ANON KINK MEME FOR GOOD OMENS
This was invented, as far as I know, for Prince of Tennis fandom, where finding obscure and strange pairings out of +100 characters is really bloody DIFFICULT.
Hence, Meme!
And we all know how hard it is to find just that certain kink.
Hence, Kink Meme!
Especially if it's a Questionable one.
Hence, Anon Kink Meme!
I was reflecting on the Distilled Joy that the AKMs are, and it occured to me that I love PoT fandom because they seem like the only ones who do this. "Well, that's no good," I thought to myself. "Poor underprivileged other fandoms."
So I thought I'd try suggesting one here.
This is whatcha do:
Post an ANONYMOUS request. This is important. You can request a single character, a pairing, a threesome, a foursome... Whatever feeds your ducks. If your kink is War and Aziraphale eating ice-cream, that is as valid as, say, hardcore Death/Pollution.
(Feeling blocked? Here's a list of nearly 400.)
The fics don't need to be epic, but PLEASE try to write at least one answering fic (Also ANONYMOUS, unless you feel comfortable having your True Identity known--takes some of the fun out of it, though, *I* think). Obviously, if you don't write, we can't tell, but it would be good karma. :D If no one fufils anyone's requests, the meme dies. D: Poor dead meme.
But have fun with this! <3
Let's hear those kinks, then.
(PS. Feel free to pimp this out)
ETA: *One Year Later* Jesus fuck, this thing is still going?? O_O
ETA: *Two Years Later* O_________O STILL!? Fuckin He--Hea--SOMEWHERE. I'm stunned! All the other memes were just flashes in the pan--fashionable one moment and forgotten the next. Great job, everyone!! Keep up the good work! I'm so glad I started this meme, and I'm so glad that people have been working so hard to fufill each other's kinks. High fives all around!
ETA: *Two Years and A Bit Later* Man, you guys blow my mind. However, I just noticed an issue that I feel needs to be addressed. I just noticed somewhere amongst these 1100+ comments a request for me to remove a discussion that had gotten a bit wanky; since y'all seem to have worked it out and made (very mature, IMO) apologies, I'm going to leave it up as a good example to anyone else who happens to come across it. Well done, Anonymice, I am proud.
However, if there are ever any circumstances in the future that cause people to want a post (or series of posts) removed, PLEASE feel free to contact me (asking in the comments won't be effective, since I am very, VERY bad about keeping up with this meme). If you explain the situation (and link me to the posts in question, please!), as the meme founder, I will do whatever I deem is most sensible. (Check on my profile for my contact info--You can find my email and several IM clients to which I am logged in 24/7; you can also send me a PM, but there will most likely be a much slower response.) However, I have faith in the maturity and levelheadedness that this fandom has, so just remember to think before you type and try to assume that other people are making comments with as sweet-natured a tone as possible.
Keep being awesome. I'm around if you need me. :)
ETA: *Two Years and a Bit and A Day Later* So many thanks to![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=92.1)
steadfast , who (in proof of her username) has compiled a list of complete and incomplete requests! There are also a few reveals in the comments. :)
inkmage has adopted it and is modding it over at ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif?v=92.1)
good_omens_kink. Y'all should definitely check it out, it looks like she's doing great work with it. I'm not on LJ enough anymore, and although I still think of this meme as one of my greatest accomplishments on the internet, it's grown enough that it's time to hand it off to someone more suited to looking after it, and for me to gracefully step down from the glamorous position of Kink Meme Mod. XD
The new community has my full blessing, and I wish everyone the best of luck--I hope it continues on the amazing path that it has followed these last three years, and I could not be more proud to have been a part of it's history. I'm a little sad to be letting the it go, but it's the best thing for everyone.
This was invented, as far as I know, for Prince of Tennis fandom, where finding obscure and strange pairings out of +100 characters is really bloody DIFFICULT.
Hence, Meme!
And we all know how hard it is to find just that certain kink.
Hence, Kink Meme!
Especially if it's a Questionable one.
Hence, Anon Kink Meme!
I was reflecting on the Distilled Joy that the AKMs are, and it occured to me that I love PoT fandom because they seem like the only ones who do this. "Well, that's no good," I thought to myself. "Poor underprivileged other fandoms."
So I thought I'd try suggesting one here.
This is whatcha do:
Post an ANONYMOUS request. This is important. You can request a single character, a pairing, a threesome, a foursome... Whatever feeds your ducks. If your kink is War and Aziraphale eating ice-cream, that is as valid as, say, hardcore Death/Pollution.
(Feeling blocked? Here's a list of nearly 400.)
The fics don't need to be epic, but PLEASE try to write at least one answering fic (Also ANONYMOUS, unless you feel comfortable having your True Identity known--takes some of the fun out of it, though, *I* think). Obviously, if you don't write, we can't tell, but it would be good karma. :D If no one fufils anyone's requests, the meme dies. D: Poor dead meme.
But have fun with this! <3
Let's hear those kinks, then.
(PS. Feel free to pimp this out)
ETA: *One Year Later* Jesus fuck, this thing is still going?? O_O
ETA: *Two Years Later* O_________O STILL!? Fuckin He--Hea--SOMEWHERE. I'm stunned! All the other memes were just flashes in the pan--fashionable one moment and forgotten the next. Great job, everyone!! Keep up the good work! I'm so glad I started this meme, and I'm so glad that people have been working so hard to fufill each other's kinks. High fives all around!
