Title: Mindf***
Author: Ivvic
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Fandom: Good Omens
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Good Omens belongs to the geniuses known as Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.
Summary: Written for the GO Anon Kink Meme prompt: Aziraphale/Crowley: Crowley being an unapologetic bottom because cannot help it when it comes to Aziraphale; Aziraphale being all angelic (serene, polite, gentle and smiling) outwardly, but Crowley knows better, especially when he reduces Crowley to begging and crawling in front of him, wearing that same face, on a regular basis -- and even worse, reduced to loving him for it. (I was thinking of angelic holier-than-thou!mindfuck -smithing-gone-horribly-wrong-but-that's-just-what-this-particular-demon-needs-thingy rather than consenting BDSM games.)***
“You want to top me?” Crowley’s tone was incredulous.
“I don’t see why I shouldn’t have the opportunity,” Aziraphale said stiffly. “After all, I’ve been very decent about allowing you to run things.”
During the years since the Almost-alypse Crowley and Aziraphale had been come lovers and had branched out from vanilla sex to explore almost all other avenues of sex, particularly BDSM.
“Aziraphale, you wouldn’t know the first thing about topping someone.”
“I’ve read some things, and I’ve seen you in action.”
“Reading isn’t enough, or even knowing how to wield a whip. There’s a certain je ne sais quoi, a certain presence you have to have.”
“You think I don’t have it.” Aziraphale’s flat town should have warned Crowley to tread carefully, but he didn’t appear to notice it.
“I think you’re a mild mannered book shop keeper who couldn’t master a cup of tea.” Aziraphale’s face tried for murderous but came off as petulant.
“And I think you had better leave.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t want to put up with your arrogant, overbearing-” Aziraphale would have continued on in this vein if Crowley hadn’t interrupted him.
“Alright, alright. If you’re going to get worked up over it you can give it a try tomorrow.”
“Aren’t you just the epitome of graciousness.” Crowley could tell that Aziraphale was going to be irritable for a while and decided to make a break for it. The angel would probably calm down if left to his own devices at the bookshop before he came home for the night. Aziraphale had essentially moved into Crowley’s flat, though he still kept a small bedroom above the shop. And then there was the even more interesting basement.
“I’ll see you tonight then,” Crowley said straightening his coat as he rose.
“Don’t you want to discuss the scene first?” Aziraphale protested.
“Do what ever you want, you have my list. Surprise me.” The condescending tone had Aziraphale plotting how to take the demon down a notch or two.
---
When Aziraphale had initially moved into the Soho shop it hadn’t had a basement, but since Crowley and he had been delving deeper into the BDSM lifestyle a proper dungeon had manifested.
The walls were large gray brick with rings secured in them at deliberate intervals for the iron chains that were piled neatly in corners. One corner was screened off from the room and against that false wall was a cabinet with all number of drawers for the various implements that had been collected. There were also several interesting pieces of furniture; the one that held Aziraphale’s attention wouldn’t have been out of place in a doctors office.
The narrow bed was waist high, adjusted into different positions and had rails that could be raised if needed. Currently the bed was flat and the rails were lowered with chains dangling from them.
Since getting permission from Crowley to control the nights proceedings he had been down to the dungeon three times to make sure everything was just as he wanted it. He was down there for just one last check when Crowley arrived, descending the stairs dressed in his usual immaculate suit.
Crowley took in the room and angel in a sweeping glance and knew the night was going to be a bust. The angel hadn’t even made an effort with his appearance, he was wearing a dowdy sweater vest over a striped button-up shirt and corduroy trousers. Crowley supposed he ought to be grateful that he wouldn’t be subjected to the angel’s favored tartan during the proceedings.
“Alright then, where’d you want me?”
“On the bed if you please.” Crowley hopped up on it obligingly, kicking one heel against the metal end. “If you wouldn’t mind lying down,” Aziraphale said from across the room where he was collecting a cloth covered tray. Crowley began to scoot back so as to position his full length on the hard pallet but Aziraphale’s exaggerated sigh stilled the movement.
“Just lay back as you are, dear.”
“With my legs hanging off the edge?”
“I do hope you aren’t going to questions every little thing this evening,” Aziraphale chided, setting the tray on a table near the bed. Going to Crowley’s side he pressed a loving kiss to Crowley’s mouth.
Mentally rolling his eyes Crowley wondered what exactly the angel had been reading to think this a way to top someone. A small part of him that he wouldn’t admit to was disappointed. The thought of being thoroughly dominated had a certain allure to it.
Aziraphale ran his hands up Crowley’s sides, gently extending Crowley’s arms to either side. The thoughts Crowley was entertaining of the night being a failure vanished as the manacles hanging from the bedrails miracled themselves to surround his wrists.
Aziraphale conscientiously checked both of Crowley’s wrists to ensure there was proper circulation though he knew Crowley’s corporation could heal most ails.
