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lordofthefliesprinceoflies · 6 months

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Hollows and Halos, Chapter 3

Summary: Aziraphale/Crowley-centered. Aziraphale discovers that Heaven might not be as fantastic it seems to be, Crowley discovers that wet dreams are actually a brutal thing (yep, there's smut) and Beelzebub discover that they can actually be afraid of something. Gabriel's just Gabriel.

Notes: Cross-posting this from my AO3 (Fereikan). Trigger warnings for arachnophobia, attempted sexual assault, heartbreaking and suicide attempt of teenagers. Basically, everybody needs a hug. Oh, and I'm messing around with religious believes. I am so lost in my addiction of this series and, on top of it all, struggling with writing and basically everything in my life at the moment. Comments make me ineffably happy. <3

Present day

Back in Heaven, Aziraphale smiled. That was basically all he did during his first days as Supreme Angel: whenever someone passed him by, he smiled. When he was alone in the office he'd created for himself, he smiled at the papers waiting to be read, and he smiled at the white walls or at the empty chair next to his own. It was what everyone expected of him. Smile, be polite, be angelic. It had been the right decision – right? Aziraphale wondered, especially when the empty chair looked back at him and continued to be empty, how doing the right thing could feel so awfully wrong.

Beelzebub strolled through the streets, hidden from unfriendly eyes (and eyes in general) thanks to a miracle Gabriel had performed. This morning, however, they wouldn't have given a shit had anyone seen them – early mornings were awful. How could humans survive this vile time of the day again and again and again? They needed coffee. Coffee with a lot of caramel syrup. And they needed it very, very badly. Their grumpiness slowly subsided when the thoughts of the previous night came back to them. Gabriel's huge, heavy body covering their own petite one, Gabriel kissing them, Gabriel moving inside them, whispering sweet words of love and praise... Their lips curled into a smile. Maybe memories like these had humans survive mornings.

They slipped past a group of giggling teenage girls chanting “Mary loves the douchebag, Mary loves the douchebag!” into Nina's coffee shop. It was not Nina, however, but Maggie who welcomed them. “Good morning, dear. The usual?” “Yeah,” Beelzebub slurred, “and add some extra syrup today.” Maggie nodded, gave the Prince of Hell an understanding smile and started pouring a ridiculous amount of steaming coffee followed by a ridiculous amount of caramel syrup into a cup to go. Before she handed it over, she drew a pattern of hearts on the cardboard with a black pen. “There you go, lovely. Hope your day will get better.” The demon gave a weak nod and left 50 pounds on the counter. They always did, and in the beginning, both Maggie and Nina had tried to refuse it, but quickly learned that you didn't mess with the Lord of the Flies (of course, they didn't know it was actually the Lord of the Flies they were talking to, but yeah, you simply didn't mess with them). Beelzebub insisted they simply didn't know about money's worth, but deep down inside, Gabriel was sure they wanted to do something good. They wanted to help. And it made him beam with pride.

They were almost back on the street when they noticed something was off. “What the...” The group of teenage girls had gone silent at a table in one of the shop's darker corners. All of them kept staring at their smartphones, agape, their drinks and pieces of cake abandoned in front of them. An aura of darkness surrounded them, yet Beelzebub could not detect any evil force at the table. Someone started screaming, high-pitched and terrified, others joined in: one of the girls had dropped her mobile, taken the fork and driven its prongs full-force right through her left eye. Only a few seconds later, the other girls followed suit.

The Prince of Hell frowned. Normally, they would feast on such an incident, but it still felt wrong. Maybe just a new internet hype. The 'take a shop's slogan literally' challenge or something like that. They sipped at their coffee and left the girls to their fellow humans, unaware of the most beautiful woman the city had ever seen, who watched the spectacle from an even darker corner with glowing eyes and an eerie smile on her unearthly face.

Crowley had finally reached the bottom. Waking up somewhere with no memories of the night before was bad, but waking up on the fucking sidewalk next to a dubious bar was next level, even for him. He had the worst hangover ever. Well, at least since the French Revolution when he'd had six bottles of red wine, countless glasses of schnaps and ten litres of... A group of men approached him. There was one face he vaguely remembered, and he groaned. “That's the fucker. Thought you could fuck with me, fucker?” Crowley raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. He wasn't frightened, not anymore. Since Aziraphale had left, nothing mattered. If anything, their unexpected appearance made him even angrier. “Very eloquent, you are. That's exactly what I didn't want, in case you forgot.” He spat on the ground, managing to get a few drops of saliva on Jean-Luc's/Kevin's shoes. “Your poor little ego can't take being rejected?”

