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Dec. 3rd, 2005 12:20 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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go_exchangeHappy Holidays, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
moonfairyhime!
Title: Rainy Days
Author:andremeese
Rating: R
Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley
Pairing: A/C
Notes: Merry Christmas, moonfairyhime!
EDEN, In The Beginning
It was the first rainstorm in the Garden of Eden. The animals, each one lovingly named by Adam before the unfortunate incident with the apple, were all finding shelter amongst the many trees and little rock caves, much to the displeasure of a certain serpent. He slithered out of his hijacked basking rock with a dirty look to the duck that was snuggling into his hidey spot. Smug bastard water birds... They'd be the death of him.
However hot his temper, he was cold-blooded, and he hated the sluggish feeling he got in undesirable temperatures. He'd have to borrow some body heat. He smiled wickedly; that fop at the East Gate would understand.
Meanwhile, said fop was busy trying to scale a tree for shelter. His standard-issue robes and practical sandals weren't helping him much, and he lost his footing more often than not. Frustrated, he finally managed to find decent footing, only to have his wing snag on the devious olive branch. He flapped them frantically trying to free himself. Below him, he heard a hissed snicker. "You tuck them back before you get stuck, geniusss."
He glared at Crawly with all of the terror a tree-bound angel could muster. "You're not helping."
Crawley thought for a moment, then looped around the base of the tree. "Take a step up to your left and you'll find a branch that might support you. You can untangle there."
CRASH!
Crawly sighed. "Your other left, angel. Not that it matters now."
Aziraphale, slightly bruised and terribly indignant, huffed at him from the muddy ground. He picked himself up and moves closer in to the tree, sitting mostly hidden from the rain. Crawly nosed his way around the disgruntled angel's waist, exposing his underbelly in a silent demand for a firm petting.
Aziraphale sighed to himself. "How do you think they're doing?"
Crawly, quite busy enjoying the strong hands caressing his scales, made a noncommittal noise. "Adam will keep them safe. He does care for her, you know."
Aziraphale didn't look convinced. Crawly reluctantly slid out of the warm hands to nudge his way into the loose tunic. Once fully covered, he peeked out of the neckline to meet the angel's confused gaze. "I felt a draft," he explained.
Aziraphale blushed, but leaned back against the tree. He imagined that he could see a flicker of flame deep within the wilderness surrounding his gate.
BABYLON, 500 B.C.E
It was a cloudy day that found the Demon Formerly Known as Crawly in the streets of Babylon, lazing out comfortably in the town square. He was feeling quite proud of himself for his diabolical schemes for the day; he had managed to turn all of the city's best wine into an equally fine vinegar, save for a few wineskins from his next destination. It was perfect, he decided, the miserable weather and the frighteningly sober populace, except that he didn't have a certain angel to share it with.
Crowley tapped his foot impatiently; Aziraphale was making him wait, and that just would not do. Just as he was thinking of leaving to enjoy the salvaged wine on his own, the angel bustled up to his lounging spot, blushing a bright shade of crimson.
Just as he started to offer an excuse, Crowley interrupted him. "I don't want to hear it. You're going to tell me that you made me wait in the rain so you could finish arranging your books or the whatnot, and you'll pretend to look heartbroken and you'll make me buy you a drink. Not this time."
Aziraphale sniffed. "It's not raining."
"It will be."
The huffy demon took Aziraphale by the elbow and led him down a shaded alley. "Where are you taking me?" he inquired lightly. Crowley grinned.
"Somewhere new. You'll like it."
Aziraphale frowned.
____SOME MOMENTS LATER____
What was then a frown was now a gape of horror. This "somewhere new" was less of a tavern than it was a brothel, and Crowley had led them to the choice seats. Aziraphale let himself be pushed to the bar, and Crowley ordered for both of them.
"Quaint, no? This is where the wine flows sweet, and the girls even sweeter," he smirked at the angel, who was trying his best to sink into the stone wall they were leaning against.
"This is horrid of you, Crowley. Absolutely detestable. I can never forgive you for it," he hissed, trying not to gawk at the scantily clad woman sauntering their way.
Crowley smirked and filled Aziraphale's smudgy glass with the dark wine. "That's quite alright. You may as well enjoy yourself while you're here, though."
Aziraphale drained his glass and slammed in on the table, willing it refilled. This was going to be a long night.
____LATER THAT EVENING____
The owner of the little club, Laliya, frowned in annoyance at the gentlemen in the corner. They had been here for hours without once trying to grope one of her girls. They were worth their space with the tab they were building up, but it was almost an insult to her that they shouldn't even acknowledge her dancers. She called for two of her best girls, whispering instructions to them quickly. Oh, yes... She'd have them yet.
