields is the last thing Crowley wants to do.
His heart speeds up to a painful thrum.
Crowley refuses to be caught. Either he’ll die here, or he’ll escape out of Gehenna to become a commoner elsewhere. Either option would be preferable to being stuck on Lucifer’s knot for the rest of his fucking life, producing heirs he’d likely never even get to raise, serving a king crowned only because Crowley's own status as omega deems him unfit.
Funny how, in all this ordeal, his only help had come from a strange alpha who'd caught him trying to break out. A kind, handsome commoner who'd pulled everyone else's attention to the other side of the camp after bunching a cloak and a dagger into Crowley's slack hold. His advice had come in four words: Go to Pale Harbors.
Crowley had decided, instead, to take his chances with the now-hidden pass that sits in between the old eyries, leading through the mountains and out of Gehenna. He knows the harbours would be the first place they’d look, and there’s no knowing if there would be a ship available so soon.
He stumbles into the cave on unsteady feet, rubbing his bloodied hands along his cold arms. He's exhausted. The interior is dim, but not as ragged or unkempt as Crowley had expected. Maybe he can rest a bit here, then try to find the pass. It's a bit jarring, though, to finally step into one of the long-abandoned dragon eyries that the people of Gehenna look up to as holy places.
Thousands of years ago, dragons had kept Gehenna safe from the threat of the murderous empires down south, before their kind had disappeared entirely for unknown reasons. Legend said one of Crowley's alpha ancestors had wedded a dragon at the dawn of the kingdom. It was said that Crowley's line was blessed by dragon's blood. He isn't sure about that, though he suspects there must be some truth in it, judging by his own slitted eyes, the patches of scales along his hip bones and thighs, his own genitalia that he knows isn't human.
Crowley might not have bedded anyone, but Gehenna's library has enough books on the matter for Crowley to realise he’s not like everyone else.
The inside of the cave is covered in soft wool and straw that tickles his bare soles. There's a dim gloss of light coming from high slits in the stone above. It makes the wind whistle when it runs through, though the lair is significantly warmer than the outside. Crowley shivers in a ripple of skin that tingles at the sudden shift in temperature.
There's a sharp, musky scent that wafts into Crowley's nose as he turns around, taking in the high-ceiled cave in all its glory. A delicious smell - pine trees, mint, the warm embers from the core of a hearth - that turns Crowley's belly to liquid.
He's barely managed a few steps when his eyes dip down to a haphazardly carved fireplace the size of a furnace. There are some dry logs stacked to one side, a smear of ash on the walls, and an arrangement of furs in a neat stack nearby.
They don't seem to have been used and, even though the cave goes deeper, Crowley doesn't have it in him to explore further.
He's tired, absolutely weathered down. He hasn't slept since this past midnight, preparing his escape. His body smoulders with the heat, and he quickly discards his rich but ragged shirt, tucking the dagger beneath him, to lay down on the pile of pelts, letting his nose brush over the tickle of fur that holds more of the scent that has Crowley almost whining. His tousled long hair sticks to his cheeks, to the angled bend of his neck, when he tries to find a better sprawl. He could nose into that sweet smell for hours.
The improvised mattress feels wonderful beneath him, the furs holding a comfortable warmth. With a tired, shaky hand, Crowley tugs one over his sore legs before he feels himself going loose from exhaustion. If he could rest, just for a bit…
Crowley's eyes slip closed.
Crowley doesn't know how long he spends sleeping, but when he wakes up, dizzy, needy, and sweat-damp, the room is toasty, glowing orange from a fire set in the makeshift fireplace.
Fire .
Shit, he isn't alone.
He tilts his head searching for someone, only to be met by the hulking bulk of a white dragon sitting by the entrance, blocking it entirely. Its face has deep blue eyes and rows of teeth as sharp as blades, attention all on Crowley.
Crowley's sure he screams.
"Holy fuck!" He scrambles back, trying to slip out from under the weight of the furs, ignoring the stinging of his hands and soles. He has nowhere to go, though, and his back collides with the rough surface behind him.
