Neutral Omens

Aziraphale blinked.

In only a few minutes, he'd gone from falling out of a tree, to making a god cry, to being approached by Crowley, to being clung to by said god. (At least, the angel decided, glancing at the god's face, he wasn't crying anymore.)

"Um," he said, freezing as well at the look on Crowley's face, and the too-quiet tone of his voice. The angel let go and tried to pull away, but Hermes' arms gripped him too tightly. He'd obviously misunderstood Aziraphale's intentions. The angel could see Crowley's restrained stance in the edge of his vision. He wasn't the only one.

A small thread of panic wound its way down his spine as humiliation reddened his cheeks. Slowly, he reached around and undid Hermes' grip, brought the god's hands around to his front, and clasped them together. "Terribly sorry," he said quietly, eyes on Crowley as he spoke. "But enough. Please.

"Yes?" he finally answered, turning to his waiting lover. "Did you want to say something?"

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Hermes let himself be unwound, but didn't move from his spot. For the angel's sake he wound himself in a soft linen chiton again. He waited, tensed to breaking, for this to play out. So far nothing had happened, but he wasn't going to leave, especially when an argument or fight was going to happen.*

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Alarmed at the abrupt escalation in tension, Ellie left her space by the fire and came up behind Hermes, touching his shoulders lightly. She couldn't guess what had him so worried, but worried and protective he clearly was, and his lingering would only exacerbate things. Surely he didn't think Crowley was going to attack Aziraphale?

"It's all right," she murmured in his ear, hoping to draw him away so that the other two could sort out their issue uninterrupted. "Aziraphale will be fine. I promise."

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He didn't believe her, and it was evident in the look he turned on Crowley. It was a warning, and despite his lack of skill in combat, Hermes was determined to not let Azi come to harm--or if he did, to avenge him with all the terrible wrath of an Olympian.

Giving Azi one last hug, he let Ellie pull him away, ears perked for signs of danger.

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Tugging Hermes back toward the fire, Ellie drew him in close, moving coaxingly with the beat of the drum. "Really," she insisted, "there's nothing to worry about. Before they came here, they were Adversaries since...well, probably before you existed."

The youthful god did have such a splendid, strong corporation, she thought, becoming distracted by her own effort to distract Hermes. "Aziraphale is gentle because he chooses to be. Trust me, he knows how to handle Crowley."

Sliding back under the thrall of the music, her body begged his full attention, freed from the need for restraint now that the angel was here to look after his own interests.

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The comment about age stung him, but he let it go. With one last concerned thought about Aziraphale, he turned toward Ellie, trusting her judgement absolutely. His silver-blue aura turned a little rosier at having her attention.

"You're very pretty, miss Ellie," he said shyly. "Would you...?" he trailed off, blushing, then tried again. "Would you...have...sex...with me...please," he added; he'd never been well at seducing or things like that (though flirting he was well at), and he hoped she wouldn't laugh at him for not being suave and sophisticated, the way all the other males seemed to be.

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Ellie actually blushed slightly as well, not quite sure how to answer such a straightforward yet clearly bashful proposition. Hermes was unfathomable to her, alien in his ways of thinking and his seemingly delicate ego; but there was no doubt he was beautiful, and sweet, and she thought she'd glimpsed a flash of steel in his eyes just now, when he'd believed Aziraphale was being threatened. She wondered what lay at the heart of it all, and just what he was looking for that he thought he'd found in a very-much-attached Principality.

Choosing to let actions speak for her, she pressed in closer, curling her arms up around his shoulders, and kissed him again, more liesurely and thoroughly this time; not pouring forth her full power, but allowing it to roll out slowly and curl around them both. It mingled with the heat from the bonfire and the god's own exotic aura in a hazy cloud of energy and want, insulating them (for the moment) from the rest of the small gathering as effectively as a thick shroud of cotton wool.

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A soft hum came from Hermes, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, snuggling into her when the kiss ended. Surprised, he looked up.

"You're very soft," he commented thoughtfully, then blushed. "I've...never been with a lady, before...I mean...not a lady with...um...with human legs..."

He felt her aura brushing all the right places, and felt a twinge of familiarity at it, a purr rising in his throat.

Safe. Ellie was Safe, and that was all his subconscious had to say about that, cementing the association firmly. Hermes hadn't had somewhere (or someone) Safe for a while; his libido hoped she was the type to take charge of things in sex.

