Crowley's Bentley-love-and-bacon-flavoured seduction has worked, and he's been able to extract a fifty-year-old, in-Bentley fantasy from Aziraphale's fevered imagination... and now he's pulled off the road. Where are they going and what will they be doing? ;-)

FYI: I could not resist telling one quick story about one of Crowley's more recent temptation efforts. These stories and their possibilities are fascinating to me. So, just a warning, there's a slight veering-off into past demonic work, before we get to the real action... bear with me. Enjoy!

CLAYGATE UNCOMMON

Crowley pulled off the A3, with a determined, directive look on his face. His partner sat beside him, panting a bit, white-knuckling the door handle, but for a different reason than usual. Both were persistently aroused, with certain words and images echoing in their minds.

Neither had said anything for a few minutes, but when they descended into a treed road, just wide enough for one car, Aziraphale asked, unable to help himself, "Crowley, where are we headed? Surely what you have in mind is illegal."

"Yes, but, call me an old demon," Crowley growled back. "I'm not particularly concerned."

Aziraphale had known that this might happen from the start, when Crowley had announced he'd be having the car fixed up. But, it was just now occurring to him what could happen if they were caught.

"But what if we're arrested?"

"We'll pay a fine."

"It would be humiliating!"

"Well, it's not like it'd be on the news! And it's not like either of us is answerable to anyone." A pause, then, "So, then, what? What would you like to do? Get a room?"

"No… not now…"

"Go back home?"

"No…"

"Hold it in check until after the auto show? Suffer through the drive home?" Crowley paused, then added, "That actually might be kind of fun."

"Well…" Aziraphale contemplated. Then, he let out a little frustrated grunt. "I'll do whatever you want."

"Really?"

"Of course. Damn it." There was a pause, and then, "Oh Crowley, I want to go somewhere private with you, of course, but I'm nervous about the exposedness..."

"Just trust me," Crowley said, gently. "I know a place. This sort of thing happens all the time there, mostly at night. It's an open secret. The police just sort of ignore it, as long as everyone is quiet and not, you know, all on display and whatnot."

"How do you know about this?"

"Promise not to judge me?"

"No, I can't promise that at all!"

Crowley sighed. "Maybe fifteen years or so ago, I undid the internet filters on a seminary."

"What's an internet filter?"

"Most institutions – like seminaries, like hospitals, certainly schools – have programmes that control what internet users can and cannot see while they're inside. It basically keeps people from watching porn in inappropriate places."

"I see. A very good idea. I had no idea such a thing existed."

"What, filters? Or porn?" Crowley had a little smirk when he asked this.

Aziraphale clicked his tongue. "Filters. For the internet. It seems eminently reasonable."

"Yeah, well, it was my job to undo what was 'reasonable,' yeah? And you know, I just thought it would be a good bit of mischief. I pulled down the filter, then prevented them from fixing it for four or five days. I was just sort of giggling to myself about it when I realised that one of the younger priests had never seen pornography before, and when he got his hands on it, so to speak, he couldn't stop."

"Oh. Well, speaking as someone who's recently been introduced to carnality and pleasure after a life of abstention, I suppose I can hardly blame the poor chap."

"Yeah, well, he was missing classes, missing Sunday dinners with his family, even appointments with professors. And when he wasn't in his dormitory committing increasingly athletic acts of onanism, he was in confession. So, I worked as a caretaker on the grounds for a couple of weeks, befriended him (that's how I know about the, er, onanism bit) and I started asking him if the priesthood was really for him."

"Crowley! That's terrible! Tempting a young man out of doing God's work!"

"Come on, angel, do I really have to say it?"

"Say what?"

"I. Was. A. Demon." Crowley paused for effect, and then continued. "Last half-century or so, I've not really gone in for the individualised bouts of humiliation and disgrace, especially after I gave up the temptation shags, and humans became so dependent upon technology. So I had thought I was just creating an insidious nuisance, and things just sort of, you know… ended up that way. Young bloke, not sure about the priesthood…"

"So, did he leave the priesthood?"

