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Vetitum by HoneyBeam521 for Night_Witch_The_Third
Fandoms: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
06 Aug 2023
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Summary
Crowley and Aziraphale can't have sex in the conventional way-- not while risking Aziraphale's status as an angel. Still, they manage to find ways to exchange their first gifts of love and lust.
My first "Good Omens" fic! Hope you enjoy.
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“And then I thought: Bingo! A demon of seduction,” Crowley proclaimed, knocking Aziraphale from his contemplation, and moved to an entirely different position draped over the angel’s body overtop the coverlet. He glanced over at the old-fashioned oil lamp on Aziraphale’s bedside table; it lit with the fire of his gaze. “Can’t believe the thought never occurred before, really. You'd be totally blameless then, wouldn't you? If it were a demon made to get a rise out of you?”
Aziraphale furrowed his brow. “But... are you a ‘succubus’ or an ‘incubus’? Do they even exist?” Crowley gave a half-hearted shrug.
“Beats me. Humans think they do. And what are the chances that Heaven knows every kind of demon under the sun? Or the Earth? They’re all too busy looking down to notice very much.” Crowley’s smile morphed from playful to wicked in the space of a half second. Less, even. An eighth or a quarter at most. “They probably wouldn’t notice if I were to suck you off during one of those ponderous meetings of yours. Right under their wings.”
“C-Crowley!” Aziraphale stuttered. He could feel the cheeks of his human face prickle slightly as blood flooded the capillaries there. Crowley’s smile only grew; he was the serpent in the Garden again.
--
The pale eyes opened again, and Crowley met them. His own gaze was quick to wander, though, as Aziraphale’s body moved. The angel straightened his spine, squared his feet, and then... he allowed his knees to fall apart.
This small movement, this slight but obvious deviation from the proper, from Aziraphale... it sent an electric shock down from the back of Crowley’s neck down to his toes. They curled a little inside his black cashmere socks. (The toes, that is. The socks curled a bit too, one supposes, but not the neck.)
“Angel.” Had he the head to listen to his own voice at that moment, Crowley would probably have been a little disappointed in himself. Aziraphale had to do nothing, only something that Crowley did every day (having himself never been one for sitting up straight), and the angel had Crowley practically beside himself. Aziraphale’s face colored a shade more, and his perpetually nervous fingers ran an invisible hair behind his ear.
“Now—ah—I’m sorry if this doesn’t... pan out. I haven’t....” Aziraphale shook out his hands and left it at that; the hands found his knees, he let out a hard breath, and he straightened his shoulders with conviction. “Right.”
Aziraphale’s right hand began to move, very slowly, from the knee of his wool trousers to the inside of his thigh.