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black-bentley-niatruc · 2 months ago

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Fic

Title: The Mind-Body Problem [part 2/3]

[A bonus smutty thing happening between chapters 20 and 21 of my main Human AU fic]

Fandom: Good Omens

Category: M/M

Relationship: Aziraphale/Crowley

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: filthy smut, check below for any squeaks/no-no's

Additional tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot; touch-starved; Crowley has a praise kink; inexperienced Crowley; experienced Aziraphale (kind of); fluff; first time; first time topping; first time things; chest-fucking; Aziraphale is a Pillow Princess; Crowley is a tease; Aziraphale has an oral fixation; angst (thanks, Crowley!); barebacking; butt plugs; anal sex; low-key D/s vibes, but not a 'proper' D/s setting; rough sex; safe, sane and consensual; kinky; more angst (thanks, Aziraphale!); face-fucking; Aziraphale is a mess; coming untouched; virginity kink; Aziraphale is a tease; first time bottoming

Words: 3575

Originally published: 2024-05-28

Summary

“I know we were meant to go on more dates, but could we spend the whole weekend here?” Crowley asks nonchalantly.

Aziraphale makes a sound of amusement, a little breath against Crowley’s skin. “Just say it.”

“What?”

“I know what you want. Ask.”

Crowley shudders at the stern tone and Aziraphale hides a smile against the back of his own hand.

“Marathon sex.”

Human AU, Crowley and Aziraphale try new things in their relationship That's it, that's the fic; can be read as a standalone

A relevant note: Crowley's Chinese zodiac sign in the main fic is a Snake 🐍 and Aziraphale's is a Dragon 🐉

Aziraphale feels so good – each cell of his body seemingly swelled with contentment and love – that he laughs softly at the all in all cruel joke. Not that he believes Crowley meant to hurt with those two words.

Attempting to return the frantic kisses, but too slow (or is it Crowley who always goes too fast for him?) Aziraphale tries to ignore the feelings catching in his throat and to cut them at their stems before they grow into something impossible to deny.

“Marry me, angel.”

Belatedly, he feels the smile disappear from his face, not quite in control of his expression, as he searches Crowley’s eyes, focused intently on his own.

They speak of something mischievous, yes, but only on the surface, pretending to be playful, but deeper still, there are things too soft and fragile, telling him how serious Crowley is – and how can soft and fragile things cut so viciously?

“Ask me again once we’re thinking clearly,” says Aziraphale as lightly as possible, instead of what he wants to say, burying the ‘Yes’ deep in his heart and cupping Crowley’s face in his hands.

“I’m thinking clearly,” Crowley insists. “Never thought clearer in my life.”

Something twists painfully in Aziraphale’s chest. He cannot let Crowley promise what he might regret in the future. The higher they fly, the more disastrous the fall. But, if they pretend not to be connected by the invisible line that Aziraphale felt the moment they met for the first time, then perhaps nothing and no-one can break it.

“Well, I’m not.”

The disappointment and hurt in Crowley’s eyes is almost unbearable, but he makes himself withstand the wounded stare.

“Okay,” says Crowley, looking away, getting back to his guarded self.

Breathing slowly out in relief, Aziraphale cuddles up to him, face pressed against his chest, dark red hairs tickling his cheek.

He closes his eyes, physically exhausted by the intense orgasm and emotionally torn to shreds by everything he doesn’t know how to deal with. How is it that Crowley goes on and on about the complexity of the world, yet, somehow, he operates in it as if everything were simple? Why does it feel like Aziraphale is walking in circles, one moment thinking he’s found his answers only to be thrown back to square one to start anew in the next?

“I hope the plug was unreasonably expensive and you paid with your card, so that your parents could see that,” Crowley mutters, causing Aziraphale to giggle hysterically.

“It was obscenely expensive and if they’re still checking what I’m buying, it’s entirely their own fault,” he admits.

“I’m so glad I signed up for the philosophy course.”

“Me too. Though, actually, we had no choice, it’s mandatory for our programme.”

“I know we were meant to go on more dates, but could we spend the whole weekend here?” Crowley asks nonchalantly.

Aziraphale makes a sound of amusement, a little breath against Crowley’s skin. “Just say it.”

“What?”

“I know what you want. Ask.”

Crowley shudders at the stern tone and Aziraphale hides a smile against the back of his own hand.

“Marathon sex.”

“There. Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Shut up.”

“About that,” Aziraphale says, wriggling in sudden excitement and nervousness. “There’s something I’d like you to... do to me.”

It’s Crowley’s turn to tease. “Oohh, I bet there is.”

“Nothing too complicated, really,” Aziraphale rushes to explain. “But of course―”

“Angel, if you don’t tell me what you mean, how can I tell you whether I want it?” Crowley huffs in irritation, stroking his hand down Aziraphale’s side.

Heat crawling up his neck and cheeks, Aziraphale presses his hand against his eyes in embarrassment.

“What you did today, except... my throat, and, slower,” he manages, not that fluent in dirty talk when he isn’t on edge or already aroused.

He can tell Crowley’s grinning when he asks, “Want me to shut you up with my cock? Love it.”

Aziraphale chuckles, still nervous despite Crowley’s explicit approval. “I like it rough,” he adds.

“’Course you do,” is Crowley’s reply and suddenly the warmth of his body disappears.

“Where are you going?” Aziraphale blurts out, hating the obvious clinginess behind his reaction.

“To wash my dick before I put it in your mouth!” Crowley calls back, the crude phrasing and nonchalance in his tone causing Aziraphale’s cheeks to burn.

Oh.

Aziraphale didn’t expect Crowley to immediately implement his plan as if he were only waiting for a request of any kind. Not that he’s going to complain.

By the time Crowley comes back, Aziraphale is sitting on his heels next to the bed and shivering slightly from anticipation and the cool air caressing his naked skin.

“Wow,” says Crowley as soon as his eyes land on him. “The only thing missing is a collar around your neck.”

There is a lilt to this statement, a hidden question.

Would Aziraphale allow Crowley to put a collar on him?

“I’ll be sure to add it to my next shopping list,” he assures with a smile, watching the Adam’s apple in Crowley’s throat bob as he swallows, hard.

“Can’t wait,” Crowley breathes, stepping close, lazily stroking a hand over his erection.

Aziraphale licks his lips, leaning in to take the cock into his mouth, but Crowley doesn’t let him, cupping his palm over the flared head.

Shooting him an offended look, Aziraphale can’t keep the pout off his face.

“You’ll only take what I give you, and nothing more, you greedy cherub,” says Crowley with a mean grin.

The fiend.

Huffing through his nose, Aziraphale presses his lips together. If Crowley thinks he’s going to beg for it, then he’s got another thing coming.

A temptingly hot cockhead brushes against Aziraphale’s lips. “Open up.”

He makes sure Crowley can see him glaring defiantly. A bead of clear precome oozes from the slit, glinting tantalisingly, and Aziraphale curls his hands into fists, where they rest against his thighs. A trickle of Crowley’s seed leaks out of him in that moment and he gasps at the unfamiliar but somehow deeply arousing feeling.

The lapse in his concentration doesn’t escape Crowley’s notice. “You okay there?” he asks, his concern evident and so very sweet.

There goes all of Aziraphale’s resolve. Nodding once, he opens his mouth expectantly, pushing his tongue out just enough so that the tip is visible over his lower lip. With a sigh, Crowley presses his cockhead against the flat of Aziraphale’s tongue, rubbing gently against it with slow, shallow thrusts.

Mouth watering, Aziraphale swallows quickly. He probably should have warned it might get really messy, bordering on disgusting, at least for some people. He’s in no position to talk, now, though. He wishes Crowley would start fucking his throat already. He’d like to close his lips around him. He’d love to suck his cock.

Instead, he allows Crowley to tease him mercilessly, more precome spreading over his tongue as he waits patiently, breathing faster every time Crowley dives deeper into his mouth only to draw back again.

He moans softly when the warm cockhead hits his soft palate. Crowley groans in response, hand curling in Aziraphale’s hair, eliciting an appreciative whine, the vibrations hopefully pleasant.

“You really want me to be rough?” Crowley asks, the uncertainty and concern in his voice endearing to Aziraphale’s ears.

In response, Aziraphale grasps his hips firmly and groans around the cock in his mouth.

It seems to be enough seeing as Crowley slams into his throat without any further warnings. Tears of pain prick at the corners of Aziraphale’s eyes and he moans again, making sure to wrap his lips around his teeth – a somewhat tricky thing he never needed to learn (but he did, anyway; he doesn’t like doing things by halves).

Crowley’s so good to him – as slow and brutal as Aziraphale dreamed. His throat burns. He can’t stop moaning and squirming. His cock aches, but he keeps his hands around Crowley’s hips, digging his nails in whenever he needs to breathe. His chin is wet with spit and he revels in the undignified feeling.

