Happy Holidays, Jazzy_Fay!

[vulgarweed]

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Title: Falling Upwards
Gift For: jazzy_fay
Author: aten_ra
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Rating: NC-17
Author’s Notes: The prompts I ran with were wings, and a slightly different take on hurt/comfort. Doubt and uncertainty can hurt as much as physical injury when it’s keeping you from what you really want (if not more). Maybe light bondage if you stand on your head, squint, and are able to consider having a stubborn man-shaped being sitting on you as such. Merry Christmas, jazzy_fay! I do hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!



The problem with allowing certain developments in an Arrangement, Crowley reflected, was that certain people just couldn’t ever leave well enough alone. One such person was currently regarding him over the rim of a teacup, clearly expecting an answer. What was worse, the demon suspected he was supposed to give an honest answer.

“Erm, more tea, then?”

“Just answer the question, dear boy.”

“Which question was that?” Crowley hedged, deciding that something a bit stronger was going to be needed if the angel planned to pursue the matter.

Aziraphale gave his companion an exasperated look before changing their cups into more suitable vessels for the wine now taking the tea’s place. “Really, my dear. If you’re afraid to tell me, you don’t have to. I was just curious.”

Crowley blessed under his breath. Bloody angel just had to say it. It was an out, but taking it would mean having to admit he was afraid. Not that he was, of course. Anthony J. Crowley was most definitely not afraid. After surviving the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t, anything else should be a walk in the park in comparison. Draining his glass, Crowley wondered when exactly had the park gotten so dangerous.

“Afraid? What gave you that idea?” Judging from Aziraphale’s skeptical expression, that hadn’t come out quite as smoothly as he’d hoped. “It’s just, y’know, a demon thing,” Crowley said with a shrug.

As excuses went, it was by far the sorriest reason to give for anything he did, and he knew it. He suspected Aziraphale knew it by now as well. And as usual, it was followed by the only slightly less poor tactic of Changing the Subject. “We don’t have little grooming orgies like you angels do.” He was gratified to see the flush that spread across the angel’s face.

“It was not like that, and you know it,” Aziraphale replied a bit huffily.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Crowley said with a leer. “They way some of the boys Above used to react to being groomed, I’m surprised they didn’t make an effort then and there. I seem to recall Mike being especially vocal about it. Come to think of it, a good shag would do wonders for his disposition, don’t you think?”

“That’s hardly the point,” Aziraphale sputtered, trying not to think about that little detail regarding Michael. “I just wanted to know if there was some particular reason you never bring yours out when we….”

“I just told you; it’s a demon thing,” came the slightly defensive reply.

“Of course it is, dear.”

Now Crowley had the feeling he was being humoured. He glared sullenly at the angel from behind his dark glasses. Aziraphale merely sipped his wine and placidly met Crowley’s gaze-or where he suspected the gaze was, anyway.

“Well, it is,” he muttered, glaring into his glass, which refilled itself obediently. “You wouldn’t find a demon turning his back on another in general, let alone to let one touch his wings.”

Aziraphale frowned. “You are aware that I am most definitely not a demon, correct?”

Crowley ran a hand back through his hair, sighing in frustration. The last thing he needed was for Aziraphale to start taking this personally. “Look, it’s not that I don’t trust you. I do. It’s just, er, the thing is, well…bugger.”

The angel watched his companion flounder for a moment or two, taking a bit of unangelic amusement in getting to see Crowley at a loss for once. Usually he was the one stuck stammering.

“It’s very sweet that you’re trying not to upset me, but you needn’t worry quite so much.”

“I am not sweet,” came the expected retort, accompanied by a flush of pink across Crowley’s cheeks. Da-cursed human body. How was any self-respecting being supposed to uphold his demonic pride if he was blushing?

“Of course you aren’t,” Aziraphale said.

“Don’t you patronize me, angel,” Crowley growled. “I’m a demon. We’re not supposed to be sweet.”

More of that infuriating calmness. “No, I suspect not.”

Crowley stood abruptly and began to stalk about the small kitchenette. “We’re not. And I’m not supposed to be having tea with the Enemy, let alone fucking--”

“Yes, well, you’ve never been particularly stuck on what you ought to do,” Aziraphale interjected. “And having tea and ‘fucking,’ as you so eloquently put it, never bothered you before, either.”

