#no more barriers when they touch (*cough* crowley’s arms were like a wall between him and azi in the kiss *cough*)

[queer-reader-07]

“i want aziracrow to have a proper kiss” this. “what about a sex scene?” that.

fuck it. i want these bitches to hug. just one really nice, really long, emotionally healing hug.

[eveningstarcatcher]

Anthiana Jones (Crowley) and the Lost Book

For the Great Good Omens Snake Off Also available to read on Ao3! Inspired by a conversation with a friend and @whiteleyfoster’s amazing art  (Thanks to @summerofspock for organizing the event!)

“I told you that you didn’t have to come along, my dear.” Aziraphale chided softly. He held a white pith helmet in his hands, a sturdy explorer jacket replaced his usual antique coat, and tall brown spats covered his boots and lower legs. His pale hair was golden in the torchlight, his blue eyes laughed and wrinkled around the edges. It was absolutely endearing and Crowley hated it.

“Though I do think you’re enjoying the warm weather. Egypt is lovely this time of year, isn’t it?” the angel added, distracted by a particularly interesting symbol carved into the wall. 

“I wasn’t going to let you go alone. Get yourself discorporated.” Crowley muttered as he paced ahead down the dim tunnel, holding the torch aloft, casting long shadows against the hieroglyphic- and cobweb-covered walls behind him. Aziraphale, noticing the fading light, hustled to keep up with the demon’s long strides.

“I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.” Aziraphale’s voice wavered slightly, as if holding back a laugh.

“Oh! Are you?” Crowley stopped suddenly and turned on his heel, causing Aziraphale to stumble against his chest, clutching at Crowley’s shoulders to regain his balance. “Last time I checked, this isn’t the first time I’ll be around to save you. Remember the Bastille?” He was thankful for the black lenses blocking his eyes from view. 

“Of course I remember!” Aziraphale’s cheeks were flushing pink, his hands still resting against the black fabric of Crowley’s shirt. “How could I forget?” he added quietly, the ghost of a smile dusting over his lips.

“Well, then, you know why I have to be here. Foolish angel’s bound to get himself into trouble.” Crowley ensured that Aziraphale was firmly settled onto his own feet, then stepped away.

“I like the new look,” the angel cast him a cheeky side glance as he adjusted his vest, smoothing it down over his soft stomach. “Though the footwear’s a bit much.” He chuckled as he gave Crowley a once-over, lips pressed into a thin smirk. 

Crowley’s travelling outfit consisted of sleek black boots that came up over his knees, giving way to tight maroon trousers. He had pushed the sleeves of his black button-up above his elbows, revealing freckle-spattered skin that glistened as he shifted the torch from one hand to the other.

“Are we at least going the right way?” Crowley rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall, cocking a hip, watching as Aziraphale consulted the ancient map, his hands moving gently over the parchment, his brow furrowing in concentration.

“I do believe so. If we just continue down this way,” he gestured to the path behind Crowley, “we should be there in no time at all!” He beamed up at Crowley and carefully rolled the map up and replaced it into a leather blueprint tube, securing the lid, and sliding the strap across his chest, letting the document settle against his back.

“Alright, let’s go, then.” Crowley sighed and strode off down the tunnel, Aziraphale only a step behind.

“Wait, Crowley! We should be careful. There were numerous warnings in the texts.” Aziraphale’s hands worried at the strap across his chest, eyes scanning the floor and walls for signs of danger.

“Warnings about what?” Crowley huffed. “The demon that lurks the halls? I’m on your side, angel.’

“Yes, I know that, Crowley,” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “But the texts were quite clear that were could be several-”

His words were replaced by yelps and screams as the floor disappeared under their feet, giving way, leaving them to tumble into the darkness below. They landed with heavy thuds.

“- traps.” Aziraphale finished breathily, splayed on his back against the cool stone, the document tube nestled against his chest. His hat had been lost during their sudden descent and he had landed on his hip before rolling to his back, the sharp pain fading as he brushed a hand over it.

“Thanks for the warning.” Crowley coughed out. He had landed in a puddle of limbs, tangled and curled in on himself. He sorted himself, sitting up and lifting a hand to his head, which was pounding from the impact, pulling it away to find blood smeared on his fingertips. He groaned from annoyance more than from pain.

“I did try,” Aziraphale pushed himself up to sit, trying to see into the darkness.

“Not hard enough!” Crowley snapped, wiping his hand on his trousers. “Still fell into this damn pit!”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale spoke softly, apologetically.

