Okay, everyone. If the previous chapter was NSFW, then this one is... well, also NSFW, but more so. You have been warned.

Seriously. Warned.

Again, if you would like some context on this chapter, you might refer back to chapter 19 of "The Third Domain."

Aziraphale has made all the plans for his "idea," to give Crowley a scorching hot evening (and showed an incredible amount of restraint in doing so!). Things are prepped, Crowley is home... here we go with our next creature comfort! Enjoy!

SCRUMPTIOUS

Crowley had appeared in the kitchen doorway, five minutes early. "I hope you're ready for me," he had said, smiling, with a wand-style lighter in his hand.

"As it happens, I am," Aziraphale said, smiling back, aware that any equilibrium he had acquired was now dead. His body was on-edge, and he didn't have to look down to know that his arousal was now totally apparent.

This was, of course, not lost on Crowley, who looked him over with intrigue in his eyes. "Indeed, you are," he lilted, letting his eyes linger at bulging crotch of the well-tailored glen-tartan trousers. "What have you been up to, you imperfect angel, you?"

Aziraphale caught a chill from the tone and words coming from Crowley's mouth. But he ignored the question, and said, "I could use a hand with the candles."

"Okay," Crowley said, lightly, while Aziraphale turned to finish clearing the last of the unneeded debris off the kitchen counter.

Crowley crossed the kitchen to the table, and lit the two silver-rimmed jar candles Aziraphale had chosen for the occasion. He picked up the glass of wine that had been poured and left at his place-setting, and took a hearty drink. He also noted the little gift sitting upon his plate. Next, he eyed the plate of food on his right.

"Mozzafiato's," he said, knowingly, as he had seen the bag on the counter, though hadn't registered it until now. He turned and faced Aziraphale. "Butternut squash and lobster ravioli?"

"Of course," Aziraphale sang.

"Okay," Crowley conceded, with a smirk. "What's the plan? I see it's only dinner for one, at the moment."

Aziraphale gestured toward the table, inviting him to take a seat, but not at the place set for dinner.

Crowley obliged.

"The plan is," Aziraphale said, coming up behind Crowley, and draping one hand across the collar of his jacket. "I thought I would indulge in one of my favourite creature comforts, whilst you indulge in one of your creature comforts, and we'll see where it takes us."

"Where it takes us," Crowley echoed. "All right."

"But first…" Aziraphale began. He did not finish the phrase. He merely picked up the gift from the plate in front of Crowley, and handed it to him.

"You bought me a gift?" Crowley asked, taking it, looking up at him, a bit moved.

"Actually, no," Aziraphale answered. "Open it."

Crowley tore the paper, and could immediately see the "Icicles" insignia on the box, indicating a glass sex toy. "Oh, angel, I like it already," he breathed. "But… you didn't buy it?"

"No," came the answer. "It's the one we already own."

"Interesting," Crowley smirked. When the paper was completely off and discarded on the floor, Crowley opened the box and looked inside, only to find it empty. "Okay. The spade isn't in here."

"No."

"Where is it?"

A wickedly coquettish smile spread over Aziraphale's face that made Crowley's blood burn. Because, all at once, he realised where the glass plug was, why his lovely angel had had a raging erection all along, and what was about to happen.

This scenario had been concocted as a fantasy by Crowley, a couple of weeks prior, when he was excitedly opining what he would like to do to his angel, if given the chance. Aziraphale had always been an excellent listener.

Aziraphale sat carefully down at the place he'd set for himself. It was the first time he'd sat, since inserting the spade. He eased his weight into the chair, as pressure on the spade brought about a myriad of explosive sensations. He moaned unabashedly as he did so, his eyes practically rolling back in his head.

It took at least thirty seconds of adjustment and low, sensual groans to get situated, and when he finally did, he looked at Crowley with eyes glazed-over, and a half-inebriated expression.

"Oh, I love you so much," Crowley said, softly, sweetly, gutturally. His voice practically trembled with excitement, passion, and especially admiration.

By this time, of course, after watching Aziraphale move and moan and settle and bristle, and generally interact with the sensations in his nether regions, Crowley's trousers were bulging like an overstuffed cannolo.

Aziraphale peered into his ravioli. "I can't wait to try this," he said. "Remember all those things I told you today, about how the dish is made, and all the exquisite variations they've innovated, to improve upon the traditional plate of ravioli?"

"Oh, yes," Crowley answered, leaning back in his chair, getting comfortable. "Every part of me remembers."

"Well, I spoke to the chef today while I was picking up the food, and it seems they've added yet another incredible twist!"

"Yeah?"

Aziraphale nodded. "Cayenne pepper," he said, his eyes bright with lust. "But only a hint of it. I am absolutely jazzed for all of those exacting and elegant flavours to come alive in my mouth!"

