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Crowley pulled on the drawstring of the red hoodie, cinching it beneath his neck until it dug into his skin. He slumped his shoulders and picked up his pace. Of all the days to be ordered into the woods on a secret errand. His heat was a half-day off, if that. He should be in a warm bed, not alone beneath the thick, dark boughs where sunlight rarely pierced.
He suspected that the king was aware of his delicate state and got his jollies from making Crowley squirm. The court’s sexual harassment policies were rubbish, and Crowley had a talent for rubbing the royal family wrong.
To make matters worse, he’d been sent to the wizard Hastur’s cottage. Bad enough that the vile bastard carried toads in his hat (a good potion-maker was never caught without). But recently he’d developed an affinity for floral house dresses that reeked of mothballs.
Crowley was well aware of his own attributes: willowy frame, honey-colored eyes and hair like polished copper. He was the perfect omega, made to tempt. Even when his heat wasn’t upon him, he had to guard his back. The sooner he picked up whatever his highness had requested and delivered it to the castle—while preferably staying in one, unmolested piece—the better.
At some point in his rushing through the deepening shadows he lost the footpath. By the time he reached Hastur’s cottage the lanterns were lit inside and the moon was high and full, peeking through the boughs above him. Crowley opened the door without knocking. “Wizard, I’m here for…” Crowley’s breath failed as he came face to face with a very large, very blonde, wolf.
After a long, terrified glance, Crowley determined that whatever he was looking at absolutely wasn’t a wolf. Because wolves as a species didn’t stand on their back legs…or wear waistcoats, or plaid bow ties. And any wolves that Crowley had had the misfortune of coming upon in the wild didn’t cover their mouths with their large, clawed paws and look chagrined when caught in the act of devouring.
“Oh, ah, beg your pardon. I’ve made quite the mess.” The wolf-man’s voice was high and clipped. He gestured at the scraps of innards that had once resided inside Hastur. “But I was quite peckish. And he was appallingly rude.” He nervously folded his paws over his middle, as if covering the evidence.
“Sounds right.” The scene was so bizarre that Crowley found himself grinning.
With an irritated huff, the man-wolf pulled what appeared to be a large knitting needle from a pocket of his waistcoat and began to pick at his teeth. He worked at a spot for a full minute before his muzzle twisted with embarrassment. “Good lord, where are my manners?” He again covered his razor-sharp teeth with a paw. It was a bit adorable. “Polyester is ghastly on the gums.”
“I’d imagine.” Crowley nodded. “Natural fibers are, of course, preferable.”
“Of course.” The wolf-man sniffed, placing the needle on a table with a nimbleness that went against his size. “Don’t linger in the doorway, my dear. It’s rude, and you’re shivering.”
Crowley latched the door behind him, and moved to warm himself in front of the fire. It put his back to the man-wolf but he figured it didn’t matter. He was already caught. “So y’gonna eat me now?”
“Good heavens, no!” The man-wolf sounded appalled—a rich reaction since he’d done precisely that to the last occupant of the cottage. “I think I have indigestion.”
Crowley turned and lifted a brow. The man-wolf’s eyes sparkled with mirth. He had very blue eyes. “Serves you right for consuming raw toad.”
“Believe you me, that was the highlight of the meal.” The wolf-man flashed Crowley a deadly, but well-tended, grin.
“Those are some very big, very white teeth you have there, mister, ah…?”
“Aziraphale.” The man-wolf held out a paw. “And you would be?”
“Crowley, royal courier.” He took the paw in both hands. It was as long as his forearm.
Before Crowley could ease toward the door, Aziraphale placed his other paw at Crowley’s waist and pulled him close, whispering, “Good dental hygiene is so important, don’t you agree?”
“I, um, suppose so, yeah. Flossing, big fan of flossing—” Crowley tugged at his hoodie, the drawstring suddenly much too tight. The chill he’d felt in the woods had evaporated completely, leaving him hot and fidgety.