This was exactly how Aziraphale soon found himself with a squirming lapful of prostitute, pushing him into the wall and grinning deviously. "You looked so lonely over here! I thought you might enjoy some company, hmm?" she whispered lustily, wrapping her legs around his and giving him a solid ear bite.
He choked wordlessly, blushing furiously. At his side, Crowley was shaking with silent laughter. He hadn't planned for this, but he didn't mind in the least. Swatting his own tavern girl away, he leaned back into Aziraphale's side. He offered a fanged grin to the gyrating woman. "His company is pleasant enough as it is, thank you," he purred with a wink, patting Aziraphale's knee.
The implications of all of this hit her slowly, but when she saw the revulsion on the angel's face and the possessiveness in the demon's own, she knew. Offended, she slid from Aziraphale's lap and huffed. "I believe you're in the wrong sort of tavern, boys."
Crowley only grinned and sipped his wine. Aziraphale had buried his face in Crowley's robe not long ago, feeling quite hidden and safe from the scary hooker. Only when she had stalked far away did he push Crowley off moodily. "That's despicable, my dear," he sulked, letting Crowley scoot in close again.
"It works, does it not?" He laughed, drawing a small smile from Aziraphale, the first of the evening.
"That it does, demon."
A moment of silence passed.
"Can we leave now?"
"It's raining outside. You wouldn't want to muss that perfectly styled hair of yours, now would you?"
Aziraphale glowered. "It's worth it."
He stood unsteadily, but Crowley pulled him back down. "At least finish your wine, this is going to become quite expensive soon and I'm not going to waste any more time or money getting you inebriated enough to have a civil conversation with."
"If you insist, dear," he sighed contently.
He sipped his wine idly, not noticing how Crowley's arm had ended up around his shoulders, or how his own hand had slipped up from Crowley's knee, now caressing his thigh in rough, lazy strokes.
Aziraphale grinned, comfortable at last.
Meanwhile, the two frustrated girls were reporting their failure to Laliya. She tapped her nails on the counter, annoyed. She should have known, really. Men as well-groomed as they rarely had business with women such as herself.
PLACE DE LA REVOUTION, FRANCE, 1794
The square swam with shadows on every surface, and the echoes of fervored shouting rang through the damp, chilly air. A pack of angry Revolutionists rounded the corner, pointing and screaming fiercely. The were on the hunt for blood, and they would not be unappeased this night. Towards the end of the mob ran Crowley, wielding a pitchfork and whispering encouragements to each of them. Kill the traitor, each one suddenly thought, make him pay the price of serving tyranny!
Behind a toppled statue hid a man (more or less) in torn and bloodied garb, panting harshly from the running, begging silently that he wouldn't be seen. This particular man was being accused of resisting the reformation of his country, and the vigilante mob was out to see him justly rewarded. It wasn't entirely fair, he considered. He had barely noticed the Revolution, only that he had fewer and fewer listeners to his weekly sermons on the God-given virtues of love and kindness. People didn't want mercy, he realized; they wanted power.
Behind him, the stomping of footsteps drew closer. He held his breath, trying to still his racing heart. "It's going to be fine," he thought to himself. "They can't hurt me unless God wills it so. My job is not finished here-"
"Well, who have we here? Could it be Aziraphale?" Crowley grinned down at the suddenly petrified angel. "I thought this might have involved you, but I never imagined you'd let yourself get caught here!"
Aziraphale hissed quietly. "Nor would I have ever thought you would sink so low as to mindlessly bully innocent people."
Crowley pondered this. "It's a difficult time, angel. It's chop or be chopped." He motioned a slicing motion across his neck. "You might want to be nicer to me, you know. One word and I could have them seize you and drag you to Madame la Guillotine."
"You would do no such-"
"Antoine! Wot's that yer've got there?" A rough voice rang out.
Crowley bristled. "Nothing at all," he replied quickly.
A short, burly man brushed forward. "I think you're lying, loyalist snake!"
Crowley reared back and hit him without another thought. "Angel, run!" he hissed, best trying to hide him from the advancing horde.
And run he did. He had barely made it to the Rue de Rivoli before he was tackled to the ground, pinned under a beefy brute who was none too gentle about it. He was dragged to his feet to face his attacker.
"Your time is up, boy. Vive la revolution!" He shouted, spitting in Aziraphale's face. He dragged the shrieking angel up to the platform adorning the square, kicking him up the steps to the bloodied guillotine.
The blade glistened with the fine sheen of rain in the torchlight. Crowley hovered near the back of the crowd, watching as the Enemy's head was lowered onto the mantel. It was a victory for his side, of course, but still he felt a slight twinge of sorrow as the blade fell.
He didn't stay to watch them dispose of the body.
NEW ORLEANS, 1812
All around him, the fires burned and the bullets flew. His war-torn men were hiding as best they could behind the scattered cotton bales, hitting the enemy as often as being hit themselves.