ETA: *Two Years and A Bit Later* Man, you guys blow my mind. However, I just noticed an issue that I feel needs to be addressed. I just noticed somewhere amongst these 1100+ comments a request for me to remove a discussion that had gotten a bit wanky; since y'all seem to have worked it out and made (very mature, IMO) apologies, I'm going to leave it up as a good example to anyone else who happens to come across it. Well done, Anonymice, I am proud.
However, if there are ever any circumstances in the future that cause people to want a post (or series of posts) removed, PLEASE feel free to contact me (asking in the comments won't be effective, since I am very, VERY bad about keeping up with this meme). If you explain the situation (and link me to the posts in question, please!), as the meme founder, I will do whatever I deem is most sensible. (Check on my profile for my contact info--You can find my email and several IM clients to which I am logged in 24/7; you can also send me a PM, but there will most likely be a much slower response.) However, I have faith in the maturity and levelheadedness that this fandom has, so just remember to think before you type and try to assume that other people are making comments with as sweet-natured a tone as possible.
Keep being awesome. I'm around if you need me. :)
ETA: *Two Years and a Bit and A Day Later* So many thanks to
steadfast , who (in proof of her username) has compiled a list of complete and incomplete requests! There are also a few reveals in the comments. :)ETA: *Three Years Later* So, for those of you who have been paying attention, there was a bit of a mix-up. Long story short: Don't ever go on vacations, ever; I'm a dumbass who doesn't check her email enough; spam filters were invented by Aziraphale, but it was Crowley's idea to make them more effective than need be. *headdesk*
ANYWAY. It's been a really, really great run. Three whole years! I'm so proud of all of you. But this meme will be closing--or, rather, moving to a new home.inkmage has adopted it and is modding it over at good_omens_kink. Y'all should definitely check it out, it looks like she's doing great work with it. I'm not on LJ enough anymore, and although I still think of this meme as one of my greatest accomplishments on the internet, it's grown enough that it's time to hand it off to someone more suited to looking after it, and for me to gracefully step down from the glamorous position of Kink Meme Mod. XD The new community has my full blessing, and I wish everyone the best of luck--I hope it continues on the amazing path that it has followed these last three years, and I could not be more proud to have been a part of it's history. I'm a little sad to be letting the it go, but it's the best thing for everyone.
I hope this meme has brought everyone else ten times the joy it's brought me over the years. This post and the journal will stay up for as long as the gods allow. Goodnight, little kink meme; bon voyage, good_omens_kink <3
I would love to see some Crowley/Adam- after Adam is legal, of course- involving Adam wanting to know about sex and Crowley being VERY happy to show him what's what.
I'm a bad person. >.>
"Yes."
"Toexplainwhatallthefussisabout," Crowley finished in a rush. He was *not* blushing. He had more control over his body than that. "Didn't they cover this in Health and Fitness?"
"Not the bit with two blokes."
"Oh." Crowley blessed inwardly. Perhaps it *had* been a bad idea to get that prudish biddy elected MP.
"So I thought you might as well show me. I mean, who else am I going to ask? Angels and Horsepersons aside, there's no one else around."
"Well, there's always humans," Crowley said, half-desperately.
"Nope. Might break 'em," Adam replied philosophically. "Besides, it'd be a bit of a bastard thing to do, breaking up Brian and Wens and there's no one else I like well enough."
"Er. Hastur? He works for your you-know as well."
Adam stared at him. "Yeurgh."
"Er, right, right. Good point."
"So. You all right, then?" Adam extended one hand and, gently, surprisingly so for a young man, brushed one finger lightly down the point of Crowley's jaw.
"Ohfuck."
"I was hoping you'd say that."
Adam flopped back across Crowley's sofa from where he'd been perched on the edge and let his knees spread in a lazy sprawl. "Show me," he whispered, words honey and sharp-edged.
With one last, desperate whimper, any braincells that were still trying to register a protest were summarily hunted down and shot by Crowley's libido. "Whatever you want," he breathed.
He knelt between Adam's legs, delicately trailing his fingers up the jean-clad thighs and skipping past the belt to tease Adam's side. Adam's breath hitched at the sudden movement, but steadied (though noticeably heavier.)
"First," Crowley murmured, "there's foreplay. Touching." He brushed over a nipple, still concealed beneath the fabric of Adam's shirt. "Tasting." He raised one of Adam's hands and cradled it unprotesting in his own. Crowley kissed the back, then lapped at his palm, tongue flickering around and between fingers. Adam tensed and shuddered a little as a clever hand played across his t-shirt, scratching and tweaking through the thin material as teeth replaced the tongue for a couple of sharp nips. "Kissing." The hand on Adam's chest fisted in the fabric and pulled him up for a careful, smouldering kiss.
He responded eagerly, tongue exploring Crowley's mouth and joining his teeth to worry at Crowley's lower lip. "I- like-" he muttered, "kissing." Crowley had to agree, strained as his neck was from the position. Kissing was definitely...
