neutral_omens | (no subject)

Entry tags:

aziraphale,
crowley

(no subject)

Date: December 14, 1999
Setting: Crowley and Azirphale's bathroom
Status: Private - Crowley, Aziraphale
Summary: Aziraphale notices Crowley's hurts.

"Owfuck."

The exclamation was not the first from the bathroom, and caused the angel to look up once again. "Are you quite certain you're all right?"

"Yes, angel, fine. Ow."

"You don't sound all right." Aziraphale found his cane and clattered to the bathroom, unwieldly on the hard floors. "You sound..."

He stopped. Crowley was shirtless and staring at himself in the mirror. The large one. That gave Aziraphale a very good view of the demon's naked chest, which he'd not seen for centuries.

"Um," Aziraphale said, mouth suddenly dry.

"What?" Crowley said irritably, turning around.

"You're - what happened?"

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"Michael happened, damn it," said Crowley, scowling.

While his back was to the mirror, he looked over his shoulder. The right side of his upper back was red and scraped where he'd rolled on it. That's going to be sore for a couple of days, he thought. Then he turned back to examine the left side of his jaw again.

"I shared some unpleasant truths with his would-be boyfriend and Mikey was severely displeased."

Crowley wondered how much more he ought to tell Aziraphale about what he'd learned. The last time they'd discussed it, they had gotten into a big argument. But that had been before... He thought maybe he could risk it.

"Although I did learn some useful information afterwards. Turns out that Michael was indeed the one who tried to kill me," he refrained from adding, 'like I told you before', "...and he says he got the order from Gabriel."

He touched his lip again in the way that one cannot help prodding at a sore spot.

"Fuck, that hurts."

Aziraphale was distracted by the shivers across the demon's back as he talked into the mirror.

"Um. Gabriel?" he asked, tearing himself into current conversation. Safer conversation. Crowley had never - and he was - Ngk.

"Michael's a bit egocentric. Honestly, after six millenia, I didn't figure you as one to go after the archangel of smiting. Fortunately, he didn't have his flaming sword. I've heard that Michael's been listening very, very carefully to Raphael lately - and Raphael hasn't been happy. I'd be a touch more careful."

He was surprisingly vocal for one who was feeling... distracted. He knew he was blushing.

"Er, well, perhaps I can do something about, ah, your injuries?" Aziraphale stepped closer to the mirror so he could see Crowley's face better.

"Here, just let me..." he fussed, taking Crowley's jaw and turning it so they were looking squarely at each other.

Crowley winced as Aziraphale touched his jaw but as he stared into Aziraphale's blue eyes so close to his own, he no longer noticed the pain.

"Just let you what, angel?" he asked in a low tone.

"Er..." Aziraphale said, staring back at Crowley's mouth, hearing Crowley's voice, and then leaned up and-

(His lip is swollen, his brain said, most redundantly.)

-kissed him, hands resting on Crowley's bare forearms, fingers curled around the muscles there almost imperceptibly. The angel kissed him, trying to be gentle, gentle was his nature but this was Crowley so close to him, Crowley's lips...

(It's hurting him.)

Aziraphale let go, and stepped back. "I'm sorry," he said immediately. "Are you quite - how's your mouth - I'm sorry."

"Don't be," said Crowley, dazedly. "It's, uh, actually feeling a little better now. Maybe if you don't mind trying that again...?"

He smiled, stepped forward, and caressed Aziraphale's cheek. Nobody had told him about sympathy kisses. He thought that maybe getting punched by Michael wasn't so bad after all.

"Kiss it better?" Aziraphale smiled, amused. "Well, if you insist, my dear."

He kissed clumsily, carefully around where Crowley's lip was the most inflamed, soft and wet kisses around Crowley's mouth before snogging him again, not so gently.

"Your lip is bleeding," the angel muttered in the demon's ear when they'd pulled apart. "Let me put some ice on it, my dear."

"Is it?" asked Crowley, shivering at the angel's breath in his ear. "Oh."

He stuck his tongue out and touched it gingerly to his lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood there. He shrugged.

"Well, I suppose that's what I get for standing up to the Commander-in-Chief of all of Heaven's army, but someone had to do it and it might as well be me."

Crowley smirked cheekily at his obvious ploy for more attention, then said, "Hang on, angel. You've got some on you, too."

He leaned in again and licked across Aziraphale's bottom lip.

"That's better."

It was Aziraphale's turn to shiver.

"Y-yes," the angel stammered, suddenly flustered, as he tried to push away quite unbidden (and graphic) images of Crowley's tongue and the possibilities of what such a long, flexible tongue could do. "Much better."

Crowley grinned at Aziraphale's obvious discomposure, although it took a huge effort of will not to glance down to see exactly how discomposed he was. But smiling widely opened his lip again and the painful tug brought him back to the problem at hand.

"Maybe some ice would be helpful," he conceeded, ignoring the fact that he could heal it easily without the angel's help. Perhaps if Aziraphale felt guilty about hurting him again, he'd try to make it up to him somehow...

Aziraphale miracled some distractedly, a blush still painting his cheeks a schoolboy pink.

"Here," he said, grasping at Crowley - oh, yes, the no-shirt thing. How very well. He reached out, Crowley suddenly still against him, and touched the ice carefully to Crowley's swollen mouth. Gently, softly, he moved it, so as to cover the whole of the area. The blood was all but gone by now, and the demon's mouth glistened at him.

He stared, unable to look away, and let out a whimper. Oh, heavens, he wanted to give Crowley another kiss.

Crowley caught the hand that was currently holding ice to his lip and pulled it down to wrap around his bare waist, conveniently leaving his mouth free. He was having trouble thinking clearly, which may have been due to the punch or may instead be due to the flushed, whimpering angel in his arms who clearly wanted more.

Not a demon to disappoint, Crowley covered Aziraphale's mouth with his own as he tugged him through the door leading into his bedroom. He licked at the angel's lips as they moved across the floor and was granted access just as he tumbled onto the bed, pulling Aziraphale down with him.

Ignoring the pain and the insistent demands of his body, he focused solely on the willing mouth against his.

Aziraphale made a noise of surprise as he was pulled down onto the bedspread, Crowley's mouth hot against his. He kissed Crowley thoroughly, lips sealed together, and opened his mouth and slipped his tongue into Crowley's.

He was sure, at one point, that he made a noise like "Ngk" as Crowley returned the favour, their tongues tangling against each other, hot and wet and so fierce.

Aziraphale, in his most secret of dreams, had never begun to think that Crowley would be as bold as this (although the tongue was not entirely unexpected, but he wouldn't admit that unless he was extraordinarily intoxicated). He wasn't at all put out by Crowley's enthusiasm. Rather the opposite, actually.

The ice began to melt in Aziraphale's hand, and trickle down between them.

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