To Taste
Hands on him. Caressing him and touching. A forceful weight upon his body, pressing him harshly against the cold brick wall. And a mouth, forcing itself between his teeth, claiming its dominance. An acidic taste overwhelmed his senses. Ashtrays and stale beer caressed his taste buds.
And then the weight was gone. Instead, there was demonically yellow eyes, staring down at him with concern. Hands helped him up and he stumbled against the warm body, holding on to it like a drowning man.
Shivering in the cold pre-dawn air he inhaled the other's sent. Spicy and alluring, daring him to find its source. And how he wanted to, to just give into sin and temptation. To just let go.
And so he did. For the first time in his life gave into temptation. And how good it felt, to be free of all the rules and obligations. Like being released from a prison he hadn't known he'd been confined in.
His tongue darted out, tasting the salty skin before scampering back within its home like a frightened rabbit. And then, timidly, it made another appearance, this time taking a moment to savour the unique taste of his demonic friend.
"'Zira," Crowley whispered, shivering as the angel's tongue, rough as a kittens, caressed his skin in an almost hesitant manner, before getting bolder. "What are you doing?"
"Tasting you." A sharp nip and the metallic taste of blood overwhelmed his senses. He lapped it up carefully; making sure none escaped him. Craving it like a starving man craved food. "Marking you."
"Angel", Crowley whispered, and Aziraphale smirked as the next unneeded breath brought the smell of fear with it. "Have you fallen."
He reluctantly nipped one last time the perfect arch of neck, promising himself he would return their later to complete unfinished business, before meeting the demon's golden orbs with his own crimson ones. "What do you think," was the only answer Crowley got before being pushed harshly against the unforgiving wall.
The End
A/N: Don't ask. I really don't know where this came from. It was supposed to be an Aziraphale has a traumatic experience and Crowley comforts him, but instead it turned into this. Why do these type of story ideas always have to pop up when I'm have asleep at one in the morning on a school night? Why?
I hope this story was okay. As I've already mentioned, it's late. Also, I really don't usually write like this so I'm not used to the style. I'm sorry for any grammatical, spelling, or just plain stupid errors. I don't feel like editing and I don't have a beta. Please send feedback. I thrive on it. Thanks.=^.^=
Hands on him. Caressing him and touching. A forceful weight upon his body, pressing him harshly against the cold brick wall. And a mouth, forcing itself between his teeth, claiming its dominance. An acidic taste overwhelmed his senses. Ashtrays and stale beer caressed his taste buds.
And then the weight was gone. Instead, there was demonically yellow eyes, staring down at him with concern. Hands helped him up and he stumbled against the warm body, holding on to it like a drowning man.
Shivering in the cold pre-dawn air he inhaled the other's sent. Spicy and alluring, daring him to find its source. And how he wanted to, to just give into sin and temptation. To just let go.
And so he did. For the first time in his life gave into temptation. And how good it felt, to be free of all the rules and obligations. Like being released from a prison he hadn't known he'd been confined in.
His tongue darted out, tasting the salty skin before scampering back within its home like a frightened rabbit. And then, timidly, it made another appearance, this time taking a moment to savour the unique taste of his demonic friend.
"'Zira," Crowley whispered, shivering as the angel's tongue, rough as a kittens, caressed his skin in an almost hesitant manner, before getting bolder. "What are you doing?"
"Tasting you." A sharp nip and the metallic taste of blood overwhelmed his senses. He lapped it up carefully; making sure none escaped him. Craving it like a starving man craved food. "Marking you."
"Angel", Crowley whispered, and Aziraphale smirked as the next unneeded breath brought the smell of fear with it. "Have you fallen."
He reluctantly nipped one last time the perfect arch of neck, promising himself he would return their later to complete unfinished business, before meeting the demon's golden orbs with his own crimson ones. "What do you think," was the only answer Crowley got before being pushed harshly against the unforgiving wall.
The End
A/N: Don't ask. I really don't know where this came from. It was supposed to be an Aziraphale has a traumatic experience and Crowley comforts him, but instead it turned into this. Why do these type of story ideas always have to pop up when I'm have asleep at one in the morning on a school night? Why?
I hope this story was okay. As I've already mentioned, it's late. Also, I really don't usually write like this so I'm not used to the style. I'm sorry for any grammatical, spelling, or just plain stupid errors. I don't feel like editing and I don't have a beta. Please send feedback. I thrive on it. Thanks.=^.^=