The big guy he'd made out with the day before (why did he do that in the first place?) stepped forward and grabbed the demon by the shoulders, kicking him into the ribs with his meaty knee. Crowley panted as the air was knocked out of his lungs, blinding rage pulsing through his body. Yeah, he could've used his hellish powers, but why spoil all the fun? “That's so grown-up of you,” he hissed, just before the next punch made his jaw crack. “You don't turn me on and then turn me down, boy,” the stranger yelled, pushing Crowley onto his knees by his hair. “Your bad – for now, you'll have to deal with all of us.” The sound of a zipper did it for the demon. With a furious scream, he jumped to his feet and leaped at his opponent, having them both crash onto the dirty sidewalk.

Of course, the strangers didn't have a sense for fairness; four against one was obviously perfectly fine for them, as Crowley felt fists and boots punch and kick him in a frenzied staccato. He was bleeding or bruised everywhere in no time, hair in wild disarray, and he knew he would lose. Sure, he could still use his powers, but to be honest, he didn't see why he should. If today was the day and he would... vanish, so be it. The pain was nothing he wanted to deal with anyway; he dared to think it would all have been better if he hadn't known Aziraphale at all, and this thought was even worse. If your smile is the last thing I see, it's been worth it. Six thousand years of being the bad guy. I'd do another six thousand years just to kiss you again. And you'll never know.

On the verge of passing out, a bright golden light caught Crowley's attention. He had already seen it somewhere, but couldn't remember the place or time. Like a pillar, the light extended into the sky, and it was the most beautiful thing the demon had ever witnessed. It felt so warm and gentle as its rays caressed his bruised skin, and there were long, single white feathers floating to the ground, surrounding him. A silhouette was all he could see through the veil of blinding gold, a human body with wings twice its size and eyes glowing violet. Aziraphale. His heart stuttered in his chest.

The humans stood watching in awe, then in terror as soon as they discovered the eyes. Glowing ones always made them cautious, except for Halloween. “If you can't take a no for an answer, you should probably not have any conversation at all,” Aziraphale suggested and the next instant, all men realized with horror that their mouths were sealed. Crowley burst out laughing, spitting out a considerable amount of blood. “Nice one, angel,” and regretted it the moment he'd said it. Don't praise him. He's the enemy now.

The strangers didn't feel the need to stay any longer and hurried off, trying to use their voices but producing nothing but muffled sounds. Aziraphale held out his hand, helped Crowley get up and carefully tapped off the dust from his demon's clothes. All without looking him in the eye. “I thought you might need help.” Crowley pulled a face. Why did Aziraphale seem so fucking insecure and fragile? This only made the whole matter more complicated. All the memories came back to him: Aziraphale thinking he'd really accompany him to Heaven. Aziraphale returning his kiss and then rejecting him for “the Greater Good”. Aziraphale left it all behind – what for? “Well, I don't. At least not yours.” The look of utter pain on Aziraphale's face... It almost broke Crowley's heart to break his angel's. But it had to be done. If he didn't want him, he had to burn it all away. Everything they had been. Everything they could have been.

Aziraphale's violet eyes shone with tears. “Crowley, I... if I had known...” “Then what?,” the demon spat, “You would've repeated every single one of your actions, 'cause you're so fucking eager to please!” His cracked lip hurt like Hell when he yelled, but it was fucking worth it. “You've found your way and I'll find mine, angel. Don't worry 'bout me, stay Up There in your high castle, I'm fine with that!” When he limped away, he was too angry and upset to hear Aziraphale's broken whisper: “Please don't leave me. I think I made a...mistake.”

Beelzebub hated spiders. Like, they didn't just find them revolting as a considerable amount of humans did – they hated them. During the past few thousand years, some of their flies had become a victim of these vile creatures, trapped inside the predators' nets where they faced a disturbingly slow, agonizing death. They'd been eaten alive. Their poor little beautiful flies, vanishing into spiders' guts. The only case when mentioning a spider was okay turned out to be a song: when they heard The Cure's “Lullaby” for the first time, they almost forgot how terribly afraid they were of the eight-legged creatures. Good thing the singer (who they had secretly become a fan of) was also terribly afraid of them. The Prince of Hell shuddered and shifted uncomfortably in their sleep. They normally liked this human type of rest, but this night, it felt wrong. It felt as if they'd been caught in a trap.

Before they could locate their position, they heard The Sound. The dreaded, horrible Sound which gave them goosebumps, and they started wondering if they were sleeping at all or if this was actually real. “Lord of the Flies, Prince of Lies,” they heard a voice croak, and The Sound came from everywhere around them; a scraping, a scratching of a million little hairs against stone, an ugly click of mouthparts.

“Lord of the Flies,

Prince of Lies,

can't escape my reach,

I'll feast on your cries.”

