Tuesday, August 20, 2002 2:07:07 AM
hidoko Matsumoto (aka v0id)
email: voidmatsumoto@yahoo.co.uk
archive: if you really want, please ask. Scheduled to be at http://xz0ne.cjb.net
pairing: Crowley x Aziraphale, Crowley x Crowley
notes: I'm sleepy. Why ain't I sleeping? Hmm… There is room for answer. (I wanna write about Islington someday…) I think there's major OOC around too…
Disclaimer: Yes, I disclaim everything
that might get my ass sued.
NC-17-kind-of-slash-more-or-less-so-i-think-maybe-just-NC-13-afterall
"angels are an absolute minority
of masochists"
–hyde, the mechanical amnoitic
fluid
Aziraphale twirled and twirled,
until he sank down knee-deep into the field, the vast greenery tickling
his skin, as his ice-blue eyes lifted to match the sky.
He closed his eyes, and felt
the ground enveloping him.
And thus he sank into darkness.
He watched as the tender frills of it leapt at him, welcoming him with
fanged smile, and he knew that he had come home. He had laughed, and embraced
it with love, and allowed it to kiss him with soft lips, slimy tongue.
Fangs sank into his skin gently, and slid off his throat altogether.
A laughter surfaced as if
the throat had been tickled.
Memories of it shouldn't have
haunted him, because memories gradually became faded. The lips that parted
to reveal a horrid cave, wet and warm inside, and painful, painful as if
he had been devoured… The protrusion that crept under his skin, rendering
him helpless, penetrating him from the inner core…
He rubbed at his skin, wishing
for the remnants of the world to fade, to fade away…
Of that night.
He was sure his consciousness
had been saying, please, Aziraphale, stop, you know you have to. It's
not right, all the things that's going on, I mean, it's Crowley—he's a
friend—and he'll never speak to you again when you're sober. You'll have
to stop, or you'll fall like he did. You don't want to fall, you want to
love and care, demons can't do good like you can…
He hadn't stopped. Reason had
failed, and he gave way to the heated breath that permeated through him.
The plants stared at Crowley
as he rampaged his way into the apartment, picked a random pot of plant,
and smashed it against the ground with a smile on his face. The fit hadn't
stopped, and for a moment the plants seemed to forget how to live as they
watched, this time right in front of them, the consciousness of their kind
fade out in gasps for help.
Those golden eyes flared, and
laughter rang aloud in the house, threatening to disembowel every existence
that lay in that very room.
As soon as it stopped, Crowley
wished the plant back in place, and watched as it trembled before bursting
into luxuriant shades of green.
"Is this how it had been for
me, too?" He whispered to the plant, plucking a leaf off a branch and tearing
it apart with sharp fingernails, "My wings, that has always been crying
out to me even as I live here?"
He laughed again, and clenched
his fist.
When he released his grip,
leaves flew out like shattered glass, reflecting a diminutive ray of light
from the shaded window.
The plants watched as wings
burst out from Crowley's body, slowly and painfully, like butterflies struggling
from cocoons, and he touched them gently, to cry out in pain.
The tears came… But he knew
it wasn't because of his heart, it was, it was, the pain from the wings
that had materialized.
The little boy, Adam, wandered
into the field, with Dog galloping after him.
"Angel."
Aziraphale glanced up, and
smiled instantly upon seeing the Antichrist-that-was, "You haven't grown
the least bit."
"I know. I made that wish,"
he sat down beside where Aziraphale lay, and crossed his legs, "I wished
to stay the same, and I did."
"…Yeah."
"Don't you wish sometimes
that you have never grown up, Angel? I know how that is, I'm stuck here
forever, but that's okay," Adam said, as Dog licked his hand, "That's okay."
"Yes… I guess I do," Aziraphale
smiled, and touched Adam's forehead, brushing away a strand, "I would rather
be a younger soul."
"Yes. Souls are like whales,
you can't save them because they destroy it."
"…They?"
"Adults," Adam said, twirling
a lock of hair, "Adults think they've got it made, they think they're in
charge of everything. They put you in bed for running to circuses, they
punish you for enjoying yourself."
"Ah, but Mr Young looks
like a nice person, I mean, he's one of our people…"
"Your people? They're wolves
in skin sheep. He told me about the wolf dressing up in sheep skin to try
and eat the young of the sheep. I think adults are like that. If I could,
I would have undone my wish. I don't want change, or eternity. I want an
end. You know how stories always do have an ending? Seems like around here,
people do some marrying here and there, but nothing ever ends because they
die, and another one comes in, and they die, too. So you keep replacing
them."
"Yes." Aziraphale refrained
from saying, Just like God. He understood why many humans fell, and why
many humans chose the way they did. Because there were simply too many
boundaries that you had to keep to when you love.
"And I didn't ask to be
born, did I?" Adam laughed at this, and pointed at the sky, "Look, angel!