Crowley eyed Aziraphale over the top of his sunglasses. “It doesn’t,” the demon snapped, gulping down more wine.

“Then what has you so worked up?” Aziraphale prodded gently, waiting on the inevitable explosion.

“I am not worked up!” Crowley thundered. “I’m perfectly calm, thank you very much!”

“I can see that, my dear. Let’s just forget I brought it up, then.”

“Oh, you’re not getting off the hook that easssily,” the demon hissed, emptying his glass again. He'd forgotten in his temper exactly who had been on the hook in the first place. He leaned down and put his face right in front of the angel’s, the yellow of his eyes faintly visible through the dark lenses.

“You want to know why I don’t bring my wings out for you? Because this Arrangement does not need any more complications.”

Aziraphale blinked. “How would that complicate things?”

“I may be a demon, but I do happen to know the difference between having sex and making lo--.” Crowley bit the word off before it could slip between his lips, but the damage was done. With an almost comic look of horror, Crowley backed away from Aziraphale and did what any proper demon would do in such a situation (provided a proper demon were to even get himself into such a situation, which Crowley severely doubted). He attempted to leave as quickly as inhumanly possible.

Unfortunately for Crowley, he wasn’t the only being present capable of such speed (though to look at Aziraphale no one would ever guess it), and found himself with a hand wrapped securely about his wrist.

“Let go, angel.”

“Only if you promise not to run off.”

Crowley muttered a promise.

“Or drive off.”

“Ngh.”

“Crowley….”

“See, this is exactly why I don’t bring things up with you. You always want to bloody talk.”

Aziraphale’s grip tightened fractionally.

Oh He-Hea-Manchester. “All right, I promise.” It was times like this Crowley really regretted having picked up the habit of keeping promises.

Aziraphale smiled and released the demon’s wrist. Instead of taking his seat and trying to coax Crowley into a sickening heart-to-heart, Aziraphale rose up a bit on his toes and placed a not-so-gentle kiss on the demon’s lips, which parted in surprise.

Taking his advantage, the angel slipped his tongue past sharp fangs and began a thorough ravishing of Crowley’s mouth. Crowley, too interested in the sudden turn of events to put up much protest, raised his hands to grip Aziraphale’s shoulders as the angel maneuvered the two of them around the table until Crowley wound up pressed against the door that led to the shop’s back room.

The demon reached back, hand fumbling for the knob, which turned instantly at his touch. (It wouldn’t dare do otherwise.) As soon as the door swung open, he found himself being steadily pushed into the room by an armful of amorous angel. Crowley had only a second to thank Hea-goo-whatever had possessed Aziraphale to have a bed put in (well, he had a fair idea of what had convinced the angel to do so. Aziraphale could put up with having his precious books jostled from their shelves only so many times. Now, if only Crowley could get him to choose something besides tartan for the bedclothes…) before he lost his balance and fell back onto the bed with a muffled grunt.

“What’s gotten into you, angel?” he asked when Aziraphale finally pulled away.

“Well, you said you didn’t want to talk,” Aziraphale replied, removing the demon’s sunglasses. It would likely be impolite to remark how adorable Crowley’s look of confusion was (and it would take a small eternity to get him to stop sulking over it, anyway), so the angel simply smiled in return and leaned down to bite at Crowley’s throat.

Crowley had the sneaking suspicion that he was being manipulated, but at the first touch of teeth against sensitive skin, suspicion snuck right back off as he became much too interested in what Aziraphale was doing to be arsed to think about the why.

Clothes were removed with the ease of long practice, and a tiny bit of abuse of demonic and angelic ability.

(However nice it was to rip your partner’s clothing off in the heat of passion--Crowley’s personal favourite--or to slowly peel layers of fabric away while teasing newly exposed flesh--Aziraphale’s--having to suddenly stop and remove a pair of shoes was an unnecessary irritation.)

Aziraphale straddled the demon’s lithe body, pinning Crowley’s arms above his head. As the angel worked down the side of his neck with a hot, eager mouth, Crowley thought that maybe he should attempt avoiding conversation more often if this was the reaction he’d get.

“Azira-ah!” That had been the crook of his shoulder.

“Mmm,” Aziraphale murmured in agreement, releasing Crowley’s wrists to slide smooth fingertips down his arms. He smiled softly as he sat up, watching Crowley squirm and shiver under his hands.

