sauntered_downward | for salutosinedelectat

for salutosinedelectat

Follows this.

They couldn't just teleport themselves there. Any miracles, demonic or otherwise, would attract too much attention. No, Crowley was actually going to have to sit there, plugging their information into an online search engine, and do it all manually. Fluctuating airline prices were demonic work, and right now a trip to Japan was over six thousand pounds more expensive than if he had bought it three days earlier, which was totally outrageous. Crowley didn't know a lot about money except what it made men do to each other, he'd never had to. But now, making money appear out of nothing could turn the wrong eye on them if he wasn't careful.

Luckily, he had quite a few credit cards that never needed paying or had a limit on them. They would work in a pinch for a moment like this. He didn't know if that sort of perk-of-being-a-demon could ever be taken away from him, but he hoped not.

The flight itself was a long one, and Crowley settled himself in for it by making sure they were flying at least first class. That way they could see everyone coming at them and have a few glasses of wine on the journey.

"I don't think they know about these passports," Crowley says. "They might, but I doubt it. I had them made back during the last World War, just kept them in good condition."

The second World War was something that Crowley took responsibility for, but he hated every moment of it, and what his side did to make it worse made him sick. He was more than prepared to hide away if he needed to when things went wrong back then. And, at the time, he had also created a passport for Aziraphale, in case he wanted to come along. No other reason for that, he told himself.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The feeling of Crowley's hands on his body, his lips against his skin, everything else - that wasn't something he'd really thought about much, if one was entirely honest. Physical demonstrations of affection weren't something that alien in concept, as they had certainly spent enough time among mortals and he's read his fair share of romance novels, but none of that really prepared him for the feeling of the real thing. Where it's more than just the touch. Than just the kisses, just the breaths.

He pulls in a breath as he feels the hand against his skin, over his backside, on the back of his thigh, feeling himself hold that breath the closer his hand gets. He spreads his legs slightly in response, arms around Crowley's neck, nosing gently at his face and pressing little kisses on his lips.

Crowley smiles against Aziraphale's gentle kisses. The sheer sweetness of the angel, of his gestures, of his love. Should've expected it, really. Aziraphale is an angel, after all. Sure, he's a bit of a bastard, but he's definitely got too much good in him to be anything but totally gentle and loving in a moment like this. That gives Crowley the responsibility to lead the way into temptation, into the more debauched of the ways to share in romance.

It is a responsibility he takes on gladly.

He moves his hand down as Aziraphale spreads his legs, and presses a finger against Aziraphale's opening. A thought makes it instantly just a little slick, and he gives it a gentle push inside. He moves slow, careful, cautious, taking in Aziraphale's every response before moving forward.

Sweetness and care and nerves and wanting-- well, that one probably shouldn't be included, but it's rather difficult to think so when they're wrapped together in much more than an embrace.

At the feeling of Crowley's finger, he shudders and quietly gasps against his lips, hunching his shoulders up slightly, holding him tighter. A lot of it is nerves, eagerness, the novelty of it all, and who he's with. He's tense, but that's by nature, really.

Crowley moves his hand, sliding his finger in and out, curling it slightly to change where the pressure touches the angel inside. So much wanting, but he won't move too fast, not now. No, they have time. They have all night. They have forever.

Aziraphale gasps against his mouth, and Crowley claims his lips again, slipping his tongue in to trace against his. He sends through his own wanting, sends through his feelings of lust, of desire, of need. How much he wants Aziraphale in this moment. With his free hand he cups the angel's face, holding him close.

It's all so much at once, before he knows it, even though there's ways to go. The feeling of Crowley inside him, the taste of him, the want, the need, the lust, oh. If he's already feeling like this, he can only wonder what's to come.

He holds the demon as close as he can, any sounds that dare escape him muffled by their kisses. His thoughts, his emotions, bright but edgeless, swirl all around each other, taking in what Crowley offers, crashing in gently like waves on a shore. He's not used to wanting, not in this way. Longing, pinning, that was all there for a long time, but he never quite thought he'd get here.