He felt the angel’s soft hand on the exposed skin of his forearm and he fought the urge to place his hand over it. He wasn’t ready to let go of his frustration quite yet.

“I am sorry for dragging you into this, but I am awfully glad to have your company.”

“Didn’t drag me into anything, angel. My decision.” Crowley grumbled, pulling away from Aziraphale’s touch to feel for the extinguished torch. When he located it, he pulled to toward himself, snapping his fingers to set it alight, then stood, offering his free hand to the angel. “Now let’s find a way out, yeah?”

Aziraphale placed his hand in Crowley’s and let himself be lifted to his feet. 

“Thank you, my deee-AAGH!” Aziraphale screamed and scrambled closer to Crowley, wrapping his sturdy arms around the demon’s chest from behind, pushing and pulling against Crowley’s body in an attempt to climb up onto his back.

“ANGEL!” Crowley yelped, nearly dropping the torch in an effort to keep Aziraphale from sliding off, wrapping his free arm behind him to support the angel.. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”

“LOOK!” Aziraphale had managed to settle himself against Crowley’s back, his legs wrapped around his narrow hips, his arms firmly set around his neck. He released one arm just long enough to point, his head burying itself in Crowley’s shoulder.

He lifted the torch and the golden glow cast light further across the floor, which was dark, but alive. It moved in all directions, smoothly, without sound.

“Snakes?” Crowley laughed. “Angel! It’s just snakes!”

“Yes, I am very well aware of that!” Aziraphale panicked against Crowley’s shirt.

“You’re not afraid. Tell me you’re not afraid of snakes.” Crowley’s body was trembling with stifled chuckles.

“It’s not funny!” Aziraphale cried, distressed.

“It is! It’s actually hilarious! I’m a snake, angel!” He was fighting the urge to double over as his body shook with laughter.

“You’re one single snake! This is a room full of them! And I know you! I don’t know what they’ll do to me!” Aziraphale was whining now, shifting himself further up Crowley’s back, holding tighter.

“M’bigger than all of ‘em put together.” Crowley mused. “And they’re not going to do anything to you! Promise.”

“You don’t know that! Tell them to go away!” Aziraphale fussed.

“You’ll have to get down, you know.” Crowley placed a calming hand on Aziraphale’s arm.

“Must I?” his voice was small.

“Just for a minute. I promise, nothing will happen to you. Trust me?”

Crowley felt the angel’s iron grip loosen as he slid down to his feet.

“Always, my dear.” He smiled nervously and tried not to flinch as he registered movement from just beyond the circle of light.

“Just stay here,” Crowley pushed the torch into Aziraphale’s hand, giving it a gente squeeze before he pulled away. “I’ll be right back.” 

He slid downward gracefully, black scales shimmering in the flickering light, starting at his feet and working their way upwards until all that remained of Crowley’s familiar face were the slitted yellow eyes that Aziraphale so rarely got to see. He was coiled in on himself, large and powerful. His muscles rippled beneath his scaled skin as he stretched out his serpentine form, slithering around the circle of light, hissing softly. 

Aziraphale’s eyes trailed after him. It had been thousands of years since he’d last seen Crowley in this form and it was exquisite. The way his skin shimmered in the torchlight, the elegance of his movements, the wide, unblinking eyes that watched him as he circled the angel, a familiar and reassuring gesture.

He shortened his orbit, moving closer to Aziraphale, then came to a stop as he curled his body in a ring around his feet, nose touching tail, creating a barrier between the angel and the other snakes.

He hissed long and loud and the room grew still for a few long moments. Aziraphale held his breath, one hand against his chest, as if to dampen the sound of his heart thudding and thundering against his ribs.

There then came a chorus of smaller hisses as the snakes shifted, the dark mass moving to the outer edges of the room, not unlike the parting of the Red Sea, clearing a path across the room. 

Crowley slithered forward down the path, then paused, lifting his head and turning back to Aziraphale. He inclined his head towards the opposite side of the room, then continued on his way. The angel hesitantly followed, stepping carefully, as to avoid any other traps or snakes. 

Crowley led him across the large, cavernous room they had landed in, through a large archway, down a narrow hallway and into another room. This room was much smaller, claustrophobic. 

“Probably better that you’re in this form, my dear.” Aziraphale’s curls nearly brushed the ceiling. Crowley hissed gently in a response that might have been a chuckle. 

“Is this the right way?” 

He received a small nod from Crowley, who continued his serpentine path along the stone floor, to something that resembled an altar. It was long and low, carved with images of gods. Scattered along the top were idols and offerings of jewelry and metalwork. Nestled among the gifts was a large tome, bound and wrapped in cloth, as if mummified in this tomb. Aziraphale gasped at the sight of it.

