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vibing-lizard-nose · 1 month ago

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A Demon’s Experiments (1/?)

(Good Omens, Crowley with various causes, especially in future parts that may or may not include some inducing. ;) Comments are highly appreciated!

Please don’t reblog to non-kink blogs!)

It was the winter after the armageddon that wasn’t. Perhaps, the Earth was so relieved to exist that it decided to give its all with its forces of nature to celebrate, making for an unusually cold winter. Or, perhaps, it was due to several geographical and scientific complexities that combined together to chill the people of London to the bone. Regardless, the snow was piling nearly half a foot off the ground when Crowley entered Aziraphale’s bookshop, shivering more than he’d care to admit.

“We’re closed for the night, so sorry!” came a warm voice from the back room.

“Are you really going to say that every time, angel?” Crowley replied, taking off his wet coat and placing it on the coat rack with a slight scowl. Blessed thing should’ve been more waterproof… or at least a bit warmer. But fashion comes at a cost, some days. This particular day’s cost involved Crowley having to brush the snow out of his hair and clothes. He stepped out of his heeled boots and sniffled, rubbing a hand at his pink-tinted nose as he flopped down onto the couch.

“Ah, apologies, Crowley. It’s taking me some time to get used to how often you’ve been coming to the shop now,” said Aziraphale as he closed the book he had been reading and took off his reading glasses. “Not that it’s an issue for you to!” he added unnecessarily, voice sounding far away as he fetched a bottle of wine.

As Aziraphale stepped into the room, he immediately frowned in concern as his eyes came across the curled up figure on the couch looking halfway frozen to death. “Good heavens, are you all right, Crowley? You weren’t out in that — that blizzard outside, now, were you?” the angel fretted.

“Take a w-hhh — wild guess,” Crowley remarked, though his snark was softened by his breath catching midway through his words and the sniffles that followed.

Aziraphale’s gaze seemed to lower just below Crowley’s eyes for a moment but found its way back there quickly enough. “W-Well, let me put this away,” he said, raising the bottle of wine for a moment as he referred to it, “and put some tea on. I know how the cold gets to you.” Crowley was too tired and cold to insist on the wine.

When the ethereal (and most certainly not occult) being returned with the tea he had promised, he found himself freezing just outside the doorway, staring at what was unfolding in front of him: Crowley was laying down on his back on the couch, gloved hand resting lazily over his nose and mouth, slitted eyes half-shut in desperation, eyebrows drawn together, and nose twitching dangerously.

“Hehh…” An electric wave went down Aziraphale’s body at the sound. “Hih-ahh…” Crowley seemed too distracted to notice his presence, so the angel took the opportunity to watch. “Ahhh-hiht! Hedt-tschsssh! Eht’ksshshh!” the demon sneezed twice into the back of his black leather glove with almost a snakelike hiss. “Mnn,” he groaned slightly before blinking and turning to see Aziraphale. “You all right?” he asked, frowning in a mixture of concern and confusion.

“Of course! Right as rain, as always,” Aziraphale replied with a nervous laugh. He was, in fact, clearly not all right. His cheeks had grown even pinker than Crowley’s had from the cold, he was standing a little too upright and proper (even for him), and seemed quite distracted with some sort of glimmer in his eyes. “Just… haven’t seen you do that in a few decades, if memory serves.” He set down the tea on the table in front of the couch.

“What, sneeze?” Crowley sat up, taking a sip of his tea. “I guess it’s been a while,” he admitted with a half-hearted shrug, “last time was probably in my car after you got all tangled up with those nazis in the 1940s. Do you have any idea what it’s like to breathe the air of a church as a demon?” He scoffed with a sense of amusement and frustration before continuing, “truth be told, I was trying not to sneeze that whole conversation.”

“Oh… you were?” Aziraphale asked as innocently as he could.

“Yeah, few more minutes, don’t know if I’d have been able to stop it.” He sipped his tea once more before letting his gaze linger on the other man with curiosity. Something was definitely up with him. Why, with the reddened cheeks, nervous disposition, and that particular look in his eyes, Crowley would have recognized that behavior as… lust. “Hih’kihtssh!” he sneezed again, moderately covered into the back of his hand and nearly spilling his tea.