Crowley watched the battle from his post far above the lines. He didn't like this sort of job, feeling it better suited to War herself, but he didn't have the choice this time. Taking the place of Colonel in this wretched army was not difficult for a demon like himself, but he never did fully understand the point. He grinned wickedly; the biggest, bloodiest fight of this war would end up to be the most pointless, thanks to a certain messenger getting distracted on the way to deliver news of a peace treaty.
Lost in his thoughts as he was, he didn't hear the shot coming towards him as he usually would. He cried out in anger as the bullet ripped through his torso, sending him falling to the ground in agony. Demon or not, a human body can only stand so much abuse before it gives out on you. His last image was of his men surrounding him, promising to find help for him and to please open his eyes...
He awoke in a makeshift hospital, vision blurry. "Morphine," he dully realized, "They drugged me. That means I survived something." He looked around slowly, eventually finding a nurse tending to a patient to his left. The nurse turned and caught his eye, serpentine eyes staring deep into those of the clearest blue, and she gasped. Crowley shut his eyes again.
He woke again to a soft voice and a gentle hand stroking his own. Remembering this time to disguise his eyes so as not to terrify to the poor woman, he looked up to the face of his comforter.
He instantly regretted it.
"You'll break your stitches, laughing like that," the nurse frowned.
"You- you're a woman!" choked Crowley. Yes, he was hurting, but was this ever worth it.
"Yes, your stunt with the lynch mob really did amuse Them. They saw it fit to give me a body that "'would better suit my purposes.'"
Crowley gave a pained snicker. Aziraphale glared, and checked his pulse a little harder than necessary. The resulting yelp seemed to satisfy her.
"You're going to be fine, just a bit sore for a while. Miraculously," Aziraphale rolled her eyes and smiled, "your lungs seem to have vanished entirely before they were hit."
With a sleepy murmur of approval, Crowley pulled the angel's hand to his bandaged chest. "But you'll take care of me."
Aziraphale paused, but smiled warmly. "Of course. It's time for your morphine, my dear."
She carefully administrated his dosage and then numbly listened to Crowley's sluggish chatter until he drifted off to sleep. Aziraphale hesitantly removed her well-manicured hand from Crowley's chest, with the barest flicker of longing evident on her face. Crowley whimpered in his sleep.
Outside the tent, the rain pattered on.
SOHO, PRESENT DAY
Neither one of them gave much notice to the storm clouds drifting by outside, so heated were they in their discussion.
"I still say your side is to blame for the Christmas holiday!" the angel exclaimed.
"No, that was entirely Chrissstian," the demon slurred. "Your Catholics couldn't stand to let the pagansss celebrate their holidays, so they bastardized Yule and slapped their Sssavior's name on it in celebration of a birth that happened months earlier." A pause. "All we're responsible for is the shopping rush and fruitcake gift baskets."
"I like fruitcake."
"You are a fruitcake."
Aziraphale fixed him with a blank stare, and, that having failed to make Crowley explain himself, he sipped his wine. It really was quite good this evening. He'd rarely had a Christmas eve this peaceful. The only thing that kept the scene from looking like a tacky holiday card was the distinct lack of a fire burning merrily in a crate that didn't exist.
Crowley stretched and laid himself out over Aziraphale's dusty old couch, not-so-accidentally resting his head on the angel's woolen-clad thigh. He fingered the material of the hideous trousers in disgust. "You're behind the times, you know that?"
Aziraphale, not quite as inebriated as his companion, was struggling to hide a blush.
"Am I, dear boy?" he whispered quickly.
Crowley made a noise in the back of his throat, and the hand crept higher. He turned to look up toward the angel. "You should take them off," he hummed. He reached up and took the wineglass from Aziraphale's limp hand, draining that and refilling it with a thought.
Above him, the wine paled in comparison to the color of the angel's face. He put his hands over Crowley's in an attempt to pull him away from that specific region of himself. "You're drunk. Perhaps you should sober up," Aziraphale suggested weakly.
"Perhaps," Crowley smirked. He sets the glass aside and readjusted himself by the angel.
"By" may have been a misleading choice of words. "On" was far more accurate. "On, and with a self-satisfied and terribly sloshed grin" wouldn't have been too far from the truth, either.
Aziraphale squeaked.
"But perhaps I don't want to. Perhaps I would rather say things to you now that I'll never get away with again," Crowley hissed, "or perhapsss I want to touch you in most indecent ways and deny it all in the morning." A sharp intake of breath. "Perhaps I want to hear you ask me to touch you and talk to you. Beg me, even."
While Crowley had indeed removed his hands from Aziraphale's leg, they were in hardly a better position now, pinning the other's limp hands high above him to the back of the couch.