Prince of Lies. A name they'd tried to forget but had never been able to really leave it behind. A name that had two origins: one went back to the time they'd fancied calling themselves Loki, a smug, arrogant, lovely creature with the hair the blackest ebony and eyes the greenest green, remembering the ladies (and gentlemen) falling in love with him of the tarns passing through the Scandinavian mountains like icy veins. Oh, how the people of old had feared him! He never spoke the truth, and it had been so. Much. Fun. Zoroastrian belief had given them the same name, though it had come into being in a different way. As Nasu, a genderless demon, they had hidden in corpses to whisper words of evil to the dead. Everyone who had heard them swore it was the Prince of Lies trying to talk the living into dirty deeds. (Sometimes, it had worked. Had been fun, too.) Both of them were not part of Beelzebub anymore. Now, there was only Beelzebub, the one Gabriel loved. No need for disguises, never again.

The noise engulfed them, and the spider finally came into view. It was monstrous, big as a house, but wore the face of the most beautiful, immaculate being the Prince had ever met. A mask sewn to an eight-legged, hairy body, ready to devour first their flies, then their Lord.

“I'll rip you apart,

I'll bleed you dry...”

“Who are you?,” Beelzebub shouted, but no words would come. When they looked down, they discovered they were trapped in a sticky cobweb. Eight legs moved closer, mocking them with the way they gracefully danced around the net, reached out for them and backed off again.

“You know I'll come,

but won't know why...”

One of the hairy legs pierced right through the Prince's chest. Beelzebub screamed as loud and intense as they could – it hurt so fucking much, the pain burnt them from the inside, yet they could not move a finger. Suddenly, the ground was shaking, everything was, stones and dust flaking off the ceiling, their body bounced up and down, only held by the cobwebs...

“Beez? Beez, my firefly, wake up!” Disorientation. That was the worst part of sleeping. “Gabriel, my sweet...what...where...?” Good to know that their voice was back. “You are safe, love. I'm here, you were sleeping peacefully, but then you started...screaming. What was wrong?” Beelzebub blinked a few times, their heart rate slowly went back to normal, thanks to Gabriel who held them tight. “I've been dreaming.” They sounded as weak as they felt and desperately tried to stop the shaking of their hands. Gabriel kissed their forehead, then their mouth, and tried to be reassuring: “Dreams are not a bad thing per se.” Beelzebub sighed. “Not per se, no. But...I've been dreaming involuntarily, my sweet.”

“What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be Up There, praising someone or stuff?” Crowley crossed his arms in defense and glared at the angel who had followed him to the shabby hotel he was staying at, his eyes the angriest yellow he could muster. “I...” Aziraphale seemed so lost, struggling for words. He deserves it. I'm not going to help this time. “I...oh please, can I come in?” Rolling his eyes, Crowley opened the door for the celestial to enter and slammed it shut again. “I'm asking again, and I won't do so a third time: what are you doing here?” Aziraphale nervously twisted his fingers. “I couldn't stay in Heaven, knowing you are Down Here, Crowley. I...I missed you too much to bear. Needed to see you. Touch you.” Oh, oh, that was bad. Really bad. Well, I'll jump the train. He raised an eyebrow, challenging. “Touch me, then.”

He'd never do that. Never. He'd rather...oh! Aziraphale's mouth was on his lips, completely unexpected, and kissed him, open-mouthed, sloppy and desperate – and perfect. Two strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him close, so close he feared he might choke, and didn't care. “I am so sorry,” he heard the angel sob, “so, so sorry, Crowley. Please forgive me.” Aziraphale ground against him, hungrily. Feeling the angel's erection press against his own was...wow. His palms were sweaty when they tucked one of the silvery strands of hair behind the angel's ear. “Then show me just how sorry you really are,” the demon breathed against delicate skin. Pure sin. Temptation. Both of them were.

That escalated quickly. Crowley's legs started shaking once he realized what Aziraphale was doing: the angel, his angel, had knelt down and was face to face with his crotch now. Unsure of what to do, he peppered Crowley's clothed erection with kisses, licking the leather of the demon's trousers occasionally. “Sweet Hell,” Crowley muttered, found the celestial's hair again and caressed the soft silky curls. Aziraphale's eyes locked with his, a question visible in the violet pools. How in the fucking universe could he look so damn innocent facing the ineffably hard erection of a fucking demon? “May I...?” Crowley gave a chuckle close to hysterical. “Isn't that obvious? Hell, if you don't start anything right now, I'm going to implode.” Aziraphale, now with flushed cheeks, opened the buttons on Crowley's tight trousers with trembling fingers.