“Bless you.” Aziraphale’s tone was part concern and part… something else. Excited, perhaps.

Luckily, Crowley had managed to set his tea down before succumbing to what Aziraphale had unknowingly just caused. “W-hihhh wait— hedt’tschhsh! Ihdt-ssshh!”

“Oh, my. Bless you again, Crowley.”

“D-Dohhhn’t—! Ah’ktsssh! Dht’tsssh!”

“Ble—“

Oh, no, you don’t, Crowley thought as he placed his clean hand over Aziraphale’s mouth before he could complete the phrase. He might have said such a thing too, if that tickle in his nose would have relented. “Hehh… heht-tsssh!” he sneezed one last time, uncovered towards the ground, a ticklish one that made him shiver slightly afterwards.

Due to the contact of having Crowley’s hand firm over the other man’s mouth, Aziraphale could feel the movement as the demon hitched and bent forward, even steadying him a bit with a hand on his arm. “Ugh,” Crowley groaned with a sniffle, “don’t… say that phrase, not when it’s directed to me. Not only is it annoying, but it also makes me sneeze, which I’m already doing more than enough of.” It wasn’t even particularly “annoying” to him, he just liked to uphold his demonic reputation where he could sometimes.

“Oh, I-I’m terribly sorry, I hadn’t realized,” Aziraphale apologized when Crowley had allowed him to speak once more, looking a bit like a deer in headlights. “Are you all right?”

Crowley waved off the concern lazily. “Yeah, yeah. Aside from nearly becoming a snowman outside, I’m fine, angel. A few sneezes aren’t going to discorporate me or anything.” With that, he reached a hand into Aziraphale’s top coat pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. Ignoring the confused look from his angel, he blew his nose into the soft fabric and tucked it into his own pocket.

“That’s my — I could have simply gotten you one from my drawers or you could have… miracled one instead,” Aziraphale pointed out, more so out of confusion than actual complaint.

“Why bother? You never use it anyways. Though the color’s a bit… eughh.” He made a face recalling the light beige fabric of the handkerchief. “Anyways,” he continued before the angel could interject, “are you sure you’re feeling all right?” he asked, leaning in closer with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Yes. Never been better! Why? Do I not look like it? Getting quite the imagination there, eh, Crowley?” Aziraphale rambled, seeming tremendously uncomfortable. “You’re still shivering, I should get you a blanket as the host.” With that excuse, he quickly left the room.

Lying so poorly to a demon who does that all day, every day… needless to say, it wasn’t bought. However, this experience had confirmed one thing for Crowley: there was something about his sneezing that made Aziraphale feel, well, the sin of lust. Hiding a small smirk behind his cup of tea, Crowley began to consider how he could use this to tease his angel for fun and how, of course, to tempt him…

#i need a fan right now #i'm a pity that this didn't got finished but that also gives me all the room to imagine it and get all giddy #g/ood o/mens #snzfic #snz

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vibing-lizard-nose · 1 month ago

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Five Times Crowley Lent Aziraphale his Handkerchief and One Time He Needed it Himslef

This post is fairly long but I hope you enjoy some adorable ineffable husbands. If you have any requests send them in!

————-

Crowley’s eyes skimmed over every piece of Aziraphale’s newly exposed skin. He’d abandoned his coat and tie, undone his top button and even rolled up his sleeves. A crease appeared between Aziraphale’s eyebrows as he hoisted a box into his arms. Crowley was supposed to be helping but all he could do was watch his angel as he worked.

“Crowley? Oh my, these are dusty…Crowley my de-heh dear boy?” Aziraphale shifted the box in his grip.

Crowley vaguely registered that he was being spoken to but elected to ignore it, instead focusing on Aziraphale’s face. His nose twitched slightly as his breath waivered, eyes fighting against fluttering shut.

“M-my dear boy, I ne-heh…hih? I need some he-Hit’SHU! Hitshiew! H’ISH!”

Aziraphale pitched forward with each sneeze, struggling to keep hold of the box as he was overcome. Crowley’s stomach fluttered as Aziraphale’s nose began to twitch again.

“Goodness, th-hih…this is e-embarrassing. Hih…hah? Hashuh! Hitchiew! Crowley, some ass-ah! Assistance, please?”

