I should mention - I've been posting this story, chapter by chapter, on more than one platform. Neither one is getting much feedback, however, the other platform did yield more votes on whether to do another chapter of naughtiness, or another creature comfort. And guess what!

By popular demand, I decided to add an extra chapter of semi-gratuitous kitchen smut for our ineffable duo. It made sense, in that Aziraphale's evening has been an exercise in restraint, and I realized that he really deserved to be unrestrained!

It took me a while because my first draft didn't feel organic... it went through three iterations before I landed here. I had promised myself I wouldn't let it dim the "complexity" of the story, such as it is. In the end, it doesn't take away from our favorite pair enjoying the cozier, non-sexy creature comforts... it just gives readers a bit more to chew on, if you will. :-)

Hope you enjoy it! (And if you don't want to read it, skip it. You won't miss anything crucial.)

INTERMEZZO

Crowley re-appeared in the kitchen five minutes later, in a clean white t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. It was one of the very few occasions when Aziraphale had seen him in anything other than black, grey, or a splash of red

"You look very fresh-faced," the former angel commented.

Crowley shrugged, looking himself over. "Yeah, well… I've been obliged to own a wide variety of different costumes for the temptation business."

"Almost as though not everyone immediately trusts a handsome man in black, with dark glasses he won't remove."

"I know, it's mental," Crowley smirked. "Anyway, I figured I should put on something I don't wear too often, 'cause kitchens are unpredictable places. Also, no shoes nor pants. Just, you know… in case a quick escape is needed."

Aziraphale chuckled. "A quick escape. I like that."

"Thought you might."

"Would you like to sit?"

There was now a plate of gourmet ravioli at Crowley's spot, and he took his seat once again.

"Hungry?" Aziraphale asked.

"Actually, yes."

Crowley sampled the fare from Mozzafiato's. "This is incredibly tasty, I must agree," Crowley said, swallowing. "But I think all of the nuances are lost on me. It's just really good ravioli."

"That's all right," Aziraphale said. "I wouldn't expect you to notice everything. I've got millennia of experience with sussing out subtle flavours and observing how they mingle. If you'd like, I can teach you to do the same."

"I'm afraid I'd never make it through even one lesson with my clothes completely on," Crowley said, with another naughty smirk, before continuing to dine.

"Indeed. While we're on the topic, I must say, Crowley, I was surprised by the strength of your reaction. Earlier," Aziraphale commented, while refilling both wine glasses.

"Really?"

"Well..."

"I told you that watching you with food was a huge torturous turn-on, and I'm not exactly a shrinking violet with my emotions, especially lately. What did you expect?"

Aziraphale sat down in his usual chair, and the way he eased himself down with a little bit of a pleasured groan temporarily derailed Crowley from his composure.

"Well, what transpired was more or less what I expected," Aziraphale said. "Just, perhaps, with more… oh, I don't know, demonstrative fervour?"

Crowley smiled delightedly. "Demonstrative fervour? You do have a way with words, Prince Albert. So, what, did you think I'd be more civilised about it?" He took another bite.

"Perhaps," Aziraphale responded, sheepishly, turning his eyes down and blushing adorably.

Crowley locked his eyes on Aziraphale's incredibly expressive face, and practically growled, "You slurped up a serving of cream sauce rather noisily, licked the oil off your lips and chin, and moaned over it like a fucking porn star. All the while, I know you've got a raging hard-on, and a glass cock up your arse… there was nothing civilised about any of it, angel. Nothing."

"I suppose you're right," Aziraphale conceded, softly. "I suppose I hadn't thought it through if I truly didn't expect you to… well, all out in the open like you did."

"If we were going to do it, I reckoned we'd better do it right."

Crowley's body had not yet entirely cooled from the experience, and he was finding himself becoming aroused once more by the idea of it, the memory, and the very real, current knowledge that the "glass cock" was still lodged inside of his lover, doing its very stimulating work.

"Still got the spade in?" he asked, eyes ablaze with renewed vigour, and already knowing the answer.

"Mm-hm," came the half-moaned reply.

"Any particular reason?" Crowley asked, taking another bite, lustily wondering what the response might be.