“You do smell delicious.” Aziraphale leaned down, nuzzling beneath the hood, pressing the wet of his nose to the base of Crowley’s throat. The fur sticking out from Aziraphale’s gaping waistcoat rubbed against Crowley’s belly. Aziraphale’s tail gave a heavy wag, and Crowley was suddenly awash in untamed alpha scent. “Oh, poppet.” Aziraphale’s voice rumbled, his claws pricked at Crowley’s waist. “What are you doing so far from home this close to your time?”
There were days when Crowley hated being an omega; hated the neediness, the lack of control. But as his knees buckled and his arse turned wet, he realized with a shock that this wasn’t one of them. Aziraphale smelled like a roll in the grass on a crisp autumn night, like woodsmoke and long naps. His body dwarfed Crowley’s. He was a head taller and curled over and around him. His long claws could slice him in half. His teeth, so near to Crowley’s throat, could end him in a snap.
“Didn’ mean to.” Crowley shook his head until the hood fell loose and his red hair tumbled free. He was enveloped in Aziraphale’s simmering scent. “King said go. And I, ah…” His answer was cut off by the feel of Aziraphale’s rough tongue sliding over his scent gland. It was thick and long, spanning from Crowley’s nape to under his chin. Aziraphale worked at his skin with growing enthusiasm, growling low in his throat like Crowley was the sweetest dessert. “Fuck, Aziraphale, that’s ah, that’s a mighty big tongue you have.” There was slick puddling in Crowley’s pants. He could smell himself sweetening by the minute, his scent almost cloying.
“It is, isn’t it? So unlike when I’m human.” There was a secret there, but Crowley’s mind was too muddled to catch on. He could only moan and cling to Aziraphale as his tongue slithered around Crowley’s neck, undulating right over his pounding pulse. “It’s so sensitive, so strong. And the tastes, good lord. They’re worth the discomfort of the change. I can taste the essence of you, savor you right down to the marrow. You’re bewitching.” The last was a groan, delivered through a panting muzzle.
“Please, Aziraphale-Az, I need, oh bugger, I need–” And with that Crowley’s legs went boneless, his hands scrabbling down Aziraphale’s front as he fell. Aziraphale grunted in shock as his tongue snapped back into his mouth like a pull cord. Crowley thudded to his knees at crotch level.
Crowley had been understandably terrified when he’d entered the cottage. But that didn’t justify his oversight. Aziraphale was huge. Hung like a, well, a werewolf. His erection stood out from the long, thick fur of his groin, widening with the start of a knot at the base and glistening at the tip.
Crowley licked his lips, looked up with gluttonous eyes. “What a pretty, big prick you’ve got.”
“Do you like it, pet?” The irony of the endearment wasn’t lost on Crowley, who snorted then hummed approvingly as Aziraphale hoisted him over his shoulder and carried him to a bed in the corner of the room. With a flick of a claw, Crowley’s trouser button went skittering. With a wiggle of Aziraphale’s paws, Crowley’s pants and trousers fell to shreds. Crowley whined and shimmied, shedding his hoodie and shirt while attempting to flip onto his belly. The need to present was almost unbearable. “Hush. Let me look my fill—hair like fire and skin like snow, a feast for my eyes as well as my palate. There must be tales written of you, pretty one.” Aziraphale placed a heavy paw on Crowley’s stomach, bearing down and stilling his restlessness. “You’re making my mouth water, morsel, but it’s a poor host who serves the meal before the starter.”
Crowley had a moment to gasp out Aziraphale’s name, and then his rigid cock was enveloped by a toothy muzzle. It was terrifying. It was glorious. Aziraphale was so careful with his enthusiasm, swallowing and pressing the firm muscles of his tongue against the sensitive underside. The inside of Aziraphale’s teeth felt like the back edge of a knife, not sharp enough to cut, but honed enough to scrape deliciously. They slid up and down the sides of Crowley’s prick, a bright spot of pain to ground the pleasure, a threat wrapped up in a caress.