Gods, he's gonna be eaten alive. Dragons were supposed to be gone. No one had seen one in hundreds of years.
Crowley swallows.
Just a blink, that's all the dragon needs. As large and heavy as they were, there were tales of how fast they could move, how their gills would swell in a rush of air, and then…
Crowley's naked chest heaves as he cowers in fear, pulling his legs up and realising, just now, how the haphazard array of hides has been tucked in gently to make Crowley more comfortable while he slept.
It… it doesn't add up.
He frowns, mouth dry.
"Oh, my goodness," the dragon says in a pleasant low rumble, not making a move to shuffle closer. It's hard to catch the shift of emotions in a face so different, but Crowley thinks the eyes droop in some sort of dejected mortification. "I'm sorry, I promise I mean you no harm. I found you sleeping in my lair and…" Its skin shimmers rosy across its pale snout, while its voice goes a little airy. "I only wanted you to know you were safe."
It doesn't move, doesn't shift forward. The creature is so massive it could've ripped Crowley apart while he slept with a single claw. If it had wanted Crowley dead or harmed, it wouldn't have stayed across the chamber doing nothing until now.
The thought does a lot to shake Crowley's fears loose.
"Ah." Crowley trembles, pumped full of adrenaline, but he tries to inhale, to steady his voice enough to talk. "Is- is this your home?"
"Yes. I'm afraid I left for a bit to go hunting. When I came back I saw you there, and-" The long tunnel of its throat quivers, nostrils flaring up as if picking up a scent in the air. "I assure you, I won't harm you."
He says it again, and Crowley notices the swell of that pine-tree, minty scent, now rounded out with something far more heavy, a whiff that makes Crowley's cloaca pulse wet.
Smoke and ashes.
Fuck, the dragon's an alpha.
The fear from before dissolves into the warmth of the furs. The dragon, the alpha , has still made no move toward him, sitting in the entry as far from Crowley as he can.
"Thanks, er… thanks." Crowley's hands unclench from the folds of pelts. "I'm Crowley, by the way." With the next breath he takes, Crowley's lips part, subconsciously seeking to taste the scent at its source. He wants to nose around the scales of that long neck, tongue at it.
What's wrong with him?
"Pleased to meet you, Crowley." The dragon stares at him, unmoving, as if it could see past Crowley's skin and bones. "You may call me Aziraphale."
It's impossible for the dragon not to have noticed that Crowley's an omega in heat. The cave must have been suffused with the smell of ripe omega the moment Aziraphale entered.
"I'm sorry to intrude." Crowley watches the slice of dark sky through the slits. Night already. "I'll be on my way soon, I promise."
There's a grumbling shake of sound. "Do not be absurd. You're in no state to travel and it's no hardship for me to let you rest as long as you require it. You may stay here until you have your strength back." The dragon dips eyes down, then back at Crowley, a bit uncertain, "Are you hungry? You must be, it seems you've come quite some way with no supplies."
Its voice is a quick pull of air that stumbles slightly. As if Aziraphale were trying to fill the space with trite words. It shuffles across the floor, toward the hearth, belly low to the ground. The movement strikes Crowley as slightly unnatural until he notices what Aziraphale is trying to conceal.
Two massive cocks, longer and thicker than any Crowley has seen, butting up into his underside. Hard and wet.
Crowley's insides twist with want, so sharp it's piercing. He can't help it. He feels the soft curve of his inner thighs quiver and grow damper. In his heat-daze he forgets how small his cloaca is, the terrible experiences of his own clumsy fingers, his mind narrowing down to a singular need: to be filled with cock, stretched open, knotted and locked and bred.
Crowley makes a noise that Aziraphale thankfully interprets as assent.
Aziraphale turns back from the hearth with shanks of juicy, grilled meat held in one large forepaw.
The click of claws on the ground makes Crowley shiver.
"Here," Aziraphale says, calm as before, though his voice wavers a little, "I found a delicious little deer while I was out. I can bring some to you, if it's alright for me to approach."
