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the-most-pathetic-edge-marquis · 3 years

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like other girls - in defense of lauren mallory (pt. 3)

life goes on.

the volleyball team crashes unceremoniously out of the season at regionals. when lauren shows up at lunch the next day each of her friends is holding a balloon with you did your best (probably) written on it in sharpie. she feigns offense--and then lunges out with her fork, popping mike’s so quickly that he yelps and falls out of his chair, and she laughs until her lungs hurt.

the other four, she ties to her backpack and totes around until she gets to stats and mr. cogan tells her she’s causing a disruption.

by thanksgiving, lauren’s dad is in forks, not seattle, and mr. weber hasn’t invited any of his congregation over this year, so the mallory-stanley-weber conglomerate descends on angela’s house, like they have on-and-off ever since elementary school.

lauren helps her parents haul an overwhelming number of sides out of their car, mrs. weber makes menudo instead of turkey, and mr. stanley waltzes in with four pies--three pumpkin, and one apple. the argument over the leftovers is warm and well-worn, and lauren rolls her eyes as she hands off clean dishes for jess to dry so that angela can shelve them.

when the adults break out the wine and expand over the table, lauren and jess follow angela back to her room. they attempt monopoly, until jess catches lauren sneaking one 500 too many out of the bank and slaps her hand, accidentally sending an entire row of houses flying across angela’s blue comforter, and they switch, laughing, to uno.

(it’s better than nothing, lauren tells herself, over and over again, ignoring the ache in her stomach, the itch in her fingertips that’s sometimes more like burning. it’s jess, it’s your best friend, that matters more than--than--)

the mallorys spend christmas break in seattle with lauren’s grandma--andrew even flies in from vermont.

lauren does all of her gift-shopping in bright malls with soaring ceilings, breathing in the chatter of the crowds, and ducking into coffee shops whenever she feels like it. they even watch a professional ballet troupe do the nutcracker one night. she lies awake in her dark guest room, dizzily exhausted, and thinks this, i want this, i want to be somewhere just like this.

on new year’s eve, lauren perches on her desk, (they've only been back two days, so her armchair is still hosting the contents of a half-unpacked suitcase), nursing a cup of tea and flipping through a fashion magazine from her grandmother's coffee table. an engine sputters outside her open window--she glances out just in time to see tyler crowley’s van skid to a halt on the curb.

for a moment, lauren panics--then jess sticks her head out a window and yells he’s got fireworks! get down here!

they rattle up to the cliffs and pile out of the van. they weigh the blankets down on the rocks with mike's electric lantern, huddle together for warmth, passing around drinks, and tell stories about their winter breaks--mike almost broke an arm, apparently, the one day it snowed, bailing at the last possible second from a sled tied to the back of connor's truck.

at 11:58, they crowd around mike’s glow-in-the-dark watch, counting down to midnight--and then they shower sparks out over the ocean.

red and green and gold go whizzing out into the air, and they whoop, watching the clouds light up for split seconds, over and over.

lauren glances at jess. the colors are shimmering on her on her flushed cheeks, catching in her dark eyes as she stares up to the sky and cheers, bright and wild enough that lauren can feel it humming in her bones.

angela wanders up behind her, and jess spins to grab her by the shoulders, shouting something and laughing--and lauren loves both of them so much she has no idea how to carry it--

angela catches lauren's gaze and smiles--it’s soft, and this one lauren knows exactly how to read. jess sees it and spins--and lauren watches her eyes get even brighter as she waves her over.

it's enough. it's more than enough.

get over here! jess repeats, and lauren does.

they go back to school, and it's--normal.

lauren drags her grades up a few percentages now that she doesn't have practices to worry about. tyler stops by the lunch table to invite them all to the basketball games--and even looks at lauren when he says it--and they agree. angela's stress about the yearbook starts bubbling over--she keeps missing lunches, spending them in ms. kimble's classroom editing instead, and lauren and jess take turns ambushing her on the way to biology with snacks.

