Two post-reveal bonus gifts for EVERYONE!
Title: Once Proud
Gift For: v2113
Author: thecrazyalaskan
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Rating: T
Warnings: Angst
Author's Note: I apologize for turning this in so late, and for the deviance from the prompts. I didn't realize until I was finished that there wasn't much fluff, or that the setting wasn't all that old. And for this, I fail at life as we know it. In any case, I sincerely hope you all enjoy it! Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year!
Summary: There was once a proud ship, and Crowley and Aziraphale were there just as much as anyone else was. Original Prompt - PAIRING/PLOT BUNNY/RATING CHOICE TWO: Aziraphale/Crowley; Pre-NotApocalypse Fluff, gen or slash, preferably in historical eras and not modern-ish times; any rating.
The date was 15 April 1912, in the darkest hours of the early morning; the water gushing into the supposedly unsinkable vessel was cold, and Aziraphale was knee deep in it. Call him mad, but he had to know that anyone who could be saved was.
Not that it was an easy task-panic was palpable in the air now, and precious few passengers had their senses about them. Even without the chance of death-real, permanent death-Aziraphale could hardly say he blamed them.
He slogged through the water, searching. He found only one, only by dint of walking into him. Aziraphale stumbled back, bracing himself against the wall, and got a good look at the person-slender and wearing a dark suit of the highest quality and equally dark glasses. "Crowley?" he asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
The other man (man-shaped being) peered over the rim of his own glasses. Even in the dim, flickering light, the yellow color of his eyes was unmistakable. "Lifeboats are up top, Angel," he replied by way of a true greeting.
"Please tell me you didn't have a hand in this," Aziraphale
"Hard to have a demonic hand in human stupidity," Crowley replied darkly.
"What do you mean?" the angel asked, raising his voice over an ominous metallic creaking.
"Bloody morons haven’t been on top of passing on messages," Crowley answered shortly, pointing up, toward the general direction of the captain's cabin and the radios.
"So what are you doing here if not for some nefarious purpose?" the angel asked.
"Would you believe me if I said holiday?" Crowley replied flatly.
Aziraphale might have called Crowley a lucky flash bastard, but the circumstances were far too serious to be throwing names around. "What brings you out this way, hmm?" Crowley asked. The water was up to their knees now.
"I'm afraid I don't know," Aziraphale admitted. "I was just told to be here."
Crowley chuckled without humor. "Lots of 'em are gonna need an angel," he noted darkly.
"I'm not here for this," Aziraphale replied instantly.
"You're sure as bloody hell not here on holiday, too," Crowley pointed out.
"I don't think I'm here to have any sort of divine influence," the angel repeated, though he seemed… less inclined to believe it than he did a moment ago.
The ship creaked beneath their feet, and they braced themselves against the wall. "Some ineffable plan, huh?" Crowley asked.
"Don't start," Aziraphale warned.
"Little testy tonight, aren’t we?" Crowley pointed out.
"You think I want to be here?" Aziraphale asked, raising his voice over the creaking of iron and rushing water. "If I had a choice, do you think I would choose this?"
"Was I saying you would?" Crowley questioned, coming closer. The splashing water from his steps, the way his hands displaced the icy Atlantic Ocean, reached up to Aziraphale's glasses, obscuring his visual field. The pair glowered at one another for a moment before Crowley relented with a mumbled apology.
While Aziraphale could be hard-nosed (Crowley always liked to call him a bastard, which the angel would vehemently deny, if only for show), he couldn't truly stay mad at Crowley. Not for very long. He mumbled an apology as well, the words lost to another creak. The pair exchanged concerned glances as they both realized the precarious angle at which the floor beneath them was tilted.
"Up top?" Crowley suggested, the water up to his chest now.
"Up top," the angel agreed, turning and leaning heavily against the wall to keep himself from being swept under by the swift currents of rapidly rising water.
Getting to the uppermost decks was far easier said than done; by the time the water was up to their chests and they were swimming more than they were walking, they were only two-thirds of the way to the top decks, and the decks were tilting even more. They took a very brief reprieve, treading water and looking around them. This ship… She had been beautiful before this. Now everything was waterlogged and if anything could be salvaged… well, bully for it, they supposed.
"Hard to believe we had lunch in there this afternoon, huh, angel?" Crowley asked suddenly.