“Is this it?”

Crowley slithered around, curling himself loosely around Aziraphale’s legs and waist, lifting his head to get a better look as the angel set the torch down against the altar. He reached out and gingerly lifted the cloth away, setting it aside. 

“I do wish I had my gloves,” he muttered, causing Crowley to hiss in exasperation, as if to say just get on with it.

“Yes, yes. Alright!” Azirpahale replied, lifting it delicately between his wide hands, his eyes huge with anticipation, an astonished grin spreading across his face.

“Crowley,” he breathed. “Thank you!”

He took careful, measured breaths as he gently opened the brown cover, which was crumbling at the corners, eyes moving furiously across the ancient pages, soaking in every marking. 

“It’s incredible! Dangerous, but incredible!” He beamed at Crowley, whose annoyance was finally waning, softened by the joy on his angel’s face. 

“I will need to study this in better conditions, of course, but I must thank you for your help, Crowley.” He gingerly shut the book, giving his full attention to his companion. “I doubt I’d have made it this far without you. I hope you know that I-”

Just then there was a rumble and a large cracking noise, which reverberated through the small room. The ground shook and the objects across the altar vibrated and clattered.

“What’s happening?” Aziraphale stood, frozen, eyes wide and panicked. “Earthquake?” He clutched the book to his chest and stared at Crowley.

As much as snakes can sigh, Crowley did, as he wrapped himself more tightly around his angel, then uncoiled and slithered away. He had to double back and nudge Aziraphale into moving before they made it out of the small room, down the narrow corridor, and into the cavernous space they had fallen into.

As he slithered towards the spot they had landed Crowley began to shift forms. His dark, scaly skin became pale and leathery, the powerful tail split into two lithe legs. Arms folded out from his sides, and, finally, smirking lips and tousled red hair appeared as the transformation was completed. 

Bits of stone were falling from the ceiling and the pillars scattered about the room began to crumble, sunlight streaming in through cracks in the roof.

Aziraphale weaved around the debris as quickly as he could, but was falling behind. He was breathing hard, his feet unsure, his arms cradling the book.

“Crowley!” He cried as he lurched to a stop, narrowly avoiding some serious damage to his corporation as a large chunk of pillar toppled in front of him.

“Wings, angel!” Crowley instructed as he dashed back to Aziraphale. He grabbed his elbow, practically lifting him off his feet and carrying him to the entrance. 

As instructed, Aziraphale pearly white wings burst into view, as did Crowley’s iridescent black feathers, careful not to injure the other or push him away.

“Now!” Crowley hissed in his ear, then pulled away as they beat their wings, a powerful movement that lifted them out of the pit, Crowley letting Aziraphale take the lead. They were gliding down the tunnel towards the entrance, wings cramped, but carrying them far more quickly than their feet would have as the destruction continued behind them.

They burst into the cool night air and Crowley whooped as he somersaulted and twirled through the air.

“That was an adventure! And to think, I almost missed it!” he laughed, bright, clear and joyous.

“Really, dear! We were almost discorporated!” Aziraphale was breathing heavily, dropping down to his feet and folding his wings away.

“You were almost discorporated. I was doing just fine.” Crowley dropped down beside him, a wide grin gracing his sharp features.

“I beg your pardon!” Aziraphale’s brow was furrowed tightly, but his eyes twinkled with good humor.

“No need to beg, angel. S’why I came along, isn’t it? To keep you out of trouble? Sure hope it was all worth it!”” Crowley snatched the book from Aziraphale’s arms and flipped through it, earning him a symphony of stuttered reprimands.

“Please don’t! You’re handling it all wrong! Crowley! Please! It’s very delicate!” Aziraphale reached around, trying to take the book, but the demon held it just out of reach. “Crowley!” he pouted, crossing his arms and pushing out his lower lip.

“Fine,” Crowley surrendered, holding the book out and allowing the angel to take it. He was never good at denying Aziraphale.

The angel shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it protectively around the tome.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale sighed, once again pressing it against his chest.

“You do realize you could have just miracled the snakes away, right?” Crowley smirked, brushing some dust off of his sleeve.

“No! I- well- that is to say,” Aziraphale sputtered, “you could have as well!” “Could’ve, but my way was much more fun!” Crowley winked dramatically, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Fun? Ostentatious, perhaps, but not fun.” Aziraphale chided.