Crowley pulled against the bonds the Aziraphale had spent a painstaking hour adjusting to ensure they would hold the demon spread eagle on the bed. As Crowley squirmed he discovered the chains were just a touch too short, creating a pull on his chest muscles. He was surprised and grudgingly admiring of the tactic, which he wouldn’t have thought the angel would have in him.
Aziraphale pulled back from Crowley’s prone form and returned to his tray. Seeing that Crowley’s gaze had followed him he whisked off the cloth with a showman ship that would have made Mr. Maskelyne proud.
Craning his neck Crowley could see a short riding crop and a pair of emergency shears but was unable to get enough leverage to see the rest of the tray.
“You’ve been a naughty boy, haven’t you?” Aziraphale said softly, picking up the riding crop and stroking it through his hands.
“Yeah, well, that’s sort of the point,” Crowley said trying to keep the riding crop in his sight. The crop in question came down sharply across his upper chest. Crowley came up off the table as far as the restraints permitted with an exclamation.
“You are not helping your case,” Aziraphale said lightly. “You should not doubt, demon. You should not question.” Two more sharp lashes landed, the suit jacket and dress shirt didn’t absorb much of the shock of it. “Doubt will only get you in trouble.”
Aziraphale replaced the riding crop on the tray and selected the emergency shears. Crowley’s brow creased in confusion until Aziraphale moved to one of the bound wrists and began slicing away the clothes.
“Angel, why don’t you-”
“If I want your advice I’ll be sure to ask for it,” Aziraphale said curtly. As Crowley’s garments fell from his form, first baring his arms and then his chest, Aziraphale began dropping the temperature.
Normally the pair kept the room indecently warm; in part due to Crowley’s lack of tolerance, but also because anytime you found yourself naked but for your bonds the body feels more susceptible to the cold. But this night wasn’t about Crowley’s comfort.
As Aziraphale pushed the remaining tatters of Crowley’s suit from his chest he saw the first minute shivers cross the demon’s skin. Crowley started to ask something but a cold look from Aziraphale killed the question.
Aziraphale traced a finger along one of the welts on Crowley’s chest while watching his face. The uncertainty he found there was titillating. Aziraphale meticulously returned the shears to the tray, confident that Crowley was watching his every move. Aziraphale moved to the end of the bed and began undoing Crowley’s belt with brisk, efficient movements. Aziraphale’s demeanor was almost detached as he slid Crowley’s trousers down his legs, exposing him and effectively hobbling his ankles.
Crowley was already half erect with anticipation, and he wet his lips as his eyes hungrily followed the angel. This time Aziraphale selected a medium sized flogger with thin leather straps.
“Yes, I think you’ve been a bad boy indeed. Falling from grace. You’ve forgotten your place since you’re last punishment. It’s only fitting that I give you the next installment.”
Aziraphale stood there for a moment to give the demon a chance to appreciate his position. Crowley shuddered more convulsively than before and his pulse picked up speed; the cool temperature, his position and state of dress conspiring to make him feel more vulnerable then he had since the Fall.
“Then again, I’m not sure you’re worth my time.”
“No, no, please. I’ve been a bad boy. I need this. Please. Teach me my place.” It was simultaneously lowering and thrilling to beg for a whipping. One Crowley thoroughly felt he deserved, but not as any sort of punishment.
“Very well then.”
Aziraphale brought the flogger down across Crowley’s thighs with a viciousness that startled the demon. Blow after blow landed, striking his thighs and stomach. Each landed precisely where Aziraphale intended. Every so often he landed a soft flick directly on Crowley’s genitals, at first it was the only noise Aziraphale could elicit from the demon but it wasn’t a pain noise.
Crowley’s skin warned with the lashes and turned pink while Aziraphale built up steam, the strikes coming faster and landing harder. As they peaked Crowley couldn’t prevent the gasps and grunts that escaped his lips.
One more nasty strike to Crowley’s cock, far harder than the demon was anticipating brought Crowley off the table, fighting his restraints. Aziraphale judged Crowley had reached his limit and returned the flogger to the tray. Crowley noticed that Aziraphale wasn’t even breathing hard, which made his harsh pants more discomforting.
“I have to hand it to you, angel. I didn’t think you had it in you,” Crowley said as soon as he was able to moderate his breathing. Aziraphale did not appreciate the cocky tone.
“I don’t recall saying that I was finished with you, but if you keep talking out of turn I will be.” The angel favored the demon with a cold glance and checked his bonds again. Everything seemed to be in order.
Aziraphale left Crowley’s line of sight, and the door leading upstairs closed noisily. Crowley lay still for all of two seconds before starting to squirm in an attempt to see if the angel was still in the room.
Heart thudding in his chest he forced himself to stop wriggling and attempted to calm down. He knew Aziraphale wouldn’t just abandon him down there. Aziraphale knew that leaving a bottom bound and alone wasn’t good practice, he’d be back any second with some new delight. Maybe he hadn’t even left the room.
