Two new fics: Gravitation and Undeniable
Okay, since I managed to post the first one (yay!), I'll now try posting the second and third in this series :)
TITLE: Gravitation
kind of a companion piece/sequel to Whole
AUTHOR: Macx
Author’s Voice of Warning (aka Author’s Note):
English is not my first language; it’s German. This is the best I can do. Any mistakes you find in here, collect them and you might win a prize The spell-checker said everything's okay, but you know how trustworthy those thingies are.....
WARNINGS: angel on demon smut and vice versa, WAFFIshness, really. Bad attack of demon snuggles. No idea what hit me ;)
RATING: MA --> that's NC-17
PAIRING: Crowley/Aziraphale
FEEDBACK: empty inbox seeks emails
His breathing hitched a little as knowing, skillful fingers glided over his wings, caressed feathers and singled out sensitive areas to torment them. Of course it would be torment. Crowley was a demon after all. Aziraphale barely managed to prevent a shudder, which still came out as a brief tremor, when those finger reached a particular area and began to mercilessly exude their knowledge. His recently healed wings seemed to be more sensitive than usual and his whole body was reacting to each and every caress.
A gentle nibble at one shoulder made him start, feeling the wet, hot mouth of his lover do more wonderful things to where the wings were joined to his body. A light scrape of teeth alerted him to the state of the demon, made him acutely aware of those fangs, but he couldn't bring himself to protest. Not when it felt so good.
Crowley hissed a little, aligning his body with the angel's, never stopping the teasing. Aziraphale felt the sharp tips of claws scratch lightly over his side and unconsciously whimpered in both pleasure and a mild dose of fright.
He didn't fear Crowley. He hadn't feared him for a long time. Whatever his demon did to him, he had never been harmed, had never been tormented in any other way than what brought intense pleasure to his existence. But sometimes, in moments when he wasn't completely on top of the world, when he was weakened, the sharp reminder that Crowley was a demon leaked into the haze of pleasure.
Like now.
His injuries had healed, he was whole and almost healthy, but Aziraphale still felt the remaining weakness. He wasn't any stronger than a normal human right now, and if Crowley wanted to take advantage of it… if he…
The memories of the hellish creature he had just barely managed to defeat flooded back and he started to shiver more. The pain had been so bad, the blood staining his hair, his clothes, his wings, flowing freely from deep wounds that he hadn’t been able to heal. Claws had torn into his unprotected form, had made him fall…
Claws… demon claws.
Aziraphale clenched his jaw.
This wasn’t like then; this was warm and loving. This was Crowley. His lover. His partner. There was no pain, just pleasure.
Flat palms stroked over his sides, no claws coming in contact with his vulnerable flesh. There was a soothing murmur and he felt the demon's body blanket him, felt arms wrap around him from behind. A kiss was placed against the nape of his neck, followed by more, loving kisses trailing down the skin between his wings.
Aziraphale shivered again.
"Crowley…" he murmured, not sure what he wanted, what he needed.
"It's okay," came the slightly hoarse voice, inflections of his demonic side leaking through.
It was low and dark and silky, and it promised things… things… The demon came through every time they were together. The eyes were there all the time, hidden behind sunglasses, but the demonic features seemed to sharpen, the black hair even darker, and the claws added danger to each loving caress.
Aziraphale screwed his eyes shut as conflicting emotions overwhelmed him. The voice made him want more, want it now, want it with Crowley. It ignited the familiar fire within, the flames that burned out all rational thought. The flames that seared through him with love.
He loved Crowley.
Deeply.
It felt so right to feel this way.
But the voice also triggered something far more sinister, especially so shortly after his almost-fatal encounter with the creature out to kill him. Another demon; not Crowley.
"It's okay," his demon breathed again, never stopping his caress. “Easy, angel. Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Aziraphale moaned in despair and pleasure. He didn't want the images of his hellish opponent darken what he had with another hellish being; his demon. What they shared was far from pain and agony and torment. It was love, he reminded himself. It wasn't something sinfully forbidden because they both felt it. Crowley had told him once, in the afterglow of an encounter, had shown Aziraphale that what he had seen already was true.
Love from a demon.
For an angel.
Heaven and Hell had no idea how to handle it, so they left it alone.
Aziraphale twisted in the gentle embrace, the wings getting terribly in the way but he managed, and he looked into the undisguised eyes of the other. Yellow, almost glowing golden now, with slit pupils. So alien and demonic, but still so familiar and loved. He couldn't see Crowley any other way. Whatever shape he took, Aziraphale could never see the hellish fiend he should be in him.
He leaned down and kissed the slightly open lips, let his tongue slide into the hot mouth and he brushed along the sharp fangs. His tongue was immediately capture by Crowley's guided safely along the dangerous canines, and the angel felt a rush of need and thankfulness.
Wings quivered and then spread abruptly as demonic hands slid deep into the pristine feathers, tugging gently. It made him whimper with the pleasure the sparks brought.
Crowley gazed at him for a long moment, then licked along the column of his throat and Aziraphale felt goose bumps rise. Together with the hands in his wings, so close to the base of where they joined with his body, the sensations were overwhelming. Fangs grazed his skin again and he shuddered, drawn between removing his vulnerable throat from the dangerous teeth, and wanting more.
A gently nuzzle followed the prickle of danger, and Aziraphale exhaled sharply.
"Zira," Crowley whispered against his skin, the darkness in every breath. "Tell me you want this."
Blue eyes met almost-golden yellow ones and Aziraphale swallowed.
He had wanted Crowley for so long, he had lost track of time. His love for the demon had been slow to develop, taking hurdles like befriending the enemy as well as trusting his enemy first. Then had come affection and fond exasperation at the other being. Finally he had come to realize that he felt more, that he craved Crowley's presence, that he relied on his counterpart to be there, and that he felt agony inside his very soul whenever the demon was in danger or worst, hurt. Crowley had a balancing effect on him, and Aziraphale firmly believed that it was the same the other way around.
The Near-Apocalypse had freed something inside the usually so mild-mannered angel. It had shown him that even though they were immortal, their lives could end. Armageddon wasn't just a biblical reference, to be quoted but never to be experienced. He could lose Crowley forever, and not just to a few decades in Hell. No, permanently. That was what forever meant.
And finally Aziraphale had confessed his love for Crowley to himself. He did love a demon. From deep within his soul, with all his being, and it was a true, pure kind of love.
It had been the beginning of a relationship neither being had ever dreamed of, and though Crowley had fretted over a possible Fall of the angel, it hadn't happened.
Because true love wasn't a sin.
"I want you," Aziraphale now said softly, letting his fingers slide into the midnight black hair. "Only you."
The demonic face looking back at him seemed to shift through several emotions, then the smile was back, darkly promising, almost carnal in its simplicity, and Aziraphale shuddered.
Ever since getting so terribly mauled by the hellish beast he had killed in the end, Crowley had become almost possessive of him. He had been there throughout the close to two days of Aziraphale's recovery, had tried to help him, had openly fretted and cared, and the angel knew that if ever reminded of it, the demon would deny everything. At least while others were present.
Crowley framed his face and pulled the angel down into a kiss, his hands sliding into the blond hair and gently massaging his scalp. Aziraphale hummed with pleasure, the hum turning into a whispered moan of appreciation as Crowley shifted so that their lower bodies touched.
"I won't hurt you, Zira," the demon promised huskily, lips moving against his ear. "Never."
He knew that. Aziraphale let his head sink forward onto one perfectly shaped and muscled shoulder, shivering as those dangerous claws played along his wings again.
Once, just once, Crowley had attacked the angel's wings. It had been way before the Agreement, when they had still fought bitterly, and the resulting healing had been just as painful. Broken wings were the worst that could happen to a celestial being. Healing those bones took a lot of energy and left the victim in question weak and easy prey.
Like right now.
Aziraphale was easy prey and Crowley was a predator.
"You're safe with me," Crowley murmured soothingly, the silky darkness wrapping around the angel's mind like a cool veil.
"I know that," he managed.
"Still you fear me."
The fangs teased again, deliberately brushing over his pulse point. Aziraphale gasped.
"I don't fear you, Crowley. I just…" He stopped, feeling embarrassed.
Crowley rolled on top of him, perched over the slim hips, gazing at him, studying him. Aziraphale swallowed.
"I don't fear you," the angel repeated, firmer this time.
He just feared memories. The demon attack had left him in severe pain, with shredded wings and hours of agony and bad dreams. It had unearthed ancient memories of fighting Crowley, too. They were vague, but they were there.
"Zira…"
He placed a hand over his demon's lips, shushing him. "I don't fear you," Aziraphale said once more. "I want you, Crowley. I love you. I trust you."
The demon sat frozen for a moment, gazing at him with those unreadable features, then a soft chuckle escaped his lips. One clawed finger traced an invisible line along Aziraphale's chest and he inhaled sharply.
"I know you do, angel," Crowley finally said. "Even if you reek of fear because of these." He held up the finger. The claw glinted in the light of the room, then suddenly receded into the slender finger, leaving a perfectly normal, blunt human finger tip.
Aziraphale captured the hand. "Don't," he demanded.
Crowley rarely became all demonic. The eyes were always there, the rest were just add-ons. As he had told Aziraphale once: 'No self-respecting demon goes without claws, fangs and maybe a scale or two'. Crowley himself didn't have scales, but he had the rest.
"It's just… memories. It's not you," the angel added slowly.
"It was me. Once."
"That's over. History."
"It was me," Crowley repeated, voice very quiet.
Aziraphale pulled him down by the hand he held, their lips colliding almost brutally.
"Erase those memories," he demanded harshly and caught another kiss.
Crowley snarled softly, a low rumble rising deep within his chest, and Aziraphale felt himself shiver in response. He had never asked his lover to hide who he was. Crowley had never shied away from his angelic aura either, and the angel knew that demons weren't comfortable with it either. Crowley took it in a stride, had accustomed to it over the millennia. It was like adjusting one's immune system, the angel mused dimly.
He would never demand of Crowley to be human in their love-making.
Maybe he loved playing with danger. Maybe it was just the way their love was expressed. Maybe it was simple need, in whatever form, and this need included loving this man, this demon. His demon.
Hands ran up and down his body, evoking little shivers, making the sensitive skin tingle all over. Angels were sensitive and very sensuous creatures. Crowley always liked to play with that sensitivity; today was no different.
Aziraphale mewled softly as he was teased mercilessly, as hot spots were manipulated and erupted into wild sparks. He retaliated whenever given the chance, whenever there was an opportunity, though Crowley was working hard on turning his mind into a gooey mass with what he did.
Lightly biting one nipple had the demon hiss in pleasure and the eyes glowed with an inner fervor, with fire that stoked Aziraphale's. A strong hand wrapped around his arousal and tugged gently and before he could really whisper his needs, Crowley's mouth was upon him.