Aziraphale's brow furrowed in thought as he looked where Crowley indicated. Ah, yes. It was a dining hall, but there was one thing-"I don't recall taking my lunch with you, my dear."
"I was sitting five seats down," Crowley noted.
He'd been that close, and Aziraphale hadn’t noticed a thing? "You should have said something," he said. The words might have been a gentle, almost teasing reprimand any other time; now they were a simple statement of fact.
Crowley shrugged, quite the feat in so much water. "Better luck next time, hmm?"
"I don't think there'll be a next time," Aziraphale mumbled. He and Crowley were both in water up to their necks.
"We won't die," Crowley reminded. "Inconveniently discorporated, maybe, but-"
"Not that," Aziraphale cut off. "There's not going to be another…" He waved his arm at the ship around them, miniature waves of water trailing in its wake. "Nothing like this ever again, I think."
"You never know," Crowley replied, taking the lead and starting to swim on again, Aziraphale following behind. "Clever blighters, humans."
"Clever, but foolish," the angel pointed out. "Look at where we are now."
"I thought your lot was supposed to be cheerful?" Crowley asked.
"I prefer to think of myself of a realist," Aziraphale noted dryly.
And now they had gotten out of the guts of the ship and were treading water in the open ocean. The sight above them is not a pleasant one. One half of the once proud, once beautiful vessel is already mostly underwater, sinking toward the sandy bottom; the other half was rising up out of the ocean, lifting its bow toward the night sky like a salute. People, much to their mutual dismay, were still clinging to the decks and the rails.
Such was a sight neither angel nor demon could ever hope to unsee, and if they didn't stand a chance, what hope did the humans have?
• • •
They were picked up by one of the final lifeboats retreating from the scene. Crowley had the sense about him (which was more than could be said for so many around them) to ask the time. It was nearly half past two, and the ship was gone now. Nothing more than a memory.
*
Arthurian Omens: Merlin and Nimue
Night had fallen over Camulodunum, its extensive fortifications and walls gilded silver by the moonlight. Aside from faint noises made by the night guards and a few late-night trade arrivals and shops, it was mostly quiet. Even in the royal villa most people had gone to bed, feeling vaguely confused about the strangely anticlimactic atmosphere of the afternoon.
The wizard Merlin trudged wearily up to his chambers, still fuming over the afternoon’s events, and so it took him a moment longer than it should have to sense the uninvited presence lounging on his bed. He spun around, glaring.
“I’m surprised he didn’t give you a long white beard and starry robes, angel.” The girl smirked at him.
“You’re one to talk, Nimue.” Aziraphale unclasped his toga and draped it over the back of his couch. “I must say, dear girl, you look rather pretty. The dress is very fetching. Shouldn’t you be in Avalon, though?”
Nimue, or rather Crowley, hissed at him, her disconcertingly human eyes melting into familiar serpentine gold. She sat up and tugged her dress over her head, dropping it carelessly onto the floor and ignoring Aziraphale’s light flush at the lack of undergarments. Then she traced a glowing sigil in the air with her forefinger and breathed a sigh of relief at being back in his preferred form, collapsing back onto the bed. “It’s bad enough that we had to go through all this once, and now we find ourselves back in the Time Before Hygiene and the bloody Antichrist is playing merry hell with reality just so he can have his re-enactment. On the plus side, the smell isn’t as bad as it used to be and we have our memories.”
Aziraphale groaned, slumping onto the high bed next to the demon. “He just… deleted the entire adventure of Sir Balin! Do you have any idea how much effort it took the first time to ensure that Balan was the Red Knight?”
“Never cared much for those two anyway. All ‘woe is me’ and ‘I shall take this adventure even if it’s got certain death written all over it!’ and generally being depressing,” Crowley grumbled, nudging Aziraphale’s thigh with his foot. “And I suppose he saw it as ‘meddling’. At this rate the Grail will be the Goblet of Fire and finding it will involve shrubbery.”
“Shrubbery?”
“Never mind, angel. So which version would you prefer for your imprisonment, by the way? Tree, well, misty castle thing?”
“You just pushed me into a bramble bush the first time. It gave me a rash, by the way.”
“Served you right. You blessed me, I’m pretty sure my rash was worse.”