"You can." Crowley swallows, resists licking his lips. It's not venison he's hungry for. He unfurls and sits properly, legs stretched out. He doesn't miss the sweep of blue eyes over him, there and gone again, and he preens, his heart exploding.
An alpha who wants him, whom Crowley wants too. Who, despite how brutal his species is known to be, seems far more gentle than any human Crowley has known.
For the first time, he starts to believe those old wives’ tales about the luck of his eyes. How no harm could happen upon him. He remembers the handful of terrible accidents he's had while growing up, all overcome without problem. The time he'd fallen from a royal ship, almost drowning, only to end up waking up washed out of the sea into a warm cave, beyond the reach of the tides. Or the time he'd gotten lost in the ominous Grand Forest, fallen asleep from exhaustion, only to wake up outside the tree line near the main path.
Maybe Crowley really is lucky.
Mint and smoke cloud his mind as Aziraphale crosses the room to him. Crowley barely takes note of the claws, the teeth, the vicious strength in them. Instead, he sees how pretty the long, serpentine face is, with bright blue eyes slitted like his own, and gleaming horns that rise above his ears.
Lost in the woozy delight of alpha, Crowley is more lust than reason. And he fights back the need to splay his legs open wide, to offer Aziraphale the long stretch of his body to be pinned down and filled, to state that he's there to be mounted, for Aziraphale to take his pleasure without regrets.
Crowley's exhale falls down hot across his mouth.
Fuck . It's too soon to do anything. He's still hanging by a thread of sensible decorum.
“Eat and rest,” Aziraphale rumbles with a click of a growl at the end. “It will do you good. There's some water in that pouch to your left if you want some.”
Crowley nods, resisting the urge to show off his neck, angle it freely. It's enough that Aziraphale can certainly smell the apples and cinnamon of him, how wet he is.
"Thanks." The first bite of meat tastes better than all the steaks in the kingdom. Salty and crunchy on his tongue. "Fuck, this is good."
A whisper of a smile flares in that bestial face, a bit stiff, as if Aziraphale wasn't used to smiling. "Glad to be of service."
"How come you're…" Crowley gasps under a pang of ache at the apex of his thighs, flexes his belly in a breath, but pushes through, "you're still here? I thought the dragons had all gone."
The flames crackle in the held breath of Aziraphale before he speaks, low and dry. "They have. I'm the last one of my kind on this side of the ocean."
"Why?"
"I thought…" They haven't known each other for long, but Crowley thinks he can recognise the uncertainty in Aziraphale's eyes, in the way he averts his gaze. "I thought someone should look after the people left behind. And that's what I've been doing."
The last three hundred years have seen the descent of Gehenna into ruin. They had always relied far too much on the protection of dragons, had grown comfortable and incompetent.
"Looking after," he says, feeling around a conclusion that pops evident, "and not meddling."
"No, I was… afraid. Of people relying only on me instead of on themselves, when I'm the only one left. I won't be around forever."
Crowley's chest seizes at the words. He tips eyes up to where Aziraphale is staring at the fire. That something so beautiful could be finite seems like an error of nature, an error of any divinity out there still doling out blessings. And thinking about it makes Crowley's heart sprint in rhythm.
He eats in silence, trying not to tremble too much. He's famished.
But by the time he's finished the meat, Crowley can't restrain the bursts of heat that wrack him all over. He's burning up. There are too many clothes on him, too much fabric, too many furs, and not enough presence.
"Ah. Sorry." His hands slip to the front button of his trousers, catching on the waistband and slipping down. "I can't- you must know-"
Crowley pops the button open, pushing the trousers down and off with disjointed tugs of weak legs.
Aziraphale rises on his legs. If he had brows, Crowley is sure they would be up there next to a hypothetical hairline. The round of his eyes blows open, jaw parting. "What are you doing?"
"Heat." Crowley's throat clicks, while his legs fall open, exposing the nest of red curls around the soft edges of his cloaca and his flushed hemiclits, a thrum of warmth that pulses down to his toes. "I know you can- can smell me. That you know I'm in heat."