It was hot and moist and so very, very good. It was heaven and hell and everything between. It was Crowley and it was him, and it was both of them together as one. It was divine and hellish, it was far more than he would ever have thought of them being able to feel together.
Gasping his lover's name, the ecstasy of his release hit him, and he shuddered with it. The very first time had floored him, had left him weak and panting, totally limp, and with a sated looking Crowley kneeling between his legs; licking his lips like a large cat.
Like right now.
Eyes gleamed, a moist tongue licked over the red lips, and Aziraphale shivered with the echoes of his climax. Black wings curled over the sinewy form, so dark they seemed to extinguish all light, suck it all up and refuse to release it ever again. Demonic and sinful, evil and foreboding. Aziraphale looked into the golden eyes, smiling.
He didn't see the demon; he saw the fallen angel. He saw Crowley.
He saw what he loved.
And he invited him in.
Aziraphale shuddered with pleasure under the ministrations, felt Crowley deep within him, hard and pulsing, felt the demon tremble with the unreleased emotions he harbored himself. The devilish mouth distracted him briefly from the torment of having his lover be so motionless and he bucked up against Crowley, needing more.
Aziraphale didn't want slow and gentle; not when he felt this indescribable need himself. Not when he wanted his lover to erase the pain and the memories of blood and gore and agony, of burning hot fire scorching his wings and tearing him apart.
Crowley was all those things, too. But he was also passionate and powerful in his ways, intense and possessive, and he was so hot and overwhelming, wiping out the cool that was Aziraphale.
"Crowley…" he pleaded. "Please…"
"Easy, angel," came the husky whisper. "Easy."
Eyes that now glowed a deep golden, fire licking in their depths, promised him that heat, that overwhelming power. Aziraphale arched into each thrust. His wings had long since disappeared, more a hindrance in their size than a help while making love, though Crowley loved their sensitive spots.
The angel cried out. No pain, no blood, no agony. Just pure and utter pleasure, a release that wiped out everything, that lodged only Crowley in his mind.
His demon. His lover. His. His alone.
He clung to the other form, riding it out, feeling the coiled muscles underneath his touch, and knew that Crowley was reaching his own limits. Aziraphale felt it in every thrust, in every breath, in every shiver.
"Let go," he murmured faintly into the ear closest to him.
Sharp fangs sank into his shoulder, eliciting a brief moan from the angelic being, and Aziraphale's eyes slid shut at the second wave of utter pleasure. A tongue licked over the twin marks, a gentle kiss was placed onto the wound, and an apology was whispered.
Aziraphale smiled softly. He knew the urge to bite came sometimes; to mark him, to show other demons to keep their hands off. There would never be anyone but Crowley, but his demon's instincts were there. The pain was brief, always followed by pleasure, and the wounds healed almost instantly - if he let them.
The angel buried his hands into the shock of black hair as his demon nuzzled the tender spot, peppering it with feather-light kisses.
"I'm fine, dear," he murmured lazily. "Thank you."
Thank you for caring.
He was held in strong but gentle arms, the last echoes of his release coursing through him, coupled with the memory of Crowley's own. It hadn't been their first time, but just as intense.
I'm not afraid of you, Aziraphale thought. I love you.
He sought out one hand and lazily ran a playful finger over the sharp nails.
You're not my nightmare. You're my demon.
He didn't know if anything of this, his thoughts and emotions, could be felt by his lover, but by the way Crowley almost-purred, it had leaked at least a little bit.
"My angel," came the relaxed murmur.
Aziraphale smiled more. "Yours," he whispered the confirmation.
Yours alone.
°
Ever since the chaos of the Near-Apocalypse neither of their respective bosses had called on them. They had been left alone, forgotten, in this corner of the world. Maybe they had truly fallen from grace, or in Crowley's case fallen from the bottom rung of the career ladder of Hell and swiped under a dirty rug.
Aziraphale didn't care. For the first time in millennia he didn't care. He had averted a disaster and he knew that Above couldn't possibly be happy, but he didn't care. He and Crowley had waited for anyone to show up, for some kind of wrist slapping or worse. And it had to be worse, Crowley had told him.
But nothing happened. Nothing at all. Crowley had even tempted his fate by not sending down a report to get any kind of reaction, but there had been none.
Forgotten.
Aziraphale couldn't believe it at first, but since no new orders came, he went about business as usual, and so did Crowley.
With the slight difference of their new relationship.
Even that hadn't launched some kind of reaction from either Above or Below.
Tumbleweed and crickets, Crowley had only snickered.
They were utterly alone.
Except for each other.
Aziraphale found no fault in continuing his work, even though he had no orders to do so. Neither did he have any to stop.
"Gray zone," he had remarked over a glass of wine one evening, snuggled up against the firm warmth that was his demon.
Crowley had been grooming his wings, something that nine times out of eight led to sex. Not that Aziraphale minded. Sex was… interesting. Not with humans, mind you, but with Crowley. No angel in his right mind would ever sleep with a human, but there was no such rule against demons and angels getting it on, though aside from the two of them, there probably wasn't any demon or angel trying it.
Shame, Aziraphale thought faintly. It was… nice. More than nice. It was overwhelming.
They were in a gray zone. Somewhere between good and evil, black and white. Neither fit in any more. They had gone against their superiors, had averted Armageddon, and finally, in a kind of last attempt to really, really mess up, they had developed a relationship.
Aziraphale had to grin now, playing with a strand of pitch black hair. Inquisitive eyes gazed at him. He looked into the yellow depth, noticed the glimmer of gold, the faint traces of lust, the not so faint and rather pronounced presence of love. Aziraphale smiled at that. Demon eyes filled with love. So much of a contradiction.
But then… everything about them was. So much contradiction, so much not what they were supposed to be.
Aziraphale traced the outline of one eye, then down the straight nose, over the high cheekbones, to the lips, until his finger as captured by that moist heat inside Crowley's mouth. A very versatile tongue brushed over the digit and he shivered a little.
His finger was finally released and the demon gazed quizzically at him. "Whatcha thinking?"
"How strange it is that we were simply cast aside," Aziraphale answered honestly.
"You think that?" Crowley snorted. "I doubt it. They're just waiting. Watching and waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
A shrug. "I don't know and I don't care. But they're watching, Zira, believe me."
"I would have expected inquiries into my reasons for loving you," the angel went on. "Maybe even some kind of… sentence."
Black wings rustled and settled over him, a stark contrast to the pale skin and blond hair. But Aziraphale loved them, loved their color, their darkness, the silky sensuality of each and every feather as they touched his skin.
"Do you want to get punished?" Crowley demanded roughly.
"No! Of course not!"
"Then stop thinking about it!" the demon commanded, voice harsh. "Stop thinking what might be. Maybe we slid off their radar, maybe it's really that gray zone you mentioned, but whatever it is, I don't want it to end. I…" He swallowed, the snake eyes closing briefly. "I need you, Zira."
As always those un-demonic words made the angel feel elation and warm, a curl of heat forming deep down inside. Crowley rarely said those words, but when he did, Aziraphale couldn't help but let his emotions show. Kissing his demon, putting all those emotion into the contact, he did as requested. He pushed those thoughts about why they had been left alone by both forces of Above and Below away.
Hands roamed over his body, touched him here or there, and Aziraphale shuddered as a nipple was flicked, and then slightly twisted. He whimpered when it was done to the second one, leaving him aching for more.
"Crowley…" he murmured.
"Yes, angel?"
Aziraphale felt pleasure race through him at the name. Only Crowley did that. Only his voice, in that tone, made him want to love this man even more - if that was at all possible.
Crowley's hand was on his neck, one thumb rubbing over the sensitive skin, making him almost purr.
"You're insatiable."
Crowley smiled, baring fangs that only showed in rare moments. Defense, attack and… well, those moment. Aziraphale thought it was simply severe emotional reactions.
"I'm a demon," he whispered silkily. "It's what I do." A wicked light shone in those inhuman eyes.
Aziraphale smiled. Crowley was a lot more than just that. He was complex and complicated, just like their relationship was. Just like it was unique.
"Yes, that's what you are," he murmured, snuggling close, needing that physical contact.
After what had happened, he needed it more than anything else. They might just spend the rest of the day in bed, maybe the rest of the week. They hadn't left the bedroom for quite a while after their first time. Aziraphale still felt remnants of a blush when thinking back to their… antics. Crowley was quite inventive… he was a demon after all.
Now they just lay together, cocooned in white and black feathers, intermingling and sliding so naturally together.
"Crowley?" he murmured.
"Hmpf?"
"What would you do it they really have forgotten about us?"
There was a rough chuckle and Crowley tangled his fingers in the blond hair. "They haven't."
"What if?"
"Zira…"
"Humor me."
Another chuckle. "I always do."
Aziraphale shot his demon an exasperated look. "Crowley…"
Amusement danced in the demonic eyes and Crowley kissed his nose. Aziraphale twitched his nose in mock annoyance.
"Angel, they know where we are. They just choose to ignore us for now."
Aziraphale furrowed his brow in thought.
"As to what I'd do. Well, the same I do now."
Another frown.
"Be here. With you."
"With me?"
"Yes, angel, with you. Where else should I be?"
And where else did Aziraphale want to be? he mused. He liked the book shop, he liked the quaint little town, and he did good work here.
He smiled a little, not answering his demon.
"You're a bad influence," Crowley whispered, amusement in his voice.
"Angels are good influence, my dear," he replied automatically.
"Not this angel."
"Must be your bad influence."
Crowley laughed. "Haven't lost my touch then."
Aziraphale smiled again, closing his eyes. He wondered if they were truly still the beings they had once been. Surely not. Six thousand years of intermingling with the enemy had changed them. Six thousand years of friendship, of being among humanity, of being out of touch with their respective kinds… it had changed them.
Was he still an angel by true definition?
Was Crowley truly a demon?
Or were they something else? Was this the reason why they had been left to their own devices? Did anyone even feel responsible for them any more?
Those thoughts whirled around his mind as he lay in his demon's arms, felt Crowley's breathing even out. He nestled into the black feathers and closed his eyes as well, allowing himself to drift off.
Whatever he was, he was it together with Crowley. And it felt good. So incredibly good.
* * *
He had been watching them for a long time. He had smiled at their growing friendship, actually approved of it, and He hadn’t really been surprised to see their development finally reach that point of no return, that critical moment where everything was either destroyed or would take a giant leap.
It had leaped. They had leaped. And they had landed safely, so much closer than before, their very existence growing so very blurry in every sense of the word. He had watched his angel’s aura change abruptly, then smooth out and become… different. Not that He minded. Aziraphale was still an angel, but he had become more on a deeper level.
“That’s one of your Greater Plans?” a voice interrupted his musings.
He gave the new-arrival a mild smile. “It might be.”
“You don’t even know?”
“They do look good together.”
A snort of laughter, dark and almost sinister. “From your mouth that sounds almost dirty. I see you didn’t let him Fall.”
“Love is no sin.”
