Good Omens Fic
Dec. 5th, 2007 10:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rahmiTitle: Bounce
Fandom: Good Omens
Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley
Pairings: Aziraphale/Crowley
The strangest thing about making an effort, as it were, is the fact that Aziraphale finds himself more knowledgeable about it than Crowley is. He wonders morosely exactly what kind of angel that makes him, when he knows more about human mating habits than a demon does.
"My dear boy, you do know that they're supposed to... bounce?" he finally asks, almost desperately.
Crowley pauses in the act of walking to him (which, honestly, is what Aziraphale was aiming for; it's intimidating is what it is, to see that, that, that thing pointing towards him like compass north and he'd rather be curled up with a nice pot of tea and an old manuscript) and makes a little inquisitive noise.
"What is?" Crowley answers blankly.
Aziraphale coughs into his fist and then motions towards the rather prominent erection currently... not moving like it should.
"Really?1" Crowley glances down his body and raises one dark eyebrow. After a second he wiggles the fingers of his right hand in a complicated pattern that would make mortal heads explode; Aziraphale politely looks away and mentally compliments the ficus for how verdant its leaves are.
The ficus, secure2 in just how big and beautiful it is, rustles proudly.
When he glances back at Crowley, he's. Well. He's lifting up onto his toes and dropping down quickly, experimentally. Crowley snickers under his breath when he does, indeed, bounce, but Aziraphale is more morbidly fascinated with the way it's boinging about wildly than with noises Crowley is making.
The demon bounces on his toes again for good measure, before he looks back at Aziraphale. "That's undignified, angel."
Aziraphle looks towards the ficus again. The ficus is very nice, he decides, very nice. "There is no part of, er, making an effort that is not undignified, Crowley."
"Aziraphale."
The ficus was laughing at him, he was sure of it. He'd have to talk to Crowley about its watering schedule. "Hmm...?" He guiltily looks up from miracling the ficus into an, erm, better state of mind and goes very still.
Crowley is stalking him. There's no other word for it and for half a second Aziraphale freezes like any winged thing does when confronted with a happy serpent. Crowley's tongue flickers out, thin and deeply forked, and he smiles, slowly; his yellow eyes slide halfway closed and his pupils expand until they're almost, almost round3.
It's enough to make an angel shiver. "You're not bouncing," Aziraphale says faintly. His hands reach up to catch at Crowley's waist as soon as he comes within range and Aziraphale spares a nasty thought for body parts that do things without their owners consent4.
The demon tangles his fingers in the collar of Aziraphale's shirt and pulls, lightly. "I don't bounce," Crowley murmurs smugly, "It's not dignified."
Aziraphale finds himself surreptitiously wiggling his fingers to fix his own bouncing problem while Crowley is distracted. After all, it wouldn't do to force Crowley into laughter in the middle of making an effort. It wouldn't do at all.
1 To be fair, it has been rather a long while since Crowley participated in a good old fashion seduction. Back then, everything was done in the dark and he counted himself lucky and successful if he actually managed to find Slot B (or Tab A, as the case sometimes was) without putting out an eye.
2 The ficus is, in fact, Crowley's favorite. He's caught it more than once giving some little plant a hard time, whispering about how the demon master is going to turn it into mulch because it's so ugly. He believes in rewarding pre-emptive strikes and so whenever he catches the ficus at it, he gets rid of its slightly less green victim. The ficus, Crowley knows, is his kind of plant.
3 Aziraphale can remember a time when Crowley's slitted eyes were the only warning a being got before they suddenly found themselves slowly dying on the ground with venom pumping through their blood and a demon perched nearby, watching avidly, chin resting in palm.
"I was just testing it out," Crowley muttered sullenly when Aziraphale finally got through the metaphorical red tape of Heaven and was looking into the benefits of a little holy smiting, "I didn't think you'd mind all that much."
4But only one. The rest of his thoughts are too busy gibbering incoherently about how nice Crowley's skin feels and that snake eyes are really very attractive and how flattering was it that Crowley was scenting him?