Aziraphale had to smile at Crowley’s petulant expression, reaching down to tickle the sole of Crowley’s foot until the demon kicked him, not very hard. “It was a long time ago, before all this. I suppose by that point we were just pulling pigtails.” That earned him another kick, and he chuckled. He shifted until he was lying down next to Crowley, soaking in the demon’s body heat through his clothes, and sighed. “It’s just frustrating, watching everything play out again, having to guide it all again, even if it’s new to everyone else and they can’t remember who they really are. And then having to deal with changes like this. Next time Adam wants help with history or English Literature I’m pointing him to the bookshelves or that Google whatsit.”
Crowley was silent for a while, investigating the jug of locally-produced wine on Aziraphale’s bedside table before proffering him a goblet and pouring one for himself. They drank in silence for a few moments. Then, “There’s at least one good thing about thisss, if you’ll allow me to dissstract you.”
Aziraphale cracked one eye open suspiciously at the sibilance, offering his goblet for a refill. “Oh?”
Crowley set their goblets back on the table and traced a fingertip along the edge of the broad strip of richly embroidered trim that ran down the centre of Aziraphale’s white robe. “You look like a priesst in this. Alwayss thought it ssuited you. Never could do anything about it all the previouss timess you were in the Church, though.” He ducked his face into Aziraphale’s neck, tongue coming out to scent the angel and lave his pulse point, and smiled like a predator at the hitch in Aziraphale’s breath.
Aziraphale was remembering the last time he’d worn actual priest’s robes, the odd look in Crowley’s eyes that he’d dismissed as wishful thinking at the time. Then Crowley bit down on his neck, and hindsight was the last thing on his mind. He did make a very distracted, half-hearted stab at propriety. “Crowley, we shouldn’t - what if Adam -” he trailed off, moaning as Crowley sucked a love bite into his neck.
“Adam made you Merlin and me Nimue. I don’t want to know what he wass thinking, but -” Crowley straddled Aziraphale in one smooth move, “- thisss iss only to be expected, really.” His fingers trailed down the angel’s chest, pinching his nipples through the fine linen, squeezing his slight love handles.
“You know, if you’re supposed to be Nimue -” Aziraphale arched into the touch, plump hands coming to rest on Crowley’s slender hips, “you’re supposed to worry about protecting your virtue from me.”
Crowley snorted, shifting and tugging Aziraphale’s robe up so that it was rucked up around the angel’s thighs before leaning down for a kiss. Aziraphale’s lips were slightly chapped, cool against his own heated ones, and Crowley tugged on the bottom lip with sharp teeth as he pulled back. “Well, if you really want me to pretend to be that lying bint, I can run out there sshouting about how you’re debauching me againsst my will. Though that would be a wassste of our time - oh!”
“Perhaps you should get on with the debauchery, then,” Aziraphale suggested, eyebrow raised, prim expression at complete odds with the way his fingers were wrapped around Crowley’s cock and slowly stroking it. Crowley arched into the touch for a moment, before capturing Aziraphale’s wrists and pinning them to the pillow above Aziraphale’s head. The angel raised an eyebrow.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Crowley grinned down at him, sharp and predatory. “Fulfilling our roless in the ssstory. Ssort of.” He then focused on the headboard, hissing something that sounded threatening at it, and wooden vines grew out of it, slowly wrapping around Aziraphale’s wrists.
“What -” Aziraphale tugged at them, the secure pressure around his wrists sending a frisson of excitement shooting down his spine despite himself. Crowley was studying his face, and whatever he saw made his grin widen.
“I could miracle them away, you know.”
“But you won’t.” Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s cheek, thumb stroking his soft skin, and the angel was silent for a moment.
“If we’re fulfilling our roles, might I remind you that Merlin never actually succeeds with Nimue?”
“Artisstic liccensse.” He pressed another quick kiss to Aziraphale’s lips before beginning to move down his body, tonguing his nipples through the linen, nuzzling his stomach, bypassing his cock entirely in favour of sucking and biting the soft skin on the inside of his thighs and smiling at the angel’s soft sighs and moans. Aziraphale always made such pretty noises, and Crowley could spend several mortal lifetimes learning each one. He nibbled at the soft creased juncture of thigh and groin and yes, there was Aziraphale’s surprised-sounding moan.