"Ngk," Crowley groaned, letting his head loll backwards. And that's when he began to rub the bulge at the front of his trousers. He used his palm, stroked through the denim.

Aziraphale picked up his spoon, and dipped it in the sauce only, slid it into his mouth, then back out again. He pursed his lips sensually, as he had always done when tasting something delectable.

"Mmm, what a treat," he mumbled, then licked his lips.

Crowley could not help but agree, as he give his hard shaft a squeeze.

Next, a ravioli became impaled upon a fork, and made its way into an eager, meticulous mouth. A moan came forth from that mouth as the flavours and sensations mixed and matched upon the tastebuds.

He savoured the combinations, the symphony of ingredients… and moaned again. "So good…mmm…"

Then he licked his lips greedily, and Crowley nearly hit the ceiling. He moaned in kind, and pressed harder against his cock, through his trousers. It occurred to him then to wonder if he'd make it all the way through this meal.

"I think I detect black pepper as well as Cayenne," Aziraphale said. He closed his eyes, and said, "Unless I'm in too deeply to be able to tell the difference."

He took another bite, closed his eyes, and chewed rather voraciously, smacking his lips.

"Oh, it's definitely black pepper – it's unmistakable against the squash – and it's…" he stopped short, and then wriggled in his chair a bit. He gave a little grunt of pleasure, letting anyone listening know that the sex toy lodged inside of him had shifted in a way that he enjoyed immensely. He grunted, "…it's divine."

"Oh, fuck!" Crowley whined, tearing open the snap and zip of his black jeans, unable to manage anymore restraint.

He was just about to yank his suffering cock out into the open, and show his gourmand of a companion just how much this particular creature comfort excited him. He was champing at the bit to begin pumping it straight away, to watch with interest as the exquisite Aziraphale partook of a gourmet meal, without having to control his sexual fervour…

But he realised in those few split seconds, this was actually semi-auspicious. It was a moment he (and his cock) had waited for, for millennia. How many times had he watched the angel devour a plate with similar gusto, and depending upon the circumstances, dearly longed to unzip himself under the tablecloth and fuck his hand, with the rest of the restaurant patrons none the wiser? How many times had he, instead, kept his hands in plain sight, intentionally, just to remove the temptation? He'd taken millions of ounces of wine, coffee, and tea this way, making the appearance of drinking in the libations, but really drinking in Aziraphale.

And now, he was going to get to do it – to pleasure himself as he desired, while watching his angel eat! He also knew that the latter had a glass spade in his arse, that was giving him a sharp, specific sort of ecstasy, in the midst of it all. He knew that Aziraphale could, every now and then, feel a little shift or tilt that had the potential to give him eye-watering pleasure, and enhance the sensory experience for him, as well.

So, it was not a moment to be taken lightly. He slowed himself, sat with trousers agape for a few moments, and watched as yet another perfectly-crafted ravioli made its way into the mouth of his angel. Aziraphale have a sigh of contentment, fluttered an eyebrow at Crowley, and chewed happily. Crowley then reached inside his pants, and pulled free a long, aching, distended member, leaking precome, and throbbing like anything. He casually spread the clear liquid over the head with two fingers, and leaned forward to take a sip of wine.

He now coolly leaned back in the chair, with a perfect view of Aziraphale, while he held his drink in one hand, and his hard dick in the other. Aziraphale continued to enjoy the daylights out of his dinner. He ate another ravioli, and then another. His moans, groans, expressions of "mmm, so good…" escaping every now and then, his commentary on the deliciousness of the food, the details of the recipe, it all kept Crowley going. It all kept him feeling tight and coiled and desirous and ready to burst. Each little gesture of enjoyment from Aziraphale gave just as much enjoyment to Crowley. He stroked lazily for a while, watching sardonically, sipping his wine, occasionally making suggestive comments.

And then, at last, Aziraphale popped the last ravioli into his mouth, giving an "Mmm," as he ate it. When he was finished, he stood up, and Crowley saw that his erection had grown even from where it had been before.

"Look at you, angel," Crowley practically panted. "Seems like you're ready to blow."

"Ah-ah," Aziraphale tutted, opening the oven door, and bringing a small, thermal paper bag back to the table. "Not until I've mopped up all of the juice."

"Ugh, you're killing me," Crowley complained.

Aziraphale sat down again, but this time not so slowly. He'd got used to the glass toy in his arse, was relishing in it, and now dared to sit down rather hard.

"Ooh!" escaped from him as he did so. "Oh, that feels so wicked..."

"Nnnnngk!" came from his companion on his left, leaning his head back again, tortured with the knowledge and the sight and the sounds…

Aziraphale reached into the bag and pulled loose an eight-inch by eight-inch square of crispy, aromatic rosemary bread. He broke off a piece, and began soaking up the luscious sauce that was left on his plate.