He comes untouched, spilling messily over his belly and thighs, moaning loudly, tears running down his hot cheeks.

“Fuck, angel,” Crowley whines above him. “Can I come on your face?”

Normally, Aziraphale believes refractory periods to be nature’s unnecessary joke, the kind that nobody gets, but in this moment he’s grateful he physically can’t get hard again, because he’s sure he would come immediately, either at Crowley’s question or the moment his hot seed paints his cheek and nose and lips – and another orgasm like this would probably kill him.

Staring up at Crowley, Aziraphale distractedly wipes at his own wet chin with the back of his hand.

“A moment,” says Crowley, sitting at the edge of his bed, breathing hard. “I’ll bring some water― Just.”

Aziraphale understands what he means. He feels uncomfortably sticky with – he counts quickly – four...? – loads of come and just as uncomfortably slippery with lubricant, and he’d love to take a hot shower and yes, a glass of water does sound nice, but most of all he wants to cuddle with Crowley and fall asleep together in bed that’s been getting progressively filthier as well.

However, he is not that spoiled and Crowley has been so good to him, so he volunteers to bring the water and wanders to the kitchen, lightheaded from the oxygen deprivation and dazed from everything else.

He finds the glasses (and a paper towel to wipe his face relatively clean) and takes two bottles of water from the fridge. There is something domestic about it that he doesn’t want to dwell on, but his mind latches onto the feeling. So many day-to-day things they could do...

Crowley drinks his water straight from the bottle and Aziraphale smiles privately because he expected that.

“You should see yourself,” says Crowley, eyes raking over his entire body hungrily as Aziraphale takes his water in small sips, his abused throat hurting with every swallow. “You look like sin.”

“And all you want to do is sin?” Aziraphale prompts, laughing at his own terrible joke.

“That’s about right!” Crowley agrees, laughing with him even as he rolls his eyes.

“Well, I am in desperate need of a shower, I suppose, but...” Aziraphale sighs, shaking his head, tired.

“...meh,” Crowley finishes his thought. “I’m thinking: some sleep and then shower, but we do something worth getting out of bed there.”

When Aziraphale gets all wrapped in Crowley’s long limbs, he thinks – not for the first time – that there really is something snake-like about him and that he’s going to need some serious motivation to leave the bed, which is new to him, seeing that he’s not a fan of sleep. Crowley is, though, and the way he cuddles against Aziraphale to absorb his warmth and drifts off easily is a surprisingly soothing experience.

As it turns out, not even two hours later, all the motivation Aziraphale needs to leave the bed and shower is the prospect of a hot shower itself. Crowley joins him, complaining the entire way, until the steaming water hits his skin and the grumbling noises switch into ones indicating deep appreciation. In the meantime, Aziraphale re-appreciates Crowley’s body with his hands and mouth.

He insists they decide on sort of safe words to use when either needs to stop completely or just a little break for whatever reasons (because Crowley’s concerned check-ins are too sweet and too disarming, but he doesn’t tell him that) and Crowley chooses Plato and orange respectively, explaining that ‘Berkeley is too long’ when Aziraphale raises his eyebrow at him.

“Now that we’re properly cleaned,” Crowley begins, shivering with cold as he throws an oversized, black band T-shirt at Aziraphale and pulls a similar piece of clothing over his own head, “I want you to top me.”

Torn between amusement at the phrasing and the thrill of wearing something that belongs to Crowley, no matter how distant it is from his usual style, Aziraphale touches one of the sleeves affectionately with a smile and a short, “Alright, yes.”

Gosh, he hopes that didn’t sound too eager.

“Listen, I―” Crowley breaks off. “Wait, I expected I’d have to do more convincing.”

“Oh, do you want me to say no, so that you can ‘convince’ me?” Aziraphale offers, only half-jokingly.

“No, I don’t want any more coddling.”

“Good.”

“Yeah, it’s― what?! Okay!”

Still, Aziraphale sits on the bed with his back against the wall and insists that Crowley straddle him, at least for his first time, so that he can control the depth and tempo, discover what he likes best without interference from Aziraphale’s personal preferences.

“You just want me to do all the work,” Crowley accuses, gesturing around with the bottle of lubricant, but he settles in Aziraphale’s lap with a feverish look on his face – beautiful eyes glassy, cheeks flushed delicious red.

“Oh, no, you have discovered my diabolical plan,” Aziraphale mocks, good-natured, trying to convince his mind that the fact he’s the first one to do all those things with Crowley is not that arousing. His mind is of a different opinion, however.

Crowley hands him the purple bottle. “More like, the depths of your laziness,” he growls, sounding angry, but Aziraphale can tell he’s being hissy as a principle. “At least prepare me,” he demands.

“With pleasure,” says Aziraphale, already warming the viscous fluid with his fingers.

A soft sound falls from Crowley’s lips before he tilts Aziraphale’s head up and bows down to kiss him hungrily.

With his clean hand splayed over Crowley’s chest – he thinks he might be a little obsessed with the feeling of Crowley’s heartbeat against his skin – he reaches around the lithe body in his lap, slick fingers exploring unhurriedly between the firm cheeks.

When his fingertip catches against the tight little hole, Crowley breaks the kiss with a groan and curses, thighs tensing. He doesn’t use any of the words they agreed on, so Aziraphale presses gently against the furled tissue, licking his lips as Crowley lowers his hips greedily, attempting to take in Aziraphale’s finger, but failing due to Aziraphale withdrawing his hand just enough.

“Angel,” Crowley complains, giving him a look so betrayed it would look comical, if his eagerness weren’t so arousing.

Aziraphale gives in and feels the inviting warmth of Crowley’s body around the tip of his finger, his thoughts circling insistently around the fact that no-one has ever touched Crowley so intimately, and oh, Aziraphale can’t wait to bury himself to the hilt inside this heat― don’t dragons like virgins?

“Hhnngghh,” says Crowley and Aziraphale cannot help but agree as he presses in, slowly, but without a pause, until his whole finger disappears inside. He curls it, searching, until Crowley makes a prolonged sound, something between a sigh and a moan, a string of clear fluid oozing out of his cock at the new stimulation, leaving dark stains on his T-shirt.

It would seem they forgot to take these off.

Aziraphale stares at the precome that keeps leaking from the slit wishing he could lick Crowley’s cock clean and keep licking it until Crowley’s utterly spent. Perhaps another time.

Leaving the gland alone for now, Aziraphale moves his finger in a more thrusting manner until Crowley gasps, hips twitching for a while in little, abortive jerks, and then he’s suddenly fucking himself on Aziraphale’s finger, groaning, curling his hands around Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“Well? Do you feel prepared?” Aziraphale prompts gently.

“Ah!” Crowley looks down between them, eyeing Aziraphale’s cock doubtfully. “Are you sure about stretching with three fingers being a myth?” he asks cautiously.

Huffing a breathless laugh, Aziraphale kisses him, lips soft and tender, holding his head still by the jaw delicately, as he withdraws his finger and immediately comes back with two, swallowing Crowley’s groan.

Not giving him much time to process what’s going on, he adds the third finger to prove his point, feeling Crowley’s entire body tense and then immediately melt against him.

“How about now?” he asks, letting their lips part.

“Fuck,” says Crowley, panting and squirming. There’s a drop of sweat running down the side of his throat and Aziraphale leans up to catch it with his lips. “Someone’s eager,” Crowley adds, his voice a little too weak for the full teasing effect.

“You have no idea,” Aziraphale admits, looking into his eyes.

“Ngk.” Crowley avoids his gaze as if it burns him. “You really are a slut,” he mutters, taking hold of Aziraphale’s cock and sliding off of his fingers.

The words sting for the briefest moment, but Aziraphale remembers that Crowley tends to say all kinds of things when he’s overwhelmed, so maybe he doesn’t really mean it.

“I’m your slut,” he replies with a playful smile to see if he manages to lighten the mood.

It has the opposite effect, it would seem, as Crowley’s eyes shoot back to his face to stare at him, his lips slightly parted.

“I think your true diabolical plan is to kill me.”

“We shall find out by Monday.”

At this, Crowley grins at him, and then his features sharpen in concentration as he raises on his knees, apparently ready for the next part.

“Crowley, dear, wait,” says Aziraphale, alarmed, searching for the bottle of lubricant with one hand and holding Crowley gently by the hip with the other.

“Yes, I know,” Crowley hisses impatiently, pretending he didn’t forget about slicking Aziraphale’s cock.

Definitely not in a mood to argue about who knows what, Aziraphale completes this task himself without a comment. Crowley doesn’t talk either as he finally sinks down onto Aziraphale’s cock, torturously slow and with maddening breaks, really, who’s trying to kill whom, again?

People often assume that Aziraphale has poor self-control, probably something to do with his admittedly hedonistic lifestyle. Generally speaking, he agrees. But he thinks he’s perfectly capable of reining himself in, perhaps with two exceptions – being pushed to his very limits and choosing to surrender his control if he feels safe doing so (he already did that with Crowley).