One finger, sliding slowly in and out. And then he presses two, curling them slightly, stretching, testing the waters. He could, in theory, just make Aziraphale prepared for him and claim him immediately. But there's something wonderful in moving slow. In taking this one step at a time. In prolonging the wanting.

He breaks the kiss and presses his lips to the angel's neck again. Finding the sensitive areas along his throat to kiss, to taste. There is so much of him yet to discover.

"I love you," he murmurs against his ear. The words again. Whispered, spoken in secret. Their own violation against the world that hates them.

In all truth, the whole situation is entirely unnecessary. The preparation, the effort, it's not really natural to their constitutions to begin with. Which serves only to amplify its meaning, the emotions it invoques, the pleasure it creatures, physical or otherwise. They've always done a lot of incredibly unnecessary things. And they'll keep on doing them, because that's where happiness and feeling lie.

The angel tilts his head back slightly, moving along with the demon. The words make him pull in a breath and grip his fingers wherever they lay on Crowley's back and his shoulders. This might become his favorite part of their story: intertwined in an intimate embrace, pure and burning and bright, declaring their love against all that would dare destroy it, out there outside the silence.

He turns his head to meet him again, pressing his lips to Crowley's jaw, cheekbone, wherever he can reach hopefully forgiven for the moments when he can't help but to shudder, and whispers back, with just a bit of a contained struggle and bated breath.

"I love you too."

Crowley lets out a quiet moan at the feel of the angel's lips against his skin, at the sound of his words. He's waited so long to be able to say these words, to hear them, that it feels like he's dreaming, with only the feel of Aziraphale's breath and lips against his skin holding him into place in the real world.

He slides his two fingers in, curling them, moving them in and out. He wants to give sensation even as he prepares the angel's corporation. He wants what he's always wanted: to make Aziraphale feel good, to feel pleasure in everything he does. He's spent countless days just watching him in indulge in food or drink and felt nothing but pleasure at the sight of him. Now, he watches the angel's face as he touches him, moves for him.

The angel pulls in his breath in a gasp, arching his shoulders and holding Crowley tighter, closer. For all that this is, he's still somewhat reserved in his movements, his sounds, biting his lip, shaking with the effort of trying to keep mostly still. But his mind moves differently, reaching and pulling and swimming, almost dancing, almost music, taking in all the emotions and wordless thoughts Crowley can give him.

A quiet, needy sound, and he pulls on him. Opens his eyes just barely, meeting Crowley's, beckoning him.

Crowley's gaze meets the angel's and he gives him something that all demons know: a temptation. He tempts him with his gaze, with his body, with his fingers. He shares with him the sinful desire of lust and the want of touch. It probably isn't fair, sharing that with him right now, while they're in the middle of all of this, but he is so very tempted by the beckoning look in Aziraphale's eyes, he doesn't know what else to give him.

Want it. I'll give it to you. He croons to Aziraphale's mind.

He slips a third finger to join the first two in their movements.

It isn't fair, no, when he is already in the verge of being overwhelmed, not by the act, but everything else that comes with it. A temptation is hardly necessary, but it piles up with all else, makes him shudder, makes his thoughts vibrate.

He does want, and it's almost too much. He beckons and reaches, and, clearly, is not about the push back against the temptation. Physically, he arches, and the mutters his name.

"Crowley--"

Oh Hell. Crowley hisses at the sound of his name on Aziraphale's lips. The angel is so incredibly fucking sexy right now, so overwhelmed and tempted and in pleasure. Crowley moves his fingers, spreads them, pumps them gently in and out of the angel to prepare him.

He can feel the angel reaching, and he can do nothing but reach back to him.

"I want you," he whispers back to him. He wants him, he loves him. There has never been anyone but Aziraphale in his heart. Never.

For as much Love as there is in Aziraphale's heart, has been, by virtue of what he is, there's a special place in it reserved only, forever only, for Crowley. No one else can fit, no one else can claim it, and the angel keeps it dearly and close.