"Well, I decided to test him. I introduced him to a young novice nun from a convent nearby, whom I knew to be having some of the same issues. They saw each other secretly for a few weeks… you know, clandestinely. Like you and me. And I did some research about where such a couple could go without being seen, and found out about this spot in Claygate Common where people, you know… carry out secretive, yet strangely overt, sexual exploits. I hired them a car and sent them to the site just to see what would happen."

"And?"

"They shagged until the deposit on the car was good and lost. Or, would have been, if I hadn't fixed it."

"You watched?"

"No, but I saw what they did to the car. I had to do some very strange magic before returning it to the rental office."

"Oh, dear."

"And they're married with kids now."

"Ah, well, that doesn't sound too demonic."

"Indeed, not," Crowley sighed. "Had to do a bit of finessing so that, you know, Head Office Downstairs would find out about the internet filter thing, and about tempting them to the site, but not the fact that they lived happily ever after."

"Well, that's the best bit," Aziraphale marvelled.

"Yeah, you would say that," Crowley muttered. Then with an exhale, he admitted, "And I suppose so would I."

"One does love a good happily-ever-after."

Crowley looked over at him, and they made a kind of sweet, suggestive eye-contact that hadn't passed between them in quite some time. It was coy and restrained, whereas their goings-on recently had been much more explicit and unhinged.

It gave Aziraphale a chill, and he averted his eyes shyly as he had in the old days.

Crowley smirked. "Still want to?"

"Oh, yes," Aziraphale breathed, stealing a glance at the straining front of his companion's trousers. Because the fact was, his body desperately wanted to, even though, despite Crowley's words, he couldn't help but worry about being discovered 'in flagrante delicto.' He was not particularly well-practised in the art of self-control in these matters, at least not with the scent of love and lust upon the air, and his enticing companion sitting with a massive erection, within reach-out-and-stroke distance.

No more words were spoken until Crowley had manoeuvred the Bentley into Claygate Common, around some twists and bends, into a dirt carpark area surrounded by trees.

No-one was there, and indeed, the stillness and silence gave the impression that they were the only two people in the universe.

And then, the handbrake was set, and the engine turned off.

For several moments silence simply infused them. Aziraphale found it reassuring.

He decided to use it. He shed his jacket, and threw it in the backseat, removed his constrictive bowtie and closed his eyes once again. He took in the Bentley's unique scents, including the pleasant-smelling chemicals used to detail the car. He also detected in the air the last hints of the breakfast Crowley had obtained specially for them… just because he knew Aziraphale would love it.

And the heady, musky, powerful scent of Crowley himself – a combination of aftershave, expensive hair products, and his natural skin and sweat. Absent today was the smell of leather, which was, at times, part of the bouquet of Crowley, dependent upon his clothing.

At the moment, he was just wearing fitted dark jeans and a black tee-shirt with his favourite charcoal-grey Valentino blazer with the red panel under the back of the collar.

"Taking it all in, angel?" Crowley asked, softly.

"Indeed."

"Can you still smell love?"

"Oh, yes. I can practically taste it."

"Hm. Interesting word choice."

With that, Aziraphale turned his head to the right and looked squarely at his shadowy companion, who was looking back, through a pair of dark glasses, which he wore because it was a sunny day.

For all that had changed for them on the inside when they had become human, to the objective observer, the only apparent difference between Crowley the demon and Crowley the man was his eyes. Sometimes, Aziraphale now admitted to himself, he missed the predatory, reptilian yellow pools that used to hide behind those glasses. They were the eyes of a demon, someone forbidden to him, a tempter, eyes that he'd had to keep concealed for most of his very long life.

And just now, Crowley looked every bit the demonic havoc-wreaker he once was.

So, when he reached up to take off his glasses, Aziraphale grabbed his hand gently. "Leave them on. Please."

And breathing in the love all around him, Crowley looking all minion-of-Hell, and trees ensconcing them on all sides, Aziraphale was brought back to their drives to and from Tadfield, seeking the Antichrist, then seeking a book. He'd felt a potent urge during those trips, and he put himself back there.