“No underwear?” He chuckled, and Crowley did the same. “It's inefficient. And unnecessary.” “And hot,” Aziraphale whispered which sent shivers right down Crowley's spine. His angel found him hot. There'd never been a better day in the whole history of the universe for sure. His cock sprang free, the tip glistening with beads of precome, and slapped against Aziraphale's waiting lips. “Delicious,” he heard the Supreme Angel purr – a sound that was nothing short of obscene. Aziraphale's tongue darted out to lick at the head, experimental at first. Without warning, Crowley's shaft was engulfed by the wet and tight heat of the angel's mouth. “Oh shit...” Grabbing Aziraphale by the hair, he started thrusting in earnest, hips rocking back and forth, back and forth, which he could've done for the rest of eternity. His angel had other plans, though. A wet pop and Aziraphale wiped his mouth, smiling up at Crowley. “So eager, are we. I'll give you something so much better.” Fuck, it's going to happen. We're getting it on. Fuck.

“Suck.” Crowley opened his mouth obediently to wet three of Aziraphale's slender fingers. He made a show of it, teasing the gaps between the soft skin with his snake tongue, and moaned as if there was no tomorrow. Well, who knew if there would be? If they were really going to have sex, the Supreme Angel and a traitor of Hell, anything was possible. “On your back,” Aziraphale whispered way too soon and not soon enough, and pushed the demon onto the mattress of the rickety bed. Patting Crowley's insanely long legs, he added: “Spread them nicely for me, dear, will you.” And oh, the three fingers circled the rim and plunged inside, the promise of a rough ride, just as he liked it. Crowley cursed in Latin and at the same time started riding the digits inside his hungry body while he held on Aziraphale's wrist for dear life.

“That's it, lovely,” Aziraphale cooed, “keep fucking yourself on my fingers.” The dirty words coming out of such a divine mouth almost pushed Crowley over the edge. Almost. Don't end this so soon. You're not 15 anymore. Suddenly, his whole body tensed, shaking with pure bliss when Aziraphale's fingers curled and found that special spot inside him. “Oh fuck,” he yelled, head falling back, and pushed further down onto these skilled fingers. Yeah, prostates were definitely one of the better parts in God's creation of the human body. Crowley's movements became frantic. His hips stuttered when he bottomed out, only to lift himself up until nothing but Aziraphale's fingertips remained inside his well-used hole. “Angel, please.” “Please what, my desperate?” “Fuck me. Please, get inside me, I... I can't keep this up much longer.”

“Patience is a virtue, my dear. We'll clearly have to work on that.” “Not today though.” The angel chuckled. “No, not today. And now relax.” Crowley found the other celestial's cock slick and lubed up – the most precious waste of a miracle. Aziraphale lined himself up, thrust forward and felt Crowley's walls part for him, and oh, he'd never been closer to God for sure. He closed his eyes and slid deeper inside with a violent shudder. Crowley's head fell back, almost collided with the wooden headboard and bumped into the pillows. “Oh fuck, angel,” he groaned, arched his back and tried to get hold of Aziraphale's thighs, hips, anything, to push him to the hilt inside his quivering body. “This feels...oh sweet Hell.” “How do you want it, demon? Hard and rough?” “Hard and rough,” Crowley confirmed while he grabbed his own ass cheeks; partly to spread them further for Aziraphale's girth, partly to touch where they were joined.

The Supreme Angel placed Crowley's legs on his shoulders, lifted his hips and hit that spot again, now fully inside the trembling demon. “Mmh, you feel wonderful.” Hot breath, a husky voice. Reality became blurry with every thrust. “Ah, Aziraphale, I'm going to...fuck, this is too much, I-”

A loud knock on the Bentley's window woke him up with a start. Crowley blinked, quite confused, at the police officer outside his car. “What the actual fuck...” The human knocked again, louder this time. “Hey! You can't park here!” The demon breathed in, breathed out, and tried to will away his persistent and very painful erection. “Sir, if you don't make way right now, I'll have to...” “For fuck's sake, I'm leaving, man!,” Crowley shouted, snapped his fingers and had the Bentley drive on its own. He didn't bother what the officer might think of a self-driving vehicle. After all, you weren't supposed to drive when you were upset, and he was sure the car had everything under control.

As the Bentley slowly rolled out of London (by now, the “Best Of” Queen tape in his stereo had turned into a 10 hour version of R.E.M.'s “Everybody Hurts”, though the singer sounded much like someone called F. Mercury), leaving the city's vibrating life behind, Crowley buried his face in his hands and finally let the frustrated tears fall. His oldest house plant, a bright green Epipremnum, gently patted his shoulders with one of its vines, and he had never been more grateful for having a friend who did not feel the need to talk.