and then the police chief’s daughter comes back to forks, and jess drags her to the lunch table, beaming.

lauren scowls. toys with a fork. watches mike--who jess has been desperately, quietly crushing on for months now--bounce and bumble into the new girl’s orbit. watches edward fucking cullen stare at her too--and of course she stares back, tuning jess out completely, because that’s not rude at all--

and she watches jess. asking questions, sharing gossip, offering all their little lunch group’s jokes and stories and meetups up to this nobody--

lauren’s sitting too far down the table to kick bella swan’s chair, but for a petty second, she wants to. she grits her teeth, doing her best to ignore it.

she doesn’t think about how tentative everything feels right now, how close to crashing down around her--she’s never made friends easily, she knows, she’s heard her parents and her teachers cluck about it all her life, but it never mattered because she had jess and she had angela and now jess is latching on to this new girl like--like--

angela flags her down in the parking lot after school that friday and invites her over. (lauren doesn't know whether to be grateful that she doesn't have to keep turning over this bitter anger alone, or hurt that it's this obvious she needs--something--right now.)

the twins are at soccer practice, and mrs. weber on the sidelines, so they have the house to themselves. they play music as loud as angela's little cd player will let them, and spread the nail polish out on the living room floor instead of the bathroom, leaning back against the soft gray couch as they talk.

angela starts with a simple white, and lauren uncaps a vivid, glittering green.

i just--who does she think she is? lauren erupts finally, when they've exhausted the upcoming math test and rumors that principal mckinley's finally going to be fired and eric's new dog. just because she's from fucking--new mexico or whatever, she thinks she can waltz in here and the entire school will just roll over for her! it's such bullshit!

i don't think that's what she wants, angela says calmly, she seems pretty shy. she didn't ask for jess to pay attention to her.

well then i'm mad at jess, lauren spits--and is unspeakably glad that angela doesn't look up, just keeps tracing the rainbow she's painting onto her big toe. she didn't ask. she didn't think about what we--whether we wanted to deal with some weird new kid--who is the literal police chief's daughter, by the way--she doesn't care that bella clearly doesn't give a shit about anything except the cullens, she just--she should care, and she doesn't!

the words hang in the air, and lauren is surprised to find tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. she's dug her hands into fists, and the still-wet green is streaked across her palms.

angela recaps her little purple jar carefully--then lays her cheek on her knees and her eyes on lauren, cautious and far too knowing behind her glasses. can i ask you something?

lauren locks her eyes out the window. sunlight seeps weakly through the clouds, bouncing off blue curtains that she accidentally smeared peanut butter all over the summer after second grade, when mike showed up in angela's driveway out of nowhere and they all piled into the window to gawk.

sure, she says--far too aware of angela clicking the cd player off, of the huge and empty silence in the little house.

do you have a crush on jessica?

for a second, it feels like standing on the edge of a cliff. with fireworks bursting out over the black ocean above and lighting up the underbellies of clouds. like the dizziness of looking down, down, down to a black depth, where the only hint of an end is lines of white that must be waves, crashing against rocks that are hidden by the night--

i think i might. lauren's voice is smaller than she's heard it in years.

okay, angela says, hey, lauren, it's okay! and it's not until angela's arm goes around her shoulders that lauren realizes she's crying.

you shouldn't--she tries, and angela just squeezes tighter, so lauren lets herself crumple onto her friend's shoulder and cry.

when there’s nothing but silence left, angela shifts around to sit in front of lauren, who leans her aching head back on the couch cushions--she can’t look, she can’t--

listen, angela says--grabs lauren’s hands and squeezes. i don’t care, okay? whatever...whatever my dad says, whatever anyone says, i don’t--it’s okay. you’re okay. it doesn’t change anything.

sometimes i wish it would, lauren tells the ceiling, and angela is quiet.

it won’t be like this forever, she finally says.

something deep in lauren settles. she breathes--her eyes are raw and her throat is sore and her hands are a little bit shaky between angela’s cool palms, but she’s breathing.

i still don’t like the new girl, she says, and angela sighs--lauren can hear the laugh behind it.

come on. let’s go find the polish remover and redo this.