Focusing on his breathing and watching Crowley’s face for any signs of discomfort, he keeps as still as possible and allows him to move, and what moves they are―

Breathing deeply, admiring the view, staving off his orgasm, teasing Crowley’s nipples and cock – all within his capability.

“Fuck me,” Crowley groans, throwing his head back.

Aziraphale’s eyes wander along the lines of his white, exposed throat. He isn’t entirely sure if Crowley’s words were a request or just a figure of speech, but he decides there’s no harm in trying to find out, so he rocks up into Crowley with measured thrusts, unerringly hitting the prostate once they discover the perfect angle together, and is endlessly happy to hear Crowley – right above his head – spilling absolute filth with his tongue, and then swearing and calling out until he’s finally reduced to broken cries and whimpers.

Aziraphale feels him come, the muscles pulsing around his cock giving away Crowley’s uncharacteristically silent orgasm. He groans, fucking him through it gently, but eventually he has to help Crowley pull off, knowing that further stimulation would be unpleasant to him.

Crowley is boneless and sluggish in his arms and looks at him with such dazed, sex-stupid eyes that Aziraphale can’t help grinning just a tad smugly.

“Shut up,” Crowley mumbles as soon as he’s able to do more than panting.

Aziraphale obediently doesn’t talk, instead leaning up to kiss and lick at Crowley’s neck.

“Next time, I don’t want you to hold back,” says Crowley, touching Aziraphale’s face with a hand covered in streaks of semen.

“You really enjoy ‘marking’ me,” Aziraphale observes, sending him a knowing smile, still somewhat smug.

Crowley blinks at him until he seems to notice what he’s doing, and he bites his lip, as if caught. “Yes,” he admits, following that with a choked sound and resting his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, his other hand reaching between them to caress Aziraphale’s cock with slow strokes.

Moaning softly, Aziraphale presses his face into Crowley’s hair, still wet from the shower, eyes closed.

“What’s in your basket?” Crowley asks and there is an edge to his voice, like he’s suddenly suspicious.

Aziraphale concentrates on the meaning behind words with difficulty. “Wine. Some cheese. Spare clothes, though it looks like I’m not going to need them.”

“Right.” Crowley grins, pointing at his own T-shirt, which belongs in the washing machine, and offers his come-stained fingers for Aziraphale to lick clean, which he sets to with a pleased sigh. “I think we could just spend those two days in the shower, really. Would save us time.”

Aziraphale makes an amused sound at the idea but is also delighted by the thought they still have almost two days of this. His throat throbs painfully, reminding him how exquisitely Crowley fucked it.

Mere minutes later he climaxes, moaning around the long fingers in his mouth.

#Black_Bentley.txt #good omens fanfiction #good omens #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #fic: Introduction to Philosophy – an Inter-Faculty Course

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mrscakeishere · 10 months ago

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⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Beta Reviews!

"I can't stop laughing!" "Hot hot hot!!!" "That poor electrical socket looks positively scandalized!"

Polycakes (Me and Polychrome, aka @polychromicron-persei-8) hurled another fanfic grenade into the @goodomensafterdark Smut War with Sensors and Sensibility (rated Explicit, CW: semi-public sex, anal sex). Read on for summary and excerpt!

Sensors and Sensibility

Despite Crowley shooting a little too fast and furious, he and Aziraphale have had a steamy first year.

Soho, on the other hand, is miserable.

Turns out, paranormal coitus has the uncanny ability to interfere with the Internet of Things, playing havoc with smart things throughout the neighbourhood.

In an attempt to solve the “celestial sex problem,” Nina floats the idea of a romantic dinner somewhere far away, selling it as the ideal remedy to boost Crowley’s mojo.

The question is, will some delayed gratification improve their sex lives—and can they keep it in their pants long enough to find out?

Excerpt:

For creatures who had been alive since the beginning of time, Aziraphale and Crowley were embarrassingly inexperienced when it came to sex. Sure, they had seen it—you couldn’t go anywhere during those first seven days on Earth without witnessing Adam and Eve sticking something in one hole or another—but neither angel nor demon had ever partaken in such activities until after the Second Coming.1 As well-established virgins,2 everything was exciting and new; every intimate moment was the best sex that they had ever had.3

Of course, to the well-trained eye, much of what Aziraphale and Crowley engaged in was relatively vanilla, consisting of mundane positions, erratic pacing, flailing limbs, and a higher than usual—but not completely unhealthy—frequency of premature ejaculation.

Regardless of partaking in the sort of lovemaking that would disappoint a beginner voyeur, Aziraphale and Crowley felt satiated. In fact, they were so wrapped up in the thrill of their newfound sex lives and their steamy honeymoon period that they had spent an entire year engaging in sex and very little else.

This had not gone unnoticed by the neighbours.

This was not entirely true. Aziraphale actually had one experience getting his willy sucked while attending Portland Place. He had never had the heart to tell Crowley though, who had taken great pride in believing that he had been Aziraphale’s first time.

Well, Crowley was a virgin.

Even though it was, for the most part, the only sex they had ever had.

Continue reading on Ao3 for Crowley and Aziraphale's coffee needs, romantic dinner date, and the impact of their sexual congress on smart and automated things.

#polycakes #ineffable smut war #ineffable idiots #ineffable husbands #good omens after dark #GOAD smut war #GOAD #crowley #aziraphale #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #good omens #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #geoducks and coffee make appearances

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topaziraphale · 1 year ago

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Goddd. What happens if we get another kiss in S3? What if there's more than one?? What if their next kiss is such a messy, inexperienced, but otherwise passionate one again, but this time it's Aziraphale initiating it? What if there's a timeskip at the end and it's them living in the South Downs and there's a gentle kiss done with such ease that shows how both of them are no strangers to human-like affection anymore? What if we get a dramatic hug during like, a high-stakes battle or something? The fact that the door is even open now to them even trying affection through physical touch leaves me flatlined. Like if they hug I will literally cease to exist.

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #a/c #every day... it's getting closer????#derpy speaks #they're not human they're not built with that innate instinct to get all those endorphins #from holding hands or hugging. no need for the benefits of just holding someone you care for like that. or ARENT THERE?#and they do it anyway 😭#been on earth for 6k years and they're still going native

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depraveddame · 5 months ago

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Tempt, my omegaverse glory hole fic, is now posted!

It was inevitable, perhaps, that I’d dip my toes into omegaverse- I’m easily squicked by a lot of common omegaverse elements, so I’ve changed a lot of typical tropes in order to create more of what I have been referring to as my ‘hedonismverse’- a modern day omegaverse that's evolved as far as sex and pleasure with little to no emphasis on reproduction. No angst for once 😂 everyone is happy, healthy, and horny as fuck.

Some CWs: omegaverse, alpha Aziraphale, omega Crowley, D/s, glory hole, oral knotting, wet & messy, praise/degradation/humiliation, implied open relationships/non monogamy, scent kink, boot grinding - please read the rest of the tags on AO3 for more!

Excerpt:

His companion smells fucking divine— Crowley’s mouth waters like a slutty fountain as he breathes in deeply and takes in the fragrance of dark, sweet cocoa that’s spiked with cayenne pepper and something jammy on the end, like a lush, full bodied red wine of some sort, blackberries or currants crushed in a glass that’s been stained with the blood of its juice and doused in the tannic kiss of wine and chocolate. It’s all wrapped in the heady scent of want, it’s cloaked by the musky, smoky quality of alpha pheromones and the clear, overarching note of I’m going to ruin you, omega, and you’ll thank me for it.

And Crowley will— he most certainly, certainly will.

The shoes finally make their way to stand in front of the wall between them, and the open space beneath shows Crowley black leather and grey tartan tweed balmoral boots— they’re expensive and beautiful, undoubtedly bespoke, and his tongue itches with the desire to slide along the contour of their toes.

“I—” there’s a beat before the alpha continues, and the hesitation of an internal conflict registers in Crowley’s sensitive ears, “forgive me, I don’t wish to assume or offend, but I must ask— you’re here of your own volition, am I correct? You’re not being…coerced in any way, to be here, yes?”

Even his voice is delicious, Crowley thinks before he registers he’s being asked a question, and his brow furrows. He’d just been about to beg for this stranger to please get on with it and fuck his mouth, but the hint of nervousness that permeates the arousal in the room has him pausing�� for the first time, he picks up on the smell of old, well worn leather, and maybe something earthy and woodsy— perhaps paper.

Books.

“First time at an upscale sex club?” Crowley asks loftily, a little incredulous. It would be very unlikely for someone inexperienced in the scene to be accepted for membership here, but it could happen, he supposes, with the right sway.

There’s a slight, huffy scoff that borders on irritated above him.