"Ah!" Crowley jerked, the warms fingers shocking, but very pleasant against his skin. "Don't know that you need that much-" he was cut off by another kiss, Adam plundering his mouth as warm, clumsy hands dragged across the now-bare skin of his chest. Adam had apparently decided that Crowley's shirt was an unnecessary inconvenience and it had gone away.
"...tutoring," he finished, now sprawled beneath Adam on the floor.
"Oh. Don't I?" Adam asked, innocently, blue eyes wide. "But how'll we know for sure, 'less you test me?" He rocked his hips deliberately. "Thoroughly."
Crowley agreed. And the hand down his trousers didn't dissuade him. They ended up testing Adam's knowledge very thoroughly, in fact, and considering they had a bit more stamina than humanly usual, it took them the better part of the day to do so.
"Much nicer than GCSEs," Adam pointed out afterward, smiling like the cat who'd got the cream, and the canary, and a good deal of the family's Sunday roast as well. Crowley, flat on his back across the bed and not planning to move anytime soon, had to agree.
Slick
It was not as if the production of CHOW(TM) did not produce five times the waste products of actual food (and it was wrapped in several layers of non-recyclable material to boot). There was a sort of mutual arrangement between them (and War, and the other), which Famine had imagined everyone understood the limits of.
If Pollution understood his limits, however, he would have not have caused an international food crisis of a particularly chaotic sort, and Famine would not have had to have broken off some rather entertaining interference in politics (so endearing, the way the influence of the few could become the starvation of the many) to track him down.
The place was an abandoned factory of some sort; full of rust and the scent of old oil, a sticky film of unidentified chemicals covering everything. In the centre, Pollution crouched next to a pool of something, stirring it with a finger that would probably have dissolved away if he were human. He greeted Famine with a tilt of his head and a broad smile; there was a black smear at the right-hand corner of his mouth.
"I do not remember giving you free reign to muck about in my business." Famine told him, annoyed by his casual air - surely he knew why Famine was here. "You are disturbing delicate long-term plans.(1)"
Pollution shrugged, and licked his finger, which only changed the colour of the slick covering it. "Can't help but seep into places I don't belong and bubble up where I'm not wanted, can I. We are what we are."
"You are a nuisance."
"I'm hungry." Pollution said, plaintively, and although logically he knew such a thing was not possible, Famine couldn't help but be drawn to the sight of Pollution's tongue, licking its way across his lips. "More than one sort of hunger, of course. More than one way in which to despoil."
"Next time," Famine told him, almost smiling, "there are better ways of getting my attention." He turned neatly on his heel. "Starve a little longer, friend; I don't feel like feeding you today."
Pollution moved like an algae bloom spreading across pristine waters; Famine felt something against his lips less like being kissed and more like being very gently choked with motor oil, and then the other dispersed like a cloud of chlorine gas before his eyes, leaving only a vague metallic scent behind.
"Childish." Famine informed the air, and returned to work.
(1) All of Famine's plans were long-term. He was the sort of man - er, being, at least - who saw the Big Picture, in this case a picture of dimensions approximately equal to the globe and composed primarily of sand and sun-bleached bones. Until recently this Big Picture did not involve petroleum products to any significant degree.
Prompt: Claiming/Ownership (Famine tops, plz.)
The personification of Pollution, like the personifications of Pestilence, Famine and War before him, had sprung from the self-destructive tendencies of humanity, and did not, in any real sense, have any master other than perhaps the collective consciousness of the beings that had shaped his form.
Still, despite his fastidious attention to detail and accuracy in virtually every other aspect of his existence, this was the one area where he was more than prepared to say ‘To Lower Tadfield with technicality’. And as the pale form writhed beneath him, a ravenous urge to claim and possess rose within the embodiment of hunger.
White cried out as Sable thrust into him. It was a sharp sound that only served to increase Sable’s desperate urge to possess. He didn’t want any other entity to hear these noises or to lay their hands on that smooth skin. And the thought of anybody else wrapping their fingers around that hard cock and pounding into that tight, slick body, was almost enough to drive him incandescent with rage. Almost. The way White began to arch and squirm as Sable drove into him with even more vigour was enough to replace burgeoning fury with ever more desperate desire.
“You’re mine,” he rasped.
White threw back his head gave a breathy laugh. “Yours? I thought you said I was a filthy whore. I thought—” He was silenced as Sable’s thin lips met his, tongue forcing its way into that toxic mouth.
White moaned and then came, thrashing wildly as he coated their bellies with poison.
Half a second later Sable joined him, spilling his own seed deep within White.
As he drew away, he looked down at the object of his possession and took in the flush and the dishevelment and the way his legs were still spread in that oh so inviting way.
Sable’s mouth curved into a smile
“My filthy whore.”
are we just writing, like, comment fics for these? Drabbles?
Yes indeed. Although they can be any length you want.
Seconded.
"Art thou a witch?"
"Hast thou consorted with demons, with succubi, incubi, and other foul creatures in immoral congress? Hast thou made obeisance before the Prince of Lies?" the second voice, lower, asked as teeth worried the curve of his shoulder.
"Hast thou fornicated with warlocks, with witches and their familiar spirits in that mockery of the most holy Sabbath?" Adam gasped. A knife edge against his skin made him shudder away, toward the tormentor before him. A sharp 'riiip' and the material of his shirt gave way to the blade, baring his torso.