Angel, demon, big black car moving at insane speeds down the motorway, the two of them secretly meeting and hoping not to get caught…

He reached out with his right hand, and it landed on Crowley's left thigh. They both watched intently as the hand crawled up and landed on the swollen lump straining the former demon's jeans. Aziraphale squeezed through the fabric, firmly, as it was thick fabric, and Crowley moaned.

"Would you like to show it to me?" Aziraphale asked, coyly. "Bring it out in the open and let me hold it?"

"Sure, angel, you can hold it. Although... I don't know if I should tell you what I'd really like you to do with it," Crowley answered, unfastening his trousers, and reaching inside. His cock was now protruding through the v-shaped opening, purple-headed, throbbing, oozing.

Aziraphale turned fully to his right, making it easier to reach forward and grasp the hard shaft, begging to be handled.

He began to spread the slippery leaking liquid over the head with one finger, swirling it around several times before asking, "What you'd really like me to do... hm, did you mean this?" He knew full well that this wasn't what his lover wanted. He leaned in closer and kissed the long neck, exposed above the stylish jacket's collar. As he did so, he grasped the pulsating shaft fully in his hand, and began to stroke. "Or this?"

"Mm," Crowley moaned. "Not gonna turn it down. Only grasp a bit harder."

Aziraphale tightened his grip, and continued to move his hand up and down, slowly. "Oh. This, then." Another kiss on Crowley's neck, and a little nip at an earlobe.

Still, Aziraphale knew quite well that it wasn't going to be enough. Sure, he could continue, he could go faster and faster, and whisper obscene things and make this gorgeous creature spurt like a bottle of shaken champagne, and it would be glorious. But…

"That's fantastic, angel," Crowley moaned, laying his head back. "But it's going to be messy. And I didn't bring a spare pair of trousers."

"Oh, dear," mused the former angel. "Well, perhaps we can use the sandwich wrappers to catch any, er, debris that might result."

Crowley chuckled in spite of himself, and in spite of his lover's hand moving deftly over his throbbing, glistening cock. "You are ever the problem-solver, angel."

"It might be best, given that we've still got a day ahead of us at an auto show, and your jeans being speckled with your dried-up emissions would not do at all."

"No, it would not do." After a few beats, a few moans, a few more kisses, he said, "You fucking tease, you're going to make me ask for it, aren't you?"

"No, love," Aziraphale said, with an indulgent smile. "Unless you want to."

"Unless what?"

Aziraphale leaned forward and whispered hotly in his companion's ear, "Crowley, I'll take your cock into my mouth and throat any day of the week… but you seem to quite fancy saying filthy things to me, and listening to them makes me hard as granite."

Crowley groaned, hearing these words come so primly, quietly out of Aziraphale's pretty, eager mouth. He quickly adjusted the seat to put more room between him and the steering wheel, and slumped down just a bit. "All right then. Suck out a mouthful of come, and don't be all fucking angelic about it."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Aziraphale whispered subtly as he shifted his body and bent forward to do as Crowley wanted. He grasped the base of the shaft and slid his mouth over it, devouring it like a gourmet dessert, and moaning wantonly.

But it was the next stroke, when he tightened his jaw and dragged his teeth up the impatient dick, that made Crowley take in air through his teeth with a sinister hiss, and then splatter the sounds of, "Ugh! Shit!" all over the silent interior of the car.

It was a technique he knew would send Crowley through the roof, but he hadn't used it in a while. Relatively speaking.

He moved his taut lips back down and in short order, the mushrooming head was lodged in Aziraphale's throat, and both men gave a good moan. Then Aziraphale repeated the action – tight jaw, teeth, slowly scraping Crowley's distended flesh, in a gesture that surely caused pain, but gave a former demon absolutely obscene, eye-crossing pleasure.

And repeat. Crowley's cock down his throat. Tight teeth, and a hiss. And again.

"Faster, angel," Crowley breathed. "I'll turn to dust if you keep this up."

Aziraphale moved marginally faster, then marginally faster again. He increased his speed bit by bit, which caused Crowley to curse several times, but suspense was what they were after, was it not? Soon, he was not able to maintain a pattern that included his teeth scraping his partner's member, but Crowley didn't seem to mind.