Aziraphale’s long tongue reached well beyond the end of his muzzle. With animal-like insistence he lapped at Crowley’s balls as the rest of his maw continued sucking his prick. Crowley whined and writhed, shifting on the bed to try and push himself further into the cavern of Aziraphale’s jaws. With a grunt Aziraphale’s tongue reached just that bit further, brushing over Crowley’s rim to collect the slick that was pouring from him. He flicked at the swollen, wet skin again and again as if he’d slurp Crowley down whole if only he could reach—
Just the promise of it was enough. Crowley arched from the bed with a howl of his own, sounding more primal than he could remember. Heats were a base exercise at the best of times, but the pungent, earthy smell radiating from Aziraphale left him unhinged. It set free the whining, wanton creature that slithered beneath Crowley’s skin.
With a high keen he poured his spend down Aziraphale’s throat, meager as it was. Crowley, true to his omega biology, was almost instantly hard again. He fought to catch his breath as his pulse galloped in his throat.
“Oh, sweetling. Oh, dove.” Aziraphale slid his wide paws up and down Crowley’s thighs, comforting him even as his claws tickled the soft skin. “How lovely you taste. How beautiful you are in your rapture.” The words were fair, his voice prim, a disarming contrast to the grumbling want that bubbled beneath.
Crowley gave a huff of laughter. “Gods, Aziraphale, your tongue. That remarkable tongue. I couldn’t put two thoughts together. You’re—that’s…oh bloody buggering fuck.”
With an expression of dark pleasure, Aziraphale raised onto his muscled haunches and bent forward, caging Crowley between his heavy chest and the bed. The silver-blue moons of his eyes swam with black. They met Crowley’s without hesitation.
He pressed a paw to Crowley’s throat, holding him in place with less effort that it would take to keep a small animal captive—a lanky rabbit pinned beneath him. Aziraphale hummed a low note. His chest vibrated with it. “You are not quite ready for that, my darling. Patience.”
As quick as the wind through the trees outside, Aziraphale flipped Crowley onto his belly. His wide paws found his arse cheeks and pulled them open. Then his tongue—that deadly, delicious tongue—slid deep into Crowley with a decadent squelch.
Crowley screamed. He writhed. His fists balled in the bed coverings and he damn near bit a hole in his own tongue. Aziraphale had taken him with one strong shove and was now sliding his tongue in and out, catching Crowley’s rim on the pull and hitting his prostate on the push. There was slick everywhere. Crowley was aroused and open and leaking a steady stream.
Aziraphale, for his part, seemed intent on swallowing it all, fucking his tongue into Crowley with a single-mindedness that was maddening. Crowley was overwhelmed—overstimulated and shaking and oscillating between embarrassment and bone-burning desire.
Aziraphale must have smelled the edge of his distress, because he paused in his rabid claiming to whisper, “Let go, little doe. Why do you fight your nature when you could enjoy it instead? You were made to be cherished, omega. To be filled and pleased and coddled.”
“But the sounds I’m making and, gods, how I must look. It’s lewd—”
“It’s lovely. It’s your way and it’s mine, and we fit together to perfection. Let me keep you, dearest. I’ll be so gentle.”
Crowley had no reason to trust Aziraphale other than the consideration he’d shown him over the last few minutes. He’d minded his fangs and talons where they’d brushed Crowley’s skin with an attentiveness suited for a gentleman caller, even if what they were currently engaged in was anything but proper.
And Crowley was so desperately tired of running; tired of scurrying from one bolthole to another, changing nests from month to month in case some clever alpha caught the scent of his last heat and waited around for him to return.
Crowley had a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind. His body was whip-strong and lithe. But there was no outrunning or outwitting what he was at his core.