Crowley forced his heart beat to still and strained his ears for any noise that would betray the angel’s presence but came up empty. He didn’t even notice when his body started breathing again on its own accord, quick little panicked gasps.
He was fine, fine, he told himself. Aziraphale would come back, or failing that he could miracle himself out of the restraints in an instant if he needed to, and he nearly did too. But Aziraphale might not be willing to play dominant again if Crowley quit early and he didn’t want that. It was a strong effort of will for the demon to continue lying there.
Shivers began wracking Crowley’s prone form, the only warmth on his body from the stinging sensations left by the whipping. Crowley couldn’t remember feeling so exposed.
Sensing that Crowley was nearing the end of his ability to lay there Aziraphale pushed the door open and closed with a thought and stood from the plush armchair he had miracled in the corner. After a few moments had passed, to give the illusion of descending the stairs Aziraphale reentered Crowley’s line of sight.
“Aziraphale, I’m cold,” Crowley’s voice came out plaintive instead of the demand that he had intended; yet it was obvious he had relaxed since Aziraphale’s ‘reappearance’.
“Poor little Crowley. Poor little demon,” Aziraphale crooned. “I wonder what we should do to warm you up.” Despite his mocking tone Aziraphale did warm up the ambient temperature of the basement, just enough to take off the edge of Crowley’s discomfort, but the demons body was still trembling slightly.
“This is the last toy we’ll be playing with this evening,” Aziraphale said displaying the dagger to Crowley, its sharp edge gleaming. The quick inhalation was intoxicating to Aziraphale.
“Do you recognize this? It was given to me during the Crusades.” He slowly rotated the dagger, enjoying the effect it seemed to have on the demon. “It’s been blessed by seven different priests and two popes over the years,” he continued as the demon paled. “I spent all day sharpening it just for you.”
Aziraphale held the dagger lovingly in one hand and caressed it along Crowley’s arm, then drug it down Crowley’s sternum with just enough pressure to scrape at Crowley’s skin, just enough for the demon to sense the destructive holiness. Crowley’s breaths came in faster, shorter gasps as the dagger moved lower, its point skimming the delicate and vulnerable flesh of his stomach. Aziraphale ended with the dagger pressed against the base of Crowley’s flaccid penis.
“Aziraphale, I-”
“You said I could do as I please,” the angel said with a hint of peevishness hidden in command. “You trust me, don’t you?” Crowley hesitated before nodding. “Maybe it would be better if you couldn’t see this next part.” Now the angel’s voice held a note of compassion, which only enhanced Crowley’s feeling of dread.
Cloth slid itself over golden eyes. The white cloth was reminiscent of a firing squad’s victim and wasn’t thick enough to completely block Crowley’s vision. He could see Aziraphale’s shadowy shape moving about.
The panic that Crowley had had mild success at subduing flared sharply, stealing the breath Crowley didn’t need as his heart rate rocketed. Aziraphale began tracing esoteric patterns on his chest directly above the demon’s heart as Crowley’s thoughts began gibbering at him.
He wouldn’t - he couldn’t - we’ve never gone this far! What is he doing?
Crowley was desperately trying to convince himself that Aziraphale wouldn’t take things too far. The angel had never enjoyed smiting him before. He did trust the angel, perhaps more than he as a demon should, but memories of those horrible years after the fall were creeping into his consciousness.
Crowley sensed more than saw Aziraphale’s arms raise above his head from his position at Crowley’s side, dagger held firmly between his hands. Terror stealing his safe word Crowley screamed wordlessly as Aziraphale’s arms came crashing down.
Unbeknownst to Crowley Aziraphale had reversed his blessed dagger in his grasp so that it was the hilt that thumped resoundingly directly over Crowley’s heart.
The blessing on the hilt coursed amplified the pain from the strike and it was several long seconds before Crowley realized that he hadn’t lost his current corporation.
Stunned, naked and covered in a cold sweat Crowley burst into tears.
Aziraphale returned the dagger to the tray before moving to the end of the bed, pulling up Crowley’s trousers. “Lift your hips for me, there’s a dear.” The angel competently undid the manacles by hand, seeing that they had bit deeply into Crowley’s wrists at his last desperate struggle. They fell to the floor with a clatter that had Crowley’s much abused form jolting in anticipation of another blow.
With tender hands Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s flushed cheeks before removing the damp blindfold. Aziraphale effortless lifted Crowley into his arms and carried him into the screened portion of the room where a couch and blankets were waiting.
The angel warmed the thick blanket with a touch before draping it around Crowley’s body as they settled on the couch. Crowley burrowed into Aziraphale, his shivers finally subsiding and his tears slowing. He listened to Aziraphale’s soothing murmurs and leaned into the caresses.
Once he had adequately recovered Crowley heard himself asking, “What was that?”
“I believe they call it the classic mind fuck.”
***