Aziraphale spoke in an even whisper, not quite meeting his eyes. "Crowley, sober up. Please." He shut his eyes and prayed silently for Crowley to listen to him. When he looked up again, it was into clear yellow eyes. His lapful of demon shifted thoughtfully, but not far.
"I meant it, you know."
"I know."
"I want you."
"I know."
"If you-"
"Crowley, don't make me beg."
The demon growled, a deep rumbling sound that sent tremors down Aziraphale's spine. He tilted the unresisting chin up towards his own. "Tell me, then. It's all I need to hear." He bent low to whisper to those pale lips, soft and trembling and so inviting... "Tell me that you want me."
Aziraphale couldn't meet Crowley's eyes. He had met the hand creeping around his shoulders, and for each of Crowley's tiny shifts and wiggles he had countered with a thrust of his hips, but he just couldn't face those eyes. He buried his face in the hollow of Crowley's neck, biting down soundly.
"I... I need you, Crowley. I've always needed you. I want you to have me now, right here," he mumbled softly into the heated flesh.
Above him, Crowley hissed with a most animalistic lust. He pushed the surprised angel back into the arm of the battered sofa, squirming to straddle the hips beneath him. He bent to kiss the flushed, inviting lips at last.
Aziraphale groaned into the kiss, running his arms around Crowley's neck to pull him closer. A forever might have passed for Crowley when he finally broke away, panting for unneeded breath.
He used the moment to tug at Aziraphale's modest shirt, sending the buttons scattering over the floor. Aziraphale pulled him by the hair for another kiss, this time working at the demon's own clothing. His hand hovered at the trim of Crowley's designer trousers, fixing him with a questioning look. Crowley caught his hand with his own and smiled lecherously. "You'll have to wait for now, dear angel. I'm still having fun right where I am." He ground his hips to Aziraphale's, taking the angel's hand from his waist and cradling it in his own. He smiled roguishly and took the well-manicured thumb into his mouth, licking along the side most suggestively and teasing his tongue along the fine lines.
Aziraphale, meanwhile, was blushing furiously, just a bit ashamed of the sensations his body was feeling. "I'm an angel," he thought to himself, tensing as Crowley's other hand moved to finish stripping him, "I can't do this. I'll die for this. I'll Fall for this."
"No, Crowley,- ah!" He interrupted himself, lost in the feeling of Crowley's smooth hand running over more ignored parts of his anatomy. Crowley, having giving Aziraphale's hand back to him, was hurriedly shedding the last of his clothes to a messy pile on the floor. Replacing himself over the angel, he stroked at Aziraphale's rising hardness, whispering softly to Aziraphale once more. "You want this, for sure?"
Aziraphale closed his eyes. He was lost to the pleasure his traitorous body was giving him, and he couldn't turn back if he wanted to. He nodded slowly.
Crowley purred in approval, then kissed Aziraphale fiercely. "You're going to fuck me, my angel, just as you've always imagined you would."
Aziraphale choked at this. "Crowley, I've...well... I've never done this, you see, and..."
Crowley shushed him with a smile. "Then I'll help you." He settled over the quivering angel, setting his knees to either side of him. Willing himself prepared for it, he lowered himself onto the trembling cock, hissing to the heavens when he was fully impaled. "Go- Sa- oh, DAMN it," he growled, rocking back to adjust to the sensation. It wasn't terribly unpleasant for him, just not entirely comfortable quite yet.
Aziraphale, meanwhile, was trying not to scream. It was almost too much for him, with being so completely surrounded by hot flesh and images of Crowley above him, lost to his own sensations.
Slowly, Crowley started to move at a slow rhythm, sliding off him and then back on roughly. Aziraphale was gripping his hips, meeting his thrusts and looking all but lost to the world. Crowley moved a hand from his hip to his own arousal, guiding Aziraphale's clumsy strokes to match the pace of their quickening coupling, until at last, Aziraphale froze.
"Crowley," he rasped, "I can't last for much longer..." He accented this with a sharp swing of his hips. Crowley smirked shakily and leaned to kiss him. "Let it come, angel."
Aziraphale cried out in rapture at last, gripping Crowley tightly and pushing himself far into the demon, screaming his name. Crowley rode it out, squeezing the angel's hand on his cock as he came himself. Exhausted, he pulled away and stretched to lay over the spent angel. They met for a kiss best called tender before settling comfortably, Aziraphale with his hands buried in Crowley's hair, and Crowley nuzzling the angel's pale chest.
"We're going to freeze if we stay out here like this," the angel observed, not terribly concerned at the moment. Crowley stretched and put his powers to a most diabolical use again to conjure them a blanket under which to snuggle and watch the rain fall outside.