His hand sweeps down to his groin. He leans back on the furs, stretched across them, while his hips shift back and forth on the makeshift mattress at how empty he feels. He's gone under. Fuck, fuck. He needs something inside him soon.
It gnashes and screams at him, that roaring desire that knocks everything else over.
"If you want… I'm here, if you want to take me," he says, feeling how sweat-sticky his skin is. He thumbs his cloaca open, drawing slightly aside, as much as he can, the thin scale that seals the vent. He's wet and hot down there, and he knows Aziraphale must have a perfect view of his jutting pink clits, of the plump sides of his hole, partially covered by shifting scales. "If you want to fuck me open on your cocks or- or if you want to warm them with my hole, I'm here, Aziraphale."
He shouldn't be offering himself like this, with the loose easiness of trembling thighs that he doesn't want to close. Worse, when he has never been able to even finger himself open entirely.
But it must be appealing to Aziraphale, because his slitted pupils widen to round dents before he growls, long and reverberating across the ground.
"You're going to catch a cold." Aziraphale presses him softly into the furs. Crowley whimpers at how right it feels, to have that weight holding him down so sweetly, and spreads his legs as wide as he can. The impossibly gentle claws draw the furs up over his body again, draping him in plush cover.
It’s a quiet, firm refusal, and Crowley whines louder in protest. "Aziraphale… you're an alpha. I can see you want me."
“Hush, you don’t know what you’re asking for. It's true, I'm an alpha, and I can't help… reacting to how lovely you smell, how lovely you look.” There’s muffled want underneath Aziraphale’s brassy words, held tightly back in the crush of his giant mouth when he breathes, before he speaks again. "But you need to rest. The fact you're in heat doesn't mean you should be taken by just anyone."
It's a snapping, grumbling statement that wraps around Crowley in a comfortable drape. No one has ever told him anything like that.
Beneath the furs, naked and slick, thinking about the last twenty-four hours, he shivers with dry laughter. "Tell that to- to Lucifer."
Aziraphale says nothing, but Crowley can smell the burnt forest of his scent in the updraft, sparks catching against the jagged edges of a bone-dry groan.
A warning, he thinks, but not for Crowley.
"Sleep," Aziraphale tells him again. "I'll watch over you. No one can touch you here."
It's his stupid dragon bloodline. Crowley's absolutely sure of it. He wakes shivering with cold, even under the bulk of furs Aziraphale threw over him, the juddery pulse of the heat thumping at his sex, deep in his belly. His teeth chatter, and he can't help the moan that pushes past his lips.
"Crowley?" Aziraphale flows towards him in a movement that's less walk and more stalk. As big as he is, there's still elegance in the flex of his hind legs and the twist of his neck.
"’M cold." Crowley bites his lip. No amount of furs will help him now. He's far above the line where the weather holds a temperature he can endure. Gaze coasting up Aziraphale's heavy form, Crowley's sure what he wants. "Need you. Please. Let me touch you. Bet you're warm as anything."
Aziraphale remains silent, so Crowley whines again. "We're in the arse end of the mountains. It's freezing. I'm freezing. Please, Aziraphale."
The coil of muscle that is Aziraphale relaxes, shifts, curls around Crowley. "Alright."
To settle an arrangement of limbs and bodies is less complicated than he’d imagined. Aziraphale coils on his side, while Crowley slots against his underbelly, over the furs, trying to ignore the stiff jut of Aziraphale's cocks lest he go mad with need.
Shit, Aziraphale's a furnace.
With his skin warming, the danger of the cold sinking away, Crowley dissolves back into sleep. It's easy as anything, snuggled up against Aziraphale's scaled belly and listening to the gentle drumbeat of his heart. Crowley's safe, truly safe, for the first time in ages.
The world smears in darkness.