“First time at this particular establishment, yes,” the voice continues, and Crowley would categorize its tone as lightly irked as well as anxious, “and while things have improved exponentially within the last two decades or so for such things, I know you’re an omega, and while this business seems extremely reputable thus far, you’ll have to indulge a jaded old alpha who has seen far too many of your gender forced into similar situations they’d rather not be in.”

Crowley sits stunned for a few seconds, nonplussed, as he considers the alpha’s speech.

I hope you’ll enjoy this slutty and smutty fic!

@goodomensafterdark

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #good omens fanfiction #aziracrow #omegaverse #alpha Aziraphale #omega Crowley #this is so filthy and indulgent #goodomensafterdark

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humbledragon669 · 5 months ago

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S1E3 – Hard Times Write Up P3 - Paris (1793) and St. James’s Park (1862)

Alright, first thing’s first for this scene. For those of you that haven’t seen the script, the translation of the executioner’s entrance speech is as follows:

Ah, the music of the blade, and the joy of the people. Beautiful, no? Now, let us inspect your neck.

Alas, nothing of hidden meaning there. Something I did pick up on when I was watching this scene back is that just after the executioner’s (Jean-Claude) entrance, an execution takes place offscreen. It’s talked about, and we are informed that the victim here was female. In what seems to be a really dark bit of humour here, it actually sounds like this is a botched execution. The audio for this scene is below - you’ll need to listen carefully as the script continues over the background soundtrack, but to me it sounds like we hear the falling of the blade, followed by a female scream that does not stop when we hear the thump of the guillotine hitting its target.

Jean-Claude even laments over the poor work that the executioner does, and that Aziraphale is lucky that he will not be executed by the inexperienced knave. I have a pretty dark sense of humour, but even I feel like I would rather believe the screams we can hear are of a spectator, perhaps a loved one of the condemned, distressed at the scene. *shudder*

Moving on to something a bit lighter, we have a reminder of the noise we should be associating with Crowley’s time freeze miracles – that little wobble board noise played over the miracle whoosh (not to mention the underlying tingly sort of noise that can be heard throughout the scene as the time freeze stays in place). Just why Aziraphale doesn’t realise that Jean-Claude has frozen until Crowley actually speaks is a mystery to me. Too caught up in his own impending administrative perils perhaps. What is less mysterious is how the angel feels about Crowley’s unannounced arrival in his cell.

There’s no denying that Aziraphale is delighted that Crowley has appeared – that little smile is pure reflex and he all but breathes his name. I’m sure some people will read it as relief as his friend showing up just when he needs help, but I am not one of them. The painfully obvious once over that he gives Crowley tells us everything we need to know about Aziraphale’s true feelings here. And then there’s that “good Lord” line – it’s not the only time we hear somebody refer to Crowley in this way. It’s an interesting choice of words for sure and if it wasn’t for the way that the angel is drooling looking at Crowley, who I should point out hasn’t exactly positioned himself in what one might call a demure pose, I’d say that he was trying to sound disdainful.

We’re treated to the first (chronologically speaking) mention of the book shop in this scene. There are a couple of other sources that fill in some gaps for us on this front – Neil himself confirmed that Aziraphale bought the land for the shop in the 1630s and the Script Book contains a deleted scene that shows the book shop would be opened in 1800. Seeing as it’s a feature of the series that will become so integral, it’s nice that we’re given a bit of its backstory.

We’re also given a bit of insight to Aziraphale’s insatiable appetite for human food in this scene. Whilst we as the audience have already been given some context around this, it’s only now we see just how strong his attachment to food is. After all, he abandoned his book shop opening plans and travelled to Paris at the height of a revolution that targeted the aristocracy whilst dressed head-to-toe in finery just to get some crepes. Crowley’s expression of disbelief when he finds out that this foolish errand has been driven by pastry-lust feels as though it embodies the thought process of everyone bearing witness to this conversation:

Aziraphale doesn’t appear to think his actions are out of order though. What’s interesting is that his attention is engaged not by the dressing-down he’s receiving, but by Crowley’s use of a particular phrase:

There’s an incredibly subtle eyebrow raise at Crowley’s use of the word “nibble” – it comes a split second before he talks about Aziraphale’s choice of clothing. It’s a real blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, so I cut it and slowed it down a little to demonstrate:

As if the angel hadn’t given enough of a clue about how he’s feeling about Crowley’s presence. Honestly, he needs to tell his face to stop giving away his heart’s desires so obviously. Though I’m not sure how much of his heart is involved in that flirty little expression.

At this point we find out that Aziraphale has been reprimanded for performing too many frivolous miracles, to which Crowley responds that the angel is lucky he was in the area. This does raise an interesting question about Crowley always being around when Aziraphale most needs him.

There’s something quite knowing about this exchange – as if they know luck really didn’t have anything to do with it. I don’t think that they were in Paris together, or that Aziraphale even knew Crowley was in Paris - the bit of the conversation about the book shop opening and Crowley’s disbelief at the purpose of the trip is enough for me to believe Aziraphale genuinely didn’t know of the other’s proximity. I do however think that it’s unlikely this is the first time that Crowley has “conveniently” been in just the right place at the right time for Aziraphale, and that they both know there’s more at play than luck. My money’s on Crowley always knowing exactly where Aziraphale is, somehow managing to keep tabs on him in a non-creepy way, purely because he knows the angel has an uncanny knack for getting into trouble. For confirmation of his love of being Aziraphale’s knight in shining armour, see season 2, episode 5.

Right before we see the manacles miraculously fall off Aziraphale’s wrists, we can, if we’re really eagle-eyed, see another one of those micro-expressions that betray Aziraphale’s feelings. It’s off the back of Crowley’s indignant response that he has somehow been entirely responsible for the Reign of Terror currently occupying Paris. It’s minute, but it conveys so much to me – Aziraphale knows that Crowley isn’t really interested in causing anything so heinous and is basking in being reminded of that.

It’s worth noting the leagues of difference in Crowley’s reaction to being told “thank you for the rescue” and being called “nice” as we saw in episode 2. Here he simply (vehemently) tells the angel not to say “rescue”. No violence, no grabbing of lapels, no hissing in Aziraphale’s face. The words might be different, but the sentiment is most definitely the same, and yet the two reactions are light years apart. If I might be forgiven for referring to my own head canon for a moment, this actually makes sense. As a reminder, it’s my belief that Crowley and Aziraphale actually form a romantic relationship as of the day of Adam’s birth, some 200+ years in the future from Paris. This reaction we see from Crowley in the Bastille is a genuine and simple one, whereas (I believe) the wall slam at Tadfield Manor is the beginning of some sexual role play. It’s no wonder the two reactions are so different really. That said, I do not think Aziraphale isn’t playing some sort of role play game here – his insistence that he was unable to miracle himself out of the cell is rudely undermined when he performs a “frivolous miracle” just to change his clothes so that the two of them can go to lunch together. If Crowley’s preference for playing the hero was known to him, it suddenly makes sense why Aziraphale wouldn’t just miracle himself out of the cell, safe in the knowledge that Crowley would do it for him. He even defends his choice to miracle his own clothes to the demon, and it’s a pretty weak excuse.

I think it’s just a shame we don’t see Crowley’s face when he hears this, but what we do see is Aziraphale’s expression of resignation when he realises that he has to miracle his own change of clothes. It’s as if he knows the game has come to an end so now he has to stop the pretence of not being able to help himself. It’s charming really. What’s also interesting is that in switching clothes with Jean-Claude, he condemns the man to an almost instant death, yet he seems to have no qualms about the consequences of his actions in the slightest. He doesn’t even react to Crowley’s little dig that Jean-Claude was “asking for trouble” dressed in Aziraphale’s clothes.

The last exchange of this scene still delivers with subtext – it’s interesting that Crowley asks Aziraphale what’s for lunch whilst showing no preference whatsoever. He doesn’t even look affected when the angel declares joyfully that crepes are the first thing on his mind. Given that I believe Crowley to take much more pleasure in watching Aziraphale eat than eating himself, I think this question more likely means “what do I get to watch you eat for lunch?”. It’s a pleasant, light way to end this scene, which has had its fair share of dark humour squirreled away in its corners.

The first thing I noticed about this scene is that the placard announcing the date and location are different from all the other instances where this device is used. Firstly, both the location and date are on the same side of the sign. Secondly, this instance is the only one that doesn’t thrust itself upon the camera lens, instead being submerged in water. It stands out as being different, but I don’t know that there’s anything of meaning in it other than it’s used as a way to set the scene.

Speaking of setting the scene, we have another instance of David Arnold’s musical mastery with his treatment of the main theme for the soundtrack as we zoom in on Crowley and Aziraphale. The use of the harpsichord gives it a more Baroque feel, rather than being of the Romantic period that 1862 would actually fall into. To me it summons thoughts of Austen-era balls and olde-world courtships with their highly formal etiquette, all which would have taken place about 100 years prior to this scene, so I do find it interesting that it’s been chosen to orchestrate the theme in this way. Nevertheless, it’s a very pretty arrangement and definitely makes us feel that we’re still in England in a time when society had strict rules that needed to be adhered to.