***
From a Secret Writer, tomoonfairyhime, whose prompt/request was "rainy days."
moonfairyhime!Title: Rainy Days
Author:
andremeeseRating: R
Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley
Pairing: A/C
Notes: Merry Christmas, moonfairyhime!
EDEN, In The Beginning
It was the first rainstorm in the Garden of Eden. The animals, each one lovingly named by Adam before the unfortunate incident with the apple, were all finding shelter amongst the many trees and little rock caves, much to the displeasure of a certain serpent. He slithered out of his hijacked basking rock with a dirty look to the duck that was snuggling into his hidey spot. Smug bastard water birds... They'd be the death of him.
However hot his temper, he was cold-blooded, and he hated the sluggish feeling he got in undesirable temperatures. He'd have to borrow some body heat. He smiled wickedly; that fop at the East Gate would understand.
Meanwhile, said fop was busy trying to scale a tree for shelter. His standard-issue robes and practical sandals weren't helping him much, and he lost his footing more often than not. Frustrated, he finally managed to find decent footing, only to have his wing snag on the devious olive branch. He flapped them frantically trying to free himself. Below him, he heard a hissed snicker. "You tuck them back before you get stuck, geniusss."
He glared at Crawly with all of the terror a tree-bound angel could muster. "You're not helping."
Crawley thought for a moment, then looped around the base of the tree. "Take a step up to your left and you'll find a branch that might support you. You can untangle there."
CRASH!
Crawly sighed. "Your other left, angel. Not that it matters now."
Aziraphale, slightly bruised and terribly indignant, huffed at him from the muddy ground. He picked himself up and moves closer in to the tree, sitting mostly hidden from the rain. Crawly nosed his way around the disgruntled angel's waist, exposing his underbelly in a silent demand for a firm petting.
Aziraphale sighed to himself. "How do you think they're doing?"
Crawly, quite busy enjoying the strong hands caressing his scales, made a noncommittal noise. "Adam will keep them safe. He does care for her, you know."
Aziraphale didn't look convinced. Crawly reluctantly slid out of the warm hands to nudge his way into the loose tunic. Once fully covered, he peeked out of the neckline to meet the angel's confused gaze. "I felt a draft," he explained.
Aziraphale blushed, but leaned back against the tree. He imagined that he could see a flicker of flame deep within the wilderness surrounding his gate.
BABYLON, 500 B.C.E
It was a cloudy day that found the Demon Formerly Known as Crawly in the streets of Babylon, lazing out comfortably in the town square. He was feeling quite proud of himself for his diabolical schemes for the day; he had managed to turn all of the city's best wine into an equally fine vinegar, save for a few wineskins from his next destination. It was perfect, he decided, the miserable weather and the frighteningly sober populace, except that he didn't have a certain angel to share it with.
Crowley tapped his foot impatiently; Aziraphale was making him wait, and that just would not do. Just as he was thinking of leaving to enjoy the salvaged wine on his own, the angel bustled up to his lounging spot, blushing a bright shade of crimson.
Just as he started to offer an excuse, Crowley interrupted him. "I don't want to hear it. You're going to tell me that you made me wait in the rain so you could finish arranging your books or the whatnot, and you'll pretend to look heartbroken and you'll make me buy you a drink. Not this time."
Aziraphale sniffed. "It's not raining."
"It will be."
The huffy demon took Aziraphale by the elbow and led him down a shaded alley. "Where are you taking me?" he inquired lightly. Crowley grinned.
"Somewhere new. You'll like it."
Aziraphale frowned.
____SOME MOMENTS LATER____
What was then a frown was now a gape of horror. This "somewhere new" was less of a tavern than it was a brothel, and Crowley had led them to the choice seats. Aziraphale let himself be pushed to the bar, and Crowley ordered for both of them.
"Quaint, no? This is where the wine flows sweet, and the girls even sweeter," he smirked at the angel, who was trying his best to sink into the stone wall they were leaning against.
"This is horrid of you, Crowley. Absolutely detestable. I can never forgive you for it," he hissed, trying not to gawk at the scantily clad woman sauntering their way.
Crowley smirked and filled Aziraphale's smudgy glass with the dark wine. "That's quite alright. You may as well enjoy yourself while you're here, though."
Aziraphale drained his glass and slammed in on the table, willing it refilled. This was going to be a long night.
____LATER THAT EVENING____
The owner of the little club, Laliya, frowned in annoyance at the gentlemen in the corner. They had been here for hours without once trying to grope one of her girls. They were worth their space with the tab they were building up, but it was almost an insult to her that they shouldn't even acknowledge her dancers. She called for two of her best girls, whispering instructions to them quickly. Oh, yes... She'd have them yet.
This was exactly how Aziraphale soon found himself with a squirming lapful of prostitute, pushing him into the wall and grinning deviously. "You looked so lonely over here! I thought you might enjoy some company, hmm?" she whispered lustily, wrapping her legs around his and giving him a solid ear bite.