“Hmm? Oh right, coming, I’m coming!” Crowley grabbed to box from Aziraphale and set it on the floor as he fished through his pocket.

Zira’s head tilted back as he raised his hands towards his face.

“You alright, Angel?” Crowley produces his black handkerchief, knowing Aziraphale’s, if he had remembered it, would be in his coat pocket.

“H’TSHU! Heh- Hetchiew! Quite fine, just a little bit irritated is all.” He scrubbed at his now red nose.

Crowley handed him the handkerchief which Aziraphale gratefully accepted, softly blowing his nose.

“Thank you, Crowley.”

Crowley flashed a toothy grin. “Anytime, Angel.”

Derived from art by @just-a-nervous-bean

***

Crowley was trying to pay attention, he really was but it was just so dreadfully boring. The actors glided across the stage, artfully reenacting some old wives tale that he really had no interest in. It was only when he glanced over at Aziraphale that he remembered why he was here. He was smiling, eyes glued to the performance, hands gleefully fidgeting in his lap. Crowley couldn’t help but wonder if Aziraphale would mind if he took one of those soft, supple hands in his own.

He banished the thought and turned his body, deciding to focus on something much more interesting than the performance. A few minutes later, Aziraphale’s smile faltered. His hands stilled before one reached up to wipe at his face. Maybe it’s a sad moment in the play? A quick glance at the actors giddily singing and dancing quelled that idea. Crowley ducked his head, trying to get a better look at Aziraphale’s face but the lights dimmed.

Suddenly, Aziraphale lurched forward, shuddering into is cupped hands. It instantly occurred to Crowley what was going on. He reached into his pocket, retrieving his soft handkerchief, which he really only carried for Zira, because he would never be caught using one in this day and age. He pressed the fabric into the angels hand as he doubled over with politely stifled sneezes. Htsh! Tshuu!

“Gesundheit, Angel. “

***

“Heh…hih? H-Hah?”

“Satan, Angel, what is the matter with you?” Crowley snapped as Aziraphale pinched his nose shut.

“N-need to sn-sneeze.” Aziraphale scrubbed at his nose before pinching it again, cheeks flushed red.

Crowley raised a slender eyebrow. “Then sneeze?”

Aziraphale’s crystal blue eyes snapped up. “I will not! We are i-hih…in public, i-in a restaurant and I don’t have a-ahh handkerchief! It is ru-huh! Rude, Crowley.”

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses and handed Aziraphale the square of black cloth from his pocket. Aziraphale’s hand shot out and nearly snatched it out of Crowley’s hand, pressing it to his trembling nose.

“Hitshaa! Itshiew…Heh’tchoo! Oh, Goodness! You’ll have to excuse me, Crowley.” Aziraphale wiped his nose, cheeks red with embarrassment.

“You’re always excused, Angel.”

***

Aziraphale had dragged Crowley out for a walk in the park to look at all the temporary art scultures from some festival. Begrudgingly, Crowley had agreed. He nearly regretted it until Aziraphale’s arm linked with his, sending warmth spreading throughout his body.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale muttered, removing his arm from Crowley’s to rub at his eyes.

“Angel?” Crowley turned back to face him.

“S-sorry dear boy, I believe I’m a-allergic to something.” He scrubs at his nose.

“Well, let’s turn around then, shall we?” Crowley guided Aziraphale’s arm, fingering the handkerchief in his pocket with his free hand.

“O-oh dear. Crowley?” Aziraphale pressed his palm to his twitching nose, features slackening.

“Hmm?” Crowley pretends to focus on the sculpture behind Aziraphale but he can’t tear his eyes from his struggling angel.

“Could I tr-ah…trouble y-you for a handkerc- Ishiew!” Aziraphale pitched forward, barley covering his face.

Crowley places the handkerchief in his palm as the fit continues. “Heshoo!

H’ TSHU! Hitchiew…Hatchoo!”

Aziraphale blows his nose softly into the handkerchief before using the edge of it to wipe the allergic tears forming in his eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Crowley.”

Crowley smiles. “I don’t know either, Angel.”