Sitting back for a moment, Crowley surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction; the pale skin was mottled with little red marks, and as he ran his thumb over one of them Aziraphale hissed. Crowley licked his lips as he resettled himself, finally pressing a kiss to the base of Aziraphale’s cock, pressing restraining hands down onto the other’s hips before sliding them down and parting his thighs further for better access, pushing them up over his own shoulders. He tongued Aziraphale’s balls, revelling in the choked-off sound the angel made, and slowly licked down his perineum to the puckered rim of his arsehole.
“Crowley…”
“Sssshh,” Crowley murmured, lips pursed against Aziraphale’s hole, which only made the angel’s hips twitch. He pressed his lips to it and gave it a lingering kiss, lips parting against the furrowed skin, suckling at it slightly.
Aziraphale moaned, head twitching from side to side on the hard pillow as he canted his hips towards Crowley’s sinful mouth. Crowley slowly slid his forked tongue in, licking just inside the rim with quick, darting movements, tasting and smelling Aziraphale at the same time; the angel was delicious, heady, and he moaned against Aziraphale’s entrance. Aziraphale whimpered.
Crowley’s tongue was now thrusting in further than any human tongue was capable of, licking the inside of Aziraphale’s hole as if the angel were a feast laid out just for him. He could hear Aziraphale’s moans and gasps and his own name, and redoubled his efforts, wrapping one hand around Aziraphale’s cock. The angel was so wet, he marvelled, swiping a thumb over his head to gather precome and smoothing it down the shaft before beginning to stroke it, working by touch alone while his tongue still stabbed inside; Crowley prided himself on his multitasking abilities.
He paused and looked up along Aziraphale’s body, taking in the robe so similar to priests’ robes, now rumpled and damp with sweat and precome, Aziraphale’s flushed face and red swollen lips.
“Come for me, Azsssiraphale,” he hissed, hand steadily moving around Aziraphale’s cock; Aziraphale cried out and came, back arching off the bed, glowing slightly, and Crowley had never seen anything more beautiful.
He stretched out next to his angel, taking a perverse pleasure in wiping his hand off onto the robe before stroking Aziraphale’s arms soothingly. After a moment Aziraphale captured the demon’s lips in a long kiss, heedless of where his mouth had been. It was languid, exploratory, and their breathing slowly calmed.
Aziraphale tugged, and the bonds melted away. He pulled the demon closer and slid a hand between them, soft fingers wrapping around Crowley's cock and slowly jacking him off as they kissed. It wasn’t long before Crowley came too with a soft hiss, and a quick miracle took care of the mess between them and the stained robe.
By the time Aziraphale turned back from ensuring that his robe was now clean and neatly folded on the couch, Crowley was already half-asleep and wrapped around him, less snake-like and more like a particularly clingy octopus, long limbs pulling him closer. He smiled and turned down the wick in the oil-lamp with a thought before closing his own eyes. The morning would likely bring another of Adam’s unique takes on the adventures of the Knights of the Round Table, but for now, they could rest.
~*~
[Author's Notes: I don’t think that Crowley was Nimue in the original, though I like to think Aziraphale might have been Merlin. But perhaps Crowley was part of Nimue’s retinue, stirring up trouble at court or something, and things like his shoving Aziraphale into a bush became, over time, Nimue herself imprisoning him in a tree. This was written in short bursts over a couple of months in between my family being smotheringly glad that their baby had returned from her first year of studying/living overseas and the smut was written while I was ill and half-delirious, so I really hope it reads smoothly. Also, uh, Aziraphale could get out of the bonds if he wished, but always use a safeword! Smut bits not betaed. This was basically supposed to be a long epic Arthurian Omens thing set in Roman Britain with the Them being knights and a GO-style take on Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Arthur [Artorius] and Morgaine, The Tale of Sir Balin or the Knight with the Two Swords, Merlin and Nimue, and a Monty Python-esque Quest for the Holy Grail, all of which was a result of the Them’s dissatisfaction with studying Roman Britain in History and the Arthurian legends in English. Unfortunately exams, family stuff, laptop issues, writer’s block, more family stuff, plot problems, illness and everything possible got in the way so I ended up with a lot of half-finished. I hope to finish it all one day and will dedicate it to my recipient, vulgarweed, but for now all you get is the smut scene that was meant to be the Merlin and Nimue interlude.]
