Ineffable Valentines

Rating: E

Angel á la Carte

Dinner with Aziraphale is usually a guarantee that Crowley will get back home with a dopey smile on his face, fall face first into the mattress and forget about life for a while.

Tonight Crowley can’t sleep.

It’s not like he has never noticed how Aziraphale relishes in whatever he is tasting, Crowley practically lives for it, for the little moans and wiggles and sighs. It is not that he doesn’t like it, no. It is that for the first time in a while he has wanted to actually taste. A blessed drop of honey on the Angel’s lips is what is doing him in, Aziraphale didn’t even notice.

Had the Lord not talked of rivers of milk and honey in Her promised land?

Crowley lets his mind wander. Lets himself imagine what it would be like. To have the Angel in his flat, with him. To be able to clean that drop with his tongue. To get to sample Aziraphale in the way Aziraphale samples his dishes?

What would his Angel taste like, covered in honey? How would champagne taste like from his mouth?

Crowley let’s his hands wander too, imagining Aziraphale’s. He would look at him with anticipation, mouth watering. Crowley feels his skin tingling and the pressure building. He imagines but he wants to feel, so he decides to go for it. He changes his corporation until he has a cock to relieve his tension, he starts caressing slowly.

Aziraphale would be a feast for all the senses. He’s a delicacy, a delight. Crowley imagines the soft skin under his fingers. Warm and yielding, He imagines the tension of the neck, the softness of the tights. The soft hair as he tangles his fingers into those blessed curls. He pictures Aziraphale’s ever changing eyes starting to lid, a light moan escaping the Angel involuntarily.

Crowley takes himself in hand, begins stroking.

Crowley would kiss Aziraphale slowly, stealing that soft sound from his lips. Tasting his sweet angel. He tastes like honey and wine. Crowley starts kissing lower and the taste changes, the smells too. The delicate hint of salt and sunlight enter his nose, and he licks, coats his tongue with it. He gasps.

Lazily Crowley nips  and kisses Aziraphale’s throat. Aziraphale moans deeper.

Crowley keens, stroking faster.

He’s touching his angel’s belly with reverence. Sliding his hand lower, he finds Aziraphale hard and wanting. Crowley lifts his eyes to find Aziraphale’s shining, smile half gone with tiny pleased sounds. Crowley’s hand close around Aziraphale and he shuts his eyes and stifles a string of blasphemy. He shudders.

Aziraphale’s voice comes weak and needy, Won’t you, my dear. Please? He digs his fingers in Crowley’s back Oh God - Oh - Oh - Crowley. Please. Please. Yes, dearest, Yes. Mfhf. Crowley kisses Aziraphale like a vice, drinking every plea, every sound.

Crowley’s hand on himself grips tighter, pumps harder. His muscles lock and he comes in waves, spilling on his hand. Aziraphale’s name vibrating on his tongue and soul. He remains with his eyes closed for a while.

A few moments later, he calls Aziraphale’s fantasy forth again, different this time. He has the angel hold him, caressing his back, until tonight, Crowley sleeps.

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Ineffable Valentines Day 29: Whatever you like.

I used today to thank @whiteleyfoster for creating Prince of Omens. 💖💖

Aziraphale checked his calendar. Only a handful of months to Warlock’s fifth birthday. He swallowed hard, sinking into his chair. Time was running out and it was unclear whether or not the antichrist would bring about the end of the world or not.

Until then, he would try to make the most of his time here. He enjoyed seeing Warlock grow, answering his questions, sharing with him the angelic love of all creatures. Most of all, he enjoyed seeing Crowley daily. They often spent evenings together, sharing wine, slipping out for a late dinner, or strolling through the gardens around Brother Francis’ cottage.

His disguise hung on the hook by the door, at which there was a knock.

“One moment, if you will!” He called in the gardener’s rough accent, running to get into his disguise.

“Angel, it’s me,” replied a familiar voice.

“Oh! Do come in!” he shuffled to the door and opened it, allowing Nanny Ashtoreth to slip inside. “Rough day, dear?” It was earlier than their usual meeting time, which delighted him. Perhaps this day was going to be something special after all.

She stomped across the room, shedding her hat, jacket, and heels as she went, throwing herself down on the sofa with a groan.

“Tea or wine?”

“Wine. At least four bottles.” There was a snap of fingers and the tight blouse and skirt shifted into a more comfortable shirt and pants. He relaxed, enjoying the comfort of the cottage, Azirpahale’s company, and the change of clothes.

For the @ineffable-valentines prompt list!

Boy oh boy. I cannot believe I was able to post a fic for this prompt list, on time, every day for an entire month. For me, that’s huge. I tend to be a slow writer and I rarely finish the stuff I start. Not every fic was amazing, or very long, but by gosh, I sure did finish them, and I had so much fun doing it! Huge thanks to @mielpetite for making this list and reblogging all the entries throughout the month, they’ve been amazing. Thank you also to all the lovely folks who commented/reblogged/liked my fics, you gave me the motivation to sit down every day and write something, even when I wasn’t feeling it. Much love to all y’all.

If you go to the #ineffablevalentines tag on tumblr, you’ll see the other entries, and if you go here on my blog you’ll see all of mine. Okay, enough chat, please enjoy my final fic of the month, wherein to no one’s surprise, there is more letter writing.