"Do such thoughts excite you? Do they arouse you, Devil's get?" The shirt bunched around his manacled hands, which clenched rhythmically at the chain anchored between his knees.
"Thy punishment will be savage, witch." The voice at his back was rougher now, the cool steel trailing up Adam's spine as he tried to control his shivers. He opened his mouth, trying to gasp, but a hot tongue invaded it, a hot mouth brutalized his.
"Filthy, cursed, renegade magus," the deeper purr before him added, releasing him, allowing him to breathe. The rough, uneven panting of his own lungs burned through him, deafening him. Dimly he felt his belt pried open, his trousers torn as they were shoved down. He stiffened as the knife reversed direction, sliding down his back. The steel froze him, but he was burning, desperate for the touch.
"Make me sorry," he panted. "Make me sorry..." The knife clattered on the floor somewhere off in the corner of his consciousness. "Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper...*" Adam broke off with a sharp bark of pain as nails (short, clean, precise) scored red fire down his chest. Larger, rougher hands closed on his hips from behind, pressing him forward. He fell into the waiting hands, was repositioned on elbows and knees. There was a wet sound on the edge of hearing. "Please!" One- two wet fingers pressed into him, a fist closed in his draggled blond curls, and the sensations focused him on the slick, breathy noise of the men kissing above him. "Guh...Brian...Wensley, please!"
Then his mouth was too busy for any more talk and his body was burning and doing the begging as his friends traded breath and curses over him.
----------------------------------------
*As it was in the beginning, and now, and ever...
Right then, I do mostly politics, or history, or whatever, someone else do the devious and the smut.
But the bonds between countries were strong; the most powerful monarchs were closely related and there were pacts that'd surely ensure peace.
Still, when Aziraphale saw her walk the streets of Paris,* praising France and smiling at the executions with blood-red lips, he was hardly surprised. You got a feel for it, after a few centuries. Also, the chaos and anger and people dying and the burning monasteries and castles was a bit of a hint.
A snicker like a gun that hadn't been invented yet made him turn around.
"Well, well." she said. "Aren't you just the embodiment of good intentions." And she stroked his jawline with beautiful fingers and nails that just stopped short of being talons. Might have been bloody bayonets, though. "We don't need your nasty, nasty counterpart for this, do we? You will do just fine." And she kissed him in a way that made both men and women glare at him and give her a longing look.
Aziraphale's shoulders sagged as she walked away to start another riot. And things had been going so well, with the Enlightenment and people forbidding the torture they used to have in their legal systems and that castrati practice in operas coming to an end. Still, he wasn't quite prepared for what came after. For what she brought on. What brought her on.
It was 1792 and France was at war with the empire of Austria and its ally Prussia. France was insane, filled with Red's particular brand of enthusiasm. Hundreds of people were executed simply because of their position, showing that the emigrés had made the wiser choice. And, God help them all, they did have good intentions.
There was a battle at Valmy. France won. And France kept on winning. They took Belgium, igniting fear into other countries. It was like dominoes and he couldn't make people be sensible.
1793, and he and Crowley watched "Louis Capet" being decapitated, his last words drowned out by drums.
The boy hadn't been that bad a king. Occasionally a bit spineless and detached perhaps. Beyond the execution platform he could see War laugh and laugh.
He took Crowley to a restaurant, and for a few hours, his worries were distant, drowned out by pleasant company.
"Doesn't look like I need to do anything much the next few decades." Crowley said. And Aziraphale could only agree with that, a little sadly.
*He was in France at the time, because, well, it was the most powerful country in Europe at the time, and apparently there was a bit of a fuss going on after the fall of the Bastille and all that.
meme needs more crack
Shit shit shit, forgot what "anonymous meme" means.
She was so pure. Her dedication to her cause so unshakable. Her hands around the tea tray so uncallused and tender. Her wimple so white. Crowley licked his lips, which had no effect on them, took a step forward, then dove forward and deftly caught the tea tray as Sister Mary Loquacious dropped it, startled.
"Oh my, Mister Crowley, you gave me such a fright just now! Goodness only knows what you might have been, coming out of the shadows like that! Of course, I suppose there isn't much that you could have been that would have been worse than what you actually are."
"Sister Mary-"
"I must thank you for catching the tray, sir, it's Mother Superior's nicest china and I would have been in such trouble if I'd ruined it."
"Sister Mary-"
"I always tell her not to serve guests on the nice china, but nothing but the best for the family of you-know-whommmf!"
Crowley had set aside the tea tray and covered the end of her sentence with his mouth. He took her lower lip between his teeth and smiled as she made a soft sound of pleasure. His smile faded as the soft sound of pleasure became muffled words. Her lips were moving against his, not in passion, but forming more words. He made out a few words - "Mister Crowley! ..."Most improprietous!"
He pushed her habit gradually higher and higher, feeling its rough texture against his palms. As he took his mouth away from hers to trace it down her jaw, she was still talking.
"-have a job to do, Mister Crowley, as I'm sure you know, your boss downstairs would greatly disapprove of dilly-dallying in this manner-"
And her frilly bloomers were crumpled around her thighs and his long finger twisted inside her, she was still talking.