Gift For: v2113
Author: thecrazyalaskan
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Rating: T
Warnings: Angst
Author's Note: I apologize for turning this in so late, and for the deviance from the prompts. I didn't realize until I was finished that there wasn't much fluff, or that the setting wasn't all that old. And for this, I fail at life as we know it. In any case, I sincerely hope you all enjoy it! Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year!
Summary: There was once a proud ship, and Crowley and Aziraphale were there just as much as anyone else was. Original Prompt - PAIRING/PLOT BUNNY/RATING CHOICE TWO: Aziraphale/Crowley; Pre-NotApocalypse Fluff, gen or slash, preferably in historical eras and not modern-ish times; any rating.
The date was 15 April 1912, in the darkest hours of the early morning; the water gushing into the supposedly unsinkable vessel was cold, and Aziraphale was knee deep in it. Call him mad, but he had to know that anyone who could be saved was.
Not that it was an easy task-panic was palpable in the air now, and precious few passengers had their senses about them. Even without the chance of death-real, permanent death-Aziraphale could hardly say he blamed them.
He slogged through the water, searching. He found only one, only by dint of walking into him. Aziraphale stumbled back, bracing himself against the wall, and got a good look at the person-slender and wearing a dark suit of the highest quality and equally dark glasses. "Crowley?" he asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
The other man (man-shaped being) peered over the rim of his own glasses. Even in the dim, flickering light, the yellow color of his eyes was unmistakable. "Lifeboats are up top, Angel," he replied by way of a true greeting.
"Please tell me you didn't have a hand in this," Aziraphale
"Hard to have a demonic hand in human stupidity," Crowley replied darkly.
"What do you mean?" the angel asked, raising his voice over an ominous metallic creaking.
"Bloody morons haven’t been on top of passing on messages," Crowley answered shortly, pointing up, toward the general direction of the captain's cabin and the radios.
"So what are you doing here if not for some nefarious purpose?" the angel asked.
"Would you believe me if I said holiday?" Crowley replied flatly.
Aziraphale might have called Crowley a lucky flash bastard, but the circumstances were far too serious to be throwing names around. "What brings you out this way, hmm?" Crowley asked. The water was up to their knees now.
"I'm afraid I don't know," Aziraphale admitted. "I was just told to be here."
Crowley chuckled without humor. "Lots of 'em are gonna need an angel," he noted darkly.
"I'm not here for this," Aziraphale replied instantly.
"You're sure as bloody hell not here on holiday, too," Crowley pointed out.
"I don't think I'm here to have any sort of divine influence," the angel repeated, though he seemed… less inclined to believe it than he did a moment ago.
The ship creaked beneath their feet, and they braced themselves against the wall. "Some ineffable plan, huh?" Crowley asked.
"Don't start," Aziraphale warned.
"Little testy tonight, aren’t we?" Crowley pointed out.
"You think I want to be here?" Aziraphale asked, raising his voice over the creaking of iron and rushing water. "If I had a choice, do you think I would choose this?"
"Was I saying you would?" Crowley questioned, coming closer. The splashing water from his steps, the way his hands displaced the icy Atlantic Ocean, reached up to Aziraphale's glasses, obscuring his visual field. The pair glowered at one another for a moment before Crowley relented with a mumbled apology.
While Aziraphale could be hard-nosed (Crowley always liked to call him a bastard, which the angel would vehemently deny, if only for show), he couldn't truly stay mad at Crowley. Not for very long. He mumbled an apology as well, the words lost to another creak. The pair exchanged concerned glances as they both realized the precarious angle at which the floor beneath them was tilted.
"Up top?" Crowley suggested, the water up to his chest now.
"Up top," the angel agreed, turning and leaning heavily against the wall to keep himself from being swept under by the swift currents of rapidly rising water.
Getting to the uppermost decks was far easier said than done; by the time the water was up to their chests and they were swimming more than they were walking, they were only two-thirds of the way to the top decks, and the decks were tilting even more. They took a very brief reprieve, treading water and looking around them. This ship… She had been beautiful before this. Now everything was waterlogged and if anything could be salvaged… well, bully for it, they supposed.
"Hard to believe we had lunch in there this afternoon, huh, angel?" Crowley asked suddenly.