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#lauren mallory #jessica stanley #angela weber #listen. angela+lauren friendship makes me feel a lot of things #i just #god #aargh

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i-llbedammned · 5 years

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So I may have gotten a little bit out of control with the idea of time travel and written up some Good Omens fluff and smut because of it.

Title: August 1984

Word Count: 4034

Summary:Set in the year 1984, Crowley and Aziraphale meet in a bar. Aziraphale has a long seated idea that he has in his head and he wants to try and explain Oscar Wilde to his dear friend Crowley. However how is one supposed to focus when there are several millennia of tension between you?Inspired by the album Purple Rain by Prince.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19972843 Fic below

August 1984

Crowley slunk about the back of a bar dressed in a black leather coat and trousers, his usual bar the one with the dark wood and the windows out front that overlooked the most lovely garden. It was a hot summer with the flowers, gardenias on the window sill, giving off the most satisfying smell. He was greatly enjoying the smell of them, particularly because he thought that he would never be able to smell anything ever again after the incident last week. That nosy bastard Beezlebub had been asking after him and his business, poking and prodding around. He swore that they were going to flay him on the spot, which would be most inconvenient and require a whole lot of paperwork and pain that he was not in the mood for. Luckily for him, he had a quick mind and had told Beezlebub that he was in a most delicate situation and needed to fan the flames of cocaine addiction in America without supervision. He didn’t of course, the humans sought it out enough on their own, but it got him out of trouble and that was the important part.

The whole world was feeling wonderful and warm right now, just enough to where he wished he could stretch out on a rock and relax for a bit in the sun. It was perhaps a bit reptilian, but considering how much humans liked going to the beach he hardly thought that he was alone in that desire. His gangly legs splayed out on to another chair as he watched bugs crawl over the leaves and idlly heard some married man spill sweet nothings to a man who was not his wife at the bar. He likely shouldn’t be drunk at 3 in the afternoon, but there was going to be footy game later and he didn’t want to miss the fights then by being drunk.

“Ah! Crowley! What are you doing here?” came a soft voice from the doorway. His teased out hair bobbed over his eyes as he turned to face one angel Aziraphale, who was dressed most unsuitably for this bar in a pastel blue striped linen suit with a light pink shirt underneath. His white-blonde hair was very tall and slicked back. The various rough and tumbles in black leather and torn jeans looked at him with suspicion but didn’t question it as he took a seat at Crowley’s table.

“Yes, what would I be doing in my favorite bar?” Crowley drawled, pouring Aziraphale a glass of whiskey and pushing it towards him, “The real question is what are you doing here, angel?”

The other man, for today he certainly was presenting as a man, grinned a small grin, his eyes flicking to the side at Crowley as he spoke, “Well, I just so happen to be in the area doing a small bit of business helping a poor family find their faith again by getting jobs in the arts like they always wanted and I thought I would stop by and have a small drink to whet my whistle.”

With a gulp he drank the whiskey and without asking Crowley poured him a double noting, “Well if you want to whet your whistle with me you better catch up. I have a bit of a head start and don’t intend on slowing down once I get a second glass.”

Aziraphale gladly drank the whiskey, breathing it out with a sharp sigh and a wince. He placed a hand upon Crowley’s fishnet gloved one before the demon could pour another shot, “As kind as your offer is of free alcohol, I was wondering if you would rather drink something a bit more gentle back at the bookshop for a bit. There is a lovely volume of Oscar Wilde I would love to discuss with you.”

“Oscar Wilde? Come on, angel, you know I don’t like to read. It’s boring and,” he began and then he stopped himself. Aziraphale’s hand was still on his and there was a look in his eyes that shone like all the hope in the world rested upon his shoulders.