"-must admit, Mister Crowley, I am quite enjoying this, even if it is a time-consuming pasttime in which we really ought not to be indulging at the moment, what with the imminent arrival of you know who-"
And when he slid inside her and shoved her wimple aside to tangle his fingers in her hair, and when she clutched at him, her head falling back to rest against the wall, Crowley looked up to meet her eyes. Her mouth was open, hauling in breath after shaky breath, but as he felt her clench and shudder on him, she didn't make a sound.
C/P Spanking, part 1
Three days ago it had been the duck pond in St James Park. He and the angel were taking one of their walks after a nice lunch at the Ritz when they found a filthy brownish and stinky substance where water was supposed to be. Ducks, being the intelligent creatures they are, were nowhere to be seen and Crowley was left with a confounded and very disappointed angel who made him help with the cleaning and restoring of the ducks (1).
He knew that something was definitely wrong when he saw thick black stains at his flat's door the day after, but it wasn't till the moment he found the Bently savagely attacked by some kind of awful layer, that made it look as if it hadn't seen a drop of water since 1926 (2), that Crowley decided to have a word with a certain horseperson.
Pollution was sitting near one of the zones more congested of London, breathing contently the dioxide that poisoned urban air when a black Bentley stopped right in front of him blocking a line of cars that answered in a deafening protest.
Yes, life was easy and flattering when you did not even have to make an effort. But...
"You! Get in the damn car, you filssssthy bastard!"
The bastard in question walked calmly towards the passenger seat and smiled dirty, "Glad to see you again! It's been a while!"
"Get in the car NOW", Crowley repeated after glaring above his glasses, "and if you dare to spoil my upholstery, you'll be taking tea with Azrael this evening".
SORRY, TODAY I'M BUSY. MAYBE ANOTHER DAY.
"So instead, am I taking tea with you?"
The young horseperson was still laughing when they arrived at Mayfair. He didn't understand why a few stains bothered so much the demon when he could miracle them away. Crowley had reached his limit. He smirked in a way reserved for special occasions and guide his guest to his flat.
"You need", the flat's door closed soundly behind them.
"Seriously", Crowley took off his jacket and rolled up slowly his sleeves.
"To learn a basic code of behaviour."
Pollution found himself pushed against the table and Crowley, stealthy and fast like a snake, placed right at his back. The demon put aside carefully an almost white tuft of hair from the horseperson's face so he could brush the exposed skin while he continued his speech.
"But you're lucky, I'm feeling quite reasonable today."
Pollution didn't try to repress the moan that escaped his mouth when a forked tongue caressed his neck.
(1) Crowley only did it because Aziraphale promised to open up a Château Lafite of 1787 when they arrived to the bookshop -and because secretly he was as disappointed as his counterpart: it would be boring if there wasn't any duck to sink.
(2) The oil puddle under the car did nothing to improve his mood.
It wasn't like they were stuck somewhere unpleasant, Crowley thought. The room was large, well-furnished with a couch, a chair and, oddly enough, a bed. It would have been nicer with windows, but you take what you can get.
It would have been perfect fine, were it not for the fact that they couldn't get out. Crowley had spent the last he-didn't-know-how-long watching Aziraphale wander around and around their makeshift prison, presumably looking for a way out, however it was equally possible that he was looking for a bookshelf hidden in one of the walls.
"It's no use." Aziraphale sighed as he sat heavily down on the couch next to the demon. "Obviously someone doesn't want us getting out of here." Crowley rolled his eyes.
"I would have thought the fact that there isn't any way out would have made that clear to you a little earlier, Angel." he said, adjusting his sunglasses, not because they needed it, simply because it was something to do. Aziraphale sighed again, ignoring the sarcasm.
Time is a funny thing, really. It only seems to pass when you can actually see it passing, and Crowley realized this when he looked over at Aziraphale and suddenly couldn't tell if they'd been sitting there for five minutes or five hours since he last spoke. The angel was looking downwards, and blushing furiously.
"I --er, well, that is to say... I mean we did... that one time in Rome, well if you wanted to..." he stuttered, still resolutely not looking at Crowley.
Ah, the demon thought, grinning as he moved towards the angel, accepting his unspoken offer with an equal lack of words, that's why there's a bed.
Somewhere, at once hundreds of miles away and not far away at all, a teenaged boy grinned. Sometimes you just had to give people, er, beings, a little push in the right direction.
Er... Bently/Bookshop, anyone?
"I don't know Angel. They, er... Seem to be enjoying themselves?" He suggested, wincing a little as a revving noise emitted from the erratically moving vehicle infront of them. Aziraphale sighed and brought his hand up to his forehead, rubbing gently as though to stave off a headache.
It had been quite a shock for the two, really. They had been minding their own business in the back room, discussing latest wiles and thwarts, when there had been a crashing noise from the front of the shop. Hurrying out, they had been greeted with the sight of Crowleys Bently ramming itself in and out of the bookshops door - thankfully, it wsn't hitting any of the books.
"Oh look." Aziraphale said hopefully, pointing at the car. "It seems to be slowing down. Maybe now it'll stop?"