Aziraphale's brow furrowed in thought as he looked where Crowley indicated. Ah, yes. It was a dining hall, but there was one thing-"I don't recall taking my lunch with you, my dear."
"I was sitting five seats down," Crowley noted.
He'd been that close, and Aziraphale hadn’t noticed a thing? "You should have said something," he said. The words might have been a gentle, almost teasing reprimand any other time; now they were a simple statement of fact.
Crowley shrugged, quite the feat in so much water. "Better luck next time, hmm?"
"I don't think there'll be a next time," Aziraphale mumbled. He and Crowley were both in water up to their necks.
"We won't die," Crowley reminded. "Inconveniently discorporated, maybe, but-"
"Not that," Aziraphale cut off. "There's not going to be another…" He waved his arm at the ship around them, miniature waves of water trailing in its wake. "Nothing like this ever again, I think."
"You never know," Crowley replied, taking the lead and starting to swim on again, Aziraphale following behind. "Clever blighters, humans."
"Clever, but foolish," the angel pointed out. "Look at where we are now."
"I thought your lot was supposed to be cheerful?" Crowley asked.
"I prefer to think of myself of a realist," Aziraphale noted dryly.
And now they had gotten out of the guts of the ship and were treading water in the open ocean. The sight above them is not a pleasant one. One half of the once proud, once beautiful vessel is already mostly underwater, sinking toward the sandy bottom; the other half was rising up out of the ocean, lifting its bow toward the night sky like a salute. People, much to their mutual dismay, were still clinging to the decks and the rails.
Such was a sight neither angel nor demon could ever hope to unsee, and if they didn't stand a chance, what hope did the humans have?
• • •
They were picked up by one of the final lifeboats retreating from the scene. Crowley had the sense about him (which was more than could be said for so many around them) to ask the time. It was nearly half past two, and the ship was gone now. Nothing more than a memory.
*
Arthurian Omens: Merlin and Nimue
Night had fallen over Camulodunum, its extensive fortifications and walls gilded silver by the moonlight. Aside from faint noises made by the night guards and a few late-night trade arrivals and shops, it was mostly quiet. Even in the royal villa most people had gone to bed, feeling vaguely confused about the strangely anticlimactic atmosphere of the afternoon.
The wizard Merlin trudged wearily up to his chambers, still fuming over the afternoon’s events, and so it took him a moment longer than it should have to sense the uninvited presence lounging on his bed. He spun around, glaring.
“I’m surprised he didn’t give you a long white beard and starry robes, angel.” The girl smirked at him.
“You’re one to talk, Nimue.” Aziraphale unclasped his toga and draped it over the back of his couch. “I must say, dear girl, you look rather pretty. The dress is very fetching. Shouldn’t you be in Avalon, though?”
Nimue, or rather Crowley, hissed at him, her disconcertingly human eyes melting into familiar serpentine gold. She sat up and tugged her dress over her head, dropping it carelessly onto the floor and ignoring Aziraphale’s light flush at the lack of undergarments. Then she traced a glowing sigil in the air with her forefinger and breathed a sigh of relief at being back in his preferred form, collapsing back onto the bed. “It’s bad enough that we had to go through all this once, and now we find ourselves back in the Time Before Hygiene and the bloody Antichrist is playing merry hell with reality just so he can have his re-enactment. On the plus side, the smell isn’t as bad as it used to be and we have our memories.”
Aziraphale groaned, slumping onto the high bed next to the demon. “He just… deleted the entire adventure of Sir Balin! Do you have any idea how much effort it took the first time to ensure that Balan was the Red Knight?”
“Never cared much for those two anyway. All ‘woe is me’ and ‘I shall take this adventure even if it’s got certain death written all over it!’ and generally being depressing,” Crowley grumbled, nudging Aziraphale’s thigh with his foot. “And I suppose he saw it as ‘meddling’. At this rate the Grail will be the Goblet of Fire and finding it will involve shrubbery.”
“Shrubbery?”
“Never mind, angel. So which version would you prefer for your imprisonment, by the way? Tree, well, misty castle thing?”
“You just pushed me into a bramble bush the first time. It gave me a rash, by the way.”
“Served you right. You blessed me, I’m pretty sure my rash was worse.”