Something about this action pushed Crowley to the brink, and made him half-growl, half-hiss, "Shit!" and set the empty wine glass on the table. He then gave himself over to his cock and his hand. His eyes narrowed as he watched intently every detail of his partner's indulgence. He studied the scene, and started pumping hard.

And so, with his fist tight, teeth clenched, eyes on Aziraphale's bread, as another soaking, dripping morsel was sucked into his mouth, Crowley wanked.

And it was the best goddamn wank of his very, very long life.

Until he realised that Aziraphale's body was moving. Or was it?

Yes, yes it was. The prim, proper, former angel was moving his hips back and forth, bearing down on the tool in his rear chute.

He was now watching Aziraphale moon, moan, and bliss out with fine foods, while he secretly fucked himself.

And THEN it became the best goddamn wank of Crowley's very, very long life.

Orgasm was rising like a wave threatening to crash on the shore, with a mountain of exploding white foam…

And then, Somebody help him, a bit of the greasy, slippery sauce dripped down Aziraphale's chin, and a litany of expletives came tumbling out of Crowley's mouth, while his hand moved faster, and his teeth clenched harder.

The gourmet tongue creeped out of the shiny, sensual lips and licked it up, and Crowley grunted low and rough, "Oh, angel…"

"Mm?" asked Aziraphale, mopping up more sauce with more bread, still moving his hips, his eyes glazed over in total, faraway ecstasy.

Crowley now slunk down a bit further in the chair, leaned back all the way, and pounded hard. It was a show now, and Aziraphale watched it with clouded, lusty interest. Their eyes met almost accidentally, and with a hearty, obscene groan, thick ropes of cream spurted out of Crowley's throbbing dick, and splashed all over the black cashmere jumper he was wearing.

"Fuck, angel!" he snarled, almost pained, as more spurts of come kept coming forth, landing all over his fist, his abdomen, the v-shape of his open trousers…

And with one final grunt, he pumped out the last drop, and gave a sigh, and with red-hot smouldering embers in his eyes, he focused on Aziraphale once more.

His partner seemed to be panting as well, was flushed and opening his eyes slowly. He licked his lips heartily, and said, "That was scrumptious."

"Oh yes. Yes it was," Crowley panted. Then, "Angel, please tell me you didn't hold back for me."

"I tried to hold back a bit longer, but alas, I was unable," Aziraphale admitted.

"We came together?" Crowley said, with an exhausted laugh.

"Indeed," Aziraphale said. "I believe there's a song that has the line, 'what a lovely way to burn.'"

"Mmm… 'Fever,'" Crowley lilted, still panting a bit. "A wise lyric if ever there was one."

There was a pause, just before Aziraphale stood, and asked, "Are you hungry, my very human love? I did order you a dinner, of course. And I think you should eat well, because I don't believe I'm quite done with you yet tonight."

Those words gave Crowley a frisson, even though he'd just finished himself off. And now that Aziraphale was standing, he could see why, perhaps, he'd said he wasn't done with Crowley.

That is to say, the fussy Victorian trousers were still buttoned up, and there was a wet spot expanding in the front. Once again, Aziraphale had restrained himself and ended up containing his orgasm within his clothes.

Something about this was rather delicious to Crowley, thinking of his beatific lover shuddering and releasing pulses of salty, milky come into those expensive linen pants and fastidious antique trousers. In a way, it was filthier and more audacious than losing it all out in the open, as he himself had. But perhaps it was not exactly the most satisfying of experiences...

"Aziraphale, why did you try to hold back?" Crowley asked, moving forward to press his hand to the spreading spot.

Aziraphale smiled a bit. "I've been holding myself on the edge for a couple of hours. Well, really, for a couple of millennia, but for the purposes of this conversation…"

"Why?"

"Well, inserting the Icicle without achieving climax was quite a task," Aziraphale said, with almost a comically proper tone.

Crowley smirked. "Mm, I'll just bet it was. Will you tell me about it?"

"Perhaps later," Aziraphale conceded, cautiously. "But for now, why don't you put on a clean shirt and return to the table?"

"Yes, sir," Crowley said lightly.

"I will serve you dinner, and keep you company while you eat."

"Wonderful. Thank you, angel."

"And when you're finished, I'll be asking you to do a few very immodest things to make me happy. Does that sound all right?"

Okay, readers, here's what I need to know: Continue the kitchen adventure, and see what immodest things they get up to (which would be, of course, totally gratuitous, and slightly mess with the structure of the story), or move on to the next creature comfort (which will EVENTUALLY lead back to sex, but not right away)?

Do you have a preference? If you've never left a review on this story before, now's a good time to do it, and let me know what you'd like to read next.

Thank you for reading - hoping to hear from you!