“Lust is. Look at them. If that isn’t lust.” A black eyebrow wriggled suggestively.
“It is love,” He insisted.
“Suit yourself.” A contemplative look passed through the black eyes. “So, you gonna ignore them?”
“Will you?”
“He’s of no use to me like that.”
“You could punish him.”
Another snort, this time tinged with disbelief. “More trouble than it’s worth. Crowley always was.”
“I thought that was his job description,” He pointed out with a fine smile.
That got Him a glare.
"You did send someone after one of mine," He finally pointed out almost amicably.
"I didn't. It was some overly ambitious minion who I had taken care of."
"Ah. I see."
There was a moment of silence, then, "A demon loving an angel. How disgustingly good.”
“Or divinely bad.”
“You always had a strange sense of humor.”
A soft chuckle.
“And you think it’s natural for them to… love each other?”
He shrugged. “They might just as well. They both have always defied the rules.”
A grumble. “Tell me about it.”
“Do I have to?”
The other groaned. “Very strange sense of humor,” he repeated.
Silence descended and both watched the sleeping pair, black and white wings curled around each other.
“I do believe they warrant our attention,” He finally said, “but not overly so. It might be interesting to keep an eye on them. They are quite unique.”
“Uh-huh. If you say so.” The other man stuck his hands into his pockets and swayed back and forth on his feet, looking a bit bored. “You fancy a tea?” he changed the topic.
“Green?”
“Black.”
“Of course.”
A smirk. “Of course.”
Both sauntered off, one still with his hands in his pockets. They disappeared into the distance.
Down on earth, Aziraphale and Crowley slept on, unaware of the fact that someone was paying attention, even if it was only out of curiosity and with little intention to change anything.
And here's contestant number two...
TITLE: Undeniable
kind of a sequel to Whole and Gravitation
AUTHOR: Macx
WARNINGS: Crowley ouchies, WAFFIshness again.
RATING: M for violence
PAIRING: Crowley/Aziraphale
FEEDBACK: empty inbox seeks emails
The last few months had been… indescribable. Crowley had no words for what it meant to have Aziraphale around him all day. Of course, well, he had had the angel around almost every day for the last six millennia, give or take a century here or there, but this was different. This was Aziraphale his lover. This was his angel, not just some divine enemy he had to best every now and then to keep his records straight.
Feeling uncharacteristically chipper, in an absolutely un-demonic good mood even, he strolled through Hyde Park, watching people all around. He couldn't resist a little mischief here or there, but overall the demon was behaving. Well, for a demon.
He snickered a little and pushed the sunglasses higher up his nose.
Aziraphale would have a field day if he was here, but his angel had insisted to work. The book shop didn't run itself, he had told him sternly.
As if there were any customers. Crowley snorted. The shop was as quiet as a grave, but Aziraphale insisted to be open just in case someone might drop by.
Highly bloody unlikely.
And if someone dared to enter, it was even more unlikely that a book would be sold to him or her. His angel was quite possessive of the dusty old tomes.
Oh well. With nothing better to do that didn't involve very hot and mind-melting sex with a certain angel, Crowley had opted for a walk in the park, coupled with whatever he could do to satisfy his neglected demonic side.
Just catching himself before he started to whistle a tune, Crowley made a performing artist mess up his juggling act and chuckled to himself.
Yes, it felt good. Bloody good.
And then something slammed into him. It tore through his spine, shattering muscles, bones and whatever else it caught in its way, exiting through the front of Crowley's chest and spraying blood everywhere. The demon gave a cry of pain and surprise, collapsing forward almost gracefully. If his body were completely human, he would be dead now. As it was, the body was only a shell and it contained something that wasn't easily downed by whatever had just perforated him.
But it hurt.
It was total agony.
And it made him bleed.
Crowley coughed and a new wave of pain had him whimper, blood spattering from his mouth.
"Foul demon!" a voice yelled.
Yellow eyes blinked, the sunglasses long gone. And then Crowley's senses registered just who was behind him.
Angel.
Not Aziraphale; some other angel. A very dangerous, furious and attack-happy one of his species.
"Go back to your hellish existence!" the angel demanded.
Crowley moved without thinking, ignoring the searing hot pain that made every move, every thought, agony. He managed to evade the second attack, but just barely. His wings came out, razor sharp at the edges and slicing toward his attacker, who evaded him.
"What the fuck…" Crowley coughed, blood filling his mouth. "I didn't do anything!"
He stumbled and his breathing was raspy at best. Not that he needed to breathe, but the wound was making him do peculiar things. Like losing his focus and feeling very cold all of a sudden. Freaking angel weapons!
"You're a demon!" the angel proclaimed. “You are Hell’s minion and evil incarnate! You are the Enemy of Him. I am here to destroy you!”
Had Aziraphale ever sounded so bad and cliché? Crowley couldn’t remember. His angel wasn’t prone to speeches in any case. He was a quiet one, but dangerous when threatened or truly riled up.
He narrowed his eyes on the wavering image of his attacker. Good for nothing do-gooder was blond, dressed in classical angel garb and looking so bloody righteous, complete with a sword, it made Crowley want to throw up. Then again, throwing up would result in more pain. Not a good idea.
"But I didn't do anything!" he repeated doggedly.
"Your existence is enough," the angel proclaimed and charged once more.
Crowley yelped as the sword swung his way again and caught his left wing. The resulting impact made him cry out at the searing pain that the little contact provoked. Whatever this sword was, it was a far cry from anything Crowley had ever faced. Then again, had he ever faced anyone else but Aziraphale? No… his angel had been his only opponent for millennia.
Shit…
Weak, feeling more and more disoriented, he did the only thing he could - he fled.
None of the humans in the park had seen any of the spectacle and those who thought they had would soon forget about it, just feeling slightly strange and mildly upset for no reason for the rest of the day.
* * *
Crowley's feverish mind came up with only one perfectly safe haven: the book shop. He would find safety and protection there. His angel would help him. He needed his angel.
But there was one of Aziraphale’s side going after him like he was Lucifer himself, part of him reminded him nastily. What made him think that Aziraphale would really help him? Against another angel!
Crowley whimpered at the thought, nearly crashing into a display window as he stumbled along. His illusions were wavering, sending people scattering out of his way. None of the humans had a clear idea what was racing past them, but they simply knew they didn’t want to be in its way. The demon felt the angelic presence follow him, chase him across town, up and down and around, and Crowley was tiring faster and faster. He had to reach the book shop.
He reached it. Actually, he crashed through the front door in a messy, bloody heap in the middle of the room, whimpering at the pain now engulfing him body and mind. Everything was either too cold or too hot, which was kind of strange for a demon, and it hurt to think. Whatever the weapon had been, it apparently tried to slice apart his very essence, not just damage the human body.
"Crowley!"
The voice washed over him with the same intensity as his angel's presence. His injured mind shied away from the celestial power, but something else moaned in relief.
"Zira…" he breathed. “Help…”
"What happened to you?" the angel demanded, touching one blood-smeared shoulder.
Crowley cried out and curled up. Aziraphale’s very touch was like a renewed slice of the sword.
"I'm sorry," Aziraphale whispered. "Sorry."
And then the second angelic presence washed over him and Crowley nearly choked. He was wide open, at his most vulnerable, and what weapon the angel had hit him with, it was fast rendering him completely helpless. Demons had a natural shield against too much divine aura around them, but Crowley’s had crumbled and he was left gasping and crying softly, trying to shield his demonic essence from being overwhelmed and erased by so much Light.
"Who are you?" he heard Aziraphale ask.
Crowley's eyes cracked open automatically at the tone of voice he had rarely heard in his lover before. Okay, so there had been one or two occasions, but never… never like this. Aziraphale sounded like the worst kind of pissed off. It was more than anger, the Aziraphale kind of anger.
This was more than demonic than divine, he decided faintly. This was dangerously bad in a celestial way.
"I am Evirel," the newcomer proclaimed. "Step aside. I have a demon to exorcise."
Crowley shivered and made a pathetic whimpering noise that any demon would be embarrassed to hear. His fingers dug into the floor.
"Leave my shop," Aziraphale said evenly. "Now."
"I have my work to finish."
"Not in my shop."
"Are you protecting this creature of evil?" the other angel demanded.
"I said leave!" Aziraphale commanded and the voice made Crowley cower even more.
The other angel sneered, which was completely un-angelic. "You protect the enemy?"
"Crowley is not my enemy."
Laughter answered him. "He is a demon. Demons are our enemies. They are Hell's minions; Fallen Ones. We send them back to Hell wherever we meet them."
"You will not touch Crowley. I won't repeat myself, Evirel."
"Who are you, traitor?"
Aziraphale smiled humorlessly. "Aziraphale."
"I'll report my findings, Aziraphale. You'll be recalled, tried and found guilty! You will Fall!"
And with that the other angel was gone.
Crowley felt part of him freeze at the last words.
Fall…
"No," he whispered. "No, no, no…"
"Crowley?"
Something gentle touched him, something warm and so soft, so very familiar and loving, it hurt.
"No," Crowley repeated, starting to tremble.
Not his angel. Please, not his angel.
"Crowley, relax. It'll be okay."
Nothing would be okay, ran over and over in his head. Nothing at all. Aziraphale would Fall because of him. He would be a demon…
Crowley keened softly to himself, lost in the horror of a fallen angel, his fallen angel, who had done nothing but love a demon. He hadn’t committed the Original Sin, he hadn’t killed or cursed or done harm in any other way to humankind.
The warmth increased and flowed through him, healing the terrible damage to his body. It hurt in a different way as divine power mended what another kind of divine power had torn to shreds.
"Easy, Crowley," Aziraphale soothed. "Can you move your wing a little?"
He did so. He responded automatically to the gentle voice and he obeyed.
"You'll be fine. It'll be over soon. My, what cruelty," Aziraphale continued. "Such unreasonable violence. And totally unfounded."
His angel couldn't fall, continued endlessly through Crowley's mind. Not his angel. Not because of him. If the other angel reported this… He had to be stopped. He had to stop Aziraphale, make him leave, let him be… He might just make it, Crowley thought dimly. His angel could hide, always move, never stay anywhere. He could evade the celestial forces.
Clawed fingers dug abruptly into one of Aziraphale's sleeves, puncturing the material quite thoroughly.
"Easy," the angel murmured.
“Leave… me…” Crowley whispered. “Go.”
“What?” Mild perplexity was in the other being’s voice.
“Leave. Hide… Don’t Fall…”
“I won’t,” Aziraphale calmed him. “Just let me heal the damage.” And the warm aura increased.
Crowley gave a whimper that was an almost-scream as the wing was realigned and the bones creaked as they healed. Angelic healing power was gentle and warm, completely non-invasive, and usually demons could handle it. Aziraphale had never had to do that much damage control, though. Crowley’s natural shields were still down and those positive healing waves were hurting him.