Aziraphale had to smile at Crowley’s petulant expression, reaching down to tickle the sole of Crowley’s foot until the demon kicked him, not very hard. “It was a long time ago, before all this. I suppose by that point we were just pulling pigtails.” That earned him another kick, and he chuckled. He shifted until he was lying down next to Crowley, soaking in the demon’s body heat through his clothes, and sighed. “It’s just frustrating, watching everything play out again, having to guide it all again, even if it’s new to everyone else and they can’t remember who they really are. And then having to deal with changes like this. Next time Adam wants help with history or English Literature I’m pointing him to the bookshelves or that Google whatsit.”
Crowley was silent for a while, investigating the jug of locally-produced wine on Aziraphale’s bedside table before proffering him a goblet and pouring one for himself. They drank in silence for a few moments. Then, “There’s at least one good thing about thisss, if you’ll allow me to dissstract you.”
Aziraphale cracked one eye open suspiciously at the sibilance, offering his goblet for a refill. “Oh?”
Crowley set their goblets back on the table and traced a fingertip along the edge of the broad strip of richly embroidered trim that ran down the centre of Aziraphale’s white robe. “You look like a priesst in this. Alwayss thought it ssuited you. Never could do anything about it all the previouss timess you were in the Church, though.” He ducked his face into Aziraphale’s neck, tongue coming out to scent the angel and lave his pulse point, and smiled like a predator at the hitch in Aziraphale’s breath.
Aziraphale was remembering the last time he’d worn actual priest’s robes, the odd look in Crowley’s eyes that he’d dismissed as wishful thinking at the time. Then Crowley bit down on his neck, and hindsight was the last thing on his mind. He did make a very distracted, half-hearted stab at propriety. “Crowley, we shouldn’t - what if Adam -” he trailed off, moaning as Crowley sucked a love bite into his neck.
“Adam made you Merlin and me Nimue. I don’t want to know what he wass thinking, but -” Crowley straddled Aziraphale in one smooth move, “- thisss iss only to be expected, really.” His fingers trailed down the angel’s chest, pinching his nipples through the fine linen, squeezing his slight love handles.
“You know, if you’re supposed to be Nimue -” Aziraphale arched into the touch, plump hands coming to rest on Crowley’s slender hips, “you’re supposed to worry about protecting your virtue from me.”
Crowley snorted, shifting and tugging Aziraphale’s robe up so that it was rucked up around the angel’s thighs before leaning down for a kiss. Aziraphale’s lips were slightly chapped, cool against his own heated ones, and Crowley tugged on the bottom lip with sharp teeth as he pulled back. “Well, if you really want me to pretend to be that lying bint, I can run out there sshouting about how you’re debauching me againsst my will. Though that would be a wassste of our time - oh!”
“Perhaps you should get on with the debauchery, then,” Aziraphale suggested, eyebrow raised, prim expression at complete odds with the way his fingers were wrapped around Crowley’s cock and slowly stroking it. Crowley arched into the touch for a moment, before capturing Aziraphale’s wrists and pinning them to the pillow above Aziraphale’s head. The angel raised an eyebrow.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Crowley grinned down at him, sharp and predatory. “Fulfilling our roless in the ssstory. Ssort of.” He then focused on the headboard, hissing something that sounded threatening at it, and wooden vines grew out of it, slowly wrapping around Aziraphale’s wrists.
“What -” Aziraphale tugged at them, the secure pressure around his wrists sending a frisson of excitement shooting down his spine despite himself. Crowley was studying his face, and whatever he saw made his grin widen.
“I could miracle them away, you know.”
“But you won’t.” Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s cheek, thumb stroking his soft skin, and the angel was silent for a moment.
“If we’re fulfilling our roles, might I remind you that Merlin never actually succeeds with Nimue?”
“Artisstic liccensse.” He pressed another quick kiss to Aziraphale’s lips before beginning to move down his body, tonguing his nipples through the linen, nuzzling his stomach, bypassing his cock entirely in favour of sucking and biting the soft skin on the inside of his thighs and smiling at the angel’s soft sighs and moans. Aziraphale always made such pretty noises, and Crowley could spend several mortal lifetimes learning each one. He nibbled at the soft creased juncture of thigh and groin and yes, there was Aziraphale’s surprised-sounding moan.