“I could, maybe read to you then? Explain the parts that seem too tedious?” Aziraphale’s voice was low, as if the very nature of being asked to read Wilde to his friend was scandalous.

“You got a record player?” Crowley asked, his shaded eyes not looking at his friend and instead looking at the bar, trying to challenge any onlookers to try and start something with him and this prep.

“Yes, I do.” The blonde haired man looked confused, but eager as he put his hands back on his lap. Whatever Crowley was up to, he was game. “I’ll let you explain Wilde to me if you do me two favors.”

“One, you have to let me show you Queen on the record player, and two,” Crowley poured another double for his friend, “Drink up. We have to be even-stevens going into this.”

Aziraphale grimaced at the whiskey, but then drank it quickly before giggling, “It’s a date then.”

They walked alongside each other, both shining brightly in the sun though Crowley couldn’t tell if that was Aziraphale’s natural glow or just an effect of him always wearing bright colors in the sun. The angel always looked so utterly at peace with the world around him that it made the demon a bit envious at times. The only moments of peace were the small ones he could steal when the higher ups weren’t paying any attention to him and certainly he wasn’t ever able to seem like he enjoyed his life. Who could imagine the scandal of a demon actually enjoying something without trying to torment anyone over it?

Aziraphale was grinning up at the birds and Crowley allowed himself a small smile upon seeing the joy on the other man’s face. In that moment he was truly alive, watching the birds flit about the rooftops and merrily chatting about a book he really enjoyed recently. The red headed man knew he would be banished to a deep, dark level of Hell if they ever caught him associating with an angel- so deep and dark that the light of Heaven and of Aziraphale himself would never be able to find him. And that was merely for associating, never mind the dirty thoughts that sometimes danced through his mind where he imagined himself making love to the great angel gently and passionately.

Love! Why the very idea didn’t suit a demon in the slightest! He would be fine if they just thought he was fucking an angel, that sort of thing was perfect for corrupting a pure soul, but he would certainly never be allowed to have feelings or to treat him gently. Why such a thing would be sacrilege – if such a concept even still existed in Hell.

“….And so he has been truly underrated in the modern age where people feel like his language is too old fashioned. Wilde is loved for his wit but the depth of his plays can still be appreciated even today even aside from the pithy quotes.” Continued Aziraphale as he opened up the glass doors of his shop. He looked embarrassedly down as Crowley strode in, “Sorry for the ramble. I just find Wilde to be a very intriguing author.”

Throwing himself upon the brown leather couch near the record player Crowley raised his eyebrows, “No need to apologize. It’s good to listen to you ramble, I suppose, in a kind of nerdy way.” He grinned in a cheeky way and his compatriot continued on as if everything was fine.

“One moment, I will return.” The soft voiced angel flitted into the other room, his footsteps slowly fading from earshot.

Removing his glasses, Crowley let his slitted eyes scan the shelves, finally locating the record player shoved away in the corner. With a grumbling effort, he got up and looked at the record in the player. To his surprise it was not anything classical, but instead Prince’s Purple Rain record. That was indeed interesting. Aziraphale hardly seemed like he was a Prince sort of being, what with the soul of the music being something that Heaven most definitely would not approve of. Perhaps years of being on Earth had finally given him taste.

He flicked the switch on and dropped the needle into place and “Let’s Go Crazy” started playing. With a dramatic flair he once more began lounging on the couch with his legs splayed open. The sounds of Prince sounded through the air and Crowley sang along,

“All excited but we don't know why Maybe it's 'cause we're all gonna die And when we do, what's it all for Better live now before the grim reaper Come knocking on your door”

Go crazy, he only wished he could. Not actually crazy mind you. He didn’t want to be someone shoving heads on pikes or pulling out their own hair. No, the fun kind of crazy where you got drunk and banged your best friend without hesitation. Normally he was a bit more controlled with these thoughts, but the whiskey was running nicely through his system and right now all he wanted to do was pry himself out of these leather pants and beg Aziraphale to have his way with him. Wouldn’t that be a sight? Aziraphale running off to get a book at then coming back to find Crowley naked on his couch. He wondered what the supposedly pure angel would do, would he be repulsed or would he enjoy it.

