So, my pmdd hit me full force yesterday. I'm feeling like garbage. It's why there is no art AGAIN. Hopefully, the sauciness of this chapter will make up for the lack of art!
I laid in bed and read all day to distract myself from my misery. It worked.
I'm reading an original work by a good friend on Wattpad. Although they are rewriting the story, I recommend giving it a read! It's called Lament of the Traitor King.
Thank you Azerana and Intergalacticsupertwink for the beta and Brit-picking work!
WARNING: NSFW content ahead. LIME!
Angelique paces back and forth in the living area, then she halts abruptly and turns to the fireplace. Aziraphale can see her squinting at the logs as she snaps her fingers. Nothing happens. "It didn't work."
Aziraphale suppresses the urge to laugh. He stands close to Angelique, his hands frozen above her shoulders behind her, not sure if he's allowed to touch. Even after everything, something in him can't believe this loving, beautiful soul wants him.
"It doesn't work like that," he explains softly. He is about to drop his hands to his sides when she willingly leans her back against him. Aziraphale allows himself to touch and knead her tense shoulders.
She melts into him with a huff. "How does it work then?"
The angel chuckles despite the evident pout in Angelique's voice. "To be quite honest, I'm not certain. You're a special case. Depending on the kind of miracle you wish to accomplish, the level of energy needed fluctuates."
"How much energy do you need to light a fire?"
"For me? Not much at all. I could draw from myself. More abundant miracles sometimes require drawing from the Heavenly Host."
"What about demons," she asks quietly. "For big miracles, where do they draw from if they're not angels?"
"The Legions of Hell."
"But you guys aren't part of Heaven and Hell anymore..."
"It's a collective energy. It's impossible to prevent any angels or demons from using it as much as upper management tries to."
Angelique turns in Aziraphale's arms and looks up at him through her dark lashes. She's breathtaking. "Any theories on how I might control this thing?"
"Well," Aziraphale sighs and thinks, "your optimism and imagination shape your reality. How did you win the lotto? That's no small miracle, so you must have done something different."
Angelique takes a moment to think. "I was very angry with my parents. I stormed out of the house, bought my ticket, went home, then I," she suddenly gasps, "I prayed!"
Aziraphale's eyebrows skyrocket. Perhaps she is part angel after all. "You had faith."
"Yes," she says excitedly, grabs onto his shirt and hops with excitement, "did I draw from the Heavenly Host?! Oh! Does that mean I'm part angel?!"
"Perhaps. The information certainly points to that." Aziraphale smiles. "Your name is no accident, it appears."
"Ha!" Angelique glows with happiness and pulls Aziraphale down for a long, lingering kiss. She ends it too soon and gasps. "Oh, shit, we're related!"
"We are not," Aziraphale retorts immediately, aghast.
"Aren't we?" She starts to laugh as Aziraphale's frown deepens. "We are!"
"No! It's not like that at all." Except it sort of is. "Angels are not born in the way you understand. We are all God's creatures, so, if we are related by that standard, then you almost burned uncle log over there."
Angelique giggles. "It obviously disturbs you that we're related, so I'll drop it."
"I am not disturbed. Nothing to be disturbed about," he exclaims indignantly. "The only way we can be related is if I sired your ancestor and I can assure you, I have not–" He catches the mischievous glint in her eye. "Insufferable," he mutters, not able to hold back a smirk or the fire that ignites in his corporation's blood. "You do so enjoy teasing me," he murmurs into the corner of her mouth.
Angelique's hands begin to wander, slowly roaming down his chest, over his belly, and onto his belt. She pants a bit before their lips meet. They kiss for a long while, deep, tender, and full of want.
Angelique leans away to speak. "You keep kissing me like that and uncle log won't be the only one to go up in flames."
The angel scoffs and takes that as an invitation to kiss her some more. He grows warmer by the second, and he's starting to feel desperate to rip their clothes. Aziraphale lands on the sofa behind him and brings Angelique into his lap, straddling his thighs. She's already undoing the buttons on his shirt when he smells smoke and hears a small crackling sound.
The lovers freeze and slowly bring their attention to the fireplace where a tiny flame fights its way through the tinder. Alas, the building smoke snuffs it out.
Angelique whips her wide-eyed gaze to Aziraphale. "Did you do that?"
Aziraphale shakes his head and gives her a bewildered smile.
The nephilim's hands shoot to her mouth. "Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Okay-okay-okay!" She shakes her hands and wiggles in his lap. "What else can I try? I'm hot! How about some air?!" She closes her eyes and brings her hands together in prayer, which Aziraphale pries apart.