Sitting back for a moment, Crowley surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction; the pale skin was mottled with little red marks, and as he ran his thumb over one of them Aziraphale hissed. Crowley licked his lips as he resettled himself, finally pressing a kiss to the base of Aziraphale’s cock, pressing restraining hands down onto the other’s hips before sliding them down and parting his thighs further for better access, pushing them up over his own shoulders. He tongued Aziraphale’s balls, revelling in the choked-off sound the angel made, and slowly licked down his perineum to the puckered rim of his arsehole.
“Crowley…”
“Sssshh,” Crowley murmured, lips pursed against Aziraphale’s hole, which only made the angel’s hips twitch. He pressed his lips to it and gave it a lingering kiss, lips parting against the furrowed skin, suckling at it slightly.
Aziraphale moaned, head twitching from side to side on the hard pillow as he canted his hips towards Crowley’s sinful mouth. Crowley slowly slid his forked tongue in, licking just inside the rim with quick, darting movements, tasting and smelling Aziraphale at the same time; the angel was delicious, heady, and he moaned against Aziraphale’s entrance. Aziraphale whimpered.
Crowley’s tongue was now thrusting in further than any human tongue was capable of, licking the inside of Aziraphale’s hole as if the angel were a feast laid out just for him. He could hear Aziraphale’s moans and gasps and his own name, and redoubled his efforts, wrapping one hand around Aziraphale’s cock. The angel was so wet, he marvelled, swiping a thumb over his head to gather precome and smoothing it down the shaft before beginning to stroke it, working by touch alone while his tongue still stabbed inside; Crowley prided himself on his multitasking abilities.
He paused and looked up along Aziraphale’s body, taking in the robe so similar to priests’ robes, now rumpled and damp with sweat and precome, Aziraphale’s flushed face and red swollen lips.
“Come for me, Azsssiraphale,” he hissed, hand steadily moving around Aziraphale’s cock; Aziraphale cried out and came, back arching off the bed, glowing slightly, and Crowley had never seen anything more beautiful.
He stretched out next to his angel, taking a perverse pleasure in wiping his hand off onto the robe before stroking Aziraphale’s arms soothingly. After a moment Aziraphale captured the demon’s lips in a long kiss, heedless of where his mouth had been. It was languid, exploratory, and their breathing slowly calmed.
Aziraphale tugged, and the bonds melted away. He pulled the demon closer and slid a hand between them, soft fingers wrapping around Crowley's cock and slowly jacking him off as they kissed. It wasn’t long before Crowley came too with a soft hiss, and a quick miracle took care of the mess between them and the stained robe.
By the time Aziraphale turned back from ensuring that his robe was now clean and neatly folded on the couch, Crowley was already half-asleep and wrapped around him, less snake-like and more like a particularly clingy octopus, long limbs pulling him closer. He smiled and turned down the wick in the oil-lamp with a thought before closing his own eyes. The morning would likely bring another of Adam’s unique takes on the adventures of the Knights of the Round Table, but for now, they could rest.
~*~
[Author's Notes: I don’t think that Crowley was Nimue in the original, though I like to think Aziraphale might have been Merlin. But perhaps Crowley was part of Nimue’s retinue, stirring up trouble at court or something, and things like his shoving Aziraphale into a bush became, over time, Nimue herself imprisoning him in a tree. This was written in short bursts over a couple of months in between my family being smotheringly glad that their baby had returned from her first year of studying/living overseas and the smut was written while I was ill and half-delirious, so I really hope it reads smoothly. Also, uh, Aziraphale could get out of the bonds if he wished, but always use a safeword! Smut bits not betaed. This was basically supposed to be a long epic Arthurian Omens thing set in Roman Britain with the Them being knights and a GO-style take on Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Arthur [Artorius] and Morgaine, The Tale of Sir Balin or the Knight with the Two Swords, Merlin and Nimue, and a Monty Python-esque Quest for the Holy Grail, all of which was a result of the Them’s dissatisfaction with studying Roman Britain in History and the Arthurian legends in English. Unfortunately exams, family stuff, laptop issues, writer’s block, more family stuff, plot problems, illness and everything possible got in the way so I ended up with a lot of half-finished. I hope to finish it all one day and will dedicate it to my recipient, vulgarweed, but for now all you get is the smut scene that was meant to be the Merlin and Nimue interlude.]