#beelzebub #good omens #ineffable bureaucracy #ao3 fanfic #aziraphale #crowley #fanfiction #gabriel #ao3 writer #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #beelzebub x gabriel

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lordofthefliesprinceoflies · 7 months

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Hollows and Halos, Chapter 2

Notes: Cross-posting this from my AO3 (Fereikan). Since Beez has a demonic and a “human” form, I'll use z instead of s-sounds for the buzzing noises they make when in their demonic form. Hope this won't get too confusing. This chapter contains a rather graphic sex scene, brief mentions of domestic violence, sexual harassment and a very, very depressed Crowley. Ye be warned. And sorry to all the Kevins in the world, no offense intended.

Present day

“Everyday, it's a-gettin' closer...”

They had heard this song countless times by now, and still weren't getting tired of it. It was always there indeed, in this gloomy pub that meant probably nothing to anybody except the owner, and them. Beelzebub couldn't stop smiling while Gabriel stood at the counter ordering drinks, remembering this very first time they'd felt the beginning of something big – the beginning of their ineffable, ineffable love.

A few days after the Armabloodygeddon desaster

“Archangel Gabriel, I apologize to bother you, but this... this creature has been caught by the angels #39672 and #7614. It has pulled an undecided soul directly to Hell while our angels were still trying to convince the human to turn to Heaven. We thought it best you'd deal with... it.” The smaller angel looked pale and openly disgusted when he handed the prisoner over to Gabriel, who smiled and nodded at him. “Thank you, my friend. I will see to it.” Although he didn't seem too keen on staying, the nameless being frowned and asked: “Are you sure you can cope with this matter alone? I mean... it's a demon.” If anything, Gabriel's smile only broadened. “As you said, it is a demon, and Heaven is our territory. What evil could it possibly do Up Here?” The angel, still unconvinced but relieved to be dismissed, bowed and left as quickly as he could.

“Your room'z too clean. Could uze a Picazzo. Or zomething fanzy, some Hieronymuz Bosch.” Oh, how he had longed to hear that voice again... Standing in front of the Supreme Archangel Gabriel was a very dishevelled Lord of the Flies, their hands tied, in all their demonic glory. This came as no surprise: whenever a demon – a rare occasion, by the way – was allowed into Heaven, they could not disguise their true form. Though Beelzebub were usually pretty self-confident with their looks, being in Heaven was something completely different. Seeing all these immaculate, shiny, beautiful, fragrant divine creatures... Well, it affected them, although they would never admit it.

Suddenly, a wave of insecurity came crashing down on them and they wondered: What are we doing here? The excitement they had felt when they had decided to get up to mischief and meet Gabriel again was numbed by the fear of being rejected. Yes, Gabriel had seen them in their true form more than once, had touched them, kissed them, but... Today was supposed to be different. Special. They could not be without this ineffable angel one more damn day.

After Gabriel had snapped their bonds away, Beelzebub stepped forward and tried to cover their insecurity with arrogance. “Caught by the angelz, pah. Az if I would let myzelf get caught,” they huffed. “And juzt for the record, thiz human zoul waz lozt long ago. Beat hiz wifey whenever he got drunk and groped hiz coworkers' azz or titz at every opportunity. No chance for your pretty little divine butterfliez.” Straightforwardly, they touched his chest and let their fingers travel down to his crotch. Damn the Supreme Archangel and all his wicked ways to drive them crazy! Thiz zoul waz az lozt az I am. Gabriel hummed in surprise. “We ztopped here lazt time I checked,” they murmured, straightened their back to nibble at his earlobe.

“If you didn't get caught, what are you doing here?,” he murmured, very obviously enjoying the smaller one's closeness. “Got horny. Needed diztraction.” The angel snickered. “What a nice way to tell me you've missed me!” “I waz fucking bored.” “Missed me!” A low growl came from the demon's throat, mixed with the violent buzzing of probably a million flies Gabriel could not see. “Shut up and let your body do the talking. 'm tired of zix hundred yearz of foreplay.” “Actually, it was only four hundred seventy-three.” Regarding the glare they shot him, Gabriel had to doublecheck he hadn't been discorporated. “Hurry. Up. Wankwingz.”

The atmosphere changed. No more playing, no more fooling around. Today, it was finally going to happen: they'd cross the last line between them. What a dangerous, dangerous game. For a brief moment, the Archangel wondered who would be triumphant in the end. After all, standing on the same side for once, they could both win – or lose. If they did, there was so much more at risk than only ranks, yet he couldn't keep his hands off his enemy's small body.