"Other than, it feels bloody lovely?"

"Touché. I suppose there doesn't need to be any more reason than that."

"Well, since you've asked, we'll call it a place-holder."

"I see," Crowley practically sang. He felt quite tingly.

"I gave you something you enjoyed, yes? With the… food, and the…"

"You gave me something I've literally wanted since the Holy Roman Empire. You made me burst like a bottle of champagne in a paint shaker, without ever touching me. So, yes."

"Well, I've already mentioned that I intend for you to do some things that I might enjoy. I'm far too imperfect to make this evening all about you."

"Anything you want," Crowley breathing heavily. "I'm yours. Unless it's an Archangel roleplay, then I'm out."

"No nothing like that," Aziraphale assured him, with a slight smile. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but one of the glass spade's purposes is to make certain lovemaking overtures unnecessary, isn't it?"

"Do you mean that it's spreading open your tight, angelic hole, so I can fuck you without fingering you first?"

"Yes," Aziraphale said, clearing his throat, tempering the surprise, and the surge of lust, he felt at Crowley's vulgar language.

"Do you also mean that you're crawling out of your skin with anticipation, because you want to get bent over this table and jackhammered until you're begging for respite?"

"Yes. So glad that I can always count on you to take the direct approach."

"Do you mean that it makes you hard when I talk like that?"

"You're quite the adept translator, Crowley." They now made eye-contact over the table. "Finish your dinner. Quickly. Please."

But Crowley did not hurry. He forced himself to take his time, though he would have loved to strip off his clothes right then, and mess up the table with insistent banging, indelicate movements, sweat, and other bodily fluids. It was all he could think about, as a matter of fact, but they had all night. And he knew they both could use a sliver more recovery time before diving in again.

But when he was finally finishing up, and draining the wine out of his glass, Aziraphale leaned forward, and grasped the plate. "May I take this away?"

"Please," Crowley said, as though he were feeling in any way civilised.

Aziraphale crossed to the sink, ran the water and rinsed the plate, then returned to the table to gather up the thermal bag that had once contained rosemary bread, along with the napkins and silverware.

Meanwhile, Crowley had taken his wine glass, and the bottle, to the kitchen island, and stood for a moment, amused, while his partner fussed over the tidy details.

When Aziraphale crossed back to the table for the third time with a wet cloth, Crowley crossed as well. He came up behind, reached around and took the cleaning implement out of Aziraphale's hand, setting it aside. He pressed a growing erection into his companion's backside, ran his hands over the arms of the antique beige suit, and said, "Do you really want to wipe off the table just now?"

"No, I don't."

"Good," Crowley responded, then peeled the Victorian coat over his companion's shoulders and off. Then, with his lips just a centimetre from Aziraphale's ear, he whispered, "Would you like to get out of your shirt and waistcoat?"

"All right," came the tremulous response.

"Good. And unhook your trousers, angel. I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" Aziraphale asked, voice trembling a bit as he began to undo his bowtie.

Crowley was moving toward the door. "I know you're good and stretched, but we're still going to need a bit of slippery."

"Oh, I'm afraid we're out of lubricant, my love, but didn't you tell me that olive oil could be used in a pinch?"

"I did say that," Crowley said, smirking once again. "It's all we had, for millennia. No unpleasant next-day irritations with that stuff."

He rerouted himself past the kitchen counter, grabbing the tall, thin bottle of olive oil, with a metal spout and flap on top. He set it on the table and reassumed his position behind Aziraphale, just as the waistcoat was hitting the floor. And when the shirt collar became unbuttoned, Crowley wasted no time in pulling it open and planting juicy kisses on the sensitive flesh beneath. "So… the lube's gone, eh?"

"Mm-hm."

"Last I saw it, there was a bit left. Did you use the last of it to stuff yourself with that glass plug, you naughty angel?"

"Yes," Aziraphale mused, shrugging off his shirt. "And I'm not sorry. It felt divine, Crowley. And devilish and depraved at the same time."