"Not wise, that."
"Right! Okay, well, a window needs to open for a breeze, and I'm sure you must have left one open, you're so forgetful."
"I did not! Am not," he protests but then a breeze blows through. Aziraphale's jaw drops. "I know I didn't open any windows–"
"No! But I believed you did! That's the trick!" Angelique's head whips side to side, looking for something else to try, then she looks down at Aziraphale and smirks. "I bet you aren't wearing any pants."
"As if I would ever–" Aziraphale gasps at the sudden lack of fabric. His half-hard cock rubs against the harsh denim of his trousers, and he lets out a soft moan. "You've proven your point."
Angelique squeals with delight and begins to kiss again. Things get heated quickly, but every time Angelique's hands get too close to his belt, Aziraphale guides them away. She soon notices and recoils. "What's wrong?" She asks, full of concern.
Aziraphale catches his breath and shakes his head that's fuzzy with lust. "Nothing." The look in her eye demands his confession. "It's just," he swallows, "we haven't spoken about, well, us. What we're doing."
Angelique seems confused, and her shoulders droop. "You know how I feel. I," she closes her eyes hard and forces out her next words, "I want you in any way that you'll have me." Her eyes shoot open. "Except platonic friendship, that is, I think it's safe to say that we've crossed that line, and I don't care to go back."
Aziraphale laughs at her blunt honesty. "All right," he chuckles, but it trails off. He looks down at her hands and nearly whispers. "What about Crowley?"
Angelique is quiet for so long that Aziraphale finally looks up, fearing the worst. It's clear she's trying to mask her hurt. "Will you leave me," she asks tentatively, "if he comes back?"
Aziraphale grasps her arms and pulls her into his embrace. "No," he stops himself, surprised at how quick he answered without thinking it through first. He briefly wonders how he'd react if Crowley were to track them down. The truth is out at last. 'My dearest.' If Crowley reached out again, how could Aziraphale reject him now, after everything? Then, remembering the stunt the demon pulled makes the angel's chest hurt. "He can wait a bit longer," Aziraphale mutters angrily.
Angelique is the one in terrible danger. Angelique is the one with a ticking clock hanging over her head.
And anyway, Crowley was probably intent on sleeping a century away, waiting out for the inevitable to happen, and that just makes Aziraphale even angrier. That Crowley would let Aziraphale grieve alone would be a double betrayal.
Then a thought occurs to the angel. What if Crowley comes back and Angelique has had a change of heart? "Would you?" He asks before he knows the words are out of his mouth, "leave... me, that is."
Again, Angelique stays silent for such a long time that Aziraphale flies into a babbling tirade. "I wouldn't blame you if you did. I know you still love him very much. I just want you to be happy. I wouldn't leave you if you still wanted me–"
"Good," she whispers harshly near his ear. "I want you to remember this. You won't leave me as long as I still want you. Remember that."
Aziraphale nods quickly. "I will," he whispers back.
Angelique pulls back, unshed tears in her eyes that make Aziraphale's heart ache. "I'm ready," she says gravely, full of meaning, "so, you can set the pace however you like." Angelique gives him a small smile but then looks a bit stricken. "I wouldn't go at the same pace you're on with Crowley though. I am mortal, you know," she jokes and laughs but Aziraphale does not reciprocate. Angelique's expression grows worried almost immediately at the painful look that Aziraphale forgets to hide.
"I know," the angel replies hoarsely, a lump in his throat threatening to close off his airways.
"Oh, Aziraphale," she whispers and cups his face in her hands. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Let's not think about any of that, please." She trails sweet kisses all over his face. "Listen, if it ever becomes too much to bear, please just," she has to compose herself before she opens her mouth again to speak, but her words fail her anyway.
"As long as you want me, I'll stay," he reiterates.
"Yes, but–" she chokes on her words again.
"I can promise you–"
"Don't promise."
Aziraphale ignores her. "Upon my honour, I would never leave you willingly without saying a proper goodbye. I don't condone what Crowley did, but I do hope you can forgive him in time." Says the angel who will throttle the demon the next time he sees him.
Angelique nods and quickly wipes at her eyes before the tears can fall. "I already have. And thank you."
They hold each other until they slowly start to rock and writhe. And then they're kissing again. If things seemed desperate before, Aziraphale doesn't know what to call this now. Breath shallow, Angelique begins to roll her hips with purpose, trying to get as much friction as she can. It almost drives the angel mad with desire. He aches and the little relief the hardness in his trousers gets only serves to make him want more.