He dreams of a bed, of his nest back in the palace. He dreams of coals nestled beneath the warm surface he's lying on, of warm, wet pressure in the shape of his sex, while a handsome man with kind eyes and sun-kissed curls steps closer with an outstretched hand. He's seen him before. Crowley goes to him, already naked, tipping over the grass, lying down in offering. The press of warm skin against his bare body sends Crowley soaring, high on relief that he's about to be taken at last, and by an alpha so lovely.
There's no fear, no pushback. His legs clutch at the man's plump waist, angling and shifting until there are the solid, hard lines of two cocks between them.
The sun beats bright.
Crowley nuzzles his face below the man's jaw, wanting to be soaked in the smoke and mint of him, needing to leave his own scent behind across that soft skin. His hips are moving, rubbing against the hardness of the man's flushed pricks, while Crowley shudders and writhes and makes nonsense noises. He can see those blue eyes staring down between the push of their bodies, to where Crowley's fluttering open, cloaca so wet it glistens in the sunlight. He's ready to be fucked and he grinds his hips up desperately, searching, yearning for the tipping push of burning stretch that keeps slipping away. Butting hard and missing, against the warm, swollen lips of his entrance, where the closed scale remains, barely rubbing the oversensitive angled stiffness of his fat clits.
Crowley's whining.
"Crowley."
The alpha's voice is as rich, as layered as his scent. Crowley moans in response, too gone to find the right words to ask to be filled up.
"Crowley, wake up."
Wake up?
Crowley blearily opens his eyes, reluctant to be snatched away from his lovely alpha's body, still rocking his hips against the thick warmth pressed close. Awareness pushes slowly though the sleep and heat-induced layers of hazy, flushed, wanting.
Gods, yes .
He's in the dragon's lair and he has both of Aziraphale's cocks trapped between his open thighs. The commoner that had helped him the day before fizzles out from his dreams when confronted with the reality of Aziraphale. When Crowley looks down he can see the massive size of those dicks reaching above his navel, trailing slick along the curve of his belly. Fuck, Crowley can see the ridged, pink texture of the shaft, the huge roundness of Aziraphale's testes, and he tries to touch them, to slip hands down to fondle them while his cloaca aches from the hot slide of flesh that isn't going inside the wet spread of him.
Aziraphale groans. "It's… it's not wise for you to do that, Crowley."
A giant paw curls around Crowley's waist, resting warm on his lower back. Crowley can feel the restrained power in its mass, the pin-prick of claws that won't press any deeper into his fragile skin. He whines, wanting Aziraphale to get it through his thick skull that he can use Crowley as he pleases. The thread of Aziraphale's arousal is still obvious in his scent, in the quite obvious hardness of his erections. The alpha wants him.
But Aziraphale merely stops Crowley's frantic humping.
“No,” Crowley hears himself whining. The paw slips from his back, and Crowley falls against the curve of Aziraphale's belly, legs angled apart. "Please."
"You tempting thing… if I were a lesser dragon…" Aziraphale sinks his face lower, breathes with the smell of fire trapped in his gills.
"What if you were?" Crowley whimpers.
The way he coils tighter around Crowley, twisting his waist to drag his cocks alongside Crowley's swollen cloaca, is enough to make Crowley writhe desperately.
"I'd have your soft thighs pinned open with my paws, I’d have you bred," he growls, "I’d sink into the core of you so deep, I’d make you mine so no one could dispute it." He seems to shake all over with the last word, to relax, and gasp, "Gods, Crowley, I'm sorry ."
But Crowley isn't having it. He's quivering with frantic desperation, belly clenching. "You can smell me, right?"
Aziraphale's swallows before nodding. "Yes."
"And you can feel me?" He tenses his thighs around the throbbing hotness of those cocks, hooking a groan deep from Aziraphale's chest. "How I'm dripping for you?"
A large paw thumps against the ground. "I… I can."
Crowley's hands close around the round, blunt cockheads. "Don't you want me?"
"Crowley." Aziraphale grits out his name in frayed noises. "It isn't that simple. I could… I could hurt you."
It might be true. Aziraphale is a dragon large enough to raze a forest with a breath. But Crowley doesn't believe in coincidences. His whole life has led him to this moment, to this hold, to the reassuring peace of Aziraphale, someone who barely knows him, but has shown far greater kindness than his whole family.