“No need to pretend, angel! I know you, and I know you love a good show!” Crowley began to walk back towards the town.

“It’s not a show when my life… er… corporation is in danger! Not to mention the trouble the humans could have gotten up to with this book! Best if I keep it safe.” He patted the book with one hand, letting the other fall to his side.

“Always looking out for humanity,” Crowley smiled softly, his hand falling to his side, gently brushing against Aziraphale’s. His heart fluttered in his chest.

“Well someone’s got to.” The angel’s cheeks burned crimson. “It’s rather a good thing I’ve got someone looking out for me, too, don’t you think?” He turned to smile at Crowley, soft and serene in the moonlight.

“Shut uuuup.” Crowley rolled his eyes and curled his pinky finger around Aziraphale’s.

[carry-on-simon]

“Platonic” Bed-sharing: A Snowbaz Fic

In which there is much Snowbaz fluff. 

Disclaimer: All characters and locations belong to Rainbow Rowell!

“Snow. No”

“Snow yes!”

Simon Snow is a complete nitwit. Baz thought.

The two boys were at a standoff. Baz always knew that Simon was plagued with nightmares. Some nights the sound of the curly-haired angel of a boy would keep him up until faint streaks of sunlight drifted through their bedroom door. He had never gone off in his sleep though. This was certainly new.

“Please Baz! My spine is too fucking boney to sleep on the ground. Do you want me to be miserable all night?” He was pleading now, his blue eyes wide, accentuating his freckles.

He was standing there in their chamber looking like an innocent child in a too-tall body. He was hugging a spare blankets and a pillow to his chest. His lanky, skinny limbs looked even skinnier in his baggy Watford pajamas. All his scone eating hadn’t done anything to increase his weight. Must be the pressure of seventh year getting to him.

“As a matter of fact, yes I do want that.” Yes, get bruises all over your perfect back you idiot. That’s what you get for being so attractive.

“If you don’t share your bed I’ll make sure you’re miserable all night too!”

It was a measly threat to Baz. He was already miserable enough every night to have the Mage’s Heir tormenting him through his presence every day and night. He rolled his eyes and smoothed out a single wrinkle in his bedsheets.

“Don’t ignore me! It’s just for one night. I won’t even touch you, I promise.”

Baz fluffed up his pillow. He could physically feel Simon’s glares.

“Come on man! S’not my fault Watford doesn’t have any spare beds lying around!” There was an intoxicating electric tingle to the air. Simon was getting too worked up about this. “If I have to sleep on the ground because of you I will go off on your bed and we’ll both be cold and sore from sleeping on the fucking stone floor.”

That was certainly a threat Simon could get away with doing, despite the anathema. Damn him. Baz thought.

“Okay. Fucking fine!” It came out more harshly than Baz intended.

Simon took a step back, the threads of his magic retreating immediately. It was certainly frightening how closely tied Simon’s magic was to his emotions.

“Thanks. I promise. This is just for tonight. I’ll build a spare bed myself if it means I don’t have to sleep with you.”

Baz snorted. Simon. Building something. Now that would be something. He sighed in annoyance as he realized sharing a bed with Simon would make it extremely difficult to sneak of to drink tonight.

“I’m going to change into my nightclothes. Make yourself at home, Snow.” He said sarcasm dripping from his voice like water from a leaky faucet.

Simon nodded. He looked exhausted.

Baz went to change his clothes in the bathroom. He stared at his own grey eyes in the mirror. His pupils were dilated and if he had more blood in him, he would probably would look flushed. He felt a surge of nervousness and anticipation.

Sharing a bed with Simon Snow. Simon fucking Snow. How on bloody earth am I supposed to not kiss the moles on his neck if he is bloody next to me?

This would certainly be a long night.

Emerging from the bathroom, Baz saw Simon fixing up a sheet to work as a divider in the middle of their already small twin bed.

“What the fuck are you doing Snow?” Baz asked incredulously.

“I thought it’d be more comfortable if there was a like... physical barrier between us.”

“Whatever floats your boat you nitwit.”

Baz carefully folded his Watford sweater, placing it in a drawer, and hung up his trousers. Then he stood by his bed, eyeing a reclining Simon.

“I promise I won’t bite or go off on you tonight Baz. And don’t even think about doing anything to me. Anathema, remember.”

Baz rolled his eyes and climbed into bed. He laid on his side, facing away from the boy he wanted to kiss ever since they met. Simon had already turned out the light. It was just the two of them now. Lying side by side. Lit by moonlight.