Quick side note: the jacket Aziraphale is wearing in this scene appears to be the same one from the paintballing scene, which he says he has owned for over 180 years. This scene takes place approximately 155 years before the present day of this season, so even at this point he’s already owned that jacket for more than 25 years.

There’s a strange formality between the two of them in this scene, right from the start. Crowley doesn’t even look at Aziraphale as they’re talking to one another, staring stubbornly straight ahead.

Crowley opens the conversation with, what I think, is a really strange line:

What if it all goes wrong? We’ve got a lot in common, you and me…

It consists of two very different ideas that I just can’t seem to make have meaning when you put them together in one sentence. Not only that, I can’t even really make much sense out of the second part of the sentence – it just makes me want to utter the age-old phrase “and…?”. If anybody has any ideas on this one, I’m all ears.

This weirdly awkward meeting continues with Aziraphale’s belittling of Crowley from his first words, which he tries to shrug off, only to have the angel continue to make light of their companionship, claiming that the only thing their partnership is good for is to satisfy the agreement, making sure they “stay out of each other’s way”. This whole interaction just feels so out of character for the pair, particularly given that we’ve just seen them gleefully heading off to have lunch together not 30 seconds previously.

Crowley’s summation of his fall from Heaven here could be telling us a lot about his state of mind when he was still an angel – to me it sounds as if he’s saying that his mindset hasn’t actually shifted very far, and that it wasn’t a sharp sudden descent into his demonic state of being but a gradual (and willing) move. It’s a very different point of view from what we know Aziraphale holds: that there are only two states of being for ethereal beings – good or evil. It’s something we see a lot throughout the series – the comparison of the two opposing opinions on morality, along with the idea that Crowley is much happier in his “limbo” state than Aziraphale, who constantly fights against the notion that he is anything other than purely good.

Despite the fact that it’s painfully obvious that Crowley is really struggling with what he’s asking (there’s a little gulp before he mentions things going pear-shaped that says an awful lot, not to mention the attempts at deflection with his talk of ears), Aziraphale really isn’t listening to his friend in the slightest. Apart from the word “pears”. Surely Crowley should know by now that any use of food-related language is going to send the angel into fantasyland?

Aziraphale really proves that he hasn’t been listening at the point where he finally starts paying attention, though in an ironic twist he has to ask Crowley what he’s been talking about. The further ironic twist is that he starts listening at exactly the point that Crowley will only communicate his needs in writing (I’m not sure why it was necessary to write down the words “holy water” when they’re standing in broad daylight having a conversation out loud…). He’s clearly distressed at Crowley’s request though and his instant refusal to get him what he wants prompts the demon to look at him, albeit briefly, for the first time in this scene.

As little light side note here, I love how Crowley’s handwriting looks so childish on the slip of paper he hands to Aziraphale:

It feels so appropriate for his character that, even after 6000 years, he really has no interest in investing time to improve his writing skills. And what’s with the underline? Trying to convey how important he feels his request is? Whatever the reason, it just compounds the idea that this note was written with someone with the emotional IQ of an amoeba, which is far from the case.

We start to see how distressed Aziraphale is at what he thinks Crowley is asking for at this point.

He impassioned plea comes complete with a little gasping breath before he speaks that’s almost heartbreaking. What I find really interesting about the way he handles this situation is that his distress turns to anger very quickly. When he tells Crowley that he would be in trouble if their liaisons were ever discovered, I read that as him appealing to the demon to try and remind him that they are both at risk doing what they’re doing. Not only that, but there’s no way that he’s going to provide Crowley with an “easy” way out, which I suspect is his way of telling the demon that he doesn’t get to leave him behind. Pity he has to use a word that’s pretty aggravatory to try and hammer his point home – I think his choice would likely be driven by what Heaven would call their meetings, rather than how he sees them, but Crowley has already been told he can’t have what he’s asking for and is in no mood to allow Aziraphale any slip ups at this point.

That word clearly rubs Crowley up the wrong way (and rightly so I say, fancy trivialising 6000 years of companionship in as base a way as to call it “fraternising”). In his defence, Aziraphale does try to take it back, but it’s too late – they’re both too emotional charged at this point to see any sense. Crowley’s scathing response that he has plenty of other people he can “fraternise” with is perhaps not meant as a snipe to undermine their friendship further, but an angry declaration that whilst he might do that with others, it is not how he would choose to describe the interactions with the angel. If that is the subtext, Aziraphale misses it, seeing only the insinuation that Crowley is claiming he has plenty of people he can hang around with, making him less important.

Despite the seriousness of the subject matter driving the argument, we are once again leaving this location and time period with a bit of lightness.

My instinctive response to Aziraphale’s awkward storming off and disposal of Crowley’s note, along with Crowley’s snotty closing remark? A little groan followed by the disdainful muttering of “bloody children…”.

As always, comments, questions, discussions, all welcome!

#good omens #episode analysis #aziracrow #good omens season 1 #ineffable idiots #ineffable husbands #head canon #aziraphale loves food #aziraphale loves crowley #good omens soundtrack #soundtrack #ost #aziraphale's bookshop #aziraphale #crowley

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amaliazeichnerin · 4 months ago

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Not separating the art from the artist

July 29, 2024

When the news about the allegations against Neil Gaiman broke at the beginning of July, I was shocked. In this text, I’ll write some thoughts about this. I’ll put links down below, in the footnotes.

I listened to the podcast that broke the news (1), all four episodes. I later read a bit about it on Reddit (2) and listened to an extensive video (YouTube channel Council of Geeks, footnote 3).

Then I read that another woman had come forward, talking about her experiences with Gaiman ten years ago, in another podcast (4). I also read about rumours how questionable behaviour of Gaiman towards young female fans has been a thing for decades.

And he has admitted to some of what one of these women, Scarlett, has said – having a consensual relationship with her.

Well, even if the relationship (and other similar ones) has been completely consensual - which I doubt after listening to Scarlett’s experiences and what the other two women said - there still is a strange power dynamic at play: A wealthy, privileged older man and at least three young, inexperienced women, two of them fans who likely were to some extend starstruck by the attention he gave them. And Scarlett was employed as the nanny of his child.

In my eyes, this kind of power dynamic in a relationship is unethical, especially given all the details in those podcast episodes.

Why am I writing about this here? I have a hard time with „separating the art from the artist“. Some time ago, I have written a blog in German why. (5) I used to be a fan of the Sandman series and the Good Omens series. I also like the Dead Boy Detectives series and I watched and read American Gods.

I think the connection between the Dead Boy Detectives Netflix series and Neil Gaiman is not that strong, because while he has written a part of one episode as far as I heard and has created the characters for the Comic books, he wasn’t that much involved in the creation of the Netflix series. They also changed the two main characters quite a bit, as far as I know, for instance making them older.

When it comes to Good Omes, Gaiman was heavily involved in creating the series. I used to love it. I wrote an alternative universe fanfiction about it, I created some fan artworks and two cosplays. I also bought some fan artwork and hung it on my wall. I also love how Michael Sheen and David Tennant portray the main characters. However, after these news about Gaiman, „Good Omens“ feels … tainted to me. I lost my enthusiasm about the show. I have to admit about season three that I was mainly interested in a happy ending for Aziraphale and Crowley, preferably a romantic one. At this point, I do not much care for the rest of the plot. So far, there haven’t been any news that season three gets cancelled because of this controversy. So we’ll have to wait how that goes on.

But there is more, and here is where it sort of gets a bit more personal. „Good Omens“ inspired an urban fantasy novel I wrote last year and want to publish next year. I even wrote an acknowledgment in the book thanking Neil Gaiman for the inspiration, but I have deleted that now. I have written that acknowledgment also this June in a question to Neil Gaiman here on Tumblr, but I now hope that he never sees or answers it.

As for Sandman, I am not sure anymore if I want to watch the second season which is said to come out some time in 2025.

I have never bought books or comics of Neil Gaiman, except for an e-book of „American Gods“ and a print copy of "Good Omens" which I both bought last year. But I have deleted the e-book some days ago. I used to read some of his books from our local library, back in the early 2000s.

I am going to keep my copy of „Good Omens“, because at least half of it was written by Terry Pratchett. And so far, I haven’t heard about any controversies about that author.

I would like to close this blog with a German article from a SFF website why we shouldn’t put famous popular authors on pedestals: https://www.tor-online.de/magazin/mehr-phantastik/neil-gaiman-und-co-wir-muessen-aufhoeren-menschen-auf-ein-podest-zu-stellen

Addendum August 2, 2024 Two more women have come forward with allegations, in a new podcast episode: https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast/master-the-allegations-against-neil-gaiman/id1756088562?i=1000663998586

Btw, if after all you are still a Neil Gaiman fan and enjoy his works – you do you. But please do not reblog this to come to his defense, do not comment, do not message me. Just scroll on. I am not going to discuss this any further.