Without looking, with their lips still locked, Aziraphale digs his fingers into the hem of Angelique's trousers and tugs, requesting permission. She gives a pointed thrust, and that's all the invitation he needs to unfasten the zip. The button goes next. Instead of letting Angelique free to remove her clothes, his hands sneak under her shirt. Her skin is so warm and soft, and all he can think about now is tasing her. Everywhere.
He can feel goose-pimples rise on her skin as he grazes upward. The tips of his fingers reach her breasts, and she immediately gasps and whines into his mouth. Aziraphale's blood ignites at the needy sounds she makes, and he wants to hear more, so he traces her nipples with his thumbs. Her response is to thrust harder on his aching erection. It's painful but so good. This time he is the one who moans. In a flash, Angelique pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it aside.
"Good lord, woman," Aziraphale rasps as he admires the view. "You are sumptuous."
She laughs aloud. "Of course you'd use that word, you glutton."
Her teasing is cut short when Aziraphale leans forward and drags his tongue over the puckered flesh of her breast. Her hands shoot to his hair, hanging on for dear life as she pants and moans.
God, he wants her. And he can have her. She's given him permission.
Aziraphale sends one of his hands to her clothed groin and finds the thin fabric of her pants is warm and damp, and he can smell her arousal. "Fuck."
Angelique does not laugh this time.
He has no idea what to do. It's like he's staring at an all you can buffet and not knowing what to eat first.
Eat. That's an idea.
"I want to taste you," he says before he loses his nerve.
"Oh, fucking hell, yes, please."
In a movement he thought would be more fluid and suave, Aziraphale sits his meal on the sofa and kneels before her. Angelique lifts her arse while they both pull on the infernal trousers. He forgot the shoes, so the clothes get stuck at her ankles.
"Blast–" the angel snaps and leaves Angelique naked from the hips down, gasping.
Finally.
And, oh, he has to sit back on his haunches and catch his breath because the view is exquisite. When he looks up at Angelique's face, she flushes, her eyes are half-lidded and clouded with lust, and the best part is that he can feel her love caressing him.
Aziraphale has to mentally screech to a stop and thinks about how this will go because he is very close to snapping his own clothes away and just taking her right here and now.
No.
He doesn't want that. Well, he does, but not like this. This is his first-ever committed, romantic relationship, and he wants to do things right. True, there is no time for how long he wishes to court this lovely creature. Still, Angelique deserves to be courted and romanced. She deserves to have a happy and beautiful day, and flowers, and chocolates, and champagne. And you know what? So, do I.
That angelic iron will of his holds onto that desire as he dips his head and kisses her bare thighs. She smells downright divine, and his mouth can't help but water with anticipation.
Angelique squirms and complains about how he's teasing her. He doesn't torture her for long. In fact, pretty quickly he's pulling her hips toward him, then spreads her legs wide. He breathes there, knowing she can feel his warm breath on her if her whimpering is anything to go by.
Aziraphale's tongue finally darts out, and he gets his first taste. His willpower can only do so much in the face of such decadence. Soon he's laving up through her folds, and thanking every erotic book he's ever read written by women because Angelique cries out his name and that does something to him. He moans into her. Angelique's legs have climbed to his shoulders, her hands tugging hard on his curls.
She wraps her legs around his neck, crying out senseless babble, trying to pull and push him away at the same time. When she cries for more, Aziraphale hooks his hands under her knees and pushes her legs back, leaving her completely open to him.
And now she's full-on screaming with pleasure, yelling his name in between oaths. Her thrashing slows, she tenses and goes limp. Aziraphale doesn't stop. He slows his pace but continues his feast, bringing her down gradually until she's ready for more.
If Angelique thinks he's going to stop anytime soon, she's sorely mistaken. Aziraphale has been starving for centuries, even longer, and he intends to have his fill.
Eventually, she begs him to stop. She goes to take care of him as well but finds him already spent, and Aziraphale doesn't care to be embarrassed about it because she looks so pleased, and her love wraps around him tightly and possessively. He feels so loved and wanted, he could cry.
While in bed later, with his lover's breath tickling his neck as she sleeps, Aziraphale makes a mental list of things he's going to lavish Angelique with for the next couple of weeks. Then, when she's adequately romanced, indulged, and sated in every other way, he's going to carry her to their room, lay her out on their bed, and he's going to make love to her–soppy, romantic, tender, sweet love.
It will be perfect.