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To the proprietor of A.Z. Fell & Co Booksellers, Downtown Soho, in case there’s another one knocking about somewhere—

I saw you in the shop the other day and couldn’t help but stare. You were gently ushering someone out the door without a single book in their hands, and I couldn’t help but find your tenacity admirable. I myself was careful not to remove any item from the store when I left, but I’m afraid I may have left one behind. I was wondering if you might have seen it, so I can come back to fetch it. You see, it’s terribly important to me. It’s my heart.

Love,

Your Secret Admirer

Summary: Aziraphale isn’t exactly fond of people shortening his name, but he makes one exception. For one demon. And only at one specific time.

Notes: Written for the @ineffable-valentines’s prompt ‘He could do really weird things with his tongue’ with a little bit of a twist implied XD

Read on AO3.

Aziraphale isn’t the biggest fan of shortening names.

The Almighty gave him his name at the beginning of time, at the birth of the world. And despite recent unpleasantness, he is proud of his name, and requests that it be used in its entirety.

Of course, the practice of carving up people’s names has been going on for centuries, and whereas it’s much the style of the modern era to pick children’s names with full consideration of what their nicknames will be - what their bestest best friends will call them - Aziraphale feels that allowing others to shorten one’s name should have a mandatory cut-off age.

Twelve seems sufficient to him.

Summary:

With Aziraphale away on a rare assignment, Crowley finds himself at a loss without his angel. So in an effort to feel close to him again, he does the only thing he can think of. (580 words)

Notes: Written for the Ineffable Valentine’s prompt ‘embrace’. Featuring non-sexual Shibari. Dom Aziraphale, sub Crowley. Warning for angst, emotional hurt/comfort. Written for the @ineffable-valentines prompt ‘embrace’.

Read on AO3.

He didn’t use the best rope.

They keep that at the flat.

The rope wrapped around him is frayed.

Worn.

Gives him slivers.

Bulges in spots.

Is stretched beyond belief.

But it’s all they had at the bookshop.

They only dabble here - lock the doors and break out a skein when the mood to dip their toes in the taboo hits them.

The flat has more room to move. More room to spread their wings. Higher ceilings to rig without destroying historical architecture.

Aziraphale didn’t intend on being gone long. He took an assignment, which he doesn’t do often.

But this one spoke to him.

He’d invited Crowley to come with, but the demon got high and mighty about Aziraphale kowtowing to Heaven.

That hurt Aziraphale’s feeling, so he left Crowley behind.

And Crowley was fine with that.

For about a day.

Possibly a week.

But even that was pushing things.

For the @ineffable-valentines prompt list!

Apparently, for me, it always comes back to the handwritten letters. What can I say, there’s nothing more romantic than writing cramps and snail mail.

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Aziraphale stared down at the letter. It was silly, really; it wasn’t anything he hadn’t read dozens of times before, from dozens of humans. Yet he couldn’t tear his eyes from the page.

He placed a finger on the dried ink of the spiky, slanted handwriting at the bottom of the letter. The salutation, scrawled so absentmindedly, so automatically, that it surely meant nothing at all, read:

Yours, Crowley

Still so behind! Here are 21-24 of @mielpetite 's @ineffable-valentines ! (Thank Something for reference images.)

The day started off as most days often did - Aziraphale slid out of bed and busied himself in the bookshop, shelving, repairing, dusting, then settling down with a cup of hot tea and a copy of a book he’d been meaning to read (again) for some time.

It was overcast and gloomy outside, so Aziraphale draped a blanket over his shoulders as he read, sighing contentedly as he poured over the pages.

He paused his reading about halfway through the book, setting it down with a carefully placed bookmark, and headed to the library to open for the day.

He had hoped that the poor weather would keep most customers at home, but was disappointed to find a handful pop in throughout the dreary morning.

Crowley wandered downstairs shortly before noon, fully dressed, the glint in his eye visible even from behind his dark glasses. He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist and began pressing kisses to every available inch of skin. Aziraphale, taken by surprise, was unable to stop the gasp from escaping his lips as he leaned into Crowley’s touch. The group of teenagers that were checking out the Poe section were so uncomfortable that they ran out of the shop before things could progress.

When the door had closed and the bell signaled their departure, Crowley spun Aziraphale in his arms, to face him, and kissed him properly, knocking the wind out of the angel.

“I’ve got some things to do. I’ll see you later.” Crowley ducked in for one more kiss, then sauntered out of the shop, leaving a weak-kneed angel staring after him dreamily.

For the @ineffable-valentines prompt list!

I kinda cheated on the prompt again. I started writing dialogue and I was having too much fun to stop, or to wrangle these two ancient weirdos into having a normal conversation.

__________

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, in a casual tone that was usually only possible when he’d already had a few glasses of wine, and wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon. Which made sense, because at the moment, that was precisely what he was doing.

“Hmm?” Crowley looked up from his own glass. He was doing much the same thing as Aziraphale.

“Do you mind,” said Aziraphale, his warm gaze looking Crowley up and down, “if I tell you something rather silly?”

“Oh yeah?” Crowley perked up, and his head rose a fraction from the sofa pillow. He gestured broadly with his wine glass, which miraculously did not spill. “Tell me something silly, Angel.”

“Maybe silly’s not the right word. Foolish, perhaps.”

Crowley grinned toothily. “Tell me something foolish, then.”