Footnotes: (1) „Master: The Allegations against Neil Gaiman“ by The Slow Newscast Episode 1 of 4: https://open.spotify.com/episode/1NxQdD9F1vb4YxtAPEiI5J

(2) https://www.reddit.com/r/neilgaimanuncovered/

(3) "About those Neil Gaiman allegations (and the outlet that broke the story)" by Council of Geeks: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xmeEXDFM8I

(4) Podcast „Am I Broken: Survivor Stories“ by Papillon DeBoer Season 4, Episode 2 https://open.spotify.com/episode/47enk8V96GGkJtXEgwpXbs (5) Blog: „Muss man die Kunstschaffenden von ihrer Kunst trennen?“ https://amalia-zeichnerin.net/muss-man-die-kunstschaffenden-von-ihrer-kunst-trennen/

This is also interesting: „Manufacturing consent“ by Annabel Ross https://politicsdancingxyz.substack.com/p/manufacturing-consent

Rollingstone Article: https://www.rollingstone.com/culture/culture-news/neil-gaiman-denies-sexual-assault-allegations-two-women-1235053131/

A round-up with a time line of everything going on with the allegations, reactions and more: https://muccamukk.dreamwidth.org/1678972.html Transcripts of the Tortoise Media podcast as PDFs for free download (TW: graphic descriptions of SA) https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1CuFVjs06gtQcPhhUEeR4GMORY37iMfz3

Addendum August 31, 2024 Two more episodes of "Master: The Allegations against Neil Gaiman" have come out, with more women coming foward with allegations.

Vera from "Council of Geeks" has done a second video on the topic.

#neil gaiman allegations #tw neil gaiman #believe victims

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gray-omens · 1 year ago

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part of me wants Crowley and Aziraphale to be SO bad at kissing it's like two inexperienced teens in a disney xd episode

#they think they're so good at it but it's okay no one tells them #ineffable husbands #good omens #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable idiots #good omens headcanons

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fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic · 3 months ago

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Good Omens Fic Rec: Middle of Nowhere Tennessee

Aziraphale is finally escaping. He's going out to search for a happiness he knew a long time ago. Thirty years ago, Azalea Easton is on a summer trip with her parents when she meets a freckled redhead named Crowley. They hit it off immediately and are joined at the hip for the rest of the summer. Now. Az has changed a lot. Has been through so much. For one thing, he's a man. As he finds himself in the middle of nowhere Tennessee, looking to start over, he runs into an old friend. One he may have had much stronger feelings for than he thought.

Length: 17,879 Words

AO3 Rating: Explicit/ Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥

Best for: Mostly Safe in Public, Human AU, Romance

Triggers: None/Gender Dysphoria

Read it here, fic by Worrynoodles

*Minor Spoilers* I am once again asking you to read an American AU. I'm sorry for being an American, but it can work for me!! Especially southern/Appalachian settings. In this story Aziraphale, a repressed and inexperienced trans man searching for a new beginning, has moved to the middle of nowhere of Tennessee. He has incredibly fond memories of the place, and of the red headed boy he met there one summer. I love the romance of it all, the serendipity, and the red tie that binds them. I will never tire of a romantic story like this. A story of two queer men reconnecting and finding love and hope in an environment that is not usually welcome to them will always get me.

There's just an earnestness and kindness to this story that I really enjoyed. Plus, this authors art of Aziraphale is hot daddy and I'm in love with him. There are sex scenes towards the end of the story but you should be fine in public with most of it. I don't want to spoil it but towards the end, Crowley's gift to Aziraphale was the sweetest and most thoughtful thing ever and I can't get over that moment. It's something that on the surface might not seem important, but it is. There is a knowing, and acceptance, and love in that gift. So you're just going to have to read it and find out what I'm talking about!

Read it here, fic by Worrynoodles

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #fanfic rec #aziracrow #good omens fic rec #aziraphale x crowley #Middle of Nowhere Tennessee #Worrynoodles #human au #american au #trans character #mechanic au #three flames #short #romance #mostly safe in public

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black-bentley-niatruc · 2 months ago

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Fic

Title: The Mind-Body Problem [part 1/3]

[A bonus smutty thing happening between chapters 20 and 21 of my main Human AU fic]

Fandom: Good Omens

Category: M/M

Relationship: Aziraphale/Crowley

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: filthy smut, check below for any squeaks/no-no's

Words: 4082

Originally published: 2024-05-27

Summary

“I want you inside of me, if… if that’s something you’d be amenable to,” his angel whispers, glancing into Crowley’s eyes, heart-meltingly bashful.

Unable to help himself, Crowley repeats with amusement, “Amenable.”

Human AU, Crowley and Aziraphale try new things in their relationship

That's it, that's the fic; can be read as a standalone

As soon as Aziraphale walks through the door to Crowley’s flat on Friday evening, he sets a familiar-looking wooden basket on the floor and wraps his arms around Crowley’s neck, kissing him hungrily.

Which is understandable, really.

Ever since they returned to the continent, there were no kisses and only a few fleeting touches, no public displays of affection – and now Crowley feels like he’s starving.

During the last three or so days, he’s brought himself to climax to the thought of Aziraphale so many times he lost count, partially because he couldn’t stop thinking about everything they’ve done together so far and all the things they haven’t, yet, but also hoping that he’d be able to fucking last a little longer today.

His glorious plan might get thwarted soon, he realises as Aziraphale rubs his hardening length against Crowley’s thigh in a slow, deliberate movement with an accompanying little sound that goes straight to Crowley’s cock, making it pulse with intense arousal.

If only they could move in more than three dimensions – then getting to the bedroom, onto the bed, while simultaneously kissing, undressing, and holding onto each other like men drowning would have been so much easier. As it is, they have to give the tiniest part of their attention to the surrounding world in order not to get some unplanned bruises or worse injuries.

“I’m prepared!” Crowley announces, torn between proud and nervous, once they’ve reached their destination, showing Aziraphale a bottle of lube.

After all, his angel might not approve of this kind of level of presumptuousness.

But the pupils in those blue eyes grow so huge at the implications that Aziraphale looks high out of his mind even before Crowley sets the bottle back on the bedside table.

“Mm, good, I’m prepared as well, so to speak,” says Aziraphale, his cheeks reddening slightly as he squirms minutely where he’s seated on Crowley’s bed.

Crowley’s mind wanders to the contents of the wooden basket, but gets distracted when Aziraphale pulls him into another heated kiss and guides them until Crowley’s lying on top of him, one of Aziraphale’s thighs between his legs.

“I want you inside of me, if... if that’s something you’d be amenable to,” his angel whispers, glancing into Crowley’s eyes, heart-meltingly bashful.

Unable to help himself, Crowley repeats with amusement, “Amenable.”

His cock leaks precome at the mere idea, and here’s Aziraphale asking if Crowley’s amenable to something he’s been dreaming of – day and night – for weeks.

Misreading Crowley’s reaction, Aziraphale attempts to backpedal, “But of course there are other―”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley interrupts him, brushing his fingertips against those pretty sensitive lips. “I am more than... amenable.” Aziraphale beams, but of course that’s the moment Crowley’s concerns come back to eat away at his certainty. “Only... I’ve never...”

“I know,” Aziraphale reminds him, quickly. This time he reads Crowley’s hesitation correctly. “You won’t break me, dearest,” he assures, gently kissing Crowley’s fingers.

“I’m afraid I’ll come as soon as I’m inside you,” Crowley confesses his other worry with a nervous, mournful laugh.

Aziraphale licks his lips, his perfect tongue catching on Crowley’s middle finger. “Well, it’s not a once in a lifetime thing. But I’d be more than happy to help you... take the edge off, before we get to this part,” he offers. “We have time, don’t we?”

“Brilliant; you’re a literal genius,” Crowley chokes out once he hears this solution, so obvious that it never occurred to him. They have time. They have privacy, too. “Do I get to hear you tonight?” he asks, before tracing kisses and licks down his angel’s neck, breathing in the scent of his skin.

Head spinning, he can feel the shiver that runs down Aziraphale’s body. “Most likely.”

Fuck, yes. Finally.

Propping himself up on his hands, Crowley leans away to have a good look at his angel and decide what he’d like to do to ‘take the edge off’, since, for someone who claims to be selfish, Aziraphale has been nothing if not accommodating, repeatedly insisting that the beginnings of their explorations should be about Crowley, about him figuring out what he enjoys most with Aziraphale’s enthusiastic guidance.

Crowley has seen his share of porn, but there was always something about it – the lack of connection, perhaps – that, while doing the job of making him aroused, would also put him off, so he mostly watched out of curiosity, in a way one might see an educational (if not scientifically accurate) program. What it led to is Crowley having some general ideas about things that can be done, things he might like to try, and things he definitely doesn’t.