He choked wordlessly, blushing furiously. At his side, Crowley was shaking with silent laughter. He hadn't planned for this, but he didn't mind in the least. Swatting his own tavern girl away, he leaned back into Aziraphale's side. He offered a fanged grin to the gyrating woman. "His company is pleasant enough as it is, thank you," he purred with a wink, patting Aziraphale's knee.
The implications of all of this hit her slowly, but when she saw the revulsion on the angel's face and the possessiveness in the demon's own, she knew. Offended, she slid from Aziraphale's lap and huffed. "I believe you're in the wrong sort of tavern, boys."
Crowley only grinned and sipped his wine. Aziraphale had buried his face in Crowley's robe not long ago, feeling quite hidden and safe from the scary hooker. Only when she had stalked far away did he push Crowley off moodily. "That's despicable, my dear," he sulked, letting Crowley scoot in close again.
"It works, does it not?" He laughed, drawing a small smile from Aziraphale, the first of the evening.
"That it does, demon."
A moment of silence passed.
"Can we leave now?"
"It's raining outside. You wouldn't want to muss that perfectly styled hair of yours, now would you?"
Aziraphale glowered. "It's worth it."
He stood unsteadily, but Crowley pulled him back down. "At least finish your wine, this is going to become quite expensive soon and I'm not going to waste any more time or money getting you inebriated enough to have a civil conversation with."
"If you insist, dear," he sighed contently.
He sipped his wine idly, not noticing how Crowley's arm had ended up around his shoulders, or how his own hand had slipped up from Crowley's knee, now caressing his thigh in rough, lazy strokes.
Aziraphale grinned, comfortable at last.
Meanwhile, the two frustrated girls were reporting their failure to Laliya. She tapped her nails on the counter, annoyed. She should have known, really. Men as well-groomed as they rarely had business with women such as herself.
PLACE DE LA REVOUTION, FRANCE, 1794
The square swam with shadows on every surface, and the echoes of fervored shouting rang through the damp, chilly air. A pack of angry Revolutionists rounded the corner, pointing and screaming fiercely. The were on the hunt for blood, and they would not be unappeased this night. Towards the end of the mob ran Crowley, wielding a pitchfork and whispering encouragements to each of them. Kill the traitor, each one suddenly thought, make him pay the price of serving tyranny!
Behind a toppled statue hid a man (more or less) in torn and bloodied garb, panting harshly from the running, begging silently that he wouldn't be seen. This particular man was being accused of resisting the reformation of his country, and the vigilante mob was out to see him justly rewarded. It wasn't entirely fair, he considered. He had barely noticed the Revolution, only that he had fewer and fewer listeners to his weekly sermons on the God-given virtues of love and kindness. People didn't want mercy, he realized; they wanted power.
Behind him, the stomping of footsteps drew closer. He held his breath, trying to still his racing heart. "It's going to be fine," he thought to himself. "They can't hurt me unless God wills it so. My job is not finished here-"
"Well, who have we here? Could it be Aziraphale?" Crowley grinned down at the suddenly petrified angel. "I thought this might have involved you, but I never imagined you'd let yourself get caught here!"
Aziraphale hissed quietly. "Nor would I have ever thought you would sink so low as to mindlessly bully innocent people."
Crowley pondered this. "It's a difficult time, angel. It's chop or be chopped." He motioned a slicing motion across his neck. "You might want to be nicer to me, you know. One word and I could have them seize you and drag you to Madame la Guillotine."
"You would do no such-"
"Antoine! Wot's that yer've got there?" A rough voice rang out.
Crowley bristled. "Nothing at all," he replied quickly.
A short, burly man brushed forward. "I think you're lying, loyalist snake!"
Crowley reared back and hit him without another thought. "Angel, run!" he hissed, best trying to hide him from the advancing horde.
And run he did. He had barely made it to the Rue de Rivoli before he was tackled to the ground, pinned under a beefy brute who was none too gentle about it. He was dragged to his feet to face his attacker.
"Your time is up, boy. Vive la revolution!" He shouted, spitting in Aziraphale's face. He dragged the shrieking angel up to the platform adorning the square, kicking him up the steps to the bloodied guillotine.
The blade glistened with the fine sheen of rain in the torchlight. Crowley hovered near the back of the crowd, watching as the Enemy's head was lowered onto the mantel. It was a victory for his side, of course, but still he felt a slight twinge of sorrow as the blade fell.
He didn't stay to watch them dispose of the body.
NEW ORLEANS, 1812
All around him, the fires burned and the bullets flew. His war-torn men were hiding as best they could behind the scattered cotton bales, hitting the enemy as often as being hit themselves.