***

Crowley lightly shakes the mound of blankets until Aziraphale’s head appears. His eyes and nose red and he shivers harshly despite being smothered in blankets.

“I know you say my tea is rubbish but I’ve made you some anyways. Drink it, or don’t, whtever.” Crowley sets the steaming mug down on the bedside table.

Aziraphale holds the mug close to his face, breathing in the steam the best he can with his blocked nose. He takes a sip before hastily placing it back on the table and cupping his hands over his nose and mouth. Ishiew! Hashiew! Hatchoo! H’TSHU!

Crowley hands him his handkerchief even though he knows that he could find a stack of them in Aziraphale’s bottom draw. There’s just something about being able to give Aziraphale something he needs that sets butterflies free in Crowley’s stomach.

Aziraphale groaned softly. “Sorry to be a burden.”

Crowley shook his head. “You’re never a burden, Angel.”

A slightly awkward silence settled over the two as Crowley stood. “Well I better go, let you get some rest and all that.” He turned towards the door.

“Wait, Crowley.” Aziraphale gripped his hand. “Stay… please.”

Crowley stared into Aziraphale’s pleading blue eyes and sat back down. Sliding his glasses off and placing on the table. He carefully brushed a blonde curl of Aziraphale’s warm forehead.

“Always, Angel.”

***

The street is illuminated by the setting sun when Crowley and Aziraphale leave, heading towards Aziraphale’s bookshop to turn in for the night. Not even half way down the street, an itch blooms in Crowley’s sinuses. He scrubs at his nose, annoyed when the tickle only grows. Before he even registers what’ shappening, his hands are flying up to cover his face.

“Ha’AESHUH! H’SHUH! It’SHAH!”

Aziraphale flinches at the sudden outburst, taking in Crowley’s twitching nose and streaming eyes. “Are you alright, dear boy?”

“ReSHAH! Ha’ESH! HaSHOO! Oh, Satan.” Crowley furiously scrubs at his eyes and nose.

“Bless you! Crowley, use your handkerchief, you always seem to have it and its much better manners.”

Crowley tries to shoot Aziraphale a look to convey that he doesn’t give a damn about trivial manners when he’s overcome again. “HISHUH! HAEASHUH!”

“My goodness, Crowley. What is setting you off?” Aziraphale’s eyes dart around searching for the culprit.

Crowley shrugs half-heartedly, reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief and wipes his nose with it. The tickles blooms fiercely as they reach the street corner and the reason for Crowley’s sneezing becomes obvious. A man holds a bundle of burning sticks, waving them erratically.

“Church incense to banish the evil spirits! May God bless you all!” He chants.

As they pass, Crowley growls at the man. “I’ll show you an evil spirit, you mother-“

“Crowley!” Aziraphale chastises, dragging him by the arm.

As they drift further away, the itch subsides but it still lingers. Teasing Crowley with just one more sneeze.

“Ha’EASHUH!” Crowley sighs in relief as he blows his nose.

Aziraphale’s hand slides into his. “Bless you, Crowley.”

#not to be exagerated but i would die for these two #i love finding gems like this hhhh #g/ood o/mens #snzfic

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vibing-lizard-nose · 1 month ago

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AN: 4500 words, NSFW. oh god the world’s slowest burn because strip poker between a literally devil and some doofy ass guy could only ever end in some way. Fantasy Cowboys in a cabin, weird supernatural induced sneezing stuff ensues and then the sexual tension gets crazy. Devil cowboy Aaron, vampire cowboy Red (or Cad, as Aaron calls him.) Home Of Sexuals.

Context or else the fic won’t make sense!! :0 Aaron’s lore I made up as a fiend or erinyes (yay dnd!) is that he can smell emotions and stuff (he’s an empath lmfao). Guilt and pity is one he’s allergic to, but I think lust is more like a scent so overwhelming it makes him sneeze. The difference between a physical flower and perfume, if that makes sense. Fear just smells nice to him, but it’s not snz related. I say this bc the fic hinges on Aaron masking these allergies as just being chilly or cold to keep the peace but it’s really hard to do that when there’s weird homosexual cowboy tension in a snowed in cabin. Okay that’s all the context you need.