But no, he didn’t want to alienate the poor dear. He certainly thought that surprise stripping would be a one-way ticket to banishment and considering the fact that he had barely managed to get back in his good graces a loss of Aziraphale was not something he wanted to live through again. The fall didn’t hurt half so much as being unable to speak to him even though he kept seeing him everywhere he went.

Book in hand and a bottle of wine in the other, Aziraphale returned and blushed deeply upon hearing the record player and seeing Crowley splayed out. That got a wicked grin from the demon as he relished the way that the angel’s blue eyes lingered upon him,

“You have better taste than I gave you credit for,” he said casually, though of course he didn't mean it casually. He was genuinely surprised.

“That- oh that is just a new record. I thought I would give it a shot since it is so popular.” Hurriedly the preppy angel turned off the record player and took a seat next to Crowley, leaning up against him so that their shoulders touched.

“And what do you think of it?” Crowley asked, taking the bottle of wine, popping it open with a twist of his talons in the cork, and snagging two glasses off the shelves where they had left them a previous week.

“I think in the right company it must be lovely,” Aziraphale took the glass of wine and clinked his lightly against Crowley’s, “Cheers then. To good stories.”

The red wine tasted of vanilla and had notes of almond in it, giving it a sweet taste as it slid over Crowley’s tongue. “Now what I enjoy about Lady Windermere’s Fan is that it discusses morality in an interesting way. Take this quote for example, it says “I think life too complex a thing to be settled by these hard and fast rules”. In the context they are talking about the dynamics between men and women, but I feel like the concept of a complicated world is one that we can carry into all of our lives.”

“You mean like a demon and an angel being friends?” Crowley stared at the nape of Aziraphale’s neck, wondering just how fast he could undo that thin blue tie and unbutton the shirt. If he kept drinking like this, he just might give it a shot even if he would regret it later. Another sip of wine went down his throat.

“A bit like that, yes.” Aziraphale shifted in his seat, taking in a deep breath to steady himself. Nervously he licked his lips. “But I always took it to mean that perhaps our concepts of good and evil aren’t quite what you think they are. That perhaps angels can be a bit wicked and perhaps demons can be a bit good. Like the yin-yang concept, but taken in a very literal sense” “Demons are never good,” grumbled Crowley, his eyes looking away as he remembered the years of pain and of being told how corrupt he was by everyone but Aziraphale, “Especially not at resisting temptations.” “Ah!” The angel’s blue eyes lit up with hope, ““I can resist everything but temptation!” I see you have read this one before.”

The wicked grin returned to Crowley’s face, “Not quite, but I do know temptations well.”

“Oh I know exactly what you mean!” The angel’s face was animated, leaning in closer to Crowley as he gripped the book tightly to his chest, not even bothering to open it, “It is just like Lord Darlington and Lady Windermere is it not?”

“Yeah, sure. Just like them,” Though honestly Crowley had no idea. He had never read this book before in his life and honestly he was wishing he had left the Prince album on rather than being roped into a literary discussion. “Do you think she should have run away with him? Left behind her stuffy husband for an exciting new man?” Aziraphale’s face was inches away from Crowley’s and he indulgently breathed in the scent of Cool Water and wine.

“Well it’s probably not the safest idea, but it certainly would be more fun for her and it’s not like her husband would immediately know unless she told him.” Mostly unconsciously, Crowley moved closer, experimentally bumping his crooked nose against Aziraphale’s.

“I was so hoping you would say that,” whispered the other breathlessly as he leaned forward and crossed the remaining space, pressing his lip gently to the other’s.

The feeling was immediate and overwhelming. Thousands of years of pent up emotions all wanted to surface at once. His heart felt like it would burst out of his chest merely from that chaste kiss. Crowley responded back in kind, pressing himself more urgently to the other, moving a hand up to cradle his jaw.

