Authoress's Note: Don't know WHERE this came from. The Pirates have been a naughty influence. I may have thought FLUFFY SLASH! when I read G.O. but Muse thought SEX! So...uhm...yeah. Heh. It's all Muse's fault. And maybe Crowley's, just a bit.
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Crowley didn't know if it was morning or afternoon. He'd lost track hours... days?...ago. And it didn't matter, either. It was one of the more pleasant side effects of an almost limitless lifespan and the ability to live without air.
Those bloody Tibetans thought they knew something about Tantra. They'd barely scraped the surface.
Writhing, he cracked open slitted golden eye, stared up through sweat-beaded lashes (the sweat wasn't necessary, either, but he'd discovered that some things just weren't the same without it) at the translucent, feathery canopy above him. The sunlight filtered through, casting everything in a clean, pale light. He could just make out, here and there amongst the white pinions, a tracery of a vein, backlit and glowing softly pink. It was like lying curled in a strange womb.
He reached out with an unsteady hand and followed the path of one bunching, feather-covered muscle, raking his fingers through downy softness until they encountered hot skin. He followed the curve of shoulder up to bury his hands in pale, damp hair. And sighed.
Aziraphale lifted his head from Crowley's neck, where he'd been licking and sucking a slow, methodical trail for some time now. "Do you mind, my dear? You're rather in the way."
It took every ounce of his considerable self-control for Crowley to loosen his hold. He laid his hands flat on the angel's arms and tried to resist the urge to grab him and crush their lips together in another hour-long carnivorous kiss. As fond as he was of sin in all its forms, stopping that talented mouth was one that he could not bring himself to commit.
Looking down at the tousled blonde head bent against his chest, the half of his brain that wasn't in complete meltdown attempted to smirk. It took countless centuries of temptation at the hands of Yours Truly and near-annihilation in a near-Armageddon, but it all worth it, really, to discover that under the stuffy, bookish goodygoody exterior, Arizaphale's acquired naughty-streak ran so much deeper than he'd ever imagined.
The smirk failed utterly. Moaning something senseless, the demon wrapped his legs around slim hips and arched up into the slow, steady rocking rhythm the angel had been setting for...oh...to Hell with time! Who bloody needed it, anyway?
Crowley understood sex. What demon didn't? It was one of the most basic human temptations. The easiest tool. And boring as stewed beets. (At least by the fourteenth century, anyway.)Debauched maidens in haystacks hours before their vows. Depraved maniacs in alleyways. Crowley had seen it all. He knew all about sin. Dull, dull, dull...
Then, over tea in the bookshop one night, the angel took his hand and said, "Let me show you something." There wasn't any great melding of minds, no cosmic portents. The demon simply realized he'd come to the end of everything he knew, and none of it would do him any good now.
Aziraphale surged forward suddenly to catch him in a soul-deep kiss—as though there was any other kind here, with him—and Crowley cried out in his mouth, whimpered, shaking. He was taken apart, piece by piece. What was left couldn't even manage a proper smirk. Undone. Dismantled. By a—
Hands cupped his skull lightly...as though he might break...which was daft...he looked up at the face hovering above his own, eyes closed, set in an expression as close to rapture as any he'd seen since the very Beginning. He wanted those eyes open. Burning. On him.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Aziraphale's lashes fluttered, and he gazed down at Crowley, eyes blue as gas flame.
And Crowly breathed, "...Angel..."
Aziraphale stopped.
Crowley stopped.
Everything stopped.
The part of Crowley's brain that wasn't in complete meltdown was now thinking furiously, Oh, #$!!! Oh, &$##$!!! (Most really worthwhile curses ceased to function in the angel's presence. A fact that caused Crowley no end of irritation...) What did I just say? What the Bloody Hell just happened?
They'd called each other all manner of things over the centuries, but...he'd never spoken a word in just that...Crowly's mouth felt strange. As though the syllables had passed over his tongue and taken a part of something vital with them.
It was humiliating. Like being caught feeding stray puppies. Or picking up litter. Or being in lo—
Oh, #$&#$&#$#!!!
Aziraphale hovered over him, panting softly, breath stirring the damp strands of black hair in Crowley's eyes. Then he smiled, and the blue eyes softened from flame to sky.
"...Demon..." he whispered.
Crowly swallowed. And then smiled. And then grinned. And unfurled his wings with a shrug, wrapping them black-on-white, to blot out the sunshine and cover them both in warm darkness.
-owari-