Crowley watched the battle from his post far above the lines. He didn't like this sort of job, feeling it better suited to War herself, but he didn't have the choice this time. Taking the place of Colonel in this wretched army was not difficult for a demon like himself, but he never did fully understand the point. He grinned wickedly; the biggest, bloodiest fight of this war would end up to be the most pointless, thanks to a certain messenger getting distracted on the way to deliver news of a peace treaty.
Lost in his thoughts as he was, he didn't hear the shot coming towards him as he usually would. He cried out in anger as the bullet ripped through his torso, sending him falling to the ground in agony. Demon or not, a human body can only stand so much abuse before it gives out on you. His last image was of his men surrounding him, promising to find help for him and to please open his eyes...
He awoke in a makeshift hospital, vision blurry. "Morphine," he dully realized, "They drugged me. That means I survived something." He looked around slowly, eventually finding a nurse tending to a patient to his left. The nurse turned and caught his eye, serpentine eyes staring deep into those of the clearest blue, and she gasped. Crowley shut his eyes again.
He woke again to a soft voice and a gentle hand stroking his own. Remembering this time to disguise his eyes so as not to terrify to the poor woman, he looked up to the face of his comforter.
He instantly regretted it.
"You'll break your stitches, laughing like that," the nurse frowned.
"You- you're a woman!" choked Crowley. Yes, he was hurting, but was this ever worth it.
"Yes, your stunt with the lynch mob really did amuse Them. They saw it fit to give me a body that "'would better suit my purposes.'"
Crowley gave a pained snicker. Aziraphale glared, and checked his pulse a little harder than necessary. The resulting yelp seemed to satisfy her.
"You're going to be fine, just a bit sore for a while. Miraculously," Aziraphale rolled her eyes and smiled, "your lungs seem to have vanished entirely before they were hit."
With a sleepy murmur of approval, Crowley pulled the angel's hand to his bandaged chest. "But you'll take care of me."
Aziraphale paused, but smiled warmly. "Of course. It's time for your morphine, my dear."
She carefully administrated his dosage and then numbly listened to Crowley's sluggish chatter until he drifted off to sleep. Aziraphale hesitantly removed her well-manicured hand from Crowley's chest, with the barest flicker of longing evident on her face. Crowley whimpered in his sleep.
Outside the tent, the rain pattered on.
SOHO, PRESENT DAY
Neither one of them gave much notice to the storm clouds drifting by outside, so heated were they in their discussion.
"I still say your side is to blame for the Christmas holiday!" the angel exclaimed.
"No, that was entirely Chrissstian," the demon slurred. "Your Catholics couldn't stand to let the pagansss celebrate their holidays, so they bastardized Yule and slapped their Sssavior's name on it in celebration of a birth that happened months earlier." A pause. "All we're responsible for is the shopping rush and fruitcake gift baskets."
"I like fruitcake."
"You are a fruitcake."
Aziraphale fixed him with a blank stare, and, that having failed to make Crowley explain himself, he sipped his wine. It really was quite good this evening. He'd rarely had a Christmas eve this peaceful. The only thing that kept the scene from looking like a tacky holiday card was the distinct lack of a fire burning merrily in a crate that didn't exist.
Crowley stretched and laid himself out over Aziraphale's dusty old couch, not-so-accidentally resting his head on the angel's woolen-clad thigh. He fingered the material of the hideous trousers in disgust. "You're behind the times, you know that?"
Aziraphale, not quite as inebriated as his companion, was struggling to hide a blush.
"Am I, dear boy?" he whispered quickly.
Crowley made a noise in the back of his throat, and the hand crept higher. He turned to look up toward the angel. "You should take them off," he hummed. He reached up and took the wineglass from Aziraphale's limp hand, draining that and refilling it with a thought.
Above him, the wine paled in comparison to the color of the angel's face. He put his hands over Crowley's in an attempt to pull him away from that specific region of himself. "You're drunk. Perhaps you should sober up," Aziraphale suggested weakly.
"Perhaps," Crowley smirked. He sets the glass aside and readjusted himself by the angel.
"By" may have been a misleading choice of words. "On" was far more accurate. "On, and with a self-satisfied and terribly sloshed grin" wouldn't have been too far from the truth, either.
Aziraphale squeaked.
"But perhaps I don't want to. Perhaps I would rather say things to you now that I'll never get away with again," Crowley hissed, "or perhapsss I want to touch you in most indecent ways and deny it all in the morning." A sharp intake of breath. "Perhaps I want to hear you ask me to touch you and talk to you. Beg me, even."
While Crowley had indeed removed his hands from Aziraphale's leg, they were in hardly a better position now, pinning the other's limp hands high above him to the back of the couch.