That looks like the demon. What's his name? I forgot…"
"Crowley," Aziraphale murmured,
as he watched the cloud fly by. It looked more like a bat than anything
else.
Dog began chasing a butterfly.
"Dog, come back here!"
Adam climbed onto his feet,
and chased the mongrel, laughing as he went by, leaving Aziraphale lying
on the grass, eyes closed, breathing even the way sleepers do.
"Have a hell of a time,
Angel, while you're here!" He yelled, footsteps slowing as he turned to
glance back at the angel.
And laughter tinkled as
he ran away.
When Aziraphale woke up, he
found that he was tucked safely in his armchair back in his own lovely
little bookstore.
There was one more thing that
he wanted to do, he thought. Crowley had done it for him before, way before,
in the Victorian ages…
Would Crowley do it again for
him?
The demon's eyes were wide as
he stared at the angel who stood at the doorway, and watched as Aziraphale's
eyes began to widen.
"Crowley, what are you doing?"
He laughed, fangs flickering
in the view, "Don't you have any idea? You're always so innocent, aren't
you?"
Aziraphale shook his head,
with compassion, "No, Crowley. Stop it."
"Why? I've fallen long ago,
there's no one who can defile me other than myself…" He laughed again,
"But Aziraphale, stay, and I'll unfold the secrets to you. All that you've
ever thought of but dared not tread, you shall unravel, if you will stay."
"You said that to the pope,
didn't you? To people like Raspurtin?"
Crowley nodded, a finger pressed
against his lips. Thin strands, like a spider's web, trailed and snapped
after the finger which traveled away. "Isn't it a blessing? To come to
earth and be a body here."
"Stop, Crowley…"
"You wouldn't understand, would
you? To be an angel is to be devoid of all emotions, to restrain yourself
and hurt yourself. But when you're a demon you enjoy everything, you enjoy
emotions, you enjoy feeling, you enjoy even being hurt because you enjoy
hurting." The finger trailed down towards Crowley's wings, to carress it
gently. He gasped, body twitching in horrid pain as the touch ensured into
grips, and moans came rushing like a tidal wave.
"No…"
"…nn…"
"Crowley, stop it…! I'm sorry,
alright? I'm sorry I ever used the Sword, I'm sorry, I'm sorry… I didn't
mean to…!"
"…nnn….a. .." The demon's lips
split into long red strands, "…Aaa…"
"Stop…! Crowley! Crowley!"
Aziraphale watched in horror
as Crowley's hands enveloped himself, while his hip thrust and his body
trembled, the wings seeming to burst into bright shades of bloom with the
refraction of light on the wings clotted with sweat. It was a long time,
a very long and painful time, as Aziraphale tried to find strength in his
knees, but always found with each attempt, that he failed.
"…A-aaah!"
"Crow…"
The demon rose to his feet,
tongue flicking out to lick those hands, "See, Aziraphale? This was what
I did to you the other day. Wasn't it painful? But isn't pain the most
universal sensation that could exist, Angel?"
"…No…"
"Pain and reality go together.
You can't deny that." Crowley pressed his body close to the angel's, wings
wrapping around him.
"Crowley—" Tears rolled down
the angel's cheeks unmistakably, and Crowley laughed for the last time.
"You've done it to me before,
remember? Long ago. To all the demons that stood in your way. Who do you
think you are, to cause so much hurt and pain in all of us, so why should
I stop? I can't defile myself anymore than you have. At least it's willing,
at least I fell because I wished to. But you—"
Sobs filled the room as Crowley
paused, drawing in a breath that he had forgotten to breathe but needed
to articulate, to tilt the angel's chin upwards so that he faced him.
"—You have no idea what it's
like. What's to be called yours."
"Crowley… Stop." The angel
glanced up, his eyes tearing, "I know. I know."
"See these wings? They're the
very ones that you tore and healed, angel. I must say even the Iron Maiden
couldn't win in a torturing contest compared to this. At least, when you
die, you die. But to kill and resurrect, and to install the memory of dying—I
must say Heaven wins hands down, wouldn't they? Of course they would."
"Stop… Kill me, Crowley, if
it satisfies you…"
"It wouldn't… Nothing will
satisfy me, angel," this time, Crowley had said it without a hint of malice
in his voice, and he gathered the angel into his embrace, lips meeting
lips.
"What will?" Aziraphale whispered,
resting his head against Crowley's collarbone, feeling its protrusion digging
into his own flesh. "Crowley, even if I die…?"
"You can't die, we all know
that." Crowley smiled, "You're seeking salvation, Aziraphale. You want
me to kill you because to live on with a body that has been defiled hurts
you like anything."
"…"
"And I wouldn't kill you, Aziraphale.
You'll live on with it, and see how it feels like to dream about it everytime
you try to escape."