Title: Crowley's Sex Car

Fanon/Canon: Fanon - Good Omens

Type: Slash

Pairing: Crowley/Aziraphale

Rating: R for language and, er, theme

Written: At 3 a.m. in bed, expressly for Sarah's wish for Bentley!smut

Warnings: If you're particularily religious, I suppose, or (the obvious) if slash squicks you, don't read. Or if you stubbornly maintain that Aziraphale and Crowley are not going at it like bunnies (whichtheysoobviouslyarebutokay). I've never written A/C before, so apologies if it's slightly OOC. (How they talk, I mean, as the sex is so obviously IC.) I love using British expletives a bit too much. Excessive caps use ahead as well.

Disclaimers: As much I wish they were mine, Aziraphale and Crowley and the 1926 Bentley are Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett's. No suey.

AN: Yes, I'm aware that it's not really Crowley's car that does the haiku. I had, however, forgotten this at the time (it was 3 a.m., hello) and I don't want to take it out now. So there.

- - -

"Please?

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"For me?"

"Oh, for chrissakes, Aziraphale. I wouldn't take them off if the man Himself asked me to."

"...And if an enticing, willing, sexy bit of half-naked angel asked you?"

"I said no!"

"Right, then. I'll just have to– "

"Oy! Give those back! I'llmnOGHAAAYAHNMOHFUCKSODTHEGLASSESDOTHATAGAIN."

- - -

"Mmf."

"Never thought this car'd be big enough for this, eh?"

"Ah... sorry?"

"I said – WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK D'YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

"...?"

"YOU'RE MOULTING ON MY LEATHER SEATS, YOU GREAT SODDING GIT!"

"...Moulting?"

"Yes! The feather...! The thing! Moulting!"

"I don't moult, Crowley."

"Then what are those feathers floating around from, hmm?"

"..."

"MYAGAHOO."

"Wha's'at?"

"Kiss me again."

"I don't moult."

"KISS ME LIKE THAT AGAIN AND I SHALL NEVER UTTER ANOTHER WORD ABOUT FEATHERISH THINGS."

"Well..."

"I'll do this, too."

"BLOODYHELLOKAY."

- - -

"Nnghn."

"'S'at?"

"I said, 'Nnghn'."

"And that's supposed to mean...?"

"It's supposed to mean, 'Do that with your hand again and I'll let you moult all you bloody want'."

"I do not moult!"

"Do so."

"Do not!

"Do so."

"Do nonghnAYGHAHMNN."

"Heh."

- - -

"Feathers drift softly
Angels and devils are spent
My seats are... sticky"

"What in the– "

"Sodding poetic sap of a car."

"My, aren't you the sexy one when you're agressive."

"Sod off."

"Twat."

"Kiss me."

"Heh. ...Like this?"

"OHFUCKAGAIN."

"Shall we?"

"I didn't meanAHHGYANAHNMOKAY."