"Possi-" Crowley was cut off as the car gave a shudder, and thick oil was belched out from the front grill. Staying still the car gave a sighing noise and slowly started to reverse out of the bookshop, leaving a dumbstruck and and demon in its wake.
"So help me," Aziraphale muttered as he stepped closer to clean the oil stain. "if your Bently gets my bookshop pregnant, you will be paying support."
(AN: I... I have never been more confused by a prompt before @_@ I hope this works. Sorta.)crossdressing - stockings/skirt/heels?
Burnt Orange, Part One
As he started on the fifth cocktail- florescent pink, with a little melon ball and a cherry on a stick- the master of ceremonies, with a grin, announced Miss Azira Pale, and the curtains parted.
Crowley stared. Then he downed the rest of the drink, signalled for another, and stared again. It wouldn't have been so bad, he reflected, if Aziraphale didn't have such a fondness for tartan, or if he'd had the legs for the dress, or wasn't doing the gavotte with another man to 'Dancing Queen', or even if he hadn't indulged the seventies' fascination with burnt orange, but all of it in combination was either so hysterically funny that he thought he might have to scream or... or so quintessentially Aziraphale that it verged on... charming.
That thought made him take a rather large gulp of his cocktail.
The show ended after Aziraphale's gavotte brought down the house, and the performers dispersed into the audience. Aziraphale, as Crowley was dreading- or perhaps hoping- made a beeline for him. "Crowley, you should have told me you were coming."
Crowley's eyes were drawn to Aziraphale's lips as the angel frowned slightly. The red lipstick made them distractingly shiny, especially in his state of mild intoxication. He wondered if they were as smooth as they looked, and then shuttered that thought away and accidentally lost the key. "Didn't know you'd be here."
Aziraphale laughed and sipped his wine, the glass catching the lights above the bar. His nails were painted red, and Crowley tried not to look at them very hard. They clashed with Aziraphale's dress and it made his eyes hurt. "Well, you have to have hobbies, dear."
"I just thought yours were more..." Crowley struggled for a way to complete the sentence. Not gay? Anti-social? "...bookish."
"Well, you can't spend all your time with books," said the angel who had spent several entire years in the Library of Alexandria. "I thought it might be nice to do some dancing again."
"Angel, you're doing the gavotte to ABBA. In a dress," Crowley pointed out.
"Do you like it? Glamoria thought it looked nice on me." Aziraphale preened a little. Crowley thought he was missing the point.
Tea
"Why the hell not?" Crowley put the tin back into the cabinet a little huffily. "I thought you liked that kind."
"I do," Aziraphale sniffed. "That's why I don't want to waste it."
Crowley rolled his eyes and reached for another tin in the heavily stocked tea cabinet. "We're not wasting it, angel, we're--"
"Not the Lipton either, Crowley! Have you no taste?"
"Fine." Crowley stepped back from the cabinet and crossed his arms. "If I'm so tasteless, you can choose."
Aziraphale took the kettle off the stove and set up the teapot. "The Harney & Sons will be sufficient," he said. He help up a hand as Crowley went to dump the leaves into the tea ball. "Please, my dear, no more than two spoonfulls. I don't want it too strong."
Crowley ground his teeth. "We're not drinking it, angel, we're using it for sex. Who cares what it tastes like?"
"Well," Aziraphale said, carefully pouring the water into the teapot, "I certainly plan on drinking it." He paused. "Or licking it, anyway. Now set the timer for five minutes, dear. We don't want it becoming astringent, do we?"
"Well, when you put it that way, angel, no, I suppose we don't."
What a Sap
The spider plant quivered as fingers trailed down its slightly browning leaves.
“There, there,” said the angel, in a soft, soothing voice. “You’re safe now.”
Its stem trembled delicately as the oddly gentle hands continued their exploration.
“Oh dear, you really are in a bad way, aren’t you?”
It twitched in assent.
Aziraphale shook his head, he knew and accepted that Crowley was a demon, and, as such, couldn’t really help some of his baser instincts. However, there were some aspects of the former Serpent of Eden’s that the ex Angel of the Eastern Gate just couldn’t excuse, at all. In fact, if he was in one of his more smiteful moods (usually after witnessing an act of wanton bibliographic destruction), he’d proclaim that they were d*nmed well not on. Alas, his latest diatribe on the despicable manner in which the demon treated the victimised vegetation he called houseplants, had been met with what could only be described as ‘a most undiabolic fit of the giggles’.
Aziraphale had therefore taken the only action a moral being could. He’d snatched the next intended victim of Crowley’s brutal One dropped leaf and you’re out policy during his last visit to the demon’s flat and made off with it back to the shop.
He could still hear the hysterical laughter that had consumed his opposite number during the subsequent gloating – ‘They call him the Houseplant Liberation Army’ – phone call he’d received later that day.
It had been worth it though. The spider plant was finally free... well, as free a mostly stationary life form could be, at least. Alas, despite the angels tender care and regular watering the poor thing was still in a sickly and traumatised state.
The angel gave a sigh. There was really only one thing for it. He wasn’t certain if he was technically supposed to do it, but he couldn’t very well stand there and watch it wither away.
As he continued his caressing of the long leaves, he allowed a tiny, tiny fraction of divine essence to seep into ailing life greenery.