“Get on the bed.” (There had been no furniture before, after all, angels didn't need to sleep, but the Lord of the Flies couldn't have cared less when it appeared out of nowhere.) Beelzebub shivered, their body was shaken by arousal. Their cockiness got the better of them and they whispered: “Aren't you afraid I might ztain your immaculate sheetzzz, Your Immaculatenezz?,” biting Gabriel's bottom lip. “We'll see who'll stain what,” the angel answered, his voice deeper than Beelzebub had ever heard it before. All it took for the taller creature were a few pushes and the Prince of Hell bumped against the wooden bedframe. Gabriel's arousal pressed against their thigh, their crotch pressed against his knee, and they were going crazy with overwhelming lust.

They allowed themselves to revel in the bliss of rubbing against Gabriel's still clothed knee for a few seconds, knowing that it would never be enough. Not today. The angel's breathing had become heavier; Beelzebub couldn't ignore that the fact that it was them turning him on made wetness pool between their legs. Yet, they needed to get some things clear. “How shall we do it?” “What do you mean?” “Virginzzz,” Beelzebub hissed and rolled their eyes. “The Fucking, Your Zlowlinezz. Like our two little renegadez or like Adam and Eve?” Gabriel made a face. “Oh God, please, no! No more of these two. It's bad enough that humans still talk about them after thousands of years. They were, after all, supposed to be only a metaphor.” Beelzebub smirked. “The traitorz, then. It fitzzz.”

Unable to wait any longer, Gabriel pushed the demon onto the monstrous bed. Beelzebub's body looked awkwardly misplaced on the mattress: small, slim and delicately gross, like a dieing bird used as decoy for its predator. They had no time to waste undressing – miracles could be a really convenient thing. You only thought of something and in the blink of an eye, it was real. Like their nakedness. Insecurity washed over the Prince of Hell again, now that Gabriel was facing all their wounds, cuts, scars and grossness. Their messy hair, their dusty skin, their small breasts, the sound of their flies somewhere deep inside. His staring didn't make it better. Their angry “What?” came out a croak. Gabriel's face softened. “You are the most precious sight.” “Zarcazm, really now?” He gracefully sat down next to them, took their face in his hands and placed a kiss on their nose. “I would never mock you. I meant what I said. You are...” He struggled for words. “...perfect.” They could not stand his gaze any longer and averted their eyes. I am ashamed. Ashamed that I Fell. Ashamed that you are like thiz and I am... Uz. How can you lay with uz when you know what we are?

Gabriel pushed them on their back and pried their legs open. He gave a sound of approval as their intense smell brought him back to all the dark and mysterious castles and ruins he had visited throughout history; a mixture of mould, moss and dampness. A mixture that promised excitement and damnation. A mixture of all this, of smoke and something else he could not grasp, something that was unique to them. All of a sudden, his filthy, divine mouth was all over Beelzebub's most secret place. The way the Archangel lapped at their clit, so gently, as if they were fucking worth it, made them buck their hips erratically and they feared they might climax before it had even started.

Gabriel sucked at their labia first, making sure to bless every inch of their skin with his mouth. Beelzebub ruffled his hair, moaning and groaning, and fuck, it felt good. “Teeth...pleaze.” When he did as he was told and gently bit down on their clit, their back arched of the bed. “By Zatan'z bloody azz, are you sure you've never done thiz before?” A smirk, then he went back to work. “I never said I didn't.” All these careful movements of his probing tongue that slowly drove them insane made Beelzebub remember waking up in Hell, made them think of their flies, their beautiful, beautiful flies, and they got wetter than they had ever been. Their vision got blurry when Gabriel shoved two fingers inside their opening, only to smear their own wetness a bit further down. “Enough. Fucking get inzide me now,” they growled.

His body felt comfortably warm and heavy on top of them. It took a bit of fumbling between their crotches until finally, the head of his cock nudged their hole, so very promising. “Sure you're ready for that?” “I zwear to Zatan, if you don't ztart now, I will...” The intense pressure in their guts when Gabriel pushed inside silenced them. Their mouth opened to scream, but no sound would come, except for the distant buzzing of their flies. Gabriel was trying hard to give them time to adjust as soon as he was sheathed to the hilt. “Relax,” he cooed, brought his thumb down and circled it around their clit while two more fingers found their cunt and dipped inside. “Too gentle,” they whined, digging their sharp nails into his creamy flesh, “fuck me.”

Without warning, he turned them both around so that Beelzebub were on their hands and knees now. The sudden pull of Gabriel's hand in their hair caught them by surprise. “You want it rough?” The Prince of Hell managed to give a small nod, eyes wide, and gave a muffled scream when Gabriel shoved their face into the mattress. He pulled out, felt their walls tighten to the edge of uncomfortable, and plunged back inside with full force. No mercy – he couldn't have stopped if he'd tried. Having the Prince of Hell in the flesh underneath him, thrashing and moaning and acting as if they were in charge really was a disturbing turn-on. Beelzebub's hands tore the sheets and then tore them again, for they would be sewed together again in an instant by invisible needles. Obscene sounds, the slap of skin against skin, brought them dangerously close to the edge, and they could feel Gabriel wouldn't last long either.