The demon gripped at a pillow above his head and bit his lip as Aziraphale lightly traced the muscles of his torso. It was wonderfully maddening, an almost-but-not-quite ticklish sensation that set every nerve on edge and left him twitching all over. He was expertly drawn into a series of breathless gasps and soft sighs, torn between arching into the touch and flinching away from it.

A quiet rustling was the only warning he had before fingers were joined by the even more teasing sensation of soft feathers gliding over his skin.

Yellow eyes flew open in surprise. “Angel!”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale flexed his wings slightly, dragging feathers along the inside of Crowley’s thighs, raising goose flesh and making the demon shudder.

“Shit, Aziraphale. I can’t-I mean, it’s too, ngh, not enough.”

“Not enough?” He leaned forward and caught Crowley’s lips in another kiss, the long flight feathers brushing his sides. “Or too much?”

Both, Crowley thought with a groan. Too much gentleness and not enough distraction from it.

All he said, however, was “Bloody tease,” and then tried to twist away.

Aziraphale graciously allowed it, moving off of the demon so that he could. Once enough of Crowley’s back was exposed, the angel raked manicured nails down his spine. That earned Aziraphale a definitely approving hiss, and Crowley rolled completely onto his stomach, grinding into the mattress and arching his back invitingly.

“Yessss-more of that.”

Aziraphale draped his body over Crowley’s, nipping at an ear affectionately. “You know how you said you trust me?”

The soft flannel of the sheets, while hardly silken against his skin, was creating delicious friction against his cock, and it took Crowley a moment to drag his attention from that to realise he’d been asked a question.

“Er, yes?” Crowley rose up on his elbows and glanced over his shoulder. He blinked once at Aziraphale. Why was he bringing that up now?

Aziraphale sat up and caressed the muscles on either side of Crowley’s spine, right where the roots of his wings would be. “I’m afraid, dear boy, that this is one time you oughtn’t have.”

Crowley’s expression seemed to freeze in place, and there was something rather undemonic lurking behind his eyes. “Angel….” The tone held a warning.

Aziraphale chose not to heed it. Meeting Crowley’s uncertain gaze with calm and loving eyes, he gently stroked and rubbed over the demon’s back, sensing rather than feeling the present-but-not appendages trying to flex under his hands.

Crowley let out a hopeless-sounding moan and clenched his fists into the bedding. It felt so good, and he knew that letting Aziraphale use that same touch on his wings themselves would feel indescribably so.

Fuck. And I want it.

The angel kissed his shoulder lightly. “Then let me.”

Crowley groaned. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

A whisper against his spine. “Let me.” Then, “Love you.”

The demon planted his face into the mattress, shaking his head. Too much. Crowley of course enjoyed a slow shag on occasion, but he preferred intimacies to not feel quite so, well, intimate. And judging from the almost reverent way Aziraphale was touching him (caresses that were usually reserved for his most prized books), the angel most definitely did not agree.

“I wouldn’t hurt you, you know.”

“I know,” Crowley whispered.

A feather light kiss. “Then why not?”

He struggled a bit under Aziraphale’s weight, then moaned as he realised that as reluctant as he might be, his body was more than willing on all counts. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more interest his cock seemed to take in the proceedings. He wondered if the body he was issued might be defective.

“’The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it,’” the angel murmured, lips soft against the back of his neck. “’Resist it, and your soul grows sick with the longing for the things it has forbidden to itself.’”

“Only you would quote Wilde at a time like this,” Crowley muttered. There was, he had to admit, something perversely appealing about an angel playing the tempter.

The worst thing was that he knew he’d lost. Crowley knew he was going to give in; it was just a matter of time. Every kiss, every caress, every whispered endearment was drawing the moment closer, and there wasn’t a da-bles-bloody thing he could do about it. Something inside trembled at the thought, but he couldn't tell if it was dread or anticipation. Maybe both.

Then Aziraphale ran his tongue up the length of his spine, and the moment wasn’t just coming anymore-it was there. Crowley gave a strangled cry and let his wings spread out from his arched back.

“Beautiful,” he heard Aziraphale murmur as the angel buried his face in the soft black feathers, kissing them gently. Then tender hands were all over his wings, caressing muscles, stroking fine down, dragging though his feathers, making him writhe helplessly beneath the angel.