With a groan Crowley went limp. He waited with his arms extended at his sides and his chest flush to the mattress, arse in the air. There was no mistaking the pose. “Go on, beast. Do your worst.”
Aziraphale chuckled. It sounded breathy in his massive chest. “If I’m a beast then surely you’re my beauty.” He took Crowley by the hips and licked a stripe up his crack that made Crowley shiver. “How gorgeous you’ll look stretched around my cock.” The blunt head of it brushed against Crowley’s hole, and he held his breath. Aziraphale groaned and pushed forward. “Like that, my own. Just so.”
The drag of Aziraphale’s giant cock was breathtaking. It was a galvanizing stretch, filling and filling Crowley until he was sure he could take no more. And still Aziraphale pushed.
Crowley’s mouth fell open, his hands fisted in the bedding. “Can’t, ngk, Aziraphale…oh, bloody hell. I can’t.” Pain and pleasure were a jumbled stew in his brain. Crowley’s nerves were on fire and his skin felt hot and too tight, like a shackle he needed to shed.
“You can, my dear. So close now, Crowley. We’re so very close.” Then there was the rough of his tongue, lapping at where Crowley was stretched, wetting the way.
“Aziraphale. Oh, gods.” Crowley pictured it in his mind: that long, strong torso bent almost double, the lovely furred arch of his back, Aziraphale’s magnificent tongue extending beyond his teeth, just long enough to reach. The thought of it. Fuck, simply the thought of it had Crowley groaning and relaxing, letting the rest of his wide prick in.
“Crowley, my Crowley.” Aziraphale’s muzzle was damp with slick. It brushed the back of Crowley’s neck. “Can you feel how divinely we fit together?”
Aziraphale held still but the stretch was still overwhelming. Crowley could feel his aching pulse in his arse, in his hips and his spine. He wished that he was on his back so that he could wrap a fist around Aziraphale’s tie strap. He would pull him down and nose at Aziraphale’s neck, drown himself in his scent. Already he craved it.
When Aziraphale finally started thrusting it was an earthquake, an explosion. Every shift of his massive thighs sent a jolt of pleasure through Crowley. The pain receded and only want remained.
Time blurred. Crowley ignored the burn in his knees and the tug on his inner thighs, the ache in his back. All that mattered was Aziraphale’s cock and how deeply it filled him, how complete and right it felt to be molded around him.
Crowley turned his head to the side, exposing his neck, begging without words. Aziraphale pressed his open maw to the skin, letting his teeth scrape back and forth over Crowley’s scent gland. Crowley whined in response, his head drooping, completely undefended.
“I, ah, can’t right now, love.” Aziraphale was gasping for air. His hips thrusting in a steady, devastating rhythm that rattled Crowley’s bones along with the bedframe. “These teeth, unh, aren’t made for detailed work. And you’re much too fetching to mar.”
“But I want—” Crowley’s voice broke in a whine, he was so close to coming, and he needed, gods he needed…“Please claim me, Aziraphale.”
He’d never thought it before, let alone asked for it. But he was sinking in turned earth and tumbled grass, tea and scones and dusty books and old carpets and he craved Aziraphale for his own.
“I will. I promise. Before this heat is over you will be mine.” That small syllable vibrated with power, and Crowley ducked his head lower, stretched his knees apart until he flattened himself on the bed. He would turn himself inside out to be the good omega his powerful mate deserved. Aziraphale hummed approvingly. “There’s no need to try and impress, I’m already smitten. Now, come for me, darling, no holding back.”
With a grunt, Aziraphale redoubled his efforts, thrusting into Crowley with inhuman endurance. He slid a paw beneath him and inelegantly rubbed Crowley’s hard cock. There was hot breath on his neck and just the tease of teeth and claws on his skin and Crowley couldn’t slow his reaction if he’d wanted to—his balls tightened, his muscles coiled, and he cried out his release, back stiffening as he shook from the tip of his head to his toes.