As if he'd read their mind, he hissed: “Don't think I'd taint myself finishing inside your rotten body.” Gabriel's words were barely more than a whisper close to their ears, yet so filthy they sent Beelzebub over the edge. The Prince of Hell reached their climax while the archangel pulled out of them, wetness pooling between their legs, and let out a shuddering sigh of utter relief. Gabriel grabbed them by the hair again, gave his cock a few more strokes and warm, white ropes of semen splattered across Beelzebub's cheeks and nose.

Silence. Beelzebub lay there, staring at the invisible ceiling, and felt awkward. Silence.

Shouldn't there be fucking choirs singing all day long?

After he had regained his breathing, Gabriel, his cheeks a healthy pink, miracled away the mess he'd made. Beelzebub pulled a face. “That waz grozz.” “You're one to talk,” the Archangel pouted. “At leazt I wazn't grozz enough for you to ztop humping me like a ztray dog, wankwingz.” Still panting hard, Beelzebub lit a cigarette they'd snapped into existence. “Smoking is prohibited up here.” “It sure izzz.” They blew a cloud of grey smoke directly into Gabriel's face. “Dirty talk, eh? Didn't think you could do that. Tough shit.”

Silence, again.

I said it simply because I thought you'd like it. I really meant what I said. You're perfect to me.

After a while, the Archangel rose and got dressed. “Beelzebub?” They glared at him from the bed, looking utterly wrecked. “These doors are not locked. You may leave any time you want to.” And so did he, leaving them alone with their confused thoughts – and feelings.

“Where the fuck've you been?” Dagon's voice came out of nowhere, as it usually did. Beelzebub yawned and stretched their arms, not even looking at them while they headed for their quarters. “For a walk Above.” Dagon tried to raise an eyebrow, but since they couldn't, they raised both. “A walk? Sounds...boring.” A mischievous grin. “You should try it. Relievez a lot of ztrezzz.”

Present day

The stranger's hands felt cold on his body. Crowley hadn't even asked for his name, though he looked like an Alistair to him. Or like someone fancy, maybe a Jean-Luc or a Nathanael. Unfortunately, he kissed like a Kevin. Not like Aziraphale at all. Brain, shut the fuck up. And the way he breathed, sweet mother of Jesus, it was awful! Noisy and inappropriate, as if he'd just returned from a fucking marathon. Not like Aziraphale at all. Didn't I tell you to shut the fuck up? He could feel his houseplants staring. Aziraphale had stared at him, too.

“Alright, sorry man, this isn't going to work. Back off.” A confused blink. “What did you say?” “I said, BACK OFF!” Crowley took off his sunglasses, giving the stranger his best demon-eyed glare, and watched him flee. This always worked. It hadn't worked with Aziraphale.

The Four New Horsepersons were late. To be precise, they should have started to exist with the invention of the first smartphone, or social media, or cronuts. But a few years ago, they hadn't been strong enough to do the damage they were supposed to do. Society, however, had given them power. Enough power to take shape. Jealousy came first, stepping into the light of a promising world. It wiped the dust of Nothing from its suit and waited. Mirror was next, closely followed by Loneliness. Insecurity, to no surprise, was the last to crawl out of the dark. The Fifth, they knew, was already out there. It always was, and would always be. And before it knew where the melody or words came from, Mirror started singing:

“Everyday, it's a-gettin' closer...”

Notes: The thought of writing “Fuck me like you fucked up Armabloodygeddon” crossed my mind for a second and had me laughing so hard I thought I'd share this with you. Comments keep me going, lovelies.

#beelzebub #good omens #ineffable bureaucracy #ineffable husbands #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale #crowley #archangel gabriel #horsepersons of the apocalypse #gabriel x beelzebub #crowley x aziraphale

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lordofthefliesprinceoflies · 7 months

Text

Hollows and Halos, Chapter 1

Pairing: Gabriel/Beelzebub, Aziraphale/Crowley

Warnings: smut (though this actually has a plot), violence, everybody needs a hug

Summary: When a new threat emerges, Heaven and Hell are forced to cooperate – including our four beloved traitors. Come find me on AO3: Fereikan. :) Comments make this Lord of the Flies ineffably happy.

Tertius gaudens.