Aziraphale parted lips and gently placed the book on the side table next to the couch, reaching past Crowley who nipped at his ear and bit him down the sides of his neck, earning him a soft laugh. With a giggle Aziraphale responded in kind, snapping his fingers. In an instant both of them were suddenly gendered, both male for this time around, and the windows of the shop were blessedly closed.

“Wait, angel, aren’t you worried about me corrupting you?” Crowley asked in a daze, wondering if this was really happening or it was instead a wonderful dream, feeling his new found manhood twitch to life as the angel’s hands ran over his crotch and he suppressed a moan as teeth bit lightly at his neck.

“Let me worry about that, my dear.” The blond crooned, into his ear, gently digging his nails into the back of his head, “For now, just let me give you this moment. We’ll worry about what will happen later when it is later. I do not think that the world will begrudge us this one moment.”

“All it takes is a moment to fall, angel.” It pained him greatly to stop this close to what he had wanted for thousands of years, but the last thing he wanted on his conscience was to have the grace snuffed out from the light of his life due to his careless desires.

A petulant sigh and a look of annoyance crossed on the angel’s face as he was once more interrupted, “A moment of perfect love and perfect trust will not be begrudged by Heaven. I have checked with several scholars who seem to be of this mind and since the Almighty is keeping mum, I think discretion falls to me. Unless of course, you object?” His heart looked as if it would break through his gaze if the answer was no.

“Angel, I have not objected to this for a couple thousand years,” Crowley answered, kissing him again and again, letting his tongue run over the other man’s lips. The angel responded by stripping out of his suit jacket and tossing it to the side.

Lips met lips and Crowley melted into it, pulling Aziraphale onto his lap, wrapping his legs around the other man. Now that the go ahead was given he didn’t hesitate, rolling his hips gently and feeling the sharp tug of the leather pushing against his cock as he rocked back and forth. Deft hands undid Aziraphale’s tie and unbuttoned his shirt slowly. With each inch of flesh exposed he moved his lips down to kiss the soft flesh, relishing the sheen of hair on the angel’s body.

Blood pulsed through him and his whole body felt like it was on fire as his friend, ran his hand underneath the black shirt to stroke his stomach. Well that would never do with the jacket in the way, so Crowley tossed off his leather jacket flinging it somewhere else. Seeing more flesh exposed, Aziraphale began to run kisses up his arms, starting at his hands and ending with licks at the base of his neck.

Angelic hands unbuttoned Crowley’s trousers and the little self-restraint he had was gone as Aziraphale wrapped a hand firmly around his shaft, gently squeezing it under the trousers as . A low, deep moan came from his mouth as he reached down to try and free the angel from the restraint of his own trousers.

“No,” Aziraphale moved his hands away, making Crowley hiss with annoyance. “Let me service you first. Then I will claim you.”

“Service, what-“ Crowley began, but Aziraphale was already pulling the black T-shirt over his head and was slowly moving downward with his kisses raining down upon his chest and abs. Oh, that’s what he meant. The angel knelt upon the ground and moved Crowley’s legs to accommodate him. Strong hands pulled his trousers down and Crowley was glad he didn’t wear smallclothes that day. It at first had been merely to uphold his look, but this was so much more pleasant.

His cock, now unrestrained, grew to its full length under the angel’s ministrations. He licked up and down the shaft, causing Crowley to hiss softly with every new contact, closing his eyes because if he had to look at that sight he just might pop off that second. It was all soft, wet, and hot as Aziraphale placed the cock into his mouth.

There it was, that lovely blonde head bobbing up and down on his cock. He leaned back into the couch, bucking his hips experimentally. A soft moan issued from the angel so he did it again. And again. He kept thrusting, digging his taloned hands into Aziraphale’s hair. A passion coiled up in his stomach, in his balls as he moved his hips gratefully against the tongue and eager mouth. His breath echoed raggedly as he cried out Fuck with every thrust, fucking the angel’s face until he came rough and hard with a loud cry. God, he hoped God and Satan heard him cry as well as any of those toughs down at the bar. Hot cum spilled into the angel’s mouth and the sight alone was almost enough to make Crowley cum all over again.

