Crowley lost part of his senses when he fell from heaven. The boiling lakes of sulfur stripped him of his ability to sense, taste, and feel delicate sensations. The gentle flavor of a crepe with whipped cream and berries. The press of a lover's lips against his own. These are all lost to him.
Aziraphale thinks of a way around it with a little help of Madame Tracy's memories.
Bookmarked by Haanya_Rap
21 Sep 2019
20 Jul 2019
Crowley distracts Aziraphale from his book
Appetite by introductory for momentia
20 Jul 2019
Aziraphale isn't staring on purpose, but Crowley's chosen forms have always been utterly enchanting, even when he'd been appreciating them solely from an aesthetic standpoint. The body he's inhabited since the turn of the nineteenth century is one of Aziraphale's favorites: the golden eyes and pointed incisors have accompanied him unfailingly from one corporation to the next, of course, as have the serpentine brand and the fiery red tresses, but this particular body seems tailor-made just for him. The bony angles of his collarbones and shoulders, the sharpness of his wrists; the sinuous curve of his spine, the delicate ribs that number far more than a human's; the subtle iridescence of scales at the base of his throat and along his sides, sensitive to the merest brush; the slim breadth of his hips, tiny enough to fit in Aziraphale's handspan; the smooth, pale thighs, parted just so --
[Categorized under both GO tags because it contradicts nothing from the book and only one thing from the show; and, to be completely frank, there isn't enough characterization to be found in this piece to truly build an argument about which side it might potentially fall on.]
17 Jul 2019
Crowley was pinned against the wall of his flat. Aziraphale didn’t much like Crowley’s flat, but where wall-pinning was concerned it was clearly the superior choice, having no bookshelves. It was a bright afternoon in late autumn, sun streaming in through the skylight, illuminating Crowley’s pale skin and crowning him with rich red-gold radiance. Crowley was naked, arms overhead, wrists together, legs drawn up, bound as surely as if with chains, though with only Aziraphale’s will. They had been making free with miracles for months now with no repercussions, and Aziraphale couldn’t think of a better use for his power, at this moment, than to see Crowley so exquisitely at his mercy.
17 Jul 2019
Aziraphale knows Crowley will eventually leave his side--the demon bores easily, and has never handled stasis well--but he’s quite happy to put that moment off for as long as possible. It isn’t until the Eleventh Day Of The Rest Of Their Lives that Aziraphale realizes with bemusement that, aside from his little jaunt into Hell on Crowley’s behalf, he hasn’t been out of the demon’s line of sight for more than a few minutes since Tadfield.
Or: After Armageddn't, Crowley, who for a whole afternoon thought he'd lost his angel forever, intends to never let Aziraphale out of his sight ever again. He fails to actually communicate this, and when he wakes up in the bookshop to find the angel gone, he panics. When Aziraphale comes back, he winds up with a lapful of clingy demon and it's all downhill from there.