Looking back: a few thousand years ago, right after The Fall

When they landed hard on the grounds of The Other Place, disorientated and dizzy, excruciating pain was the first thing they noticed. Pain, and heat. It was so stuffy they could hardly gasp for air, every breath felt like molten fire running down their trachea or whatever was left of it. Even looking at their skin hurt, for it was not much of skin any longer. Burn blisters and deep cuts, shreds of torn sacred clothing, nothing more. They hissed as soon as they shifted and their bare feet, raw flesh, touched the dirty floor. But the worst were their wings – or rather where their wings had been.

Ichor oozed from the holes in their back, the feathers, immaculate white and a symbol of innocence, were gone, consumed by Fire and Flame; the skeleton of bones and cartilage hung limp. They stared in horror at their reflection in one of the puddles on the burnt tiles, and watched when black, greasy feathers started growing out of the greyish limbs. Every single movement made them scream at the top of their lungs, and they were convinced this would be their End. No being, neither in Heaven nor in This Place, could survive it.

But they did. They suffered, relaxed, and suffered again, but they did, unable to turn away, watching until the last inky feather had popped into place.

The second thing they noticed, all the while shaking and sobbing from the effort of simply being alive, were their eyes; they had gone, too. Violet had ceased to exist, they couldn't even remember the colour, left only with its name. Red was there, red and black, and they greedily took it. Two red dots glowing in the hallway of the dark side of Forever, mirrored in a filthy pool that smelled of sickness and sin and eternal damnation.

Hell.

Yes, that was the only word they were given to describe this abyss.

And the sound. All the voices around, screaming, screeching, whining, wailing, moaning, silhouettes they might belong to or not, most of the beings producing the miserable noises they could not even make out. But one sound caught their attention: a buzz, almost inaudible at first, which grew louder and louder, swelling like the roar of the sea, and it was with horror that they noticed a dark grey cloud moving quickly towards them. Flies.

They could not flee, for it hurt too much to move more than their hands. The insects soon covered their small body completely; they could no longer summon the power to drive them away. The insects' tiny feet kept marching all over their skin, monotonous torture, and they slipped into blissful unconsciousness, exhausted by their Fall and this ineffable place, letting it happen, giving in to whatever fate would await them. A last silent prayer was left unanswered. Of course. She never listened. That had been the initial problem, after all.

They woke up without knowing how long they'd passed out. If not for the constant buzzing of the flies that was as persistent as before, everything could have been a nightmare – except you had no nightmares in Heaven. But they had a presentiment that This Place would not be so merciful. They listened to the sound of the wings, felt the feet press into their back and legs and arms, and suddenly, it all made sense: there was a pattern. The flies communicated. And they fucking eased their pain. They braced their legs against the open wounds, determined to close them or at least make them stop bleeding and hurting while the flaps cooled their burns. Such kindness. Such mercy.

A tear fell from their eyes, mixed with blood and dirt, and never reached the ground, for there was no ground, only flies.

The first curious bug crawled inside their ear, there was one in the remnants of their nose and several gently prying their lips open to bathe in the warm wetness of their mouth. Soft feet with tiny hairs tickled them as the flies forced their way inside their body, and maybe now, finally, they were allowed to die... No. It was not the End. It was the Beginning of something they did not quite grasp yet. Whether they liked it or not: This was their new kingdom, and they would...

Present day

“Beez?” Gabriel eyed them with a rather worried expression. They blinked a few times and shook their head, trying to get rid of an unpleasant memory without worrying their love even more. “Yes, my sweet?” “Is everything alright? You've been staring holes into Nowhere for quite some time now.” They still hadn't decided where to go (Alpha Centauri was out of the question, for they would've felt bad about visiting this place before Crowley had the opportunity to do so), and the Archangel thought they should finally choose somewhere to stay, if only for a while. “Awfully sorry, Your Imaculateness,” they teased, using a name they had come up with on the first day they had met, “your holy countenance got me off course.”

The divine being rolled his violet eyes in mock anger. “So, what do you suggest?” Beelzebub crooked their head and shrugged. “The pub?” “They will follow us, most likely.” “Nah, they won't,” the Prince of Hell said and gently squeezed Gabriel's hand in their own, “not before the five o'clock tea, at least. Priorities.” Tiptoeing, they pressed their lips against the Archangel's, who did not object. At all.

While the two renegades were busy being tremendously happy and in love, several things happened at once:

1. Evil yawned and spit out five shadows, four shiny new ones and one that had only been resting;

2. Aziraphale wasn't listening to Metatron at all. He was consumed by grief.

And 3.: Crowley was snogging with a stranger in a dark alley with his houseplants watching from the Bentley, shaking their leaves at him. He tried hard (very hard, actually) to ban this ineffable angel from his thoughts and heart, but he too, was consumed by grief.

#beelzebub #good omens #ineffable bureaucracy #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #aziracrow #crowley #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #good omens fanfiction #crowley x aziraphale #gabriel x beelzebub

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