Indeed, Crowley felt the pressure ramping up – his first-ever canoodle in the Bentley, a naughty, public blow job, the echoes of Aziraphale's filthy language in his ears…

He braced one hand against the door and the other against the back of the passenger seat, and just watched. A head covered with pure white curly hair bobbed in his lap, a sight that, in and of itself, was enough to make him shoot off like a canon. His dick became sheathed every second in a hot, slippery mouth, and his favourite voice in the universe was giving shameless, muffled moans over and over again.

They were moans of supplication. If Aziraphale could have begged Crowley in that moment to let it all go, pump his mouth full of his warm, milky pleasure, and blaspheme horribly while doing so, he would have. As it was, he couldn't speak, he could only make sounds that made him seem like a lusty animal. And he supposed that's what he was. Now.

But he didn't have to beg.

Soon enough, he felt a large hand grasping at the back of his neck, and another one at the top of his head, and heard the words, "Holy fuck… are you ready for me to defile that angelic mouth?"

"Mm-hm! Mmm…"

And as a wave of salty cream washed over Aziraphale's tongue, followed by another spurt, he heard a low growl of "Oh, look at you swallow it all!"

Two more waves of come, two more deep groans from Aziraphale as it all slid down his throat, and he relished in the filth, and the abandon. He reached forward with one hand to pump out the last few spurts.

"Oh angel," Crowley groaned as it all wound down, and he was nearly breathless. "I'm so glad God created you to be gluttonous."

When Crowley let go of his head, Aziraphale reluctantly pulled his mouth away with a slurp and a pop, he sat up and licked his lips. "God created me to be sensitive," he corrected, primly wiping the corners of his mouth with his fingers.

"Yes, and intelligent, and a little bit of a bastard. All of that is just enough to make you a fairly shameless pleasure-seeker."

"Well, I suppose you're not wrong about that."

"So, this is going to feel fucking Heavenly."

Crowley tucked himself back into his trousers and exited the car, shut the door, and walked round the front. Aziraphale watched him with piqued interest, as he shed his jacket as well, then pulled open the passenger side door. He tossed the jacket into the backseat, and Aziraphale yelped delightedly when Crowley stuck his head inside and planted a hearty kiss on his lips.

When Crowley pulled away from the kiss, he began to advance forward, and Aziraphale instinctively retreated. "Lie down, angel," he said, as his lover moved his body sideways and laid his head down on the seat beside the steering wheel. Crowley crawled in on top, and allowed his body to press down. He cupped Aziraphale's jaw with one hand, and plunged his tongue into the very Heavenly mouth below. He tasted his own come, which reduced him to feral growls.

"Shit, angel, I was going to tease you a bit, but I don't think I can," came the low grumble in Aziraphale's ear as Crowley spread open the already unbuttoned collar, and began to nip with half-bites, all over the smooth, Heavenly neck.

He pulled back then, and basically exited the car. His knees were now planted in the dirt of Claygate Common, and Aziraphale's feet and calves were hanging off the end of the seat. Crowley urged him to move down, bend his knees and put his shoes on the earth, then he reached forward and unbuttoned the Victorian glen-tartan trousers, straining from extra ready-to-burst girth.

"Oh, please hurry," Aziraphale panted.

And Crowley took a moment to marvel: of all of the trousers, togas, tunics, dresses, corsets, britches, skirts, and chemises he had undone over the years, none were as sweet as these fussy Victorian suit trousers, of which Aziraphale owned an untold number.

"So sweet," he hissed as he pulled Aziraphale's straining cock out into the open and licked the underside as though it were a pink ice lolly.

Aziraphale was so on-edge, he spat a loud, "Fuck!" of his own, and one hand jerked over his head to brace himself against the impact. He grasped the driver's side door handle until his knuckles turned white, and his back arched, as he moaned into the intensity of it.

The serpentine tongue then whirled around the bloated purple head, and licked a few more times, teasing, causing throbs, short breaths, and a prodigious ooze of precome. This, of course, was promptly lapped up, and Aziraphale moaned hard, with some incoherent consonant and vowel combinations...

Crowley had the vague notion that his companion was trying to form words, but had been rendered inarticulate. He smirked, gave a few more licks of the thick, straining shaft, then enveloped the thing with his mouth with a lusty groan.

