Chapter Text
when i’m swimming in your ocean
floating aloft on creams and scented lotions
well, i can get pretty sidetracked - i hope you’ll understand
* * *
1. when i’m sampling from your bosom, sometimes i suffer from distractions, like: why does god cause things like tornadoes and train wrecks?
“Mmm...”
“Oh!”
In his mouth, the prickle of the nipple, sparking from softness to a pert little tip, and the slide of little blond hairs. He holds it gently between his teeth - very gently; Aziraphale does not go in for being mauled - and slides his tongue over it, quick and slick.
Under him, Aziraphale makes a soft, deep sound.
He lets go, leaves his lips just where they are. “You’re sweet. You taste sweet.”
Apparently Aziraphale isn’t up to making words right now.
“What’ve you got on you?” He dips down to snake, flickers his tongue, scents and samples: fruit, or cream, or something... something a bit indulgent. More so than the usual more-than-adequately-delicious way Aziraphale tastes: human-ish, with splashes of ozone and metal and soap.
Aziraphale lets out a long, slow breath, his ribs contracting under Crowley’s spread fingers. “It’s a sort of lotion...”
“Is it, now.” Crowley’s impressed. “Where’d you get that, then?”
Aziraphale’s heart is beating quickly. Crowley must be doing all right, for Aziraphale to have an actual heart. “That little shop half a block along.”
“The one with the suggestive window sign? 1 Right next to the news agent that always has those tornado chaser magazines?”
“That’s the one.”
“Huh.” He has a thought. “Do you know, I wonder if they share any business.”
Aziraphale’s voice is dreamy, drifting. “I’m sorry?”
He licks his thumb and fingertip, tugs at a nipple, and Aziraphale makes a small sound. “Adrenaline rushes. Chasing highs. Humans like that sort of thing.”
“I wouldn’t know,” says Aziraphale.
“Ha. D’you know, I bet that kind of person sees a tornado as a blessing.” That’s perverse enough to please him. He grins, nuzzling his nose against Aziraphale’s chest, and chuckles.
“Good, good... as long as they’re having fun...”
Aziraphale isn’t paying him any attention. That won’t do. He opens his eyes, peers at the too-closed blurred pink-and-cream-and-gold of Aziraphale’s chest. He purses his lips for a moment, then flat-out licks.
“Crowley!” Pure angelic startlement.
Crowley’s laughing to himself. He smacks his lips appreciatively. “Tasty.”
“That was wet.” Aziraphale pulls at the sheet. He rubs it over himself, frowning at Crowley.
“Oh, I am sorry. Just couldn’t help myself. You taste so very delicious.”
Aziraphale’s still frowning, and he hunches himself upright in bed. The bump of his half-erection under the sheet contrasts amusingly with the irritation in his face. “It’s supposed to be very arousing.”
Crowley rolls that one around in his mouth, can’t argue with it. “It does taste good. But so do you.”
Aziraphale is mollified. “Thank you.”
“Here, let me try it again.”
He pushes Aziraphale back down, leaves one hand on his sternum. The other finds the bump of Aziraphale’s prick under the sheets, feels how it’s warming, stirring again under his hand. Aziraphale sighs happily.
Crowley nibbles and licks, taking his time. The lotion has got some kind of fruit essence in it. Crowley can’t place it. It’s probably artificial flavour: score one for his side. But it’s close enough that it tastes quite nice on Aziraphale’s skin, and he has to admit it does inspire him to use his mouth a bit differently than he usually would: whole-mouth, wide-lipped sucking, pulling Aziraphale’s nipple into his mouth along with the skin around it, opening his jaw to admit as much as he can as Aziraphale gasps under him.
He pulls back, looks at his handiwork. Aziraphale’s nipples are hard. Crowley’s left a good-sized love bite around the left one. All the rest of him is flushed pink, except where he’s shot through with gold. Even the gold looks brighter. Under his hand, Aziraphale’s pushing up, rubbing himself against Crowley, warm and hard and giving just slightly.
“Getting your money’s worth, are you?”
“Oh, yes,” sighs Aziraphale, languid.
“Shall I keep going?”
“Perhaps let’s trade off for a moment.” Aziraphale’s eyes are slightly glassy. He puts a hand over Crowley’s, presses down for a moment against his own prick and makes a small sound.
“Ready?”
“I don’t want to finish just yet.”
It’s all the same to Crowley. He nods agreeably and lets Aziraphale push him over, snug up behind him and press his erection to Crowley’s bottom. It feels good: slightly sweaty angel, breathing heavily in his ear.
“Got any more of that lotion?”
“Mmm... yes, I do... I could rub it on you?”
“You’ve been hoping I’d ask you to.”
“I rather have. Do fetch it, there’s a good man.”
This is a situation for a finger-snap. Aziraphale doesn’t even tut.
The little bottle has a picture of a peach on it. Oh, is that what it’s supposed to taste like.
Aziraphale waves a hand expectantly. Crowley snaps the lid open and squeezes some of the lotion out into his palm.
“Close your eyes.”
Oh. Fun. “All right.”
He settles back against Aziraphale, letting himself relax against the bed, and pushes back against Aziraphale’s prick.
Aziraphale’s hand is strong, his movements firm. His fingers are slick. There’s almost no friction, just a smooth glide that’s really something, that pulls Crowley’s thoughts away as his body orients itself to a new, powerful pull. He pushes up against Aziraphale’s hand, reaches back with his own hand and slides his fingers over Aziraphale’s skin: warm and soft, sparks when he crosses a ley-line. Doesn’t hurt, not really, just... focuses him. Pulls him to a point. A bit of danger, nothing wrong with that, a hint of adrenaline...
“How is this?” breathes Aziraphale, and Crowley gasps.
Aziraphale’s erection hasn’t flagged. He’s pressing it between Crowley’s buttocks now; Crowley can feel him fumbling a bit with his other hand, and then there’s coolness over Crowley’s skin, and Aziraphale sighs with pleasure as he rubs himself against the parts of Crowley that slip to scales. Good fun, very good indeed: Crowley puts a hand over Aziraphale’s hand, pressing hard, tilting his hips, and Aziraphale moans, actually moans in Crowley’s ear as he pulls himself up more tightly against Crowley, and Crowley’s chasing tornadoes now, running towards a twisting whirl of tight power that’s building in his belly as Aziraphale presses his face against the nape of Crowley’s neck, a hint of teeth, the pressure, the heat—
* * *
1 More than suggestive. Flat-out blatant. For Aziraphale to catch the drift, it’d have to be. Crowley, on the other hand, can read innuendo into the flavour text on a packet of crisps.