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vocab_drabblesWritten for: Obloquy, Peiskos, Disparate and also my genprompt_bingo square "Winter".
Title: Beloved, Let Us Fly
Fandom: Good Omens
Author: Cat Moon
Rating: M (really, it's probably more like Teen/PG-13 so don't expect much)
Words: 579
Characters/Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Summary: Just a peaceful winter night in the cottage
Notes: While I was writing this, the song Aziraphale originally conjures was posted tobeautifulmechanical and provided the perfect segue to tie up the point I wanted to make in the fic, and the whole ficlet itself was written because I wanted to use the atheist line. Takes place in the future after S3.
It was a Peiskos kind of evening.
Outside, darkness had fallen over the village, and snow drifted lazily down to cover the ground, muting the world with a blanket of white. Icicles clung precariously to tree branches and windowsills. Winter was in full swing, and nature was in hibernation.
Inside the cottage, a warm fire crackled soothingly from the hearth, keeping its occupants cozy in their cocoon of peace. Aziraphale relaxed on the couch, holding his book with one hand (a miracle turning the page when needed) and the other tangled in Crowley's hair as the former demon sprawled across the cushions with his head in the angel's lap.
They had come so far now that Armageddon and the Second Coming were both behind them.
Aziraphale and Crowley were a group of two, united yet disparate in their personalities and beliefs, even though they had learned to reside firmly within shades of gray. They still enjoyed their philosophical debates, but those discussions were deliciously free from obloquy. Unlike heaven, where Aziraphale had endured constant abusive derision over his refusal to toe the company line, he and Crowley respected each other – even if they didn't always agree.
Like the old days, only better, indeed.
The house was silent now, save for the occasional turning of a page and the crackling of the fire. Nearly blissful, Aziraphale thought consideringly.
The only thing that could make the atmosphere more perfect was…
"Music," Aziraphale proclaimed, allowing his grip to leave red hair long enough to gesture for the radio to spring to life. The choral voices of Rachmaninoff's Vespers filled the air.
"Please, no," Crowley groaned.
"But it's Rachmaninoff."
"A bit too Godly for me."
Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the piece changed to 'Beloved, Let Us Fly'. "Better?"
"Yes," Crowley answered, grabbing the hand and placing it pointedly back on his head.
Aziraphale smiled and once again let soft strands slide against his fingers. "You know, if you were a human, you'd be an atheist," he mused.
Crowley laughed. "If only I had that luxury!"
"Hmm," Aziraphale nodded, continuing to card his fingers through his husband's hair. Crowley obligingly wore it a bit longer these days and without any product, just to indulge him. He sighed in contentment. Crowley spoiled him terribly.
Crowley laced his fingers with Aziraphale's, bringing the hand to his lips for a palm kiss. "And even if there was no heaven, you'd still be an angel," he promised.
"My heaven is in your arms, my beloved," Aziraphale countered, even as he blushed with the compliment.
Crowley rose from his spot to maneuver Aziraphale back against the cushions, his own body following. "Let's not get all disgustingly Beelzebriel here." He'd found the whole Beelzebub/Gabriel mushy nonsense over the top, frankly. He was getting better at tolerating sentiment these days, but there were limits—or so he claimed (the fact that he could dish it out but couldn't take it was entirely beside the point).
Aziraphale's brow wrinkled. "All what?"
"Never mind. Come fly with me."
"It's cold and snowing outside," Aziraphale pointed out reasonably, albeit distracted with stroking the chest pressed close to his.
"There are other ways to fly," Crowley promised in a silky voice that shivered down the angel's spine.
"Show me then," Aziraphale whispered.
"My pleasure."
Talking ceased, and the only sounds now were the popping logs in the fireplace, skin moving against skin, occasional whispers, and increasingly frequent cries.
And it was both their pleasures.
END
genprompt_bingo square "Winter".Title: Beloved, Let Us Fly
Fandom: Good Omens
Author: Cat Moon
Rating: M (really, it's probably more like Teen/PG-13 so don't expect much)
Words: 579
Characters/Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Summary: Just a peaceful winter night in the cottage
Notes: While I was writing this, the song Aziraphale originally conjures was posted to
beautifulmechanical and provided the perfect segue to tie up the point I wanted to make in the fic, and the whole ficlet itself was written because I wanted to use the atheist line. Takes place in the future after S3.It was a Peiskos kind of evening.
Outside, darkness had fallen over the village, and snow drifted lazily down to cover the ground, muting the world with a blanket of white. Icicles clung precariously to tree branches and windowsills. Winter was in full swing, and nature was in hibernation.
Inside the cottage, a warm fire crackled soothingly from the hearth, keeping its occupants cozy in their cocoon of peace. Aziraphale relaxed on the couch, holding his book with one hand (a miracle turning the page when needed) and the other tangled in Crowley's hair as the former demon sprawled across the cushions with his head in the angel's lap.
They had come so far now that Armageddon and the Second Coming were both behind them.
Aziraphale and Crowley were a group of two, united yet disparate in their personalities and beliefs, even though they had learned to reside firmly within shades of gray. They still enjoyed their philosophical debates, but those discussions were deliciously free from obloquy. Unlike heaven, where Aziraphale had endured constant abusive derision over his refusal to toe the company line, he and Crowley respected each other – even if they didn't always agree.
Like the old days, only better, indeed.
The house was silent now, save for the occasional turning of a page and the crackling of the fire. Nearly blissful, Aziraphale thought consideringly.
The only thing that could make the atmosphere more perfect was…
"Music," Aziraphale proclaimed, allowing his grip to leave red hair long enough to gesture for the radio to spring to life. The choral voices of Rachmaninoff's Vespers filled the air.
"Please, no," Crowley groaned.
"But it's Rachmaninoff."
"A bit too Godly for me."
Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the piece changed to 'Beloved, Let Us Fly'. "Better?"
"Yes," Crowley answered, grabbing the hand and placing it pointedly back on his head.
Aziraphale smiled and once again let soft strands slide against his fingers. "You know, if you were a human, you'd be an atheist," he mused.
Crowley laughed. "If only I had that luxury!"
"Hmm," Aziraphale nodded, continuing to card his fingers through his husband's hair. Crowley obligingly wore it a bit longer these days and without any product, just to indulge him. He sighed in contentment. Crowley spoiled him terribly.
Crowley laced his fingers with Aziraphale's, bringing the hand to his lips for a palm kiss. "And even if there was no heaven, you'd still be an angel," he promised.
"My heaven is in your arms, my beloved," Aziraphale countered, even as he blushed with the compliment.
Crowley rose from his spot to maneuver Aziraphale back against the cushions, his own body following. "Let's not get all disgustingly Beelzebriel here." He'd found the whole Beelzebub/Gabriel mushy nonsense over the top, frankly. He was getting better at tolerating sentiment these days, but there were limits—or so he claimed (the fact that he could dish it out but couldn't take it was entirely beside the point).
Aziraphale's brow wrinkled. "All what?"
"Never mind. Come fly with me."
"It's cold and snowing outside," Aziraphale pointed out reasonably, albeit distracted with stroking the chest pressed close to his.
"There are other ways to fly," Crowley promised in a silky voice that shivered down the angel's spine.
"Show me then," Aziraphale whispered.
"My pleasure."
Talking ceased, and the only sounds now were the popping logs in the fireplace, skin moving against skin, occasional whispers, and increasingly frequent cries.
And it was both their pleasures.
END