"Shhhh," Aziraphale murmured and suddenly he was cradled in his angel's arms, held close to his presence and encased in white wings.
In the middle of a bookshop.
But no one saw them. Aziraphale made sure of it, the shop locked, the windows blocked, and the illusion of emptiness in place. Crowley buried his head against the smooth material of his lover's sweater, breathing hard, riding out wave after wave of pain that finally diminished. He concentrated on the clean smell of the angel, on the familiar heart beat, on every little noise Aziraphale made.
Careful fingers stroked over his hair, smoothing the wild tangle. A kiss was placed against one temple.
"You'll be fine," Aziraphale murmured. "Just fine."
No, he thought desperately. Because you will Fall because of me. You will Fall, Zira!
It was the last thought on his mind when he finally slipped into the nothingness of unconsciousness, surrounded by the Light of his angel.
* * *
Aziraphale assessed in the damage taken by his counterpart and supposed enemy, sighing softly to himself. Crowley had smashed through the door, bleeding all over the floor, leaving blood stains and feathers everywhere. There was a gaping wound in his back and chest, caused by a demon destroying weapon that had luckily not been set to full power. His left wing had been sliced, the feathers neatly cut, and there was blood clinging to the fractured bone and torn skin.
All very painful.
It was a miracle the demon had made it this far.
Aziraphale had closed the shop, stabilized his demon, and then managed to get him into the back room where he had continued to heal the terrible wounds. Evirel was currently forgotten, not wanted in his thoughts as he concentrated on fixing Crowley.
Needless violence, he thought sadly. Such needless violence. Crowley hadn’t attacked anyone and even if he had gone about his demonic ways, which was only natural, there was certainly nothing in them that warranted this.
He should put in a complaint.
Then again, better not. Drawing attention to them wasn’t really necessary. They had been left alone by their respective sides for quite a while now, both going about their daily business as they had for millennia, and Aziraphale wasn’t keen on getting orders he might not like. He was a servant of Him, but things had changed for this particular angel. He had found love in form of a demon.
Stroking over the healed wing, Aziraphale smiled. No, getting them unwarranted attention wasn’t really good right now. As for Evirel, the other angel might or might not go through with his threats. If he did, things would change. For now, Aziraphale believed in what he had told Crowley. Love was not a sin. And this was true love.
With his demon lying on the bed, Aziraphale chose a book and settled beside him. There was a murmur from Crowley and a little shifting, then the other curled up next to him, snuggling close.
The angel smiled more.
Crowley liked snuggling, though he would never confess to it. He downright protested any notion of snuggling or cuddling, even while doing so. Aziraphale ran a hand over the midnight black hair, marveling at its silkiness. Everything about Crowley was so contradictive. He was a demon, but he didn’t really look it, even at his most demonic while in human form. Sure, the eyes were far from human, but Aziraphale had seen humans with eyes more demonic than Crowley’s. Not that he would ever tell him. That would probably have him muttering and grumbling for a day.
The high cheekbones were a plus, too. Aziraphale loved the way it made him look, especially together with the eyes and the hair. Truly demonic, sure, but also not so very much either.
In his sleep, Crowley exuded an air of innocence that would probably mortify him to no end. Aziraphale found it endearing and such a difference to the awake Crowley. Like right now. Gentle fingers stroked over one of the high cheekbones and down the smooth, unblemished skin of the cheek. Crowley mumbled a little, leaning into the touch without even being awake, and something inside Aziraphale curled in tender warmth.
No one would take this from him, he decided firmly. No one at all. He wouldn’t Fall, that he believed in, because loving Crowley was no sin. There might be bureaucratic matters to handle. They probably had no prior case like theirs.
Sighing softly, Aziraphale continued to stroke and caress his lover’s hair and skin, and finally turned to his book to read. If Evirel was out for trouble, he had to wait and see in what shape it would come.
* * *
His return to consciousness brought several sensations with it. First there was warmth. Wonderful warmth. The warmth of sunlight playing over his skin, heating up his demonic form. Then safety. He was somewhere completely safe, utterly protected, and nothing could harm him. Smell was next. He smelled the familiar scent of his angel, of Aziraphale, and his hands touched smooth skin, equally warm.
Crowley blinked his eyes open, narrowed against sudden beams of light stabbing into his sensitive eyes, but despite the fact that the room was bathed in sunlight, he wasn't blinded. His head was pillowed on Aziraphale's lap, an arm flung over the strong thighs like an embrace, and the rest of body seemed to curl around his angel's legs like the snake he was. His wings were out, one folded underneath him, the injured one stretched out over the bed like a gigantic, feathered blanket.
Aziraphale was reading, one hand holding the book, the other resting in the downs of Crowley's wings, playing absent-mindedly with them. As Crowley took stock of himself and his surroundings, the blue eyes moved from the novel to him.
"Hello. How do you feel?"
Surprisingly good, the demon thought.
"Fine," he just mumbled.
"Splendid. You were a mess, my dear."
Yes, he remembered that. "I was there for it," he grumbled, not inclined to move from his very comfortable position. The heat hitting his back felt so very, very good.
Aziraphale chuckled. The book was put aside and the free hand contented itself with stroking Crowley's hair. The demon felt like purring and his eyes slid closed again, only to widen abruptly as he remembered just what had gotten him into this mess.
"The angel!" he blurted and sat up.
It was too sudden for his recovering body and he groaned as vertigo hit him, making him flop gracelessly back against the angel with him in bed. Aziraphale sighed and tsked, shaking his head.
"Take it easy, dear. You're still recovering, That was a nasty wound."
"Which one?" he mumbled around the nausea.
"All of them. Angelic weapons are designed to inflict a maximum amount of harm on demonic bodies with a minimum of actual contact."
"I noticed," came the snarl.
Aziraphale kissed his head and shushed him. Crowley inhaled deeply, despite not needing it, and battled the nausea.
Bloody angel and his bloody unprovoked attack!
"What about the other angel?" he finally asked.
"Evirel?"
"That his name?"
"Apparently. He left."
Crowley pushed away from the currently too comforting and familiar form. "He left to report you!" he snapped.
"Yes, he said so."
"You could Fall for this!"
And now the agitation of before returned.
"You can't Fall, Zira! Not because of me! Never because of me!"
Blue eyes regarded him with a puzzled look. "An angel cannot Fall because of love, Crowley."
"You can Fall for loving the enemy!"
"No." It sounded so even, so calm, so final.
"Zira…"
"He cannot let me Fall for loving you, Crowley." And he sounded so convinced.
"What if he does?" Crowley insisted, refusing to capitalize the H.
The angel didn't look the slightest bit perturbed. "If he found our union a sin, he would have let me Fall already. We've been courting each other for millennia, love. We've defied our respective bosses often enough to warrant consequences because of what we became."
"Maybe he just needed someone to complain about it," the demon murmured dejectedly. "Make it official, you know."
"That's silly."
"But it could be true!"
Aziraphale cupped his face and smiled calmly. "I'm very touched by your concern, but we'll be fine. I love you, Crowley. My feelings are pure and without sin. I wasn't corrupted, coerced or tempted to feel like this." He brushed their lips together. "What I feel is me, Crowley. Untainted and utterly me."
Crowley stared into those bottomless blues, reflecting all the age and rarely surfacing wisdom of this celestial being. He swallowed at what else he saw, what was only for him, and something inside of him whimpered at the intensity. Something else entirely pushed forward and embraced it all, so disgustingly happy to see and feel it.
"Angel…"
"We'll be fine," Aziraphale repeated and silenced all other protests or arguments with a new kiss.
°
Their love-making was slow but intense, Crowley writhing under the expert hands and lips, surrendering to Aziraphale’s ministrations until he climaxed in a hoarse shout of pleasure. Everything ached, but in a very nice way. Crowley felt surrounded by a haze of utter satisfaction, so completely content it would have made him sick a few months ago. Well, most likely. Not really, actually. But a demon had to keep up appearances.
Breakfast was an almost familiar pattern, with Crowley making himself a coffee that no human in his right mind would consider drinking - lest he want to die of immediate heart attack from so much caffeine, it could wake an army in no time flat. Aziraphale stuck to his tea, regarding the demon with fond exasperation as he stirred the black sludge and gleefully commented on the bad ways of the world According To The Daily News. The spoon made a last effort to survive in the sludge, then gave up and surrendered. Crowley just tossed it onto the table and sipped at the scalding hot brew, an expression of bliss on his face.
Eating scrambled eggs, bacon and toast, Aziraphale studied the narrow features, the handsome countenance of his lover, and smiled to himself. It was all so normal, so homey, and just what they had done in the past millennia already. Sitting together, eating, drinking, talking, gently ruffling each other’s feathers…
“What?” Crowley demanded, peering at him from over his mug.
There was a suspicious expression in the yellow eyes. He had long since stopped wearing sunglasses when it was just the two of them. Aziraphale had never understood why he did it anyway. It wasn’t like the angel didn’t know that the eyes were reptilian.
“Nothing.”
A snarl. “That look is not nothing, angel. Spill!”
“I love you,” Aziraphale only said.
Crowley froze, nearly spilling his coffee, and his mouth opened, then snapped shut again. He scowled. Love declarations outside of the bed were rare. Usually they left Crowley flustered and Aziraphale looking deeply content. Now his face shifted through all kinds of emotions, from disbelief to anger to offence and finally settled on acute embarrassment.
“iluvutoo,” came a mumble, followed by a disgusted look at the hapless table top that had nowhere to run.
The angel gave him a radiant smile. Aziraphale rose and walked over to the sink to deposit his plate. As he turned he placed a gentle hand on the exposed neck of his demon and stroked the tender skin, feeling fine hair touch his palm.
Crowley leaned into the caress with a barely audible purr. Aziraphale bent down and kissed one temple, nuzzling the black hair. An arm snaked lithely around his waist and pulled him close, Crowley suddenly and quite uncharacteristically burying his face in Aziraphale’s sweater.
“Dear,” the angel whispered and wrapped his arms protectively around the black head.
Crowley’s shoulder’s quivered suspiciously and Aziraphale bowed over him, radiating gentle reassurance.
Everything would be okay. He knew it. He was convinced of it.
°
Above, Evirel was given a stern talking to by no other than the arch angel Michael about his conduct on Earth. He was then stripped of all his privileges, his status revoked, and sent to read up on Memos All Angels Already Knew About But Him. It was like being sent to one's room without dinner. For a few centuries at least.
In silent horror Evirel read His orders concerning a particular demon by the name of Anthony J. Crowley and a specific angel called Aziraphale.
He didn't ask about reasons because His Will wasn't to be questioned. All Evirel felt was shock at his actions, at how he could have missed the memo, and shame. He had made a tremendous mistake, even though he could claim ignorance, but ignorance was never taken lightly in his job. Why a demon was spared by Him, was even under protection from an angel, Evirel didn’t dare to question.
Whatever His reasons, he wouldn’t question them. It was probably all part of the Divine Plan.