The spider plant shuddered. This time however it was not a shudder of pain or fear. This was a shudder of hope and delight.
The leaves that had just a second ago been limp and drooping, began to strengthen, growing turgid, strong and firm as the heavenly light permeated its entire being
There was a brief moment of warm, radiating ecstasy: a blissful communion between two beings.
When it was all finally over the angel looked down at his now rather moist and inexplicably sticky hands.
His eyes immediately widened.
“My word!”
He hadn’t realised a plant that size could release quite so much sap in one go.
LESBIANS MAKE EVERYTHING BETTER! XD
That had been several hundred years ago, and Aziraphale was no longer worried about familiarity breeding contempt. Indeed, that seemed to be the least of their problems. An Agreement they might have, but she was beginning to feel the need to voice certain . . . concerns.
Now Crowley was sliding through the room as though she owned it, slipping sinously out of her smart suit and slithering up the bed (stunning, spellbindingly sacred).
"You could have miracled those away, my d--Crowley," Aziraphale said, holding the covers in front of herself as a knight might clutch his battered shield.
"Ahh," the demon murmured, "but what fun would that have been? I know you were looking." She lay sprawled at the foot of the bed, head on one hand, legs stretched, on display, scratching a fingernail up Aziraphale's calf under the covers. "C'mon, admit it. You love to look. Want to touch?"
"No, thank you," Aziraphale said primly and with surprising steadiness as the covers were flung aside and the hand massaging her calves began to inch its way upwards.
With an extravagantly put-upon expression and a muttered, "Must I do everything around here?" Crowley stretched and grinned, swooping in for a sudden, wet kiss. Aziraphale gasped as she was pushed back against the headboard, as the covers fell forgotten to the floor, as Crowley's tongue plundered her mouth and slipped across her lips.
It was over almost before it started, it seemed, and Aziraphale was about to voice an extremely indignant (if slightly incoherent) complaint when Crowley retreated to the foot of the bed and, almost pensively, placed a finger to her lips, running her other hand slowly down her side. She shuddered visibly at this, lips trembling, and closed her eyes to slits, licking her fingers and laving them over her lips.
"Crowley? What are you--"
The demon opened her eyes as she gave her fingers one last lick and, with a slick smile, ran her hand down her chest. Biting her lip, she ran one nail across a hardening nipple and blinked once, fast, her eyes heavy and unblinking fixed on Aziraphale. She ran another finger across, shivering at the cool moisture on her skin--and then, with no warning, she twisted hard, letting out a moan through her clenched teeth that rattled down Aziraphale's spine and broke between her legs.
Prompt: Jealousy
I AM A SEVEN FOOT SKELETON WITH A STEADY, PROFESSIONAL JOB. I LIKE KITTENS, TRIVIA, AND A GOOD SHARP SCYTHE.
YOU ARE NOT PUT OFF BY A LACK OF FLESH, IN A LOW-RISK CAREER, AND LIKE TO LAUGH.
CONTACT ME AT DONTFEARTHEREAPER@GMAIL.COM
NO GOTHS.
A Night in the Bentley
Then they were inside the car and fumbling at clothing, until it was bare, sweaty skin that stuck to the leather and pulled most uncomfortably but it was hard- no, it was impossible to think about that with Crowley above you and doing things with hot lips and serpentine tongue and deft fingers and there, there, yes, yes, oh, Crowley, please…
The windows were fogged up, blocking anyone’s view of the inside of the Bentley, if they were so inclined to look (which of course they weren’t). But if someone were to see into the Bentley with the power of someone who is not entirely mortal but not bound by the laws of the immortal, he would have seen a truly exhausted but entirely sated and happy demon curled protectively around an equally sated and happy angel. And said hypothetical deity might have smiled and chuckled to himself- er, itself- and said
“’Bout time, those two.”
Bwahahaaa.
The Bentley wants some, Crowley doesn't realize what he's doing, first time
(Please no "Crowley is sluttily making out with his car.")
British humor 4TW.
I strongly suspect Crowley is going commando.
He washed and waxed it himself, by hand, despite the formidable combination of his natural and acquired laziness. "You look beautiful," he told it, grinning as it seemed to shine more brightly in response.
Perhaps, in retrospect, he shouldn't have been surprised, given the length of time he'd spent around the Bentley and the well-known tendency for objects exposed to supernatural forces to obtain a touch of the supernatural themselves. Nevertheless, when he turned on the car that afternoon, he was surprised as He--anything when the driver's seat began to vibrate beneath him.
"What the--" he began, then paused. It really was a rather pleasant sensation, he realised, relaxing and warming. He smiled, running his hands lightly back and forth across the wheel. "That feels good," he said aloud, and the engine purred.
After a few moments, he began to notice a change in the seat's vibration; it seemed now to be centred in a rather, ah, personal area. "What exactly is going on here?" he demanded, horrified at the cracking of his own voice. Surely this was some sort of simple malfunction of the engine or the transmission or the, er, carburetor, he thought frantically as he tried to sit farther back in his seat. No good: he gasped as, seat rumbling beneath him, the car jostled his cock to full hardness.
I should get out, he thought. I should get out right now. But . . .