Fandom: Good Omens
Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley
Pairings: Aziraphale/Crowley
The strangest thing about making an effort, as it were, is the fact that Aziraphale finds himself more knowledgeable about it than Crowley is. He wonders morosely exactly what kind of angel that makes him, when he knows more about human mating habits than a demon does.
"My dear boy, you do know that they're supposed to... bounce?" he finally asks, almost desperately.
Crowley pauses in the act of walking to him (which, honestly, is what Aziraphale was aiming for; it's intimidating is what it is, to see that, that, that thing pointing towards him like compass north and he'd rather be curled up with a nice pot of tea and an old manuscript) and makes a little inquisitive noise.
"What is?" Crowley answers blankly.
Aziraphale coughs into his fist and then motions towards the rather prominent erection currently... not moving like it should.
"Really?1" Crowley glances down his body and raises one dark eyebrow. After a second he wiggles the fingers of his right hand in a complicated pattern that would make mortal heads explode; Aziraphale politely looks away and mentally compliments the ficus for how verdant its leaves are.
The ficus, secure2 in just how big and beautiful it is, rustles proudly.
When he glances back at Crowley, he's. Well. He's lifting up onto his toes and dropping down quickly, experimentally. Crowley snickers under his breath when he does, indeed, bounce, but Aziraphale is more morbidly fascinated with the way it's boinging about wildly than with noises Crowley is making.
The demon bounces on his toes again for good measure, before he looks back at Aziraphale. "That's undignified, angel."
Aziraphle looks towards the ficus again. The ficus is very nice, he decides, very nice. "There is no part of, er, making an effort that is not undignified, Crowley."
"Aziraphale."
The ficus was laughing at him, he was sure of it. He'd have to talk to Crowley about its watering schedule. "Hmm...?" He guiltily looks up from miracling the ficus into an, erm, better state of mind and goes very still.
Crowley is stalking him. There's no other word for it and for half a second Aziraphale freezes like any winged thing does when confronted with a happy serpent. Crowley's tongue flickers out, thin and deeply forked, and he smiles, slowly; his yellow eyes slide halfway closed and his pupils expand until they're almost, almost round3.
It's enough to make an angel shiver. "You're not bouncing," Aziraphale says faintly. His hands reach up to catch at Crowley's waist as soon as he comes within range and Aziraphale spares a nasty thought for body parts that do things without their owners consent4.
The demon tangles his fingers in the collar of Aziraphale's shirt and pulls, lightly. "I don't bounce," Crowley murmurs smugly, "It's not dignified."
Aziraphale finds himself surreptitiously wiggling his fingers to fix his own bouncing problem while Crowley is distracted. After all, it wouldn't do to force Crowley into laughter in the middle of making an effort. It wouldn't do at all.
1 To be fair, it has been rather a long while since Crowley participated in a good old fashion seduction. Back then, everything was done in the dark and he counted himself lucky and successful if he actually managed to find Slot B (or Tab A, as the case sometimes was) without putting out an eye.
2 The ficus is, in fact, Crowley's favorite. He's caught it more than once giving some little plant a hard time, whispering about how the demon master is going to turn it into mulch because it's so ugly. He believes in rewarding pre-emptive strikes and so whenever he catches the ficus at it, he gets rid of its slightly less green victim. The ficus, Crowley knows, is his kind of plant.
3 Aziraphale can remember a time when Crowley's slitted eyes were the only warning a being got before they suddenly found themselves slowly dying on the ground with venom pumping through their blood and a demon perched nearby, watching avidly, chin resting in palm.
"I was just testing it out," Crowley muttered sullenly when Aziraphale finally got through the metaphorical red tape of Heaven and was looking into the benefits of a little holy smiting, "I didn't think you'd mind all that much."
4But only one. The rest of his thoughts are too busy gibbering incoherently about how nice Crowley's skin feels and that snake eyes are really very attractive and how flattering was it that Crowley was scenting him?