He would give himself away without regrets.
His toes curl and he tilts his head to kiss the roughly scaled curl of a huge finger, whatever he can of Aziraphale. "Just a bit, I promise I'll try to stretch all I can for you. So you can push inside me. So you can have me. I feel like- fuck, I feel so empty." Fuck, he sounds so whiney. "Please, Aziraphale."
Crowley can feel the hesitation radiating off Aziraphale, but then the dragon’s hips jerk, slipping his cocks over the slick wetness of Crowley’s barely parted vent once more. Aziraphale rumbles a groan so low it verges on a growl. He twists, turning them to deposit Crowley on his back in the pile of furs, the great bulk of him looming above.
“C'mon, take me,” Crowley moans, but Aziraphale shuts him up.
“Look at that little hole of yours. You think you’re ready?” Aziraphale scoffs. He shifts his weight and his erections drop onto Crowley, slapping against his cloaca, leaving drips of precome over his skin. Just one head is wide enough to butt against the whole stretch of tender skin between his thighs, but if he tries… he knows he can take it. Aziraphale's voice echoes harshly, “I will not hurt you.”
Crowely moans, his eyes rolling back imagining just how impossibly, deeply stretched he would be to fit just one of those cocks inside, the hot ache it will leave behind. He reaches up with both hands and rubs the pulsing shafts, unable to circle either one with his fingers. It must feel good to Aziraphale even when he isn't moving, only observing him, because a glut of precome spits from one, drenching Crowley’s chest.
“Vixen… that’s enough,” Aziraphale says in a shaky thread of voice.
Crowley can only whine again at the loss, but Aziraphale doesn’t leave the nest. He slides his heavy body backward, shifting until his head hovers above the spread of Crowley’s thighs.
A flare of damp breath tickles against the glistening spread of Crowley's cloaca. He's going to lose his mind.
He squirms, fisting the furs. “Need your cocks."
When he speaks, Aziraphale sounds almost stern. “Not yet. Only a brute would take you without ensuring you were ready. Especially one as tiny as you.”
His two big forepaws settle on Crowley’s inner thighs and pry them gently wider, until Crowley is splayed entirely open. Aziraphale's claws are cool, heavy and careful without nicking the skin. But it’s his mouth Crowley is fixed on. It draws down, full of razor sharp teeth, sinking down to meet Crowley’s throbbing, sensitive cloaca.
And he should be more frightened, with the jagged curve of a dragon's mouth so close to his sex, but Crowley is ridiculously horny.
In the next heartbeat, Aziraphale’s tongue flickers out. Long, thin, and serpentine, it flutters across the shifting glimmer of Crowley’s cloacal scales, a mere hint of a touch to start. Crowley startles at how they graze the puffy brightness of his clits. He’s entirely unused to anyone else’s touch.
Aziraphale’s paws hold his thighs down a clinch tighter. “Be good for me."
Crowley nods, one quick jerk of his head. Aziraphale’s tongue sweeps over him again. It’s so long it easily covers his entire heated slit and dips into the crease of his arse. Aziraphale's soft, rasping licks leave Crowley's skin shimmering with saliva, flicking over the reddened nubs of his clits, and nudging his cloaca scale where it's plump and filling with blood.
He's never been… it's filthy. His hands have always felt clumsy when he's tried to experiment on himself. Fingers too dry, oil too heavy, until Crowley had lost his patience, shuddering in testy arousal. He's played with his clits enough. But no one has penetrated him before, and if he's honest, there's always been a bit of dread about a human lover not understanding the way his body works, not giving him what he needs.
Through it all, Crowley grows wetter until he’s gushing slick onto Aziraphale’s tongue, a sort of squealing noise ragged up from his chest. Aziraphale laps up every drop like he’s dying of thirst, slaking himself on Crowley’s lust. The sound of his deep gasps and rumbles bounces off wavering.