Now I'm off to scavenge for breakfast... Have fun reading!
TITLE: Gravitation
kind of a companion piece/sequel to Whole
AUTHOR: Macx
Author’s Voice of Warning (aka Author’s Note):
English is not my first language; it’s German. This is the best I can do. Any mistakes you find in here, collect them and you might win a prize The spell-checker said everything's okay, but you know how trustworthy those thingies are.....
WARNINGS: angel on demon smut and vice versa, WAFFIshness, really. Bad attack of demon snuggles. No idea what hit me ;)
RATING: MA --> that's NC-17
PAIRING: Crowley/Aziraphale
FEEDBACK: empty inbox seeks emails
His breathing hitched a little as knowing, skillful fingers glided over his wings, caressed feathers and singled out sensitive areas to torment them. Of course it would be torment. Crowley was a demon after all. Aziraphale barely managed to prevent a shudder, which still came out as a brief tremor, when those finger reached a particular area and began to mercilessly exude their knowledge. His recently healed wings seemed to be more sensitive than usual and his whole body was reacting to each and every caress.
A gentle nibble at one shoulder made him start, feeling the wet, hot mouth of his lover do more wonderful things to where the wings were joined to his body. A light scrape of teeth alerted him to the state of the demon, made him acutely aware of those fangs, but he couldn't bring himself to protest. Not when it felt so good.
Crowley hissed a little, aligning his body with the angel's, never stopping the teasing. Aziraphale felt the sharp tips of claws scratch lightly over his side and unconsciously whimpered in both pleasure and a mild dose of fright.
He didn't fear Crowley. He hadn't feared him for a long time. Whatever his demon did to him, he had never been harmed, had never been tormented in any other way than what brought intense pleasure to his existence. But sometimes, in moments when he wasn't completely on top of the world, when he was weakened, the sharp reminder that Crowley was a demon leaked into the haze of pleasure.
Like now.
His injuries had healed, he was whole and almost healthy, but Aziraphale still felt the remaining weakness. He wasn't any stronger than a normal human right now, and if Crowley wanted to take advantage of it… if he…
The memories of the hellish creature he had just barely managed to defeat flooded back and he started to shiver more. The pain had been so bad, the blood staining his hair, his clothes, his wings, flowing freely from deep wounds that he hadn’t been able to heal. Claws had torn into his unprotected form, had made him fall…
Claws… demon claws.
Aziraphale clenched his jaw.
This wasn’t like then; this was warm and loving. This was Crowley. His lover. His partner. There was no pain, just pleasure.
Flat palms stroked over his sides, no claws coming in contact with his vulnerable flesh. There was a soothing murmur and he felt the demon's body blanket him, felt arms wrap around him from behind. A kiss was placed against the nape of his neck, followed by more, loving kisses trailing down the skin between his wings.
Aziraphale shivered again.
"Crowley…" he murmured, not sure what he wanted, what he needed.
"It's okay," came the slightly hoarse voice, inflections of his demonic side leaking through.
It was low and dark and silky, and it promised things… things… The demon came through every time they were together. The eyes were there all the time, hidden behind sunglasses, but the demonic features seemed to sharpen, the black hair even darker, and the claws added danger to each loving caress.
Aziraphale screwed his eyes shut as conflicting emotions overwhelmed him. The voice made him want more, want it now, want it with Crowley. It ignited the familiar fire within, the flames that burned out all rational thought. The flames that seared through him with love.
He loved Crowley.
Deeply.
It felt so right to feel this way.
But the voice also triggered something far more sinister, especially so shortly after his almost-fatal encounter with the creature out to kill him. Another demon; not Crowley.
"It's okay," his demon breathed again, never stopping his caress. “Easy, angel. Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Aziraphale moaned in despair and pleasure. He didn't want the images of his hellish opponent darken what he had with another hellish being; his demon. What they shared was far from pain and agony and torment. It was love, he reminded himself. It wasn't something sinfully forbidden because they both felt it. Crowley had told him once, in the afterglow of an encounter, had shown Aziraphale that what he had seen already was true.
Love from a demon.
For an angel.
Heaven and Hell had no idea how to handle it, so they left it alone.
Aziraphale twisted in the gentle embrace, the wings getting terribly in the way but he managed, and he looked into the undisguised eyes of the other. Yellow, almost glowing golden now, with slit pupils. So alien and demonic, but still so familiar and loved. He couldn't see Crowley any other way. Whatever shape he took, Aziraphale could never see the hellish fiend he should be in him.
He leaned down and kissed the slightly open lips, let his tongue slide into the hot mouth and he brushed along the sharp fangs. His tongue was immediately capture by Crowley's guided safely along the dangerous canines, and the angel felt a rush of need and thankfulness.
Wings quivered and then spread abruptly as demonic hands slid deep into the pristine feathers, tugging gently. It made him whimper with the pleasure the sparks brought.
Crowley gazed at him for a long moment, then licked along the column of his throat and Aziraphale felt goose bumps rise. Together with the hands in his wings, so close to the base of where they joined with his body, the sensations were overwhelming. Fangs grazed his skin again and he shuddered, drawn between removing his vulnerable throat from the dangerous teeth, and wanting more.
A gently nuzzle followed the prickle of danger, and Aziraphale exhaled sharply.
"Zira," Crowley whispered against his skin, the darkness in every breath. "Tell me you want this."
Blue eyes met almost-golden yellow ones and Aziraphale swallowed.
He had wanted Crowley for so long, he had lost track of time. His love for the demon had been slow to develop, taking hurdles like befriending the enemy as well as trusting his enemy first. Then had come affection and fond exasperation at the other being. Finally he had come to realize that he felt more, that he craved Crowley's presence, that he relied on his counterpart to be there, and that he felt agony inside his very soul whenever the demon was in danger or worst, hurt. Crowley had a balancing effect on him, and Aziraphale firmly believed that it was the same the other way around.
The Near-Apocalypse had freed something inside the usually so mild-mannered angel. It had shown him that even though they were immortal, their lives could end. Armageddon wasn't just a biblical reference, to be quoted but never to be experienced. He could lose Crowley forever, and not just to a few decades in Hell. No, permanently. That was what forever meant.
And finally Aziraphale had confessed his love for Crowley to himself. He did love a demon. From deep within his soul, with all his being, and it was a true, pure kind of love.
It had been the beginning of a relationship neither being had ever dreamed of, and though Crowley had fretted over a possible Fall of the angel, it hadn't happened.
Because true love wasn't a sin.
"I want you," Aziraphale now said softly, letting his fingers slide into the midnight black hair. "Only you."
The demonic face looking back at him seemed to shift through several emotions, then the smile was back, darkly promising, almost carnal in its simplicity, and Aziraphale shuddered.
Ever since getting so terribly mauled by the hellish beast he had killed in the end, Crowley had become almost possessive of him. He had been there throughout the close to two days of Aziraphale's recovery, had tried to help him, had openly fretted and cared, and the angel knew that if ever reminded of it, the demon would deny everything. At least while others were present.
Crowley framed his face and pulled the angel down into a kiss, his hands sliding into the blond hair and gently massaging his scalp. Aziraphale hummed with pleasure, the hum turning into a whispered moan of appreciation as Crowley shifted so that their lower bodies touched.
"I won't hurt you, Zira," the demon promised huskily, lips moving against his ear. "Never."
He knew that. Aziraphale let his head sink forward onto one perfectly shaped and muscled shoulder, shivering as those dangerous claws played along his wings again.
Once, just once, Crowley had attacked the angel's wings. It had been way before the Agreement, when they had still fought bitterly, and the resulting healing had been just as painful. Broken wings were the worst that could happen to a celestial being. Healing those bones took a lot of energy and left the victim in question weak and easy prey.
Like right now.
Aziraphale was easy prey and Crowley was a predator.
"You're safe with me," Crowley murmured soothingly, the silky darkness wrapping around the angel's mind like a cool veil.
"I know that," he managed.
"Still you fear me."
The fangs teased again, deliberately brushing over his pulse point. Aziraphale gasped.
"I don't fear you, Crowley. I just…" He stopped, feeling embarrassed.
Crowley rolled on top of him, perched over the slim hips, gazing at him, studying him. Aziraphale swallowed.
"I don't fear you," the angel repeated, firmer this time.
He just feared memories. The demon attack had left him in severe pain, with shredded wings and hours of agony and bad dreams. It had unearthed ancient memories of fighting Crowley, too. They were vague, but they were there.
"Zira…"
He placed a hand over his demon's lips, shushing him. "I don't fear you," Aziraphale said once more. "I want you, Crowley. I love you. I trust you."
The demon sat frozen for a moment, gazing at him with those unreadable features, then a soft chuckle escaped his lips. One clawed finger traced an invisible line along Aziraphale's chest and he inhaled sharply.
"I know you do, angel," Crowley finally said. "Even if you reek of fear because of these." He held up the finger. The claw glinted in the light of the room, then suddenly receded into the slender finger, leaving a perfectly normal, blunt human finger tip.
Aziraphale captured the hand. "Don't," he demanded.
Crowley rarely became all demonic. The eyes were always there, the rest were just add-ons. As he had told Aziraphale once: 'No self-respecting demon goes without claws, fangs and maybe a scale or two'. Crowley himself didn't have scales, but he had the rest.
"It's just… memories. It's not you," the angel added slowly.
"It was me. Once."
"That's over. History."
"It was me," Crowley repeated, voice very quiet.
Aziraphale pulled him down by the hand he held, their lips colliding almost brutally.
"Erase those memories," he demanded harshly and caught another kiss.
Crowley snarled softly, a low rumble rising deep within his chest, and Aziraphale felt himself shiver in response. He had never asked his lover to hide who he was. Crowley had never shied away from his angelic aura either, and the angel knew that demons weren't comfortable with it either. Crowley took it in a stride, had accustomed to it over the millennia. It was like adjusting one's immune system, the angel mused dimly.
He would never demand of Crowley to be human in their love-making.
Maybe he loved playing with danger. Maybe it was just the way their love was expressed. Maybe it was simple need, in whatever form, and this need included loving this man, this demon. His demon.
Hands ran up and down his body, evoking little shivers, making the sensitive skin tingle all over. Angels were sensitive and very sensuous creatures. Crowley always liked to play with that sensitivity; today was no different.
Aziraphale mewled softly as he was teased mercilessly, as hot spots were manipulated and erupted into wild sparks. He retaliated whenever given the chance, whenever there was an opportunity, though Crowley was working hard on turning his mind into a gooey mass with what he did.
Lightly biting one nipple had the demon hiss in pleasure and the eyes glowed with an inner fervor, with fire that stoked Aziraphale's. A strong hand wrapped around his arousal and tugged gently and before he could really whisper his needs, Crowley's mouth was upon him.
It was hot and moist and so very, very good. It was heaven and hell and everything between. It was Crowley and it was him, and it was both of them together as one. It was divine and hellish, it was far more than he would ever have thought of them being able to feel together.