"Good, that's how it's supposed to feel," Crowley told him, his words just a bit muffled, as his lips moved across bare shoulders. "Do I recall your saying that you shoved it in there and managed not to explode all over yourself."

"I did manage that."

Aziraphale was now unhooking his trousers, and pulling down the zip, and Crowley was still kissing his shoulders, neck, ears, arms…

"I admire your control, but it sounds like torture. If it had been me, I'd have had my hand round my cock the entire time, and I'd have had a terrible mess in the end. Come to think of it, I'm not sure I would've made it to dinner."

"It was hard," Aziraphale said, with a gulp. "Difficult, I mean. And I wanted to, but I've never… you know."

"Never wanked yourself off?"

"No."

"What a shame, angel," Crowley growled, slipping his hands inside the loosened waistband, and inside the linen pants and squeezing the ripe, soft, rounded flesh. His fingers ventured to the cleft in the centre, and he could feel the flat, round base of the glass spade outside of Aziraphale's body, pressed against his bum. "But that's an issue for another day. So, tell me, did you just lube up and ease it in, and then stand up and get dressed?"

"No, I… I…" Aziraphale breathed. But he could not finish his sentence because Crowley had grasped the base of the spade and was tugging at it subtly now. Not hard enough to pull it out, but just enough to cause little quakes and tiny (but powerful) surges of pleasure.

"You what?"

"I lay there for a while, and…"

Crowley was now spinning the toy inside of him. "And?" he asked. "Did you play at your hole for a bit with it? Tease yourself?"

"Yes," Aziraphale answered, with almost no voice, only breath.

"Did you move it in and out a few times?"

"Yes."

"Oh, angel," Crowley groaned, now pushing the Glen tartan trousers and linen pants down, bunching them at the knees. He groaned obscenely, rubbing his groin against the rounded cheek in front of him. "Fast or slow? Hard or gently?"

"All of those," Aziraphale whispered. "Started out slowly, gently but couldn't help myself."

"Fucked yourself good?"

"Not as thoroughly as I wanted to, but yes."

"Bad angel! Even though your intent was just to insert it?"

"Even though."

"Because you knew you wanted to sit with it at dinner, and drive me completely mad?"

"Yes. And…"

"And?"

Aziraphale swallowed hard. "And because I knew that when it was all over, I'd want to be well and truly satisfied, and at that point, I would not want to stand long on ceremony." His voice was still trembling a bit, but betraying impatience.

"Then what the fuck are we doing?" Crowley asked, grasping the base of the plug once again, and pulling.

"Oh, God," Aziraphale groaned with absolutely no irony, whatsoever. His body instinctively bent forward, and he placed both hands flat on the table.

The spade came loose, and Crowley set it aside, on the washcloth. Meanwhile, Aziraphale reached to his left, grabbed the olive oil dispenser and handed it back.

Crowley took it, and mused, "Mm, olive oil. Been a while."

"I don't care. Just do it," Aziraphale spat.

"Cheeky," Crowley commented, pouring a generous drizzle of olive oil over his partner's gaping hole. Aziraphale moaned, and gave a delicious curse at the odd, sinful feeling. "Oh angel, you're so ready… I can't fucking wait…"

"Hurry up, Crowley."

"Then bend over. Put your elbows on the table."

The former imperfect angel obliged.

Crowley ripped his shirt off, then tore open the button and fly of his jeans, and pushed them hurriedly down to his knees. He drizzled another hefty portion of olive oil all over the zealous, pulsating dick extending from his body, then rubbed, spreading it with one hand, while holding Aziraphale's hole open with the other. Olive oil now soaked the area rug under their feet, and there were large, careless splatters of it all over both pairs of trousers.

"Oh, do hurry," Aziraphale whined.

"Demanding," Crowley growled. "One evening sitting, moving about with that spade up your arse, and suddenly you're acting like a slut."

"If that's true, then so be it."

"I watched you rocking back and forth, angel, grinding that glass cock into you over and over…"

"Crowley, stop talking and…"

"You don't need to be bent over and fucked silly by me, angel," Crowley said. "I know what you've been wanting all night."

