Author's Notes: Written for my best friend and beta-reader, in under an hour, while laughing histerically. In Good Omens (book) it has been said that Angels and those of Angel-stock are sexless, unless, of course, they were willing to make an effort. *cough* And I'm quite sure, Crowley and Azirapale would be just so willing in this little fic. Thank you, good night. Warnings: Sex and adult situations. Use of houseplants as contrast and conture. Do not try this at home. Disclaimer: Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch does not belong to Yami_no_Ichigo, it belongs to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. Distraction By Yami_no_Ichigo Crowley held Aziraphale’s body close to him, taking in the deeply ingrained scent of old dusty dark places, musky frankincense and hot chocolate. “Hmmm.” He had said, thoughtfully as Aziraphale carefully flipped a page in an old heavy book, Crowley distractedly let his hand trail down one side of the angel’s waist. “What’s that you’re reading?” He made sure to murmur that into the angel’s ear, and he relished at the shiver that came from out of his slight body. “Book…” Aziraphale trailed off, inching away from the wandering fingers which in turn brought him closer to Crowley’s warm chest. “Very old important book.” He finished, burrowing his feet into one of the valleys the cushions in the demon’s expensive and comfortable couch. He shivered again, Crowley had lifted the hem of his shirt with a long nailed thumb and was rubbing at the pale skin right above his belt. “Now really.” He had started, half closing the book and looking up at Crowley from the corner of his eye. “Sorry.” The serpent hissed, slowly and insincerely. He licked at the top of the angel’s ear. “You’re just…” he chuckled to himself. “so very tempting. You understand.” “Ah!” Aziraphale gasped, perfect hands grasping at the tattered leather desperately. “No… I don’t… and… ah… stop that.” Crowley had begun to slip long skinny fingers into the--now--opened zipper in the angel’s khakis. He was squirming, deliciously. Crowley ‘hmmm-ed’ again, just as thoughtful as before and pulled out Aziraphale’s semi-hard cock, examining it with half-lidded hungry eyes. “You’re beautiful.” The angel grunted, his face was a brilliant and charming pink. He half opened his mouth to say something both dismissive and angry. Crowley caught this look and smiled. Mercilessly the serpent squeezed at the organ in his hand and the angel in his arms screamed. Yes. Crowley thought. That’s it. Scream for me… darling. “Oh… oh… oh…” Long nails scraped lightly at the underside of the angel’s penis and smeared the droplet of pearly pre-cum onto the smooth skin. “Stop… stop it please… I can’t… we can’t!” “Let me tempt you.” Crowley then said, using his other hand to slip the pants off the Angel’s hips. “No! Oh… oh please don’t… I’ll… I’ll… Crowley!” Aziraphale sobbed pressing his teary face into Crowley’s long neck, the demon’s hair getting into his open trembling mouth. Crowley swallowed at the lump in his throat. He thought about pacing himself, but the angel’s bucking body had brought the firm ass directly onto the bulge in his dark jean trousers, and he coughed discretely to himself, and crossed that idea out. “Let me tempt you…” He let his words come out slow, his voice lust husky as he burrowed his nose into the angel’s blond hair. He thought about it, and looked out of the wide window on the other side of the room. The curtains slinked themselves closed, cloth rustling. “Crowley!” Aziraphale almost dropped his book, and finally did when the serpent gripped his cock and pumped it. “Oh… oh… sh--… Goh… oh Crowley!” He brought his hands up to the demon’s shoulders and dug his elegant nails into them. Crowley smiled. “You can‘t quite swear can you.” Crowley said, softly, growling almost. It was the sort of voice he had used on his house plants, and in their terracotta pots they shuddered green beautifully moist leaves at them. He chuckled, loving the little hitching sounds that came from out of Aziraphale’s throat, he bent his head down and bit at the long arching neck. “Such a good little angel…” He tugged purposefully at the hard cock, milking transparent fluid at the end. He wanted to lick it off, but he realized that that would have to wait. “Oh… Crowley… oh please… I…” His hips were bucking, helplessly, and the demon moved to those thrusts, going with them, teasing Aziraphale to near unconscious insanity. He loved how pink the angel’s lips looked, he loved the way those prim square glasses fell almost off his face. And lightly, he kissed his forehead. Like a blessing. “Crowley… Crowley I’ll die!” The angel sobbed at him, teeth grinding. “What do you want me to do?” Crowley whispered kindly, so quiet it was almost lost in the manic sobbing moans that filled the spacious apartment. “You horrible… you… despicable…” He trailed off, tossing his head. “Now… flattery isn’t going to get you anywhere, angel, you know this.” There was a pause, and only Aziraphale’s sniffling broke it, and then even that stopped. Crowley couldn’t stop the deep sense of disappointment. The angel took his hand and slipped it off, gently, from his sex. He turned around, touched his nose to Crowley, and looked him straight in the eye. “Fuck me.” He had said, and that had done it. There was, in the back of Crowley’s mind, the sound of shattering glass as his resolved cracked underneath the pressure of pure and unglorified lust and he hadn’t even realized it but he had Aziraphale on his back and was ripping off his designer black jeans, he didn’t even give the angel a warning as he shoved his cock deep into his body with an excited grunt. “Ahh, you tempting little angel… ahhhh, how do you do this to me?” He muttered, speaking into Aziraphale’s ear, blond hair sneaking into his lips. The angel screamed, voice echoing in the room, his hands going up to Crowley’s shoulders, fingers digging into the soft fabric, nails ripping at it. “Please…” he was murmuring, a desperate mantra, a prayer. “Crowley… Crowley… Crowley.” The demon could feel it, the fluttering insanity that arched over the horizon, the trembling fall into paradise, and it nudged at him, spurred him on, whispered inhuman, ungodly, pleasure at him until he could take it no longer and he came, splattering hot wet fluid inside the angel’s body. He hadn’t even noticed it when Aziraphale had come, the only clue the sticky mess in between them. = = = Aziraphale wasn’t talking to him. He had moved onto the other side of the room, sitting at the love seat, glowering at his houseplants who didn’t seem to be taking this much notice. He sighed. “Angel…” He began, slowly, approaching with caution. “I despise you.” Aziraphale said, with feeling1. Crowley smiled. “I’m sorry.” He said, amiably, picking up an apple from the bowl situated on his coffee table, and turned it into dark 65% chocolate. “Are you still sore?” He tried to make his voice as gentle as he could, and he righted the book in his other hand. “Yes! No thanks to you, you old serpent.” sniffled the angel, holding a red throw pillow to himself sulkily. “Oh, come now…” Crowley knelt down beside him and offered him a piece of the chocolate, it gleamed a tempting chocolaty gleam in the bright light2. The angel inspected it, sniffling, and he opened his mouth, Crowley slipped the morsel in between those lovely lips and stopped himself from moaning as he pictured the dark candy melting on his tongue. He coughed, discretely. “’s good chocolate.” Aziraphale said, feeling lots better. The serpent smiled. “Are you better now?” Crowley ventured carefully, treading on eggshells, or broken glass or any same such fragile painful things. Grey eyes regarded him seriously, and the angel pushed back his glasses. There was a definite blush on his cheeks. “Yes.” Crowley ran his hands through dark strands of hair. “Good.” He said, watching the angel look away and back, and he kissed sweet lips gratefully. ------------------------------------------ 1 Although much of this was guilt and panic, there was, also, a tiny, almost insignificant bit of hate. 2 There were no florescent lights in Crowley’s apartment, apart from those tinny little bells young girls these days attached to their cellular phones, it was one of the things he hated about the 21st century. He sort of just, ‘miracled,’ if you will, the rooms into brightness.