Gasping his lover's name, the ecstasy of his release hit him, and he shuddered with it. The very first time had floored him, had left him weak and panting, totally limp, and with a sated looking Crowley kneeling between his legs; licking his lips like a large cat.
Like right now.
Eyes gleamed, a moist tongue licked over the red lips, and Aziraphale shivered with the echoes of his climax. Black wings curled over the sinewy form, so dark they seemed to extinguish all light, suck it all up and refuse to release it ever again. Demonic and sinful, evil and foreboding. Aziraphale looked into the golden eyes, smiling.
He didn't see the demon; he saw the fallen angel. He saw Crowley.
He saw what he loved.
And he invited him in.
Aziraphale shuddered with pleasure under the ministrations, felt Crowley deep within him, hard and pulsing, felt the demon tremble with the unreleased emotions he harbored himself. The devilish mouth distracted him briefly from the torment of having his lover be so motionless and he bucked up against Crowley, needing more.
Aziraphale didn't want slow and gentle; not when he felt this indescribable need himself. Not when he wanted his lover to erase the pain and the memories of blood and gore and agony, of burning hot fire scorching his wings and tearing him apart.
Crowley was all those things, too. But he was also passionate and powerful in his ways, intense and possessive, and he was so hot and overwhelming, wiping out the cool that was Aziraphale.
"Crowley…" he pleaded. "Please…"
"Easy, angel," came the husky whisper. "Easy."
Eyes that now glowed a deep golden, fire licking in their depths, promised him that heat, that overwhelming power. Aziraphale arched into each thrust. His wings had long since disappeared, more a hindrance in their size than a help while making love, though Crowley loved their sensitive spots.
The angel cried out. No pain, no blood, no agony. Just pure and utter pleasure, a release that wiped out everything, that lodged only Crowley in his mind.
His demon. His lover. His. His alone.
He clung to the other form, riding it out, feeling the coiled muscles underneath his touch, and knew that Crowley was reaching his own limits. Aziraphale felt it in every thrust, in every breath, in every shiver.
"Let go," he murmured faintly into the ear closest to him.
Sharp fangs sank into his shoulder, eliciting a brief moan from the angelic being, and Aziraphale's eyes slid shut at the second wave of utter pleasure. A tongue licked over the twin marks, a gentle kiss was placed onto the wound, and an apology was whispered.
Aziraphale smiled softly. He knew the urge to bite came sometimes; to mark him, to show other demons to keep their hands off. There would never be anyone but Crowley, but his demon's instincts were there. The pain was brief, always followed by pleasure, and the wounds healed almost instantly - if he let them.
The angel buried his hands into the shock of black hair as his demon nuzzled the tender spot, peppering it with feather-light kisses.
"I'm fine, dear," he murmured lazily. "Thank you."
Thank you for caring.
He was held in strong but gentle arms, the last echoes of his release coursing through him, coupled with the memory of Crowley's own. It hadn't been their first time, but just as intense.
I'm not afraid of you, Aziraphale thought. I love you.
He sought out one hand and lazily ran a playful finger over the sharp nails.
You're not my nightmare. You're my demon.
He didn't know if anything of this, his thoughts and emotions, could be felt by his lover, but by the way Crowley almost-purred, it had leaked at least a little bit.
"My angel," came the relaxed murmur.
Aziraphale smiled more. "Yours," he whispered the confirmation.
Yours alone.
°
Ever since the chaos of the Near-Apocalypse neither of their respective bosses had called on them. They had been left alone, forgotten, in this corner of the world. Maybe they had truly fallen from grace, or in Crowley's case fallen from the bottom rung of the career ladder of Hell and swiped under a dirty rug.
Aziraphale didn't care. For the first time in millennia he didn't care. He had averted a disaster and he knew that Above couldn't possibly be happy, but he didn't care. He and Crowley had waited for anyone to show up, for some kind of wrist slapping or worse. And it had to be worse, Crowley had told him.
But nothing happened. Nothing at all. Crowley had even tempted his fate by not sending down a report to get any kind of reaction, but there had been none.
Forgotten.
Aziraphale couldn't believe it at first, but since no new orders came, he went about business as usual, and so did Crowley.
With the slight difference of their new relationship.
Even that hadn't launched some kind of reaction from either Above or Below.
Tumbleweed and crickets, Crowley had only snickered.
They were utterly alone.
Except for each other.
Aziraphale found no fault in continuing his work, even though he had no orders to do so. Neither did he have any to stop.
"Gray zone," he had remarked over a glass of wine one evening, snuggled up against the firm warmth that was his demon.
Crowley had been grooming his wings, something that nine times out of eight led to sex. Not that Aziraphale minded. Sex was… interesting. Not with humans, mind you, but with Crowley. No angel in his right mind would ever sleep with a human, but there was no such rule against demons and angels getting it on, though aside from the two of them, there probably wasn't any demon or angel trying it.
Shame, Aziraphale thought faintly. It was… nice. More than nice. It was overwhelming.
They were in a gray zone. Somewhere between good and evil, black and white. Neither fit in any more. They had gone against their superiors, had averted Armageddon, and finally, in a kind of last attempt to really, really mess up, they had developed a relationship.
Aziraphale had to grin now, playing with a strand of pitch black hair. Inquisitive eyes gazed at him. He looked into the yellow depth, noticed the glimmer of gold, the faint traces of lust, the not so faint and rather pronounced presence of love. Aziraphale smiled at that. Demon eyes filled with love. So much of a contradiction.
But then… everything about them was. So much contradiction, so much not what they were supposed to be.
Aziraphale traced the outline of one eye, then down the straight nose, over the high cheekbones, to the lips, until his finger as captured by that moist heat inside Crowley's mouth. A very versatile tongue brushed over the digit and he shivered a little.
His finger was finally released and the demon gazed quizzically at him. "Whatcha thinking?"
"How strange it is that we were simply cast aside," Aziraphale answered honestly.
"You think that?" Crowley snorted. "I doubt it. They're just waiting. Watching and waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
A shrug. "I don't know and I don't care. But they're watching, Zira, believe me."
"I would have expected inquiries into my reasons for loving you," the angel went on. "Maybe even some kind of… sentence."
Black wings rustled and settled over him, a stark contrast to the pale skin and blond hair. But Aziraphale loved them, loved their color, their darkness, the silky sensuality of each and every feather as they touched his skin.
"Do you want to get punished?" Crowley demanded roughly.
"No! Of course not!"
"Then stop thinking about it!" the demon commanded, voice harsh. "Stop thinking what might be. Maybe we slid off their radar, maybe it's really that gray zone you mentioned, but whatever it is, I don't want it to end. I…" He swallowed, the snake eyes closing briefly. "I need you, Zira."
As always those un-demonic words made the angel feel elation and warm, a curl of heat forming deep down inside. Crowley rarely said those words, but when he did, Aziraphale couldn't help but let his emotions show. Kissing his demon, putting all those emotion into the contact, he did as requested. He pushed those thoughts about why they had been left alone by both forces of Above and Below away.
Hands roamed over his body, touched him here or there, and Aziraphale shuddered as a nipple was flicked, and then slightly twisted. He whimpered when it was done to the second one, leaving him aching for more.
"Crowley…" he murmured.
"Yes, angel?"
Aziraphale felt pleasure race through him at the name. Only Crowley did that. Only his voice, in that tone, made him want to love this man even more - if that was at all possible.
Crowley's hand was on his neck, one thumb rubbing over the sensitive skin, making him almost purr.
"You're insatiable."
Crowley smiled, baring fangs that only showed in rare moments. Defense, attack and… well, those moment. Aziraphale thought it was simply severe emotional reactions.
"I'm a demon," he whispered silkily. "It's what I do." A wicked light shone in those inhuman eyes.
Aziraphale smiled. Crowley was a lot more than just that. He was complex and complicated, just like their relationship was. Just like it was unique.
"Yes, that's what you are," he murmured, snuggling close, needing that physical contact.
After what had happened, he needed it more than anything else. They might just spend the rest of the day in bed, maybe the rest of the week. They hadn't left the bedroom for quite a while after their first time. Aziraphale still felt remnants of a blush when thinking back to their… antics. Crowley was quite inventive… he was a demon after all.
Now they just lay together, cocooned in white and black feathers, intermingling and sliding so naturally together.
"Crowley?" he murmured.
"Hmpf?"
"What would you do it they really have forgotten about us?"
There was a rough chuckle and Crowley tangled his fingers in the blond hair. "They haven't."
"What if?"
"Zira…"
"Humor me."
Another chuckle. "I always do."
Aziraphale shot his demon an exasperated look. "Crowley…"
Amusement danced in the demonic eyes and Crowley kissed his nose. Aziraphale twitched his nose in mock annoyance.
"Angel, they know where we are. They just choose to ignore us for now."
Aziraphale furrowed his brow in thought.
"As to what I'd do. Well, the same I do now."
Another frown.
"Be here. With you."
"With me?"
"Yes, angel, with you. Where else should I be?"
And where else did Aziraphale want to be? he mused. He liked the book shop, he liked the quaint little town, and he did good work here.
He smiled a little, not answering his demon.
"You're a bad influence," Crowley whispered, amusement in his voice.
"Angels are good influence, my dear," he replied automatically.
"Not this angel."
"Must be your bad influence."
Crowley laughed. "Haven't lost my touch then."
Aziraphale smiled again, closing his eyes. He wondered if they were truly still the beings they had once been. Surely not. Six thousand years of intermingling with the enemy had changed them. Six thousand years of friendship, of being among humanity, of being out of touch with their respective kinds… it had changed them.
Was he still an angel by true definition?
Was Crowley truly a demon?
Or were they something else? Was this the reason why they had been left to their own devices? Did anyone even feel responsible for them any more?
Those thoughts whirled around his mind as he lay in his demon's arms, felt Crowley's breathing even out. He nestled into the black feathers and closed his eyes as well, allowing himself to drift off.
Whatever he was, he was it together with Crowley. And it felt good. So incredibly good.
* * *
He had been watching them for a long time. He had smiled at their growing friendship, actually approved of it, and He hadn’t really been surprised to see their development finally reach that point of no return, that critical moment where everything was either destroyed or would take a giant leap.
It had leaped. They had leaped. And they had landed safely, so much closer than before, their very existence growing so very blurry in every sense of the word. He had watched his angel’s aura change abruptly, then smooth out and become… different. Not that He minded. Aziraphale was still an angel, but he had become more on a deeper level.
“That’s one of your Greater Plans?” a voice interrupted his musings.
He gave the new-arrival a mild smile. “It might be.”
“You don’t even know?”
“They do look good together.”
A snort of laughter, dark and almost sinister. “From your mouth that sounds almost dirty. I see you didn’t let him Fall.”
“Love is no sin.”
“Lust is. Look at them. If that isn’t lust.” A black eyebrow wriggled suggestively.
