Notes: Written for the Ineffable Valentine's prompt 'playful'.
"So this line goes over this one and then … no. Okay, this one goes under and then … uh, no. No, that's not right." Aziraphale sighs thoughtfully. "You know, the gentleman in the video made this look so easy."
"Take your time," Crowley says, grinning at his husband's discomfort like the demon he is. "I'm in no hurry. None whatsoever."
"You're the submissive in this equation. Aren't you supposed to be silent until I give you permission to speak?"
"You know, you're right!" Crowley gasps, amber eyes playfully aglow. "You know what that means."
"What?"
"You're gonna have to punish me now. What will it be then? Hmm? Spanking? Edging? Testicle cuffs while you fuck me senseless?"
"How about a time-out in the corner while I go to the pub for a brandy?" Aziraphale murmurs, squinting at the knot he's tied with a hint of relief and elation in his tired blue eyes … which disappears swiftly when a single tug knocks the whole thing loose.
"Oh, boo," Crowley pouts, his grin still unquenchable. But he remains silent out of respect for his husband.
Aziraphale leans forward to better examine the rope he's been using to tie Crowley's wrists. With Crowley on his knees at Aziraphale's feet, he's attempting to lock Crowley's arms to his thighs, with the tail ends fashioned into a braid running behind his neck and down his back. It's considered a beginner level restraint (which Aziraphale highly doubts) that puts Crowley in line to blow him, the braid giving Aziraphale control of his movements.
From the video Crowley showed him, Aziraphale had to admit it looked sexy as all get out, and fairly simple when demonstrated by a professional. But with a mile of rope pooling on the floor, Aziraphale realizes they should have started with something shorter and easier to handle, like scarves. Or bow ties. The instructor in the video said they should use two different colors to make it easier to see how the knots build. Aziraphale was amenable to all the man's suggestions.
He is the expert after all.
But no.
Crowley was so excited when Aziraphale said he'd give Shibari a shot, he ran to the nearest home improvement store and picked up a skein of rope. Aziraphale has no idea if Crowley read the label, or if he picked the first thing he saw based solely on the color (black, by the by), because it must be close to fifty feet long! It probably doesn't help that Crowley dimmed the lights in the bedroom for ambiance, using a handful of battery operated 'candles' he found at the store with the rope to give their newly anointed playroom (otherwise known as Crowley's den) a romantic glow.
But Aziraphale can't see three inches in front of his face! And every time Aziraphale snaps his fingers to raise the level of the light, Crowley snaps his to dim them again.
Aziraphale fumbles another knot, drops another foot of rope, and scowls at his husband. But no matter what Crowley does, how often he snickers (which he attempts to hide by keeping his head bowed) Aziraphale can't deny that this is the hottest thing they've attempted together in a while.
And Crowley, as usual, is gorgeous this way - on his knees, flaming red hair shoulder length and spilling over. They're both naked, the glow from the flickering lights giving Crowley's skin a golden sheen, the dancing LED flames casting shadows across the muscles of his strong back, his athletic legs. Aziraphale whimpers, so ready to simply take his husband on the cold, hard ground and forget about the rope … or beg his husband to take him.
Tied up or not, this is incredibly erotic.
"Are you sure you don't want to be the one doing this?" Aziraphale asks. "It was, after all, your idea."
"Nuh-uh. I like being here, on my knees, waiting to please you."
Oh boy. Aziraphale likes the sound of that, but he may have bitten off more than he can chew. They chose these roles in part because Crowley claimed he dreamt for centuries of being dominated by Aziraphale. Neither of them tops more than the other in their relationship, but in life, Aziraphale tends to be the nurturer, the caretaker, with a cooler head in stressful situations. Crowley is the passionate one. He's untamed, emotional, flies off the handle quicker, can sometimes be irrational. So Aziraphale assuming the dominant role seemed more fitting.
According to Crowley.
In reality, Aziraphale feels Crowley wants Aziraphale in control because it gives Crowley the freedom not to worry, not to care. All that's required of him is to do, not to think. And whereas Aziraphale finds that brand of subservience stressful, he can see where it might be appealing.
But considering how much Aziraphale's hands shake trying to tie a few simple knots, he doesn't know if that was the wisest decision.
"Come on, Aziraphale," Crowley whispers, kissing slowly up the length of his angel's thigh, arm hanging loosely from the gauntlet that Aziraphale has yet to tighten. "I know you can do it. I have all the faith in the world …"
Aziraphale takes a deep breath and starts again, giving it one final go before he'll grab the computer, log on to X-Tube, and call in for reinforcements. He promised to give this a shot and he will – for Crowley and for him. Pushing boundaries, exploring new limits, Aziraphale wants to do it all with his husband. He pictures the pattern he's trying to weave in his head and does his best to recreate it, whipping lengths of rope behind him to keep them out of the way. He loops and ties and draws lines tight, focusing on one wrist, then the other. He finds the ends closest to him and gives them one final pull.
When they tighten instead of unravel, Aziraphale almost cheers.
Eager to see how he fared, he examines his creation … and frowns.
"Okay, this definitely isn't right," he groans at the mess he's made - rope draped everywhere, over his arms, hooked at his elbows and hanging to the floor, weighing him down. There is no visible pattern, just sloppy twists and lumps. But the most glaring mistake he's managed? He hasn't tied Crowley's wrists to his thighs, but somehow wound the rope around both their wrists together. It would probably be fairly easy to unwind but there's so much of it, Aziraphale wouldn't know where to begin.
And he refuses to snap his fingers and miracle it gone.
He doesn't need to explain that to Gabriel, not for all of God's grace.
Crowley gives his wrists a tug. He has no clue how his husband did it, but he's locked their wrists together. The braid that should have wound around Crowley's neck is wrapped behind Aziraphale's rear. Every time Crowley pulls forward, Aziraphale's hips jerk forward with them.
Crowley chuckles.
Hearing him, Aziraphale's cheeks burn fire red. "I wasn't the one who spent a decade as a pirate. I am trying my best here! You don't have to laugh at me!"
"I'm not."
"Then why does it sound like you're laughing at me?"
"I'm not laughing at you. I'm not laughing at anything."
"Then why are you laughing?"
"I'm laughing because I'm happy," Crowley says, trying to soothe his husband's frayed ego. "Because there's no place I'd rather be than here with you, doing exactly this."
"Yes, well, I imagine your knees have gone numb by now," Aziraphale grouses, fighting not to smile.
"Awhile ago. But that's all part of the charm."
"I've made a terrible mess,"Aziraphale says defeated. He tugs at the rope, shimmies his hips, noticing that he's managed to tie himself up more than Crowley.
"You've done fine, angel."
"Fine! You call this fine!?"
"Yup." Crowley drags Aziraphale's hips, and his cock, towards him; beyond ready, after waiting so patiently, to take his husband into his mouth, bury his nose into that alluring tuft of blonde curls between his legs. "If you ask me," he says, sticking out his tongue and giving the warm skin a gentle test lick, "I'd say you nailed it."