Of course, his head is empty now.

He wants... oh, how he wants, yes, but he might be in need of a more directive approach from Aziraphale, who seems content to patiently map the skin over Crowley’s sides with reverent fingertips, tracing the shallow hollows between the ribs so gently it almost tickles.

Opening his mouth to admit he can’t decide what to do, Crowley notices the pink nipples, deliciously hardened, and immediately gets distracted.

Aziraphale whispers something that sounds like ‘Gorgeous’ when Crowley straightens and moves to straddle him, seating himself comfortably on the soft thighs, cheeks burning pleasantly at the praise.

“Alright?” he mutters, rubbing his hands against Aziraphale’s chest, and is rewarded with a soft sigh.

He squeezes the pecs together, thumbs teasing at the nipples, his touches getting more insistent and forceful by the minute, until he moves his gaze to Aziraphale’s face to check if he’s not being too rough, and he’s met with a dark stare, quite certain the heat in those hooded, lust-filled eyes could burn him into ashes if he doesn’t look away―

Mercifully, Aziraphale breaks eye contact, glancing at his own chest and licking his kiss-swollen lips. And then he looks back at Crowley’s face with that burning intensity offering an idea, “Do you want to fuck me like this?”

Crowley isn’t sure what he means, because he gets positively bewitched with the captivating way Aziraphale pronounced the word ‘fuck’ – it’s how temptation sounds, for sure – until he notices the valley he’s created between Aziraphale’s pecs and he realises his cock would fit there nicely, indeed, and he lets out a choked out, “Bloody hell, angel.”

The blush on Aziraphale’s cheeks darkens and he squirms uncomfortably, apologising for being ‘crass’ and assuring Crowley that ‘they don’t have to―’, apparently interpreting Crowley’s astonished silence as him being scandalised by the offer.

In reality, Crowley is the opposite of scandalised. He just doesn’t have the words to express the things his angel does to him – the fire rushing through his blood vessels, the affection squeezing at his chest, the stupidly annoyed ‘Why didn’t I think of this first?’.

“Yes, yes, I want to,” he says quickly, his cock so hard it aches. “But only if it’s something you’d enjoy, too.”

The way Aziraphale beams at him is enough to assure him that his angel expects to enjoy himself very much, indeed. His hands help steady Crowley as he shuffles up Aziraphale’s body, heart hammering in anticipation. He remembers the feeling of the thick thighs squeezing around his cock as he thrusted between them and then came over the pale skin of Aziraphale’s buttocks. He thinks about marking all of his angel this way and feels just a little bad about being so dirty and possessive.

One of Aziraphale’s hands disappears from his hip and he makes an embarrassing, pathetic sound at the loss, but it turns out it was just to reach for the lube.

Yeah, won’t hurt to use it, now that they’re prepared, Crowley agrees internally, unscrewing the lid with almost-not-trembling fingers.

“You really are a spoiled pillow princess, aren’t you?” he mutters, slicking his cock with practised ease, realising that Aziraphale isn’t doing much work here, looking very comfortable, watching the show with hungry eyes and a soft smile.

“Oh, you want to see me in action?” he asks with a grin that holds a challenge in it – as if Crowley is expected to earn himself that – even as he pushes at the sides of his broad, soft chest.

Very pointedly, Crowley forbids his mind to go Places right now. He’ll learn what Aziraphale meant soon enough, he hopes. Just stick to the original plan, he thinks, pressing his cock between Aziraphale’s breasts and watching his angel close his eyes and tilt his head back with a shuddering sigh. Make yourself come like this, Crowley tells himself, thrusting experimentally. Come over his chest and neck and maybe face. Ask him first, though; it’s only polite. He adjusts his position and thrusts again. So fucking good.

As if in agreement, Aziraphale moans quietly. Crowley notices two perfectly manicured nails pinching one of the nipples and he bites his lip.

Oh, it’s a good thing his hands are free, he realises with a devious smirk that escapes his angel’s attention. Reaching behind himself, he wraps his lube-slickened fingers around Aziraphale’s cock, eliciting a soft growl. At the sound, Crowley’s hips change their movement from slow and grinding to something faster, more desperate.

The squeeze and slide of slick flesh around his cock is exquisite, the sounds of undeniable, inexplicable pleasure coming from Aziraphale a music to his ears: shuddering breaths and encouraging whispers urging him to keep going, yes, don’t stop―

It’s a little difficult to coordinate, but with his other hand, Crowley touches Aziraphale’s face, knuckles ghosting over the slightly parted lips. Predictably, his angel gasps and attempts to wrap them around Crowley’s fingers. Groaning loudly, Crowley doesn’t let him, teasing mercilessly. He can feel Aziraphale’s legs moving subtly as he squirms underneath Crowley’s weight.

He can’t take it any more, the pressure low in his belly threatening to burst, his cock throbbing with an impending release.

With a feral grunt, Crowley grabs Aziraphale’s shoulders for leverage, bringing himself off with rapid, powerful thrusts spurred on by sighs of undeniable pleasure and whispered endearments, feeling his heart drown in warmth at the sweet ‘I want you to feel good’ and his soul shatter at the unexpected, broken ‘Yes, please, use me’, until it’s just pure ecstasy, nerve endings exploding, pleasure spreading through him in rhythmic waves.

Panting, dazed, and thoroughly satisfied, Crowley slides off Aziraphale to kiss him desperately and wrap his limbs around the soft body, when his angel obediently turns to his side, returning the kisses and touches alike.

“Fuuuck,” Crowley groans, one of his hands pressing into Aziraphale’s chest, feeling his heartbeat and the mess of lube over the hot skin. Wait. “Sorry, I forgot to ask you...” He bites his lip, fingers swiping over his own come where most of it pooled in the hollow below Aziraphale’s throat.

In response, he receives a playful wink and an absurdly innocent smile as Aziraphale’s fingers join his own to smear the pearly seed over his collarbone. His angel is a walking paradox and Crowley doesn’t mind.

“How much time do you usually need?” Aziraphale asks, before kissing him on the lips again, successfully preventing Crowley from giving the answer.

Not that he’s got one. Usually, he doesn’t wait to see when he’s ready for another round. Usually, he comes all alone, which is a thought that he suddenly cannot bear.

“Nnn,” he mewls pitifully into Aziraphale’s hot mouth.

His angel pulls back, takes one look at him, and wordlessly gathers him impossibly closer, planting kisses over Crowley’s forehead and rubbing his hand up and down his spine, apparently not at all surprised – or worse, concerned – with the tears filling Crowley’s eyes.

They’re tears of relief, of longing, of finally finding the yin to his yang, of the missing pieces slotting into their places in his heart. Crowley dares to hope, fiercely and desperately, that Aziraphale’s understanding comes from the fact that he feels the same.

“You’re so perfect,” Aziraphale whispers into his hair, following that statement with more kisses and something that sounds like ‘mine’ or maybe ‘divine’.

“Angel,” Crowley breathes, grateful to feel the first sparks of renewing arousal, because he’s too vulnerable like this, too fragile, not yet ready to trust the whole of himself even to Aziraphale’s gentle hands.

Especially to Aziraphale’s gentle hands.

And he might do it, if he isn’t careful.

“Tell me what you need,” his angel implores, softly.

“I need to fuck you,” says Crowley, choosing the easiest answer.

And Aziraphale, bless him, plays along, even if dozens of emotions seem to flicker over his face before he sighs with contentment and reaches blindly for the pillow to pull it out from underneath his own head.

“I’m a pillow princess through and through,” he explains, catching Crowley staring curiously at his ministrations as he places the pillow under his hips.

He wriggles, probably testing the angle and twists to get the other pillow, but Crowley’s ahead of him, handing it over with a praise-awaiting grin.

“Ah, thank you,” says Aziraphale with a fond, appreciative smile that’s like a drop of honey to the bitter tea of Crowley’s self-image.

Despite looking like he knows exactly what to do – as opposed to Crowley who’s vaguely aware watching and reading all the world’s porn isn’t going to help him here – there is definitely nervousness about him as he moves to reach the bottle of lube, lying forgotten but stark purple against the black sheets.

“And the... er...”

“I’m clean,” Crowley rushes to explain the lack of condoms. He thought about it, how he’d like to feel no barriers between their bodies, and decided to leave the decision to Aziraphale. “But if you want to, or―”

“No, come here,” his angel says, quickly, making it sound like a demand and a request all at once as he settles on the pillows, one of his hands resting on his own chest, the other clutching nervously at the sheets.

Crowley’s kneeling between his legs before Aziraphale utters the last syllable. There are little electric sparks dancing up the backs of his thighs and higher, up, up his spine. His insides twist in anticipation, tickling, almost painful.

So, now, he thinks, now the fingering, as in, prepping, yes?