As his cock wilted and he gasped for air that he didn’t even really need to breathe, Aziraphale spat the whole mess into a bin. Quickly rinsing his mouth with wine, he returned to give Crowley kisses that tasted of cum, grapes, and almonds. Softly he groaned and as Crowley regained a semblance of composure, he moved his hands to unbutton the blue striped trousers that Aziraphale was wearing as the angel shrugged off the unbuttoned shirt he had been wearing.

Aziraphale had given himself a girthier length than Crowley, but not as long. A halo of soft hair surrounded his manhood and under the smallclothes Crowley ran a hand through the curls that were there. “Now it’s your turn, yeah?” The demon raised an eyebrow.

“In a moment,” panted Aziraphale, parting once more and stepping out of his small clothes. He went over to the record player and flipped over the record, letting the sounds of Prince singing “I Would Die 4 U” rain over the bookshop. He returned back the couch, kissing Crowley deeply as they explored each other’s bodies fully. Every inch of skin had to be touched with gently hands and the soft scraping of talons and nails. Gently, the rounder man pushed the thinner one back til the demon lay flat against the couch.

“Think you have the right company for this album now?” Crowley moaned as Aziraphale plunged a finger into his bum.

“None better for it. I might actually enjoy the music now,” quipped the angel. Soft hands guided his hips over, gently teasing the hole til it was properly warmed up. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Crowley and even though Crowley had taken it much rougher from others the last thing he wanted was to have his first time with Aziraphale be over too quickly. Hell’s preferences for what he should do in bed be damned.

As his best friend entered into him, the demon found himself getting strangely emotional. It wasn’t rough lust or anger, that would be understandable. No it was something, soft, delicate even. The kisses that the angel gave him were gentle, twisting things that made him want to cry with how slowly he dragged his lips over the other’s. It was almost as if he was worshipping, like the whole act was an act of ascension that the other was doing. Crowley arched his head back, groaning with pleasure as each thrust brought him closer to a second orgasm. “Crowley,” the angel whispered softly, caressing his shoulders, his arms, his neck, “Why you beautiful creature you.”

“I’m not beautiful, angel. You’re just in a sex-induced haze.” Crowley sniped, trying to get that delicate feeling that made him want to cry to leave him.

A lazy smile crossed Aziraphale’s face as he thrust deeply into Crowley, sending a shudder through the demon’s body, “You just think you aren’t because you can’t see yourself now. Sprawled out on my couch, mouth agape, hair splayed out like a halo around you. You are just so good.” His breath came out in ragged gasps, “So kind. So selfless, like a work of art.”

“Art? Like a Michalangelo?” Given their past history, it only seemed fitting even though it was perhaps a bit tacky to bring up an ex in the middle of making love.

“Like a Wilde.” Moaned the book keeper, a devious smile also on his face and undeterred, “Oh sweet Crowley, I love you.”

There it was, the magic phrase that send him shaking and soaring to another orgasm as Aziraphale followed shortly after. Love. A verbal acknowledgment of that which he had felt for so long, moaned in the throes of an act that both had ached to do for ages. Tears, unbidden, not of pain but of beauty sprang to his golden eyes. It was like being forgiven, even if only for a moment.

“Oh. Oh no.” Soft hands touched his angular face, “Crowley are you upset? You are crying.”

“I’m not. Just got a bit of sweat in my eye.” He responded, with a grin surprisingly genuine as he wiped away any traces. Together they lay out on the couch, positively glowing despite the fact that no sunlight could reach them buried as they were in the bookshop. There would be Hell to pay come tomorrow, but today he could grab this small piece of Heaven. This small piece of Heaven who loved him.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #fanfic #ALL THE FEELS

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