“It is love,” He insisted.
“Suit yourself.” A contemplative look passed through the black eyes. “So, you gonna ignore them?”
“Will you?”
“He’s of no use to me like that.”
“You could punish him.”
Another snort, this time tinged with disbelief. “More trouble than it’s worth. Crowley always was.”
“I thought that was his job description,” He pointed out with a fine smile.
That got Him a glare.
"You did send someone after one of mine," He finally pointed out almost amicably.
"I didn't. It was some overly ambitious minion who I had taken care of."
"Ah. I see."
There was a moment of silence, then, "A demon loving an angel. How disgustingly good.”
“Or divinely bad.”
“You always had a strange sense of humor.”
A soft chuckle.
“And you think it’s natural for them to… love each other?”
He shrugged. “They might just as well. They both have always defied the rules.”
A grumble. “Tell me about it.”
“Do I have to?”
The other groaned. “Very strange sense of humor,” he repeated.
Silence descended and both watched the sleeping pair, black and white wings curled around each other.
“I do believe they warrant our attention,” He finally said, “but not overly so. It might be interesting to keep an eye on them. They are quite unique.”
“Uh-huh. If you say so.” The other man stuck his hands into his pockets and swayed back and forth on his feet, looking a bit bored. “You fancy a tea?” he changed the topic.
“Green?”
“Black.”
“Of course.”
A smirk. “Of course.”
Both sauntered off, one still with his hands in his pockets. They disappeared into the distance.
Down on earth, Aziraphale and Crowley slept on, unaware of the fact that someone was paying attention, even if it was only out of curiosity and with little intention to change anything.
And here's contestant number two...
TITLE: Undeniable
kind of a sequel to Whole and Gravitation
AUTHOR: Macx
WARNINGS: Crowley ouchies, WAFFIshness again.
RATING: M for violence
PAIRING: Crowley/Aziraphale
FEEDBACK: empty inbox seeks emails
The last few months had been… indescribable. Crowley had no words for what it meant to have Aziraphale around him all day. Of course, well, he had had the angel around almost every day for the last six millennia, give or take a century here or there, but this was different. This was Aziraphale his lover. This was his angel, not just some divine enemy he had to best every now and then to keep his records straight.
Feeling uncharacteristically chipper, in an absolutely un-demonic good mood even, he strolled through Hyde Park, watching people all around. He couldn't resist a little mischief here or there, but overall the demon was behaving. Well, for a demon.
He snickered a little and pushed the sunglasses higher up his nose.
Aziraphale would have a field day if he was here, but his angel had insisted to work. The book shop didn't run itself, he had told him sternly.
As if there were any customers. Crowley snorted. The shop was as quiet as a grave, but Aziraphale insisted to be open just in case someone might drop by.
Highly bloody unlikely.
And if someone dared to enter, it was even more unlikely that a book would be sold to him or her. His angel was quite possessive of the dusty old tomes.
Oh well. With nothing better to do that didn't involve very hot and mind-melting sex with a certain angel, Crowley had opted for a walk in the park, coupled with whatever he could do to satisfy his neglected demonic side.
Just catching himself before he started to whistle a tune, Crowley made a performing artist mess up his juggling act and chuckled to himself.
Yes, it felt good. Bloody good.
And then something slammed into him. It tore through his spine, shattering muscles, bones and whatever else it caught in its way, exiting through the front of Crowley's chest and spraying blood everywhere. The demon gave a cry of pain and surprise, collapsing forward almost gracefully. If his body were completely human, he would be dead now. As it was, the body was only a shell and it contained something that wasn't easily downed by whatever had just perforated him.
But it hurt.
It was total agony.
And it made him bleed.
Crowley coughed and a new wave of pain had him whimper, blood spattering from his mouth.
"Foul demon!" a voice yelled.
Yellow eyes blinked, the sunglasses long gone. And then Crowley's senses registered just who was behind him.
Angel.
Not Aziraphale; some other angel. A very dangerous, furious and attack-happy one of his species.
"Go back to your hellish existence!" the angel demanded.
Crowley moved without thinking, ignoring the searing hot pain that made every move, every thought, agony. He managed to evade the second attack, but just barely. His wings came out, razor sharp at the edges and slicing toward his attacker, who evaded him.
"What the fuck…" Crowley coughed, blood filling his mouth. "I didn't do anything!"
He stumbled and his breathing was raspy at best. Not that he needed to breathe, but the wound was making him do peculiar things. Like losing his focus and feeling very cold all of a sudden. Freaking angel weapons!
"You're a demon!" the angel proclaimed. “You are Hell’s minion and evil incarnate! You are the Enemy of Him. I am here to destroy you!”
Had Aziraphale ever sounded so bad and cliché? Crowley couldn’t remember. His angel wasn’t prone to speeches in any case. He was a quiet one, but dangerous when threatened or truly riled up.
He narrowed his eyes on the wavering image of his attacker. Good for nothing do-gooder was blond, dressed in classical angel garb and looking so bloody righteous, complete with a sword, it made Crowley want to throw up. Then again, throwing up would result in more pain. Not a good idea.
"But I didn't do anything!" he repeated doggedly.
"Your existence is enough," the angel proclaimed and charged once more.
Crowley yelped as the sword swung his way again and caught his left wing. The resulting impact made him cry out at the searing pain that the little contact provoked. Whatever this sword was, it was a far cry from anything Crowley had ever faced. Then again, had he ever faced anyone else but Aziraphale? No… his angel had been his only opponent for millennia.
Shit…
Weak, feeling more and more disoriented, he did the only thing he could - he fled.
None of the humans in the park had seen any of the spectacle and those who thought they had would soon forget about it, just feeling slightly strange and mildly upset for no reason for the rest of the day.
* * *
Crowley's feverish mind came up with only one perfectly safe haven: the book shop. He would find safety and protection there. His angel would help him. He needed his angel.
But there was one of Aziraphale’s side going after him like he was Lucifer himself, part of him reminded him nastily. What made him think that Aziraphale would really help him? Against another angel!
Crowley whimpered at the thought, nearly crashing into a display window as he stumbled along. His illusions were wavering, sending people scattering out of his way. None of the humans had a clear idea what was racing past them, but they simply knew they didn’t want to be in its way. The demon felt the angelic presence follow him, chase him across town, up and down and around, and Crowley was tiring faster and faster. He had to reach the book shop.
He reached it. Actually, he crashed through the front door in a messy, bloody heap in the middle of the room, whimpering at the pain now engulfing him body and mind. Everything was either too cold or too hot, which was kind of strange for a demon, and it hurt to think. Whatever the weapon had been, it apparently tried to slice apart his very essence, not just damage the human body.
"Crowley!"
The voice washed over him with the same intensity as his angel's presence. His injured mind shied away from the celestial power, but something else moaned in relief.
"Zira…" he breathed. “Help…”
"What happened to you?" the angel demanded, touching one blood-smeared shoulder.
Crowley cried out and curled up. Aziraphale’s very touch was like a renewed slice of the sword.
"I'm sorry," Aziraphale whispered. "Sorry."
And then the second angelic presence washed over him and Crowley nearly choked. He was wide open, at his most vulnerable, and what weapon the angel had hit him with, it was fast rendering him completely helpless. Demons had a natural shield against too much divine aura around them, but Crowley’s had crumbled and he was left gasping and crying softly, trying to shield his demonic essence from being overwhelmed and erased by so much Light.
"Who are you?" he heard Aziraphale ask.
Crowley's eyes cracked open automatically at the tone of voice he had rarely heard in his lover before. Okay, so there had been one or two occasions, but never… never like this. Aziraphale sounded like the worst kind of pissed off. It was more than anger, the Aziraphale kind of anger.
This was more than demonic than divine, he decided faintly. This was dangerously bad in a celestial way.
"I am Evirel," the newcomer proclaimed. "Step aside. I have a demon to exorcise."
Crowley shivered and made a pathetic whimpering noise that any demon would be embarrassed to hear. His fingers dug into the floor.
"Leave my shop," Aziraphale said evenly. "Now."
"I have my work to finish."
"Not in my shop."
"Are you protecting this creature of evil?" the other angel demanded.
"I said leave!" Aziraphale commanded and the voice made Crowley cower even more.
The other angel sneered, which was completely un-angelic. "You protect the enemy?"
"Crowley is not my enemy."
Laughter answered him. "He is a demon. Demons are our enemies. They are Hell's minions; Fallen Ones. We send them back to Hell wherever we meet them."
"You will not touch Crowley. I won't repeat myself, Evirel."
"Who are you, traitor?"
Aziraphale smiled humorlessly. "Aziraphale."
"I'll report my findings, Aziraphale. You'll be recalled, tried and found guilty! You will Fall!"
And with that the other angel was gone.
Crowley felt part of him freeze at the last words.
Fall…
"No," he whispered. "No, no, no…"
"Crowley?"
Something gentle touched him, something warm and so soft, so very familiar and loving, it hurt.
"No," Crowley repeated, starting to tremble.
Not his angel. Please, not his angel.
"Crowley, relax. It'll be okay."
Nothing would be okay, ran over and over in his head. Nothing at all. Aziraphale would Fall because of him. He would be a demon…
Crowley keened softly to himself, lost in the horror of a fallen angel, his fallen angel, who had done nothing but love a demon. He hadn’t committed the Original Sin, he hadn’t killed or cursed or done harm in any other way to humankind.
The warmth increased and flowed through him, healing the terrible damage to his body. It hurt in a different way as divine power mended what another kind of divine power had torn to shreds.
"Easy, Crowley," Aziraphale soothed. "Can you move your wing a little?"
He did so. He responded automatically to the gentle voice and he obeyed.
"You'll be fine. It'll be over soon. My, what cruelty," Aziraphale continued. "Such unreasonable violence. And totally unfounded."
His angel couldn't fall, continued endlessly through Crowley's mind. Not his angel. Not because of him. If the other angel reported this… He had to be stopped. He had to stop Aziraphale, make him leave, let him be… He might just make it, Crowley thought dimly. His angel could hide, always move, never stay anywhere. He could evade the celestial forces.
Clawed fingers dug abruptly into one of Aziraphale's sleeves, puncturing the material quite thoroughly.
"Easy," the angel murmured.
“Leave… me…” Crowley whispered. “Go.”
“What?” Mild perplexity was in the other being’s voice.
“Leave. Hide… Don’t Fall…”
“I won’t,” Aziraphale calmed him. “Just let me heal the damage.” And the warm aura increased.
Crowley gave a whimper that was an almost-scream as the wing was realigned and the bones creaked as they healed. Angelic healing power was gentle and warm, completely non-invasive, and usually demons could handle it. Aziraphale had never had to do that much damage control, though. Crowley’s natural shields were still down and those positive healing waves were hurting him.
"Shhhh," Aziraphale murmured and suddenly he was cradled in his angel's arms, held close to his presence and encased in white wings.