It was gentle and loving and so, so good. Much more than a demon deserved, and some part of Crowley still wanted to run and hide. Another part told the first to bugger off.

Aziraphale took his time exploring the demon’s wings, finding and ruthlessly exploiting sensitive spots along the way, until Crowley’s moans turned to frustrated whimpers. Then he moved to the other wing.

“Az-oh fuck.”

“Yes?”

“Angel, please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely….”

Once the angel withdrew from the mass of black feathers, Crowley rose up on his knees a bit unsteadily, well aware of how much his wings were trembling by that point. He draped his arms over the headboard for support and looked back at Aziraphale, spreading his legs a bit in invitation.

Aziraphale kneaded the demon's flesh, sliding his fingers into the groove of his arse as he reached around to stroke Crowley's cock.

"None of that, angel," Crowley gasped out. "Just fuck me already."

Aziraphale wanted to protest, but he supposed after all that, he did owe Crowley. "Leave those out," he said, trailing his fingers back up to stroke at the root of one wing.

The demon made an unintelligible noise and the chosen wing fanned out a bit.

Aziraphale smiled to himself and pushed into the very willing body before him, groaning as his prick was gripped in a wonderfully tight heat. He pressed his body against Crowley's for a moment, kissing him between the shoulder blades and spreading his own wings to cover those of the demon.

Crowley growled impatiently and pushed back against Aziraphale, who suppressed a chuckle and grasped his cock firmly as he began to move. Crowley's head fell back and he moaned loudly in approval, claws digging into the wooden headboard. His wings quivered as though begging for attention, and Aziraphale nipped and kissed at as much of the them as he could get to, drawing helpless moans and pleas for more from the demon.

It didn't take much. Aziraphale moved bit faster, a bit rougher, scraped his teeth along part of a wing, and Crowley came with a shout, wings spreading out fully--and managing to knock a book or two from their shelves in the process. The angel didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he deemed it unimportant in the face of his own building pleasure.

Crowley just hung limply onto the abused headboard for dear existence a few moments more, moaning softly when he felt Aziraphale finally release into him. Then there was a comfortably familiar weight on his back, and Crowley let it bear him down to the mattress.

They lay quietly for a few moments, dazed and quite thoroughly sated, then Aziraphale groaned and moved off of Crowley's back to settle in beside him. Crowley opened his eyes with some effort and regarded the angel silently for a moment before speaking.

"You are a manipulative bastard."

Aziraphale's attempted guilty look was somewhat marred by the smile that wouldn't leave his face. "Enough of one to be worth liking?"

Crowley chuckled softly. "Quite."

"Now, my dear, was that really so hard?"

The demon made a noncommittal sound.

Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley's dark hair. "You do deserve it, you know."

Crowley's eyes, which had been on the verge of closing, popped open again. "How'd you--?"

"Dear. I hate to be the one to tell you, but you are not as secretive as you'd like to think." He paused. "And you say things without realising when we're...."

Crowley propped up on one elbow, eyebrow raised. "So you were just trying to get me to talk, not...."

"Er, I suppose, initially." Now Aziraphale did look guilty. "But, well, it all worked out, didn't it?"

Crowley fell back onto the bed, laughing. "Doubly manipulative bastard. Played me like a harp from hell, didn't you."

"We don't play harps; you know that." Hadn't they been over this before?

Crowley rolled his eyes and mumbled something incomprehensible about bats and penguins in some presumably American city.

Aziraphale just gave a mental shrug and snuggled closer to stroke the down at the root of the nearest wing, making the demon purr softly. He supposed he ought to pick up the books Crowley'd knocked off, but there was an arm about his waist and a hand softly stroking his own feathers, and the bed was comfortable (even if the tartan had mysteriously turned solid black at some point in the proceedings).

Crowley snorted softly and made a vague gesture with one hand before returning it to the angel's wing. "There. Now stop worrying about your bloody books."

"Are you sure they're in the right--"

"Sleep, angel."

Aziraphale kissed the demon's temple and murmured something into his ear.

Pause. "...yeah, me too," Crowley muttered roughly. Then, more gently, "Now go to sleep."

Aziraphale smiled to himself and did just that.

Fin.

Happy Holidays, jazzy_fay, from your Secret Writer!