Crowley stepped out of his jeans, then knelt and untied the expensive two-tone brown shoes that Aziraphale always wore. He then helped free the feet from the socks, and the strong, fleshy legs from the light-coloured trousers and linen pants.

"What are you doing?" Aziraphale asked, nevertheless allowing it.

Crowley pulled a chair close, and sat down as he held onto Aziraphale's hips. His cock jutted up from his lap, eager to impale. "Come here, angel. Brace your hands on my knees and sit. I'll guide you down."

"Erm… all right."

Aziraphale did as he was told, and Crowley guided his slippery cockhead to probe at the greedy, stretched hole. When Aziraphale felt it, he took in a quick stream of air, and from there, he eased down rather quickly. He found himself, at last, filled with Crowley's throbbing dick. He gave a lewd groan, and a curse, followed by a Heavenly whisper of his wicked partner's name.

Already short of breath, Crowley said, "I'll try to stay hard for you, as long as you need, angel, but I don't have magical control over my body. If you're too good at this, I'll…"

"Shush," Aziraphale said, as he spread his legs, planted his hands on the armrests, and began to bear down at slowish intervals, much as he had done with the spade. "Oh, dear… oh, dear… oh…. oh…"

Crowley reached around with one oiled-up hand and began to stroke his Aziraphale's stiff member and whisper to him. "That's it… that's it… mmm, yes, get it in deeper…"

"Oh, it's already in so much deeper than the spade… oh… oh…" came the moaned response.

And Crowley became genuinely concerned that the moaning alone would make him come, even before his angel really got going on his cock.

"Angel, don't be shy," he panted. "I've got you in this position because I watched you tonight. I know what you want, so ride it hard! Give yourself a good, solid, fucking, and use me to do it! You can't hurt me – I can take it. Just let yourself have this, angel. And me."

"I do love how you feel in me, Crowley. I love, love, love it," Aziraphale mused with his eyes shut, swerving his hips in circles. "Never been in this deep before… never…"

"Good. Then impale yourself over and over again, and don't stop until right before you split open."

"Crowley!"

Crowley increased the rate at which he pumped Aziraphale's cock, and growled, "Oh, shut up, you loved hearing it! And isn't that what you want?"

In lieu of an answer, Aziraphale braced his hands again on the bony knees between his own, engaged a few long-dormant muscles and Crowley began to feel himself being pumped, milked expertly.

"Yes, it's what I want," Aziraphale whimpered as he began to move up and down, to give himself the fucking he'd been wanting, riding Crowley's cock as he'd been dying to, even though he hadn't really known it. His bum began to make a luscious slapping noise against Crowley's pelvis, and the sound only spurred him forward.

Crowley moaned openly, admired the round, accommodating arse before him and exclaimed, "Oh, angel, that's it… that's perfect…yes…"

He could no longer hold onto Aziraphale's cock, but neither of them noticed, for the moment. The sensations were too much, too explosive, too indecent for them to be bothered…

Crowley leaned his head back and enjoyed the intensity, the weight of Aziraphale's body grinding on him, the flawless, groan-inducing pressure over every inch of his straining, hair-trigger weapon, and began concentrating quite seriously on not blowing his load just yet.

"Oh, shit, you're going to drag it out of me too early, angel! Slow down…"

But his angel didn't hear. His senses were all concentrated on one desire. Over and over, his arse rose up just enough, then slammed back down, each time taking Crowley's hard dick all the way inside, each time giving a pornographic groan, each time feeling himself spread open further than before.

"Fuck," he spat, as the bulbous cockhead dug in deeper than ever, and his vision blurred. Crowley loved hearing him say that word, and let it echo in his brain.

Aziraphale, though, did slow, and relished in the feeling of something hard and hungry sliding into his hole, seemingly effortlessly, and lodging so deep, it nearly brought tears to his eyes. He sat, and savoured the sensation for a moment – fitting together with Crowley, his love for whom had been gathering like a storm for six thousand years.