Crowley tosses his head, mouths at a stray wisp of his long curls. "Fuck, oh gods, Aziraphale."
A pause of that wet pressure. "You've… you've never done this before, have you?"
Those eyes sparkle like diamonds. Crowley's lost in them. He shakes his head, warm to his hairline. "No. Couldn't- Didn't know how."
Aziraphale dips back down with a steady rumble that sounds pleased. "That's because you were made for me, no one else."
Shit. Crowley wants it to be true.
It’s so much sensation already, that inhuman, flexible tongue driving Crowley wild with each rubbing slide over his slit, down to his buttocks, rasping the tight furl of his arsehole. His nipples are hard, pink little nubs and his body is screaming with the need to be filled, to have something plunge into him and lock him tight.
Everything down there pulses hot with his heartbeat.
Pulling back, Aziraphale says, “There you are. Blooming open for me now.”
Crowley can feel it. His protective cloacal scale has sunk fully back, baring his soft, flushed vent. He’s throbbing, dripping slick, his scent one of pure desire.
Just as Crowley is about to ask if he’s ready, Aziraphale’s tongue meets him again. This time, however, he wiggles the tip of it into Crowley’s entrance, until the softened, wet muscles part. Crowley gasps, eyes shot wide. He’s never felt anything inside him like this. Aziraphale’s tongue strokes and twists along the inner lines of his tight cloaca in a manner that has Crowley’s vision growing cloudy. The spongy rasp of it is maddening.
“Aziraphale!” Crowley is gasping, crying his name. The empty fill of his vent squeezes. “I’m ready now. I have to be ready. C'mon, fuck me.”
He needs to feel the solid throb and push of those cocks slip into him, testing the stretch of his cloaca until it spasms, until it's sore and hot and satisfied.
Aziraphale moves up, staring at the eager clench of Crowley's hole. "Tell me if it hurts," he says, trembling, "Tell me if it's too much."
Crowley's sure it's already too much, but he only tips his knees outwards and tries to breathe. "I will."
Aziraphale positions one giant cock against the warm give of Crowley's vent. "Gods, look at you, you beautiful thing. You've made such a gorgeous offer of yourself."
His voice flows down in a rush, while his forepaws settle at both sides of Crowley's body. The difference in their sizes leaves Crowley's sex clenching and fluttering, his whole body squeezing. To be mounted and taken by a mountain of a dragon has his blood thumping, pleased by how easy it feels to give in to someone he wants so much.
Crowley's vision is full of Aziraphale. The length of his neck, the heaviness of his underbelly as he shifts and moves. Finally, he guides the damp cockhead against the tight join of Crowley's cloaca.
He can't help the way his spine bends. "Fuck." It's a huge, heavy push of warm flesh that stretches the hot skin of Crowley's entrance until he feels he won't be able to take it. It's too big, too thick, Crowley's going to be speared in half.
"It's…" Aziraphale rumbles. "Alright?"
"Yeah, don't stop, don't-" Crowley groans, regardless. Forces his thighs to ease wider, seeing the fine trembling along the skin, half entranced by the sight of his cloaca being spread open by that cock. "Fuck, feels… feels so good."
It does. The edges of his vent flutter and twitch while Crowley whines, feeling the delicious burn of penetration, the satisfaction of knowing there's an alpha taking pleasure in his body.
" Ah - you're as hot as a wyvern inside." Aziraphale's cock is big enough that Crowley can see the slight rise of his lower belly as it penetrates, can see how his own legs sway and tremble with the length that keeps on pushing in, so very slowly. "I'll have to be careful, or you'll not be able to move after I have you."
The push stops.
"Don't stop, Aziraphale, please." Crowley tries to rock his hips to get more cock inside him, even though he's so full he can feel the greedy, fever hot throb of Aziraphale's cock all through his body. But Aziraphale traps his waist with a single paw.
"No," he says, a ragged moan tickling his words. "You can't take more. I would- would damage you."
Crowley could sob in frustration. "But… does it feel good? For you?" He’s so deep in his heat that there's nothing he wants more than to please his alpha, than to let Aziraphale do as he wants with his body. "Am I enough?"