In the middle of a bookshop.
But no one saw them. Aziraphale made sure of it, the shop locked, the windows blocked, and the illusion of emptiness in place. Crowley buried his head against the smooth material of his lover's sweater, breathing hard, riding out wave after wave of pain that finally diminished. He concentrated on the clean smell of the angel, on the familiar heart beat, on every little noise Aziraphale made.
Careful fingers stroked over his hair, smoothing the wild tangle. A kiss was placed against one temple.
"You'll be fine," Aziraphale murmured. "Just fine."
No, he thought desperately. Because you will Fall because of me. You will Fall, Zira!
It was the last thought on his mind when he finally slipped into the nothingness of unconsciousness, surrounded by the Light of his angel.
* * *
Aziraphale assessed in the damage taken by his counterpart and supposed enemy, sighing softly to himself. Crowley had smashed through the door, bleeding all over the floor, leaving blood stains and feathers everywhere. There was a gaping wound in his back and chest, caused by a demon destroying weapon that had luckily not been set to full power. His left wing had been sliced, the feathers neatly cut, and there was blood clinging to the fractured bone and torn skin.
All very painful.
It was a miracle the demon had made it this far.
Aziraphale had closed the shop, stabilized his demon, and then managed to get him into the back room where he had continued to heal the terrible wounds. Evirel was currently forgotten, not wanted in his thoughts as he concentrated on fixing Crowley.
Needless violence, he thought sadly. Such needless violence. Crowley hadn’t attacked anyone and even if he had gone about his demonic ways, which was only natural, there was certainly nothing in them that warranted this.
He should put in a complaint.
Then again, better not. Drawing attention to them wasn’t really necessary. They had been left alone by their respective sides for quite a while now, both going about their daily business as they had for millennia, and Aziraphale wasn’t keen on getting orders he might not like. He was a servant of Him, but things had changed for this particular angel. He had found love in form of a demon.
Stroking over the healed wing, Aziraphale smiled. No, getting them unwarranted attention wasn’t really good right now. As for Evirel, the other angel might or might not go through with his threats. If he did, things would change. For now, Aziraphale believed in what he had told Crowley. Love was not a sin. And this was true love.
With his demon lying on the bed, Aziraphale chose a book and settled beside him. There was a murmur from Crowley and a little shifting, then the other curled up next to him, snuggling close.
The angel smiled more.
Crowley liked snuggling, though he would never confess to it. He downright protested any notion of snuggling or cuddling, even while doing so. Aziraphale ran a hand over the midnight black hair, marveling at its silkiness. Everything about Crowley was so contradictive. He was a demon, but he didn’t really look it, even at his most demonic while in human form. Sure, the eyes were far from human, but Aziraphale had seen humans with eyes more demonic than Crowley’s. Not that he would ever tell him. That would probably have him muttering and grumbling for a day.
The high cheekbones were a plus, too. Aziraphale loved the way it made him look, especially together with the eyes and the hair. Truly demonic, sure, but also not so very much either.
In his sleep, Crowley exuded an air of innocence that would probably mortify him to no end. Aziraphale found it endearing and such a difference to the awake Crowley. Like right now. Gentle fingers stroked over one of the high cheekbones and down the smooth, unblemished skin of the cheek. Crowley mumbled a little, leaning into the touch without even being awake, and something inside Aziraphale curled in tender warmth.
No one would take this from him, he decided firmly. No one at all. He wouldn’t Fall, that he believed in, because loving Crowley was no sin. There might be bureaucratic matters to handle. They probably had no prior case like theirs.
Sighing softly, Aziraphale continued to stroke and caress his lover’s hair and skin, and finally turned to his book to read. If Evirel was out for trouble, he had to wait and see in what shape it would come.
* * *
His return to consciousness brought several sensations with it. First there was warmth. Wonderful warmth. The warmth of sunlight playing over his skin, heating up his demonic form. Then safety. He was somewhere completely safe, utterly protected, and nothing could harm him. Smell was next. He smelled the familiar scent of his angel, of Aziraphale, and his hands touched smooth skin, equally warm.
Crowley blinked his eyes open, narrowed against sudden beams of light stabbing into his sensitive eyes, but despite the fact that the room was bathed in sunlight, he wasn't blinded. His head was pillowed on Aziraphale's lap, an arm flung over the strong thighs like an embrace, and the rest of body seemed to curl around his angel's legs like the snake he was. His wings were out, one folded underneath him, the injured one stretched out over the bed like a gigantic, feathered blanket.
Aziraphale was reading, one hand holding the book, the other resting in the downs of Crowley's wings, playing absent-mindedly with them. As Crowley took stock of himself and his surroundings, the blue eyes moved from the novel to him.
"Hello. How do you feel?"
Surprisingly good, the demon thought.
"Fine," he just mumbled.
"Splendid. You were a mess, my dear."
Yes, he remembered that. "I was there for it," he grumbled, not inclined to move from his very comfortable position. The heat hitting his back felt so very, very good.
Aziraphale chuckled. The book was put aside and the free hand contented itself with stroking Crowley's hair. The demon felt like purring and his eyes slid closed again, only to widen abruptly as he remembered just what had gotten him into this mess.
"The angel!" he blurted and sat up.
It was too sudden for his recovering body and he groaned as vertigo hit him, making him flop gracelessly back against the angel with him in bed. Aziraphale sighed and tsked, shaking his head.
"Take it easy, dear. You're still recovering, That was a nasty wound."
"Which one?" he mumbled around the nausea.
"All of them. Angelic weapons are designed to inflict a maximum amount of harm on demonic bodies with a minimum of actual contact."
"I noticed," came the snarl.
Aziraphale kissed his head and shushed him. Crowley inhaled deeply, despite not needing it, and battled the nausea.
Bloody angel and his bloody unprovoked attack!
"What about the other angel?" he finally asked.
"Evirel?"
"That his name?"
"Apparently. He left."
Crowley pushed away from the currently too comforting and familiar form. "He left to report you!" he snapped.
"Yes, he said so."
"You could Fall for this!"
And now the agitation of before returned.
"You can't Fall, Zira! Not because of me! Never because of me!"
Blue eyes regarded him with a puzzled look. "An angel cannot Fall because of love, Crowley."
"You can Fall for loving the enemy!"
"No." It sounded so even, so calm, so final.
"Zira…"
"He cannot let me Fall for loving you, Crowley." And he sounded so convinced.
"What if he does?" Crowley insisted, refusing to capitalize the H.
The angel didn't look the slightest bit perturbed. "If he found our union a sin, he would have let me Fall already. We've been courting each other for millennia, love. We've defied our respective bosses often enough to warrant consequences because of what we became."
"Maybe he just needed someone to complain about it," the demon murmured dejectedly. "Make it official, you know."
"That's silly."
"But it could be true!"
Aziraphale cupped his face and smiled calmly. "I'm very touched by your concern, but we'll be fine. I love you, Crowley. My feelings are pure and without sin. I wasn't corrupted, coerced or tempted to feel like this." He brushed their lips together. "What I feel is me, Crowley. Untainted and utterly me."
Crowley stared into those bottomless blues, reflecting all the age and rarely surfacing wisdom of this celestial being. He swallowed at what else he saw, what was only for him, and something inside of him whimpered at the intensity. Something else entirely pushed forward and embraced it all, so disgustingly happy to see and feel it.
"Angel…"
"We'll be fine," Aziraphale repeated and silenced all other protests or arguments with a new kiss.
°
Their love-making was slow but intense, Crowley writhing under the expert hands and lips, surrendering to Aziraphale’s ministrations until he climaxed in a hoarse shout of pleasure. Everything ached, but in a very nice way. Crowley felt surrounded by a haze of utter satisfaction, so completely content it would have made him sick a few months ago. Well, most likely. Not really, actually. But a demon had to keep up appearances.
Breakfast was an almost familiar pattern, with Crowley making himself a coffee that no human in his right mind would consider drinking - lest he want to die of immediate heart attack from so much caffeine, it could wake an army in no time flat. Aziraphale stuck to his tea, regarding the demon with fond exasperation as he stirred the black sludge and gleefully commented on the bad ways of the world According To The Daily News. The spoon made a last effort to survive in the sludge, then gave up and surrendered. Crowley just tossed it onto the table and sipped at the scalding hot brew, an expression of bliss on his face.
Eating scrambled eggs, bacon and toast, Aziraphale studied the narrow features, the handsome countenance of his lover, and smiled to himself. It was all so normal, so homey, and just what they had done in the past millennia already. Sitting together, eating, drinking, talking, gently ruffling each other’s feathers…
“What?” Crowley demanded, peering at him from over his mug.
There was a suspicious expression in the yellow eyes. He had long since stopped wearing sunglasses when it was just the two of them. Aziraphale had never understood why he did it anyway. It wasn’t like the angel didn’t know that the eyes were reptilian.
“Nothing.”
A snarl. “That look is not nothing, angel. Spill!”
“I love you,” Aziraphale only said.
Crowley froze, nearly spilling his coffee, and his mouth opened, then snapped shut again. He scowled. Love declarations outside of the bed were rare. Usually they left Crowley flustered and Aziraphale looking deeply content. Now his face shifted through all kinds of emotions, from disbelief to anger to offence and finally settled on acute embarrassment.
“iluvutoo,” came a mumble, followed by a disgusted look at the hapless table top that had nowhere to run.
The angel gave him a radiant smile. Aziraphale rose and walked over to the sink to deposit his plate. As he turned he placed a gentle hand on the exposed neck of his demon and stroked the tender skin, feeling fine hair touch his palm.
Crowley leaned into the caress with a barely audible purr. Aziraphale bent down and kissed one temple, nuzzling the black hair. An arm snaked lithely around his waist and pulled him close, Crowley suddenly and quite uncharacteristically burying his face in Aziraphale’s sweater.
“Dear,” the angel whispered and wrapped his arms protectively around the black head.
Crowley’s shoulder’s quivered suspiciously and Aziraphale bowed over him, radiating gentle reassurance.
Everything would be okay. He knew it. He was convinced of it.
°
Above, Evirel was given a stern talking to by no other than the arch angel Michael about his conduct on Earth. He was then stripped of all his privileges, his status revoked, and sent to read up on Memos All Angels Already Knew About But Him. It was like being sent to one's room without dinner. For a few centuries at least.
In silent horror Evirel read His orders concerning a particular demon by the name of Anthony J. Crowley and a specific angel called Aziraphale.
He didn't ask about reasons because His Will wasn't to be questioned. All Evirel felt was shock at his actions, at how he could have missed the memo, and shame. He had made a tremendous mistake, even though he could claim ignorance, but ignorance was never taken lightly in his job. Why a demon was spared by Him, was even under protection from an angel, Evirel didn’t dare to question.
Whatever His reasons, he wouldn’t question them. It was probably all part of the Divine Plan.
Now I'm off to scavenge for breakfast... Have fun reading!