He lets his thoughts envelop the demon, wrap themselves around him, unclear and vibrant and colorful, mixing together, fading the edges. Stay here, with him, he offers, he asks.

Another quiet sound, a groan, his hands gripping on the back of Crowley's shoulders. If he could pull him any closer, he would. He's almost afraid he can't let go.

If Crowley had it his way, they would never let go. They would be forever entwined, holding each other, kissing each other, touching each other. There would be no end to this night, to what they've discovered. He's greedy that way, he wants Aziraphale entirely to himself.

Aziraphale groans and grips onto him. If he were any closer, he would be inside of Aziraphale. Then again, this is an option, and one not far away from them.

He moves his hands smoothly, carefully, and then shifts his hips as he feels Aziraphale is prepared for him.

Aziraphale shudders when Crowley pulls his hand away, shifting and smoothly moving along with the demon, pulling his legs up against his sides.

His head is spinning, racing as it is, holding onto their shared thoughts, the emotions, a dance no one else can see. No one else gets to see. A little bit of selfishness they're more than deserving to hold onto, just between them.

Breathless, he still ducks his head to press his lips on the crook of Crowley's neck. Once, twice, brushing them against his skin. I love you, I've loved you, I trust you, I want you is as much as he can make clear, as much as he wants to let him know.

Crowley positions himself and slowly begins to slide himself in, letting out a moan at the sensation against Aziraphale's neck.

He feels him, he feels him all around him as he enters him, and he feels him in his arms, against his neck, surrounding his soul. He can't think of a time in his entire life that he has ever been happier.

The whole of Heaven and Hell can't take this from them. They have this, they have this moment together, in each other's arms. They have their love that fear and strife can't take from them. They have it together.

They'll always have this. No matter what happens, if anything happens, they'll have this, they will have had each other, they will pfrwvwr have the love they share. Nobody, not even God Herself, can take that away from them.

The angel arches up against against him, head tilted back in a moan he doesn't get to silence, feeling Crowley push inside him. Bodies entertained, souls dancing, the sheer love and joy and want from the demon so pure all the same, and this is where Aziraphale forgets. This is where the world ceases to be anything but this. And he has no intention of letting go.

Love, pure love, and he wants Crowley to feel it. Passion, longing, all the things he held back because he was afraid. Because he didn't think they could be. How much he loves him, how much he trusts him, how much he needs him. How much Crowley does truly mean to him.

And with a gentle rustle against the bed they're on, the angel's pristine white wings spread out from his back, at first stretching out, before flexing into a half curl.

Crowley sees the angel's wings, sees him for himself. An angel. Pure and perfect, lying beneath him in a moment of pure passion and love. He can feel the angel's love and passion riding through him, in his veins. He can feel his body beneath him, feel him around him as he moves to fill him, and it's altogether so much.

So much, and Crowley wants all of it.

He slides out of Aziraphale, and then slowly back in, before working himself to a careful pace. Careful thrusts, but each one shooting pure pleasure throughout his entire body. The feeling of Aziraphale around him, the sight of him spread beneath him, it's so beautiful to behold.

His own wings spread out on his back, arching over them. Black and sleek, curling out so that the tips of them touch the edge of Aziraphale's half-curled wings. Two ethereal beings, embraced together.

He sees the wings, Crowley's wings, as black as night, beautiful even in the dim light. But maybe he's biased, because everything about the demon feels beautiful, worthy of every bit of love, appreciation, adoration.

Feathers brushing together, bodies warm and pressed close, the feeling of Crowley inside him, and he closes his eyes again, tilts his head back, lets whatever tension and ideas of air to keep just gradually crumble, letting himself freely fall into the pleasure and passion they share.

He moans and curls his wings inward, solely around Crowley, like a protective barrier, a soft selfish shield, but free enough to move in. He curls his toes, thighs pressed against the demon's sides, hands on his back, keeping him close, keeping him his.