He almost scoffs at himself loudly. It’s not like he’s never tried it on himself.

Placing both hands on the insides of Aziraphale’s thighs, he traces his fingers down, spreading those lovely legs even more, bending down to mouth at the hard, reddened cock, feeling Aziraphale shift subtly with a soft moan.

God, but he can’t wait to hear him...

Leaning away for a better view of what he’s doing, Crowley hooks his hands over the creases where thighs meet groin, thumbs digging gently into the squishable cheeks to part them...

“Fuck me,” he whines, staring, half-erected cock jumping into full hardness in a matter of seconds. “Fucking... fuck!”

‘I’m prepared as well, so to speak,’ Aziraphale told him earlier.

Oh, he’s prepared all right.

“I take it you like it?” Aziraphale asks with that adorable pleased smile he wears every time he thinks he’s done something clever. No denying his cleverness, now.

The plug looks fancy – expensive and somehow tasteful despite (or because of?) the little discreet golden wings, folded into an elongated heart shape.

“You go in for the kill, eh?” Crowley manages, unable to take his eyes off the sight, swiping his thumb over one of the wings, pressing against it hard enough to make Aziraphale suck in a sharp breath and squirm again. “You rode a fucking bus over here wearing this?”

“It’s rather obvious I did,” his angel sniffs and then groans softly as Crowley tugs at the plug gently, pulling it out a fraction of an inch and pushing back in. And to think he worried he was being too presumptuous. “A stimulating ride, to be completely honest.”

“Decadent,” Crowley mutters, wishing he were there on the bus with him, thinking of the way his naughty angel has been blushing and squirming on his bed for the whole time, leaving Crowley none the wiser, because he’d never expect Aziraphale to casually come to him wearing a butt plug like it’s something that’s just done. Of course, that’s exactly why Crowley loves him.

“Quite.” Aziraphale’s calf nudges Crowley’s hip impatiently as he reaches between his own legs. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to replace it with something more substantial.”

“Bossy.”

Much as Crowley’s fiendish side would love to tease him until he fucking begs for his cock like the shameless slut some people seem to take him for, Crowley’s body opposes waiting any longer. Batting Aziraphale’s hand away, he slowly pulls out the small plug by the wings, watching the tender muscles stretch around the widest part to the accompanying pleased sigh.

Crowley groans softly, seeing the pink little hole slightly open and glistening with slick. As he pours more lube onto his fingers and presses two of them against the warm rim, Aziraphale gives him a pleading look.

“None of that now, please. This whole stretching with three fingers and scissoring as a necessary preparation thing is a myth I’d rather skip.”

Huh.

“So you want me to just...” Crowley attempts to make sure, curling his lube-covered hand around his own cock, suddenly feeling all of his muscles tremble with anticipation.

“Please.”

It sounds so wrecked, as if Aziraphale’s about to cry, and Crowley’s eyes are immediately drawn to his face, checking for signs of pain or regret or uncertainty. What he finds instead leaves him breathless – devotion and raw need and something between a plea and hope. Aziraphale is breathing fast, fists clutching the sheets desperately, burning stare jumping from Crowley’s cock to his eyes and back again. As if it’s ‘a once in a lifetime thing’ after all...

Crowley grasps Aziraphale’s left hip with his free hand, shuffling closer, the head of his cock brushing against the slick opening.

Oh god, he’s never―

Aziraphale gasps, then lets out a shuddering breath. “Do you want―?”

Before he’s asked about wanting a break or to call everything off or whatever unacceptable idea has settled in Aziraphale’s mind, Crowley presses the head of his cock inside his angel, slowly, trying to be gentle but also to savour the feeling.

“Oooh,” Aziraphale sighs, eyes fluttering closed, and wraps his arms around the back of Crowley’s neck. And then, immediately, “More. Give me more.”

What can Crowley do but oblige, really? He sinks in deeper, his overly romantic soul bringing up images of people willingly drowning in the arms of beautiful water creatures.

“Let me hear you,” he says, because he can tell Aziraphale is restraining himself in practically every way except for his focus on Crowley’s own pleasure. And having Aziraphale’s attention in its entirety is not something Crowley seems to be able to handle, not that he’d ever admit it aloud.

“Deeper, don’t stop,” his angel demands in a rich, deep groan that sets all of Crowley’s skin on fire.

As if he could stop.

With his right hand, he grabs at the flesh on the underside of Aziraphale’s thigh, slick fingers slipping over the skin, pushing his leg towards his chest for what he thinks might be a better angle for them both, and finally, finally, he bottoms out, the sharp bones of his hips resting against the cushion of Aziraphale’s bum.

Crowley had no idea the human body is so hot on the inside. He assumed it would feel good, based on his own experimentations, but his imagination pales in comparison to the real thing.

Fuck, they’re―It’s actually happening...

At the gentle tug against the nape of his neck, Crowley obediently bends over Aziraphale until he’s lying on top of him again, propped on his hands, and suddenly they’re kissing.

Crowley sways his hips experimentally and they both moan into each other’s mouths.

Any hotter and it would have been unbearable, he thinks, starting to thrust, just a little, in response to Aziraphale grinding against him insistently.

It is unbearable, the way he suddenly wants to fuck Aziraphale into the bed like a beast in heat, wants to tear him apart in his all-consuming greed, make him scream and cry and lose his grip on Crowley’s leash – while simultaneously, Crowley wants to be gentle and selfless and very much kept on said leash, for Aziraphale to do whatever he desires.

“How do you like it?” he asks softly, against Aziraphale’s lips.

“It’s not about me,” his angel insists, breathing hard.

Crowley snaps his hips, punishing. “How do you like it?” he repeats, but Aziraphale’s groan at the rough push is a welcome clue.

Maybe what they want is complementary.

“Harder,” says Aziraphale, sounding defeated.

Again, Crowley obliges, gasping and groaning at the intense stimulation, at the way Aziraphale allows a few louder moans and grunts to escape his lips, dragging his fingers over the sweat-slick skin of Crowley’s back.

As his moves get even bolder, the thrusts longer, faster, and even more enthusiastic, Crowley feels himself suddenly slip out and he whines in shock at the cold stop to his mounting pleasure.

Before he fully understands what happened, he feels Aziraphale’s hand reaching between them, guiding him back inside without missing a beat, and hears a breathless, “Keep going, dear.”

Crowley learns from his miscalculation and quickly resumes the movements of his hips, adding some experimental twists here and there and trying different tempos. He seals his lips over the skin just below Aziraphale’s clavicle, sucking a bruise there, tasting his own dried come.

Fuck.

“I said, harder, you fiend,” Aziraphale reminds him in a tone that can only be described as commanding, hips rolling slowly up so he can rub himself against their skin where his cock is pressed between their stomachs.

Fuck, yes. I’ll show you a fiend.

Straightening until he’s back on his knees, Crowley digs his hands into Aziraphale’s love handles. They can’t share more kisses like that, he can no longer have those arms wrapped around himself, but he gets to see his angel’s face clearly, so there’s merit to every position, he concludes.

The red-cheeked face he’s admiring says I love you and I need you and I’m happy. And, of course, Fuck me.

It’s everything Crowley ever wanted.

He pounds into Aziraphale almost viciously, drawing from the not-so-secret place in his heart that stores all of his frustration with his angel, all the little ways he’s infuriated by him, all the moments Crowley wished he could be truly angry. The sounds of his hips slapping against Aziraphale’s buttocks – and, god, they probably jiggle with each hit, must be getting red from the smacks – are incredibly satisfying, but there’s yet something more that Crowley wants.

“Louder, angel,” he hisses between his panting breaths.

Aziraphale moans loudly, then growls, one hand curling around his own cock, the other reaching lower.

Crowley rewards him by setting a frantic, brutal pace, and realises, about half a second before it happens, that he’ll get to see what his angel looks like when he comes.

His pretty blue eyes are wide open and sparkling, staring at the ceiling in wonder. The skin of his chest flushes red as he paints it with streaks of his own semen and his back arches off the bed slightly. His mouth is open around a long, deep ‘aaahh’ sound, his face smiling and practically glowing. He looks just like those pictures and actors portraying religious ecstasy and Crowley will never be able to see those the same way he used to.

The hot, wet muscles around Crowley’s cock squeeze around him in pulses, practically milking the orgasm out of him, and he sees blackness.

When he comes to, he’s lying on his side, panting, breathless, thoroughly fucked out and filled with way too many emotions as he looks into Aziraphale’s warm eyes, feels his lips brush gently against his own. In fact, he’s overflowing, and some of it spills out of his treacherous mouth.

“Marry me,” he says, pressing a wet kiss against Aziraphale’s soft lips, and another and another, unable to stop, hand brushing gently over the round, flushed cheek.

#Black_Bentley.txt #good omens fanfiction #good omens #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #fic: Introduction to Philosophy – an Inter-Faculty Course

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