This would be incredibly romantic if were an entirely different pair of boys. And both gay.  Baz thought.

He heard Simon sigh. He could feel heat radiating of him in waves. He was so hot. Baz didn’t understand why Simon even bothered to use a blanket. He was already a walking furnace. In more ways than one. Baz swallowed, bit his tongue and did his best to repress the urge to turn and kiss the living hell out of Simon.

Moments passed in silence. Simon’s breath faded into a rhythm. But it wasn’t how he sounded when he was sleeping. More like he was relaxed.

Baz was not relaxed. It felt like every atom of his undead existence was on edge. He was going to have to spend at least eight hours lying like this with the boy he loved and wanted most lying next to him. This was all a terrible mistake.

A gentle touch and a whispered “Baz!” made his entire body flinch. The hand immediately retreated and Baz immediately wished it back.

“Blimey Snow! What the fuck do you want?” He turned to look at the boy.

It was a mistake.

Simon looked ethereal. His eyes were soft and tired. His bronze hair was silver and shone under the starlight. His lips. Crowley his lips looked devourable.

Baz swore he felt his vampire heart have a seizure in his chest. He was tingling all over. This was a mistake. He should just go stalk the Watford grounds and sleep under a tree or some shit. Even a cold Autumn night spent outside would be better than this infernal torture.

“Baz. Why are we like this?”

“Like what, idiot?” Baz spat a bit.

The bead of saliva landed on Snow’s pillow. Baz wished it had landed on Simon’s face. Then he wished he hadn’t thought that.

“Why do we hate each other?”

Baz sighed in exasperation. But some force he wasn’t entirely in control of made him turn completely onto his side and face Snow full-on.

“I don’t know! Maybe my parents hate your adopted father because he stole all that was good from our family?” Baz’s words raised in volume. 

He was getting annoyed.

Annoyed that Simon looked so calm. Annoyed that they could kiss right that moment Annoyed they weren’t kissing. Annoyed that it was even a possibility in his mind. He wanted to glare at Simon. But he was so tired. And thirsty.

This was a mistake.

Simon was silent for a moment. He seemed to be studying the wall behind Baz. Then he was studying Baz’s face and time seemed to stop.

“I’ve just been thinking a lot, Baz. None of this stupid rivalry makes any sense!”

“Welcome to the real world.”

“Sure. But right now. I’m scared.” Simon’s voice was getting soft and small.

He was so small and pale and delicate in that moment. Baz felt an insuppressible need to protect him. It made his heart feel like it could burst out of his chest and fly away.

“Scared?” Baz found his voice was getting softer now too.

Why. Why? He needed more control than this. Everything that was expect from him wasn’t what he really wanted. He had to stop his feelings. But he couldn’t. He had made a terrible mistake.

“I’m scared of the Humdrum. Of losing the people I care about. Penny. The Mage. Agatha. You.”

Baz coughed in suprise. Not a sarcastic cough. A genuine “what-the-fuckity-fuck” cough.

“I’m scared of sleeping tonight because I don’t want to wake up and find that I’ve destroyed everything I love.” Simon looked almost like he was going to cry.

“Are you afraid you’ll go off again tonight?” Baz asked.

Simon nodded ashamedly. Baz didn’t really feel concerned that Simon could hurt him. He felt concerned that Simon was sad. They laid there in silence, staring at each other.

Then, then, Simon took the sheet that was separating them, cast it aside, and flung his arms around Baz. Baz was too shocked to react for a moment. He couldn’t exactly fathom how this moment was real. Slowly, he wrapped an arm back around him.

“S-simon?” He managed.

“Sorry.” He muttered into Baz’s shirt. “I think I just needed a hug.”

“You want a hug from your mortal enemy in a bed?”

Baz could feel Simon sigh in response. Then he drew back but not that far back.

“I don’t know.”

“Alright.”

They stared at each other. Baz knew his eyes probably looked as wide as Simon’s did. What did this all mean? What was Simon trying to accomplish through this? Did he know how Baz felt and was trying to manipulate him?

Manipulation or not, whatever Simon was doing was working.

Simon’s hand encircled his and he froze.

Physically and mentally, he froze.

Baz had so many questions. So many demands to make.

Why did Simon care about him?

Why on earth did Simon think hugging the boy who had only made him miserable would accomplish anything?

Why were they holding hands in a bed?

What the fuck was happening?

Why were they not kissing?

They should kiss.

He wanted Simon to kiss him. He wanted to kiss Simon.

“Simon?” He whispered.

“Kiss me.” Simon whispered back.

And he did.