The world went liquid white behind his eyelids. Crowley pulled air into his searing lungs. As from a distance he felt his body squeezing again and again.
Aziraphale howled with pleasure. His knot started to swell.
Crowley had never allowed himself to be knotted before. He expected pain, but was happily surprised. It started as a mild stretch that grew into a constant pressure touching all of the places inside him that felt raw. It was soothing, like holding a wound. Then the pressure increased against his prostate and it tipped into astonishing bliss. He orgasmed again, crying out Aziraphale’s name in shock as his arse milked his now-emptying knot. Warmth flooded Crowley, a match to the warm joy in his chest and the heat of Aziraphale’s heavy body against Crowley’s back.
They panted in time for several minutes, until Aziraphale whispered, “That was wonderful,” and rolled them onto their sides, still locked together. He cradled Crowley in his arms.
“Uh-huh.” Crowley tried to nod but his muscles were slack and his face was buried in Aziraphale’s hairy forearm. His eyes closed without intention, his breathing slowed.
“Sleep, mate.” Aziraphale made a happy, low sound and Crowley matched it. He thought he might be purring, another first, but was too tired to take note. “We have a long night ahead of us.”
***
Crowley woke to sunlight on his face. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was a tartan bow tie. It was clenched in his fist.
The second thing he saw were blue-sky eyes staring at him from a dignified face he’d never seen before, but still knew. The scent of happiness that poured from the naked man lying facing him was syrupy-sweet and wonderfully familiar.
“What lovely eyes you have, Aziraphale?” He raised his voice in question, but already knew the answer. Aziraphale nodded. Crowley took his head in both hands and tangled his fingers in white-blonde curls that were an exact match to his wolf’s fur. “And lovely lips.” Crowley touched them with his thumbs. They were soft, with no fangs to be found.
“So much better to kiss you with, don’t you agree?” Crowley had no time to ponder how Aziraphale’s human voice was essentially unchanged, before Aziraphale was lunging forward and kissing him slowly. He teased Crowley’s lips open with that delectable tongue and savored him with the same hungry groan.
Crowley was lost in the sensation of rubbing his tongue against Aziraphale’s. He learned his taste and the shape of his relatively dull teeth. After a few breathless moments, Crowley gathered his wits enough to say, “I thought werewolves were a myth.”
“I thought humans were a myth until I was twelve.” Aziraphale chuckled, and Crowley grinned at the sound. “That was the first time I was allowed to leave the forest. This is all I’ve ever known. I’m usually a pacifist—”
“Tell that to poor Hastur.”
“He was wretched.” Aziraphale sniffed. His ears turned pink.
“He was.” Crowley smirked. Aziraphale was easy to tease. “But his cottage is nice.” He looked around then winked. “Maybe we’ll keep it.”
“That’s vulgar.” Aziraphale made an affronted face without a hint of earnestness.
“Is it?” Crowley goaded.
Aziraphale pursed his lips, looking put upon. “The cottage is very nice. It would be a shame to let it go to rot.” He was the picture of innocence. Gods, Crowley was already in love with the bastard.
His eyes trailed down Aziraphale’s body. There was none of the wolf remaining. Aziraphale was pleasingly plump, with full hips and sturdy thighs and a roll of softness around his waist. His cock was large, even for an alpha, and nestled in a thatch of hair that matched that on his head. When Crowley met Aziraphale’s eyes they were nervous.
“You’re gorgeous, Aziraphale. Breathtaking body and the face of an angel.” Aziraphale blushed again and Crowley wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him close. The air around them thickened with Aziraphale’s happiness, and Crowley’s heat flared. His insides writhed and he shifted his hips, rubbing his rapidly hardening prick against Aziraphale’s thigh, whispering brokenly, “I need you.”
“I’m yours, dearest. You have only to ask.”
Crowley was sweating, and Aziraphale kissed his damp temples. He rolled him onto his back and spread his thighs. When Aziraphale covered Crowley with his soft weight and kissed his mouth, they both moaned with relief.