Then he rose up, and relished it again. Then again, taking Crowley all the way in, all the way home, slamming harder and harder. Because he no longer could just let his body fall against his partner, he now made an effort and began to use force to impale himself harder and harder, and give him starry eyes, and slurred speech…

Crowley grunted with abandon at each of these strokes, and after a minute, he said, "Holy fuck, you're good at this. How the Hell… oh, angel… how did you nggggk…"

Aziraphale felt himself becoming unraveled, and wanting to follow the desire into the next phase…

"Crowley," Aziraphale breathed. "I want to feel you absolutely erupt inside me, like a fucking cannon!"

"Sure you're ready?" Crowley asked, now looking forward, grasping Aziraphale's hips, as though he could have any control.

"Yes, damn it, just tell me what I have to do to feel wet hot come filling me up! Tell me!"

"Just keep saying things like that," Crowley told him. "And don't stop pumping… don't stop… oh, shit, don't stop…"

Aziraphale continued to slam his arse down over Crowley's rod, as fast as he could manage, impaling himself, now causing himself a kind of delicious pain. He could feel his insides beginning to chafe, in spite of the olive oil, but he didn't care. He just kept going, serving himself, and his lover, and love itself.

"Oh Crowley, do hurry! Give it to me…" he panted, spurring his partner on. "Give me gushes of it! Take your pleasure… come on… think how good it will feel to let go inside of me!"

As an afterthought, Aziraphale reached down and squeezed Crowley's balls as hard as he dared, and twisted. He then heard a loud grunt of, "Oh fuck!" tear across the space, followed by the powerful throbbing of the cock in his arse, and the warm, slippery flow of creamy come, being released with hard groans and thrusts, deep inside of him.

"Come here," Crowley said, to his surprise, and he felt his partner's hand in his hair tugging him backward.

Aziraphale now leaned back against Crowley's right shoulder, whilst Crowley's left hand wrapped itself around his suffering, prodigiously swollen, copiously leaking member. That hand began to jerk up and down, while Aziraphale's body tightened over the next thirty seconds, and incomprehensible phrases tumbled off his lips. Soon enough, the tightening turned to total exhale, and his own milky pleasure was spurting out, accompanied by the music of his groans, and the lyrics of Crowley's low, growled encouragement. His stomach was speckled with warm, fresh come, as was Crowley's hand.

Crowley stayed with it until the last drop oozed over his thumb, then immediately sucked and licked off what he could from his fingers with a greedy moan. He then declared, "Now THAT was what you needed, wasn't it angel?"

"It was," Aziraphale mused, a bit dazed, still leaning on Crowley's shoulder. "How did you know?"

"Not my first rodeo."

"I suppose I should be thankful for that," Aziraphale panted.

"Well, without my experience, we'd both be stumbling in the dark."

"I found that very… well, pleasurable of course."

"I'd never have known," Crowley said, allowing one finger to drag through the slick pools on his partner's slightly rounded belly, the very palpable indicator of the 'pleasurable' nature of their evening. He brought just a bit of the salty liquid to his mouth, and sucked it off his finger.

"But I'm looking for another adjective," Aziraphale said, sitting up.

"Explosive? Revelatory?" Crowley joked.

"Liberating," Aziraphale said.

"Liberating. Interesting, angel."

Aziraphale turned to look at him. "But you knew that, didn't you?"

"Maybe."

"You're giving me… tools. You're constantly teaching me. Constantly showing me how to feel what I like. How to know what I want, and have it."

"Don't think there aren't selfish motivations in that."

"Oh, I know that there are, but…"

"I've done all sorts of things these past six thousand years, Aziraphale. I don't want nor need a total submissive, or a sex slave. I want a partner. Preferably one as depraved and versatile as I am."

"You also don't want me being a milquetoast, do you?"

"No, because you're not. You're tough, and you're a pleasure-seeker, and you always have been. Those two things translate to… well, not a passive participant. You deserve to have and feel everything."

"Thank you for teaching me what that means."

"Well, you're an incredibly amenable pupil."

Okay, for Somebody's sake, I need some feedback here! This is an incredibly difficult thing to write, and a risky thing to post. What are your thoughts? It helps me to continue writing, and not feel like a freak for writing stuff like this!

And hey, Adrian Nemo, thanks for your encouragements. :-)

Thank you for reading, everyone!