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(Continued here (http://community.livejournal.com/neutral_omens/89153.html?thread=1477697#t1477697))

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Directing a narrow, appraising glance at Hermes, Crowley dragged his eyes back to Aziraphale.

"Just suprised to see you here," he said calmly. Shirtless, wings out, halo on, and being tightly embraced by another man, was the unspoken addendum. "I didn't know that you and Hermes were... friends."

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Hermes scowled at Crowley's tone.

"If you're that insecure, maybe you should get some therapy," he snapped, before Ellie managed to pull him away. His pretty, harmless form had changed to something more akin to the legendary temper, and the look he flashed Crowley was severely warning.

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Aziraphale gave Ellie his most grateful look as she took Hermes by the arm, leading him away with little fuss.

"Well, my dear, we are friends. Have I missed something or am I not allowed to have friends? If I recall correctly aren't you friends with Ellie? John? Half a dozen others?" Humiliation made him angry and offbeat; guilty when he wasn't certain he should be guilty. His wings flexed behind him, mostly from the stiffness of being reeled in so tightly for too long. It startled Aziraphale momentarily because he'd quite forgotten they were out, and he quite lost the thread of argument for a moment. But only a moment.

"Was it my attire? We're both shirtless," and his blue eyes, visible in the light of the bonfire, flicked down for the barest half-second. His gaze flicked back up to Crowley's cold face and grew angry (and defensive) again. "What, precisely, is the matter with you?"

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Ignoring the comment the god had tossed his way, Crowley watched the angel's wings bend and stretch. They always were the truest indicators of his feelings and Aziraphale probably never realized how much he gave away with them. He raised his eyebrows, surprised.

"What, precisely, is the matter with me? Hey, all I said was your name and that I didn't know you were friends with Gainsborough over there. Am I not allowed some curiosity when I see you being groped by a naked kid? Especially since you're suddenly showing more skin in public than you have for centuries? Why are you being so damn defensive?"

Crowley was hurt by Aziraphale's icy tone. Was the angel trying to accuse him of something so that he'd overlook his actions? The demon refused to feel guilty, however. He'd done nothing more than dance and speak politely to his lover. He thought he was being quite calm, all things considered, but now he was starting to wonder just what Aziraphale was trying to hide.

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The feathers twitched, uncomfortable and undeniably nervous. None of this showed on Aziraphale's face.

"Do you want to know what happened? I fell out of a tree and he happened to catch me. He asked to see my wings, and I thought that perhaps since the atmosphere was so relaxed it would hardly matter. I took off my shirt so it wouldn't be ripped. When he cried - could you not see the teartracks? - I only tried to comfort him. Why, Crowley, are you jealous?"

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In response, Crowley seized Aziraphale and kissed him long, hard, and possessively, hoping that the cerulean pipsqueak was watching. When they broke off several minutes later, flushed and disheveled, he murmured into his ear.

"He wantsss you, angel. Why shouldn't I be jealous?"

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"Oh, he does not," Aziraphale muttered, cheeks just as flushed as Crowley's, but less irritated than he was. The hot flame of humiliation and anger was starting to be diverted into sort of a different flame, but the angel ignored it all the same.

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Crowley raised a challenging eyebrow. "You think I can't recognize lust?"

The demon brought his hand up to cup Aziraphale's jaw and ran his thumb along his warm cheekbone. The other hand caressed an area considerably further south on the angel's person. "If you're not sure what it looks like, perhaps I should give you a demonstration..."

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"If you insist on a demonstration, dear, wouldn't you prefer something a little more private? Someone could be looking!" he whispered frantically, even as the angel relaxed, minutially. His wings moved restlessly, startled by the change in temper, and unsure.

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"That is part of the point, angel," said Crowley with a hungry look. "But I'd be more than happy to take this elsewhere. You know, we've never been on the Manor roof..."

He was well aware of how quickly anger, jealousy, and possessiveness could turn to desire when the object of said desire returns the interest. Or in other words, with Aziraphale paying attention to him instead of to Hermes, he felt no need for jealousy any longer, but he still had some angry energy built up that he very much wanted to take out with agressive sex.

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"Fine," Aziraphale said, grudgingly - or at least he tried to be. Grudging didn't work so well when you've just been snogged so very expertly, after all. He didn't dare tell Crowley that - his ego didn't need the stroking.

"But I'm still angry with you," he added, suddenly, and without a pause the angel tore off into the night, wings spread white like the luminescent moon, racing ahead in what he knew was a petty advantage.

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