(no subject)

[a_fell]

I.II.III.

Consciousness descends on him by inches, and with the growing light that has been edging onto his pillow comes the growing awareness that the other side of the bed is empty.

There's a terrible crick in his neck, as well; he remembers waking with a start after drifting off over his book last night, Crowley still snoring blithely on beside him, and crawling under the covers rather than waiting any longer for the demon to wake. He's slept the night through, and while he can see that it's still early morning outside, daylight has fully broken across the water.

He sits up carefully, rubbing at his neck as the crick fades. The suitcase abandoned last night is nowhere to be seen, but Crowley's watch is on top of the dresser, and a few of his own handkerchiefs are folded in a neat pile nearby. Someone's unpacked, then. He looks again at the sky out the window, frowning; it can't be more than nine yet.

He stands carefully, considers making the bed, and just as quickly discards the idea. He'll do it when he's getting dressed, perhaps.

He wanders into the kitchen with a vague idea of making some tea, discovers a bowl of apples on the counter, and glances out the window for the culprit. There on the veranda, hair lifting gently in the breeze, is Crowley.

Comments

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

The volume of his voice - babbling nonsense, at this point - rises with each tug on his hair until it's more of a cross between a yelp and a moan. He doesn't seem to mind, though; the hand on the small of Crowley's back only tightens, the other is still clamped on his hip, and the look on the angel's face is perfectly blissful.

[aj_crawley]

Crowley's other hand white-knuckles against the rock, because - moving faster now - it's so nearly perfect, except not yet.

Because:

Deliberate, almost triumphant, he grinds his hips down - hard (pressing Aziraphael down against the rock hard enough that it must surely hurt).

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

Perhaps it does, but Aziraphael hardly feels it - or he feels it in some removed part of his mind that interprets it entirely differently. His hips push upward - not that it's even possible to tell against Crowley's concentrated weight - and arching his back so far that he bangs the back of his head on the rock behind him, he cries out his release.

[aj_crawley]

Well, thank Somebody for that, because (on this particular occasion, at least) it would be terrible for Crowley's pride to have been first - and as it is, he's barely even second, slamming a fist against the rock and muffling a final, cracked moan against Aziraphael's temple.






Panting, Crowley seems to be looking for words.


"Ow," he decides finally.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

It's a few moments before he clears his throat in order to speak, at which point all the pains in the back of his head and every part of him touching the rock make themselves known.

"Ow," he agrees, and rests his head on Crowley's shoulder.

[aj_crawley]

"Sorry," Crowley says, hand dropping to the back of Aziraphael's neck.

He doesn't really sound it.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"It's all right," he says, concentrating on ignoring it. "My own fault."

Well, perhaps not entirely. Even the bump on the head.

"'N you?" he asks blearily. "All right?"

[aj_crawley]

"Nothing permanent," he replies.

His knees and shins are feeling rather abused - unnecessarily so, considering their owner is a demon - but it's not so bad that Crowley doesn't feel like holding onto the pain for a bit, in a smug sort of way.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

He makes a satisfied noise and puts his arms back around Crowley. The sleepiness is returning, suddenly, and the demon's shoulder had been unreasonably comfortable despite the boniness. And that place between neck and shoulder is right there, just asking to be kissed.

[aj_crawley]

"No," Crowley says firmly, when Aziraphael nestles back into his shoulder. For good measure, he prods him in the side. "We're on a rock. If you want to roll over and go to sleep, you should probably do it somewhere that won't be underwater at high tide."

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

He raises his head, blinking around as though he'd completely forgotten they were half-sitting on a rock while the seawater lapped against them.

"I'm not that sleepy," he says unconvincingly.

[aj_crawley]

"No?" Crowley asks, finally levering himself off Aziraphael's lap and - as an afterthought - rematerialising their swimming trunks.

(His knees are indeed rather red and scraped-looking, and one of his shins a little skinned - but nothing worthy of much comment.)

"'Cause I was thinking of taking a short coast down the beach, seeing if there's anything new since last time."

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"Oh?" he says, and with an effort, looks a little more aware.

"Yes, let's. We can pick out a place to have dinner one night this week."

It's been at the back of his mind, truth be told, since Crowley had mentioned it.

[aj_crawley]

"Oh, not that far," Crowley says. "I was thinking I'd go down as far as - you remember that little cove with the really phallic rock formations? And then back up the other direction as far as... I feel like going. Or we feel like going," he adds.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"I'm fairly certain that you'd never let me forget the phallic rock formations, even if I could somehow block it from my memory," he says, smiling.

"Yes, let's," he adds, and stifles the yawn that's threatening.

[aj_crawley]

"Last chance to cry off," Crowley warns, even as he tests his balance (not perfect) and clambers up to where the rock levels out somewhat, a foot or two above their heads.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

"I can keep up," he insists. It's a stubborn mantra that he couldn't abandon now if he wanted to, after repeating it so often.

He manoeuvres himself around, taking deep breaths and hoping that his legs are steady enough now to hold him.

[aj_crawley]

There's a soft, feathery fwmp as Crowley's wings unfold from his back once more - the reason he crouches to offer Aziraphael his hand again, rather than simply leaning down.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

He scrambles up with Crowley's assistance, dripping seawater from his rather ridiculous swimming trunks. There's an echoing fwump once he gets his balance (the wings help there, as long as he can avoid knocking them into Crowley's), and he stands poised to leave at last.

"After you, my dear," he says politely.

(Another few seconds wouldn't go amiss; he's still hoping that all of his limbs will function properly once in motion.)

[aj_crawley]

With their wings out, there's not quite enough room to turn around - or at least, not quite enough room for Crowley to take off with his back to Aziraphael and avoid a repeat of the incident in the bedroom.

And so he backs up, careful over uneven rock, feeling the way with the soles of his feet until he stands on the edge - heels out over nothing, like a diver on the high board.
     (in fact, of faith in something)
He checks over his shoulder, which doesn't accomplish much, and then looks back at Aziraphael, meeting his gaze (yellow-gold to astonishing blue).

"We'll be back soon enough," Crowley says.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

Aziraphael could take his wings back in and avoid all that, but now that he's got his balance he's not sure that he could do it without falling into the water again. And nursing a concussion is no way to spend a holiday.

"I should hope so," he says instead. "I haven't looked in the refrigerator, but I'd hate to miss out on whatever else you picked up in the market this morning."

[aj_crawley]

Wordlessly, Crowley scrapes back the tendrils of wet hair falling over his forehead - something that's almost immediately undone when he coils like a spring (or like a snake) and then leaps.

The first downstroke of his wings craters the water, but by then, Crowley is too high for the spray to hit him. He only looks down once as he climbs, at Aziraphael, and at the earth and the sea spreading below him.

After all, they'll be back soon enough.
     (All Crowley has to do is save the world. Again.)