neutral_omens | (no subject)

Date: May 14, 2000
Setting: Front desk
Status: Private - Crowley, Aziraphale
Summary: Aziraphale is getting restless.

The thing was, Aziraphale was tired. He was exhausted of pushing paper and writing notes, performing only the barest miracles and human interaction at a minimum. He missed his old life (not that this one didn't have his perks) where he got to go out and have delicious food prepared by internationally famous chefs with expensive wines and Crowley's drunken company. He thought of their philosophical conversations that let him lay worries and fears out in a roundabout way, holes in his belief, and replenish that faith, and the angel realized, suddenly, how much he did miss them.

The Manor was becoming too familiar, and Aziraphale itched to leave, go out and have fun. He was finished in four minutes, exactly, and it would be easy to go and ask Crowley about the possibility of reenacting their old habits and finding new haunts. Aziraphale didn't even know the names of the pubs in Tadfield, after all. It was a tragedy.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Crowley brushed some damp hair out of his eyes and re-steadied his bruising grip on the angel's hips.

"If you're still talking about the damn blanket, I know I'm not doing this right."

And in response to the fevered plea, he did begin to move. Cautiously at first, but when Aziraphale didn't tell him to stop, with more and more intensity. It was instinctual, this movement, and seemed to stem from his body alone. He was content to be the passenger, though, since it seemed to know what it was doing. And the feelings were amazing. The angel was warm and tight and every time he flexed or squeezed or did whatever it was that he was doing, it shorted out Crowley's brain.

But it wasn't just the sliding, gliding, perfect friction, wasn't just the dewy damp skin and bright eyes and tight heat; there was another connection going on. Something that Crowley felt deeper than any physical act. Somehow this taking, this giving, this sharing of bodies, opened up to sharing of minds and hearts and souls. He'd never felt so close to Aziraphale as he did when he was inside him. It was an emotional bond unlike anything he'd ever experienced. It explained a few things about human nature, but he couldn't think about that now. All he could do was move faster and harder, taking his cues from the angel's tiny movements and plaintive noises. Building towards his own climax, and trying to put it off as long as possible to enjoy the sweet tension, his curiosity got the better of him.

"Aziraphale..." The name rolled off his tongue. "What's it like, angel?"

There's- there's something he meant to say, he just- he couldn't think right now, it felt too much for expression, and Crowley was just there, pressing against just that spot that made him moan and his cock grow harder, and Aziraphale swore, under his breath, causing Crowley's grip to slip just a little on his hips as he startled his lover. Crowley was in him now, thrusting in some tempo Aziraphale couldn't help but respond to, and his expression was so very limited - there was a part of him that didn't believe they were actually doing this out in the field, under such a free area as the stars.

"It's-" he groaned, which sounded so very different and new when the angel did it in his cultured tones, "full, really, like nothing else, and yet it's sort of like going to the Ritz with you, or falling asleep next to you after a busy day, or seeing you in those ties you like to wear... fun, and intimate-" He smiled again, he was doing that a lot this night. "- and so, ahhhh, sexy with that - Crowley! - and very hot, and you have the most lovely body in Creation and -" This was possibly, as well, the longest run-on sentence in Creation, but it didn't matter - the thrusts were faster, making his eyes go up in his head, almost but he needed something else too. He liked seeing Crowley's handsome face like this, the angel decided, and knew what it meant when the demon trembled like that, moved just. So. "Crowley," he gasped, and his voice was unsteady, body clenching by turns. He found himself begging, wishing, "You're- you need to touch me, please, I need-"

Now, Crowley was coordinated, but he wasn't sure even he could get the leverage to thrust and squeeze at the same time. But, struck with an idea, he intertwined the fingers of his right hand with Aziraphale's right hand and wrapped them both around the angel's cock, sliding them up and down. That way he still had a hand free for leverage on the angel's hip and if he got distracted and slowed his hand, Aziraphale could keep things going at the pace he liked. The fact that he got to watch the angel pleasuring himself was surely just a bonus...

"Ties?" was all he could murmur. The rest of his attention was elsewhere. On his building pleasure, mostly, but on Aziraphale's too. With an appreciative groan, he moved, watching the angel's hooded eyes when he remembered to open his own. Feeling the cool breeze on his back and the hard ground beneath his knees, but more than anything, Aziraphale surrounding him.

"Suits," the angel moaned back. "I meant-" He could see Crowley's face from here, sticky black hair beginning to spike up a little in tousled streaks as they moved, and watched Crowley's serpentine mouth, so often caught in a smirk or grin and oh, so familiar; now swollen lips and all preoccupied, dark-lashed eyes focussed on him above his mouth. Their hands were curved around his cock, pulling in a maddening way that just made the angel want to wring something, whine for more, and- and-

And then-

Crowley moved harder, better, and Aziraphale arched, swearing loudly, forgetting where he was as it was just that spot that was brushed, and oh, fuck, he was coming, writhing and moaning, inarticulately, other hand gripping Crowley's beautiful skin convulsively.

"Crowley."

Crowley hadn't really been expecting the powerful convulsions tightening around his length and he groaned, watching Aziraphale lose himself in pleasure, his head thrown back and spine arching. The word beautiful didn't often come to mind when one thought of the angel - despite his current body, Crowley still saw the old one whenever he looked at him - but he was beautiful now in the throws of this deeply human act, sweat and mussed hair and all the other imperfections making it all the more perfect. His skin was flushed and glowing, silvery grey in the moonlight, but there was no sign of a halo. At times like this, Crowley could almost forget.

What he couldn't forget was his own need. Aziraphale's thrashing, moaning, tensing, and name-calling had gotten him quite close, but it took another minute or so of love making under the stars for Crowley to reach his own climax, encouraged by clever hands and a breathless mouth, after which all he could do was collapse bonelessly atop his partner, mouthing endearments and affections that he couldn't yet say. The whole experience had been so fleeting yet so eternal, that before he could even catch his breath, he caught Aziraphale's lips for another tender kiss before wrapping his arms around him and holding him close.

The angel smoothed a hand down the demon's skin, feeling the heat seeping into his fingers, and sighed into the kiss, feeling the slow relaxation of breath and muscle. The cold of the outside had yet to touch them both, or at least Aziraphale, who was still pinned by Crowley's lax weight.

There was meaning in Crowley's kisses, here, there always was, and it was feeling that the angel reciprocated, even if he wasn't capable of interpreting it just now. He understood, though; Aziraphale always had understood him.

And there was one more idea nudging on the edge of his consciousness. Something about cold air and being so free and open, or at the very least naked on a blanket, in a field just outside of Tadfield. The entire experience was almost dreamlike because of that, although the fallen stick poking into his back was nearly dissipating that feeling.

The demon was cold as the sweat evaporated from his exposed back, and it made him unusually drowsy. The only sensation he was aware of was where his skin touched Aziraphale's and he curled closer to him, already missing the warmth of their conjoined bodies. Fuzzily, he conjured another blanket to lay under. In his exhaustion and absent-mindedly sated state, it was tartan.

There was suddenly something actively tickling his nose, warm and fuzzy, and no doubt the fault of the - there was no doubt about it, Crowley was cuddling - distinctly male-shaped being lying against him. Aziraphale opened his eyes to look at it and saw the red multi-pattern of...

"Tartan," he whispered, pulling Crowley closer with a second deep sigh, and brushed his lips against his forehead. One hand rubbed slow, deep circles along the demon's thigh, the connection as comforting as the stubborn entanglement of limbs.