Aziraphale spoke in an even whisper, not quite meeting his eyes. "Crowley, sober up. Please." He shut his eyes and prayed silently for Crowley to listen to him. When he looked up again, it was into clear yellow eyes. His lapful of demon shifted thoughtfully, but not far.
"I meant it, you know."
"I know."
"I want you."
"I know."
"If you-"
"Crowley, don't make me beg."
The demon growled, a deep rumbling sound that sent tremors down Aziraphale's spine. He tilted the unresisting chin up towards his own. "Tell me, then. It's all I need to hear." He bent low to whisper to those pale lips, soft and trembling and so inviting... "Tell me that you want me."
Aziraphale couldn't meet Crowley's eyes. He had met the hand creeping around his shoulders, and for each of Crowley's tiny shifts and wiggles he had countered with a thrust of his hips, but he just couldn't face those eyes. He buried his face in the hollow of Crowley's neck, biting down soundly.
"I... I need you, Crowley. I've always needed you. I want you to have me now, right here," he mumbled softly into the heated flesh.
Above him, Crowley hissed with a most animalistic lust. He pushed the surprised angel back into the arm of the battered sofa, squirming to straddle the hips beneath him. He bent to kiss the flushed, inviting lips at last.
Aziraphale groaned into the kiss, running his arms around Crowley's neck to pull him closer. A forever might have passed for Crowley when he finally broke away, panting for unneeded breath.
He used the moment to tug at Aziraphale's modest shirt, sending the buttons scattering over the floor. Aziraphale pulled him by the hair for another kiss, this time working at the demon's own clothing. His hand hovered at the trim of Crowley's designer trousers, fixing him with a questioning look. Crowley caught his hand with his own and smiled lecherously. "You'll have to wait for now, dear angel. I'm still having fun right where I am." He ground his hips to Aziraphale's, taking the angel's hand from his waist and cradling it in his own. He smiled roguishly and took the well-manicured thumb into his mouth, licking along the side most suggestively and teasing his tongue along the fine lines.
Aziraphale, meanwhile, was blushing furiously, just a bit ashamed of the sensations his body was feeling. "I'm an angel," he thought to himself, tensing as Crowley's other hand moved to finish stripping him, "I can't do this. I'll die for this. I'll Fall for this."
"No, Crowley,- ah!" He interrupted himself, lost in the feeling of Crowley's smooth hand running over more ignored parts of his anatomy. Crowley, having giving Aziraphale's hand back to him, was hurriedly shedding the last of his clothes to a messy pile on the floor. Replacing himself over the angel, he stroked at Aziraphale's rising hardness, whispering softly to Aziraphale once more. "You want this, for sure?"
Aziraphale closed his eyes. He was lost to the pleasure his traitorous body was giving him, and he couldn't turn back if he wanted to. He nodded slowly.
Crowley purred in approval, then kissed Aziraphale fiercely. "You're going to fuck me, my angel, just as you've always imagined you would."
Aziraphale choked at this. "Crowley, I've...well... I've never done this, you see, and..."
Crowley shushed him with a smile. "Then I'll help you." He settled over the quivering angel, setting his knees to either side of him. Willing himself prepared for it, he lowered himself onto the trembling cock, hissing to the heavens when he was fully impaled. "Go- Sa- oh, DAMN it," he growled, rocking back to adjust to the sensation. It wasn't terribly unpleasant for him, just not entirely comfortable quite yet.
Aziraphale, meanwhile, was trying not to scream. It was almost too much for him, with being so completely surrounded by hot flesh and images of Crowley above him, lost to his own sensations.
Slowly, Crowley started to move at a slow rhythm, sliding off him and then back on roughly. Aziraphale was gripping his hips, meeting his thrusts and looking all but lost to the world. Crowley moved a hand from his hip to his own arousal, guiding Aziraphale's clumsy strokes to match the pace of their quickening coupling, until at last, Aziraphale froze.
"Crowley," he rasped, "I can't last for much longer..." He accented this with a sharp swing of his hips. Crowley smirked shakily and leaned to kiss him. "Let it come, angel."
Aziraphale cried out in rapture at last, gripping Crowley tightly and pushing himself far into the demon, screaming his name. Crowley rode it out, squeezing the angel's hand on his cock as he came himself. Exhausted, he pulled away and stretched to lay over the spent angel. They met for a kiss best called tender before settling comfortably, Aziraphale with his hands buried in Crowley's hair, and Crowley nuzzling the angel's pale chest.
"We're going to freeze if we stay out here like this," the angel observed, not terribly concerned at the moment. Crowley stretched and put his powers to a most diabolical use again to conjure them a blanket under which to snuggle and watch the rain fall outside.
***
From a Secret Writer, to
moonfairyhime, whose prompt/request was "rainy days."
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Date: 2005-12-03 09:09 pm (UTC)