Everything felt new in the morning light. Aziraphale placed Crowley’s tired thighs on his shoulders and entered him with care. Crowley was open and wet from their night of coupling, so there was no discomfort, only deep-seated pleasure. They rocked together in near silence, the sounds of their bodies and breath the only accompaniment.
As Crowley felt his climax start to build he cried out and grabbed at Aziraphale’s arms. “Please, Aziraphale. Please.” They both knew what he was begging for.
“You’re certain?” Aziraphale stilled and held Crowley’s gaze.
With a huff of frustration Crowley slid his legs free and disentangled from Aziraphale, flipping over onto all fours. “I’m bloody decided.” Then, more gently, “Where you are is where I want to be.”
“You will become one of us.” Aziraphale said it bluntly, giving him the choice. As an omega, Crowley had spent so much energy trying to evade his fate. He’d never expected to have the chance to decide it.
Crowley imagined himself in a different body, sprinting beneath the shadowed trees, low to the ground and quick as lightning across the night sky.
He grinned at Aziraphale over his shoulder. “Hustle it up. Heat’s not gonna end any time soon.” His arse was in the air. He shook it to make his point. “Do your worst, wolf.”
Aziraphale huffed, the sound rough with approval, then took Crowley by the hips and slid back inside. His fingers were warm and soft, so unlike the claws that Crowley had become used to. His belly was soft too where it pressed against Crowley’s lower back.
“You’ll look radiant beneath the full moon.” Aziraphale’s breaths quickened as his hips sped their pace. “I’ll keep you so content, my mate, my pack.”
“Yes.” Crowley cried out, shifting on his knees and meeting Aziraphale’s thrusts. He was shocked how much he wanted it: to belong to Azirahphale, to be tied together forever with a soul-deep connection.
Aziraphale might be less intimidating in this form but he was still wide and strong, with life-hewn muscles beneath the softness. He could still manhandle Crowley, holding him in place and driving him into the mattress with his large, hard prick. In no time at all he had Crowley mewling, his needy body quivering on the precipice of release.
“Now, Aziraphale. Oh, fuck, now—”
With a snarl Aziraphale bit down hard over Crowley’s scent gland, his dull teeth breaking the skin and piercing the tissue beneath. The pain was shocking. Crowley threw his head back and screamed, the reflexive need to pull away from the source of his pain warring with a deeper desire to submit and let the bond take hold.
As dizzying as the hurt was, it was over in a moment. Aziraphale’s knot swelled, stretching and then filling Crowley so deliciously that it overrode everything else. Warmth pooled at his core and a flush spread outward from the bite, pebbling his nipples and raising goosebumps down his chest, across his stomach and thighs.
Aziraphale released Crowley’s flesh and started licking the wound. He acted on instinct, carefully rolling them onto their sides and sheltering Crowley in his arms, protecting his claim. The whole world stilled, then changed.
Crowley unraveled. He and Aziraphale tangled back together into something new.
He could taste his blood on Aziraphale’s teeth and feel the punctures in his skin beneath Aziraphale’s tongue. Aziraphale gasped Crowley’s name and squeezed his shoulders. Their bond expanded by the second: a million tiny threads sewing them together. Crowley felt Aziraphale’s surprise followed by his joy; it mirrored his own.
He closed his eyes and felt the pull of the moon. It burned like liquid silver in their veins.
***
In the heart of the woods there sits a lovely cottage. The woodfolk whisper that it is guarded by two enormous dogs: one with a coat as golden as the wheat at harvest, the other as fiery as the flames of hell. If you pass that way in the daylight, and if you’re lucky and well-mannered, you’ll be greeted with welcome and treated to tea and currant scones at a table in the most verdant garden you’ll ever encounter.
But not all is idyllic, even in lovely cottages. For if you are unfortunate enough to lose yourself in the woods when the moon is full, you may find a different end entirely.