"Uggghhh…ssss…." came from Aziraphale. It was probably "oh yes," but this was as eloquent as he could get at the moment.

Crowley's lips pressed against the sparking body, and he moaned maniacally, with a half-laugh, at the gorgeous sensation of, frankly, being on his knees in the dirt and having his throat filled by the head of his angel's dick. He pursed his lips tight and pulled up, and Aziraphale was now in danger of biting off his tongue, and pulling off the door handle. His voice ripped through the air in the Bentley like a dull knife, and it was absolutely gorgeous to hear.

And like Aziraphale before, he began to repeat his actions, and find a rhythm – deeply down, and slowly up. Down, and up, down and up, with more moans, from both, and delicious anticipation...

He sheathed the tortured member over and over again with his slippery hot mouth, followed along with one hand pumping, tasting more and more salty leaking precome, and smelling sweat… but he didn't go too quickly. Each stroke up was with his lips carefully pursed, which guaranteed that Aziraphale arched his back and said something unintelligible each time. Each down stroke buried the aching cock in Crowley's throat for just a second or two, before the whole delectable torture recommenced.

Again and again, both of their eyes glazing over, lost in the indulgence and bliss, finding a rhythm and getting lost in it, lost in each other…

Crowley wondered if this would ever end – he didn't want it to. He was sure he was hard again and when it was all over, he'd want to get off once more, and then his angel would want to as well, and they'd be stuck in Claygate Common for the rest of the weekend. He imagined for a moment spending days here, in the Bentley, talking, joking, drinking, sucking each other off, until they were caught, or until they both passed out from exhaustion. The satisfying breadth of having a mouthful of throbbing cock, attached to one's scrumptious love was perhaps all that they'd need…

"Mm… oh?" Aziraphale exclaimed.

Suddenly, starry-eyed, he had begun to orgasm, and could feel himself unleashing waves of heat into Crowley's mouth. His body had been so high-strung and the sensations had been so blindingly powerful, he hadn't noticed himself ramping up, and up, and up.

"Oh… oh… can you… Crowley, I don't know … I'm so… oh…"

Nearing this delicious climax, perhaps it had felt simply like all the other solid moments of incredible, wall-to-wall electricity, and not like he was ready to burst, but here he was, spurting a load of creamy come between his lover's lips without any warning. His surprised outbursts eventually became deep, dark groans of satisfaction and vindication.

Crowley had been so wrapped up in his abandoned weekend fantasy, he was taken off guard when a shot of warm, delicious pleasure hit the back of his throat, and his mouth began to fill with cream. It was a terribly satisfying moment, but unexpected – he hadn't been caught unawares by someone else's orgasm in centuries.

And so, though he swallowed what he could, he lost a bit of it, and when he let Aziraphale's cockhead slip from his mouth with a squeak and pop, just a bit of viscous white spatter was rolling down his chin. Absently, he used his sleeve to wipe it away. "Oh angel," he said. "It's on your trousers, too."

"Best laid plans," Aziraphale panted, his vision finally returning to normal.

"Got that right."

The former angel took a moment to recover, then he sat up, and instinctively looked about to see if they had been discovered.

No-one was in the vicinity.

"We're getting better at not making messes," Crowley said, standing up. His cock had not had a chance to soften before it became tumescent again, but he decided to ignore it, which was something he'd done thousands of times.

Aziraphale noticed, but didn't say anything… he too realised they could be there for days.

"Crowley, your sleeve," he whined.

"Don't worry – I'll wear my jacket. Ready for a motor show?"

"The what? Oh… oh, yes. The motor show. I had almost forgotten."

Aziraphale wondered as he rearranged himself into the passenger seat and tucked his softening member back into his trousers, what he would do when Crowley started to get all passionate about the autos. It was bound to make him feel randy again.

Perhaps it was in the cards, after all, to spend the weekend in Claygate Common, satisfying one another, seeking joy, christening the Bentley thoroughly, after all these years.

They dared to dream...

Okay, I MAY have secured some time to write the next few chapters in quick succession... let's see how things go! In the meantime, I could really use some encouragement!

Thanks so much for reading!