"Oh, more than you know." Aziraphale pulls back slowly, then fills Crowley again, moving him up on the furs. The thrust is a quake in Crowley's belly, a hot push against the jerking pull of his over-full sex. "You're so lovely. Crowley, you feel made for me. So tight around me… I don't think I'll be able to hold back. Just being inside you is already a gift. Do you have any idea of how long it's been since-"
Aziraphale gulps the words back down, but Crowley senses them. How long has it been since his dragon has touched someone else in this manner?
Carefully, with gentle, slow thrusts, Aziraphale fucks Crowley open on the beginning of his cock. There's still a long part of the shaft that Crowley doesn't get to stretch around, doesn't get to tighten on, so he tips his thighs up, squeezes harder on the smooth, hot slide of the ridged shaft, wishing to be bigger, to give Aziraphale the same pleasure he's getting from him. The dragon pushes in, growling each time Crowley squeezes the warmth of his sex on the intrusion, rolling his hips to adjust to the ache that is blooming along his whole pelvis. Dragging keens from Crowley.
Aziraphale's other cock bumps against the back of Crowley's thigh, and for a moment he wonders if he could take them both, if with enough time and preparation, he could give Aziraphale the pleasure of penetrating the clutching stretch of his rim and the pulsing wetness of his cloaca at the same time.
Crowley whimpers, toes kicking on the side of Aziraphale's underbelly while he's so thoroughly fucked he can barely breathe. The ridges of the cock he's taking inside nudge against his swaying clits, hitting over and over, until he's panting an orgasm that draws long, that makes him cry out in delight. Aziraphale's rhythm falters, and yes, yes , Crowley can feel the way the tapered head of Aziraphale's cock pulses, the huge tremble of his release while he spills warm semen inside him.
It's too much. Even lust-addled, Crowley can feel the swell of a huge knot between his thighs, how it pushes against the line of his legs.
"Want your knot, want it inside me," Crowley moans. His hands reach down to trail over the round side of the knot, wide enough to be impossible to take.
But his body says otherwise.
"Crowley no. It's too big. You're too small for me like this," Aziraphale curls forward, lashes a tongue over his mouth, over his neck, kissing in the only way he can. "Don't ask me for what I can't give you."
"Then give me the other, please, give me more." Crowley tightens, forcing a gush of spend to leak out of him. "Need your come, please ."
With a final lave of tongue over Crowley's lips, Aziraphale replaces his spent cock with the new one. He groans, loud, shattering, surging in where Crowley's wet with come and ruined, gaping. He moves inside him, careful still, gasping little noises of surprised pleasure each time Crowley's sex spasms in oversensitive lust.
"So good, you're so good, darling." Aziraphale moves, and Crowley's thighs pull in. As damp and open as he is, Aziraphale slips further in, making Crowley whine.
" Aziraphale . You're so deep inside me."
He can feel the shivering lick of Aziraphale's tongue flicking over his nipples, the grasp of a giant paw on a thigh being pushed against his side. "You're impossible to resist. You've no idea how good you feel."
Aziraphale is using him. Blanketing him entirely with the terrible weight of his monstrous body that Crowley covets and desires more than he's ever desired anything else.
Those wide hips hitch in steady presses, until Crowley's bouncing helplessly on the stinging, tight pushes, and Aziraphale is sinking his snout against the tiny curve of Crowley's throat. It fits there, and Crowley feels the breath, the heat of him as that cock sinks inside him, stretching and large, but with care.
The amount of self control in Aziraphale has Crowley shaking.
It isn't long before Crowley spills again, dragging Aziraphale with him in a long rush of come the dragon leaves welling up in the soft inside of Crowley's cloaca, soaking the bright red hair, the whole tender stretch of his slit. And as he asks for more, pleads again , Crowley shivers, his belly pulsing in pleasure, imagining the possibility of being left full and claimed and owned.
Crowley spreads his legs wider for his dragon. Lets Aziraphale take him over and over.