There is nothing Crowley wouldn't do for Aziraphale. He would do anything to protect him, to love him, to keep him close. He knew this before, back before they even started on this adventure running from Heaven and Hell. But now, holding him in his arms, his wings wrapped around him, their bodies entwined, he knows he'd do anything to feel this with him forever.

He moves his body, sliding into and out of him, increasing his pace. He lets out a low groan against Aziraphale's neck, and then moves his mouth to reclaim the angel's.

He lets his hands slide up Aziraphale's sides, before moving up to catch his hands, to twine his fingers with his.

He knows Crowley would do anything. Crowley has always done everything, even when the angel didn't expect it. Even when, by all accounts, he shouldn't have. When he should have stayed away, when they were enemies, when the angel pushed him away. Always, he always came back. He was always there when the angel allowed him to be, kept his distance when the angel asked or demanded it. Always helped. Always listened. Always came back. Always understood. Always cared.

The angel groans quietly in their kiss, oh, he wants more, more of those, so many chances, to much time to make up for, and, hopefully, so much time ahead to enjoy.

He moves his hands away from Crowley's back, moving his arms along with his touch, intertwining their fingers, thighs pressing against Crowley's sides, feeling their bodies move together, wings brushing against Crowley's body and his dark wings, and he's lost, he's lost and he never wants to find the way back.

Edited (actually, icon) 2019-10-01 22:48 (UTC)

Crowley has never felt this way. Not as an angel, not when things were supposed to be pure and love and all the good things in the world. He'd never felt so protected, so connected. He'd never felt this loved by Heaven. Maybe he would never have Fallen had he met Aziraphale as an angel. Maybe they could have been lovers then---but then again, would they have ever indulged? Would something like this have ever crossed their minds?

He is completely surrounded by Aziraphale. He feels him in his mouth, around his body, curled up against his wings. He feels his love, entwining his soul. The whole works. And still, he greedily wants him closer, wants to feel him like this always, wants to hold him like this forever.

"Forever," he murmurs into the groan against his mouth. "I want you forever."

Would have they have been lovers? Would they have been friends? Would they have been close, or would they have never even met? Billions and billions of angels, it would be naive to believe they all knew each other, specially those lower in the castes. But to question what never was and can never come to be is as foolish as asking questions of silent mouths, though natural as it might be. Even for two creatures who've wrapped themselves in them, one that has lived with them for almost as long as they have existed, and another one that always tried their hardest to ignore their blatant presence.

He feels the honest truth in Crowley's words, pure devotion made simple, more of what the angel had always pretended wasn't there, but now free, and it breathes life into him in a way he didn't know was possible.

Another movement of Crowley's hips and he arches under him, shuddering and gripping the demon's hands tightly, pulling in a gasp, hearing the music swell in his mind. Can Crowley hear it? It's not a song, but he shares it all the same.

Crowley can feel it, the music in his soul that Aziraphale shares. He doesn't know what it is, he doesn't know where it comes from, but it's theirs, like a strum against heartstrings. Oh, and Crowley is far from a romantic being (or so he tells himself), but he can believe that it's theirs, and he holds onto it, pulls it against himself. Amplifies it. Their music.

Aziraphale arches under him and Crowley lets out another moan as waves of pleasure move against him, crashing into him like the waves against the beach. Every movement, every touch, everything like a current moving through them, connecting them to each other.

It's a wonder they've been able to be apart this long, if such an experience was waiting for them.

Too many things stood between them, too many lies from their respective origins, along with the ones the angel told himself. Not that he ever dreamed about something like this. How could he have ever suspected this was a possibility? So it caught him by surprise, entirely, yes, but he has quite made the decision that it won't be the last time it happens.

With bated breaths, he tilts his head to the side and pulls one of Crowley's hands closer to him, pressing his lips softly against the back of his fingers. So many gestures at their disposal. So many ways to confess time and time again. So many ways to show that he's finally here.

for salutosinedelectat

pls dont cry, crowley, he will be very concerned

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Fwoosh

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ah, the typos/misspellings of a phone tag at 2 in the morning, I'm so classy

Love it!

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