The pressure beneath him shifted, surging under his aching cock and pressing briefly against his balls before rumbling hotly beneath his arse. He groaned and pressed himself into the seat, clutching the wheel for support as the seat vibrated beneath him. Out of inspiration or sudden madness (or perhaps some of both), he ran his fingers around the inside rim of the steering wheel. The engine roared, and the seat surged under his arse, rubbing him teasingly.
Mother of twelve bastards, I cannot believe I'm doing this, he thought, even as he fumbled desperately with his trousers and feverishly began to stroke.
Surrounded by the heat of the car, assaulted by the roar of the engine, Crowley got off in time with the windshield wipers and his own hand sliding and slipping around the steering wheel. With a strangled cry, he came all over the formerly immaculate interior of his prized car, and a moment later the engine ground to a satisfied, exhausted halt.
Surveying the interior of the car through a satiated daze, Crowley whistled, impressed. He leaned forward a bit and whispered conspiratorially:
"Well, we'll just have to clean you up, now, won't we?"
The only response was a flick of the headlights on the empty street ahead. Crowley grinned and gripped the wheel, and they were off.
Pass the torch fanfic, Pestilence teaching Pollution all he knows. ...and a little more
In the works..
In addiyion I would like to see War/Pepper with Pepper being the more dominant partner(light BDSM at most please)
Az/Crow/Ad "The Adventures of Biggles"
A muscle in Aziraphale's jaw was twitching sporadically. Adam had driven into London earlier in the day and though he was a lovely young man--polite, but with that darling, mischievous human streak in him--his presence had set Aziraphale's nerves to pieces within the first hour. Of course, Crowley had chosen this afternoon to pop in for a visit as well and apparently decided to stick around to watch the fun of an angelic nervous collapse.
They were in among the first edition children's books now. Aziraphale had grown rather fond of Biggles, The Child's First Alphabet and their compatriots--the Alice alone was worth several thousand pounds. Of course Carroll had been rather disturbingly fond of taking pictures of the Liddell girls, but that had been the fashion of the times. Aziraphale peered around the shelf reluctantly, as a new burst of laughter pealed from the Js.
"Ooh, lor- he- thing, Adam," Crowley chortled. "Look...97, 40, 36, 37, 55 and 74. Biggles Sees Too Much, Works It Out, Breaks the Silence, Gets His Men, No Rest For Biggles and--there's the icing on the pastry of your choice-" He seemed to be nearly choking on his laughter. Past the wheezes, which were, Aziraphale thought tetchily, entirely voluntary for a being who needn't breathe, he finished. "Biggles Takes It Rough!"
Adam was giggling rather too much for a 22-year-old Antichrist. "Does sound like the whole squadron was having it off with each other regular, doesn't it? Ginger was a daft bloke, but Biggles was still always pulling his arse out of trouble. Makes you think he had a bit of vested interest in it."
"All right, that's quite enough of that," Aziraphale snapped, rounding the shelves and pulling the maltreated book sharply out of Crowley's hands. "If you're really that bored, you can go to the shop next door and get something disgusting to amuse yourself with. You needn't mock poor Bigglesworth and his friends."
"Tch." Crowley shrugged, getting up to drape his arm around Aziraphale's shoulders. "That's not it. If they will go on 'ejaculating' things and calling each other pet names, what are we supposed to think?"
"We weren't mocking, really. Good for them; Algy, Ginger, Bertie, Biggles. That's what friends are for," Adam added. He was much nearer than Aziraphale had thought. Suddenly, the angel froze and looked at the two of them and their identical sharp grins and saw the demonic side in Adam that matched Crowley's--not cruel or really malicious, but oh...wicked.
***
Crowley had not actually expected to go to the bookshop. He'd been headed for the Tate to aggravate tourists and school groups when his mind wandered and he ended up taking the turning toward Soho instead. Well, he could take a hint when he felt like it and it had been a week or so since he'd visited Aziraphale, so Crowley shrugged and parked behind a rusting, aged Mini. Once inside, well, he hadn't any choice but to stay. He wasn't nasty enough to abandon the obviously-frazzled Aziraphale to the unnerving presence of Adam. The boy had grown up well--a fine sharp glint in his grin, with just enough of a streak of clever humanity to soften the edges so they didn't cut.
To give Aziraphale a bit of a rest, he dawdled the Antichrist to the back shelves. Let the angel fondle some dust-jackets and regain his composure. They were laughing over the obviously-repressed-homosexuality behind the titles of the Biggles books, when Aziraphale swooped down on them like a not-avenging-yet-but-quite-seriously-con
Aziraphale looked positively wounded by Crowley's jokes, but froze at Adam's last sentence, tensing as if cornered. They had cornered him, hadn't they, Crowley realised. He opened his mouth to speak as he turned to look at Adam and froze himself as he saw both their faces side by side. The two of them together--not arrogance and holier-than-thou cleverness but eyes too wise for Earth...
Adam goes to Crowley/Aziphrale
Awkwardness, ineffability, britishness a plus.
Must be sexy and funny.
(It makes sense...he's neither wholly divine/demonic nor wholly human. And you'd have to be bloody blind to not assume there was something going on between Crowley and Aziphrale XD. So it's kind of like, kindred spirits?)
Thank you!