CW THIS IS UH IMPORTANT!! There’s vampire-demon neck-biting sex-substitute horniness involved. The boys play it rough so also mentions of like being held down and strong language, mention of smoking etc. One mention of sexual organs and a lot of mentions of blood bc…vampires.

Devil's Luck

“Damn—!”

Aaron’s voice was biting, heavy on the front, a hiss on the end. Paired with the slamming of the cabin door, it gave Red a start.

He didn’t dare question that temper; more often than not, it was the default, whether he meant it or not. With the blizzard outside, it made sense why he seemed so hot-headed in comparison — Aaron despised it. Red always suspected he was cold-blooded. He'd grit his teeth harder whenever the wind picked up, his scowl made his expression seem sallow, and his tone was always sharp and frigid like the weather.

He watched him hurry towards the crackling fireplace, his steps echoing against creaky floorboards into the crawl space below.

“Everything sorted out there?” Red finally asked, watching him sweep a hand through his hair. Water dripped off his leather glove.

“No! That sly bitch got away…” He muttered. There was that clenched jaw, it made every consonant sting, “Stunned me.”

“Ah…you’ll get’er next time.”

He never thought of himself to be a bounty hunter. Following one around was actually way out of his agenda, but Aaron had yet to complain about his presence. From what he was told, it seemed like that was always the case — that the fiend kept alongside him a…partner, so to speak. Though the role was less of a buddy and more of a hunting dog. He didn’t mind it. He felt accomplished at the end of the day, takin’ down baddies...

“You’ll warm up quicker once your wet clothes are off,” Red got up from the table he was at and carried with him his mug of coffee.

“Slim chance.”

“Your funeral…”

“Sure...”

-------

There was a simple reason Aaron travelled alone when he had a say in it. He loved solitude. He could only exist in it. Red knew it based on how territorial Aaron naturally was, walking from spot to spot in this cabin like he was striding down a thoroughfare. While he himself liked to go on through life with a sort of casual laissez-faire, Aaron’s sharp eye and tongue announced his no-nonsense presence wherever he went.

This cabin was a rest stop, isolated, with snow-covered hills and forests on either side, utterly invisible to those travelling through a storm. It was stocked with food, sweets, furs…just about anything needed to hole up for a bit, a single room with a stable outside and a crawlspace. Even a bed, which, given the circumstances, Red quickly found himself settling into.

Despite the comforts, Aaron didn’t go out with much more than his usual leathers and a cloak. Those were important to him, like armour, practically built in. Whenever he took off his jacket, which was usually in an inn, he’d roll up his sleeves, keep on his gloves…he said it was so he was always on alert, ready to go. Red joked back if he had hands at all under those gloves, and was met with a sneer.

With Aaron back from his little expedition, the door was promptly locked and the wind left to howl and pound from the outside. There was sleet and ice soaking into his shirt and scarf, and his leather boots looked shiny with melting snow.

“HEHH-!” A sharp, vocal breath snagged both their attention. Aaron’s posture straightened, profile outlined with the fireplace’s glow, before snapping to the side, “hEDT!’tTCHHEUHhh!!-snf!”

He was always so…mouthy with it. Like the sneeze itself was a cuss, a four-letter word that had to be spat out, spoken with a punch. It was almost like it was part of his accent. Aaron’s hands were on his belt as he recovered, but one briefly raised so he could swipe under his nose with that narrow-eyed sniff — a finishing touch.

“Bless-“ Red began, but cut himself off with a swallow. He watched Aaron’s forked tongue run over his lip in the aftermath and received his glacier blue stare, “…Pardon me. Forgot your little ‘faux pas’!”

“Don’t get sassy with me, Cad,” Aaron warned, rolling his eyes. He seemed sour that his mark had slithered out of his grasp, especially now that they were snowed in. Cabin fever could really get to a person, “What’ve you been doin’ since I’ve been out?”

“Tidyin’ it up!” He gestured broadly, “Checked out the firewood we got, brought some in. Stables seem pretty alright, cleaned up some of the furs and uh, found some other stuff to preoccupy myself with.”

He tossed a small box towards Aaron, who caught it without a hint of flinching.

“Cards?”

“Standard soldier’s deck, looks like. Been here a while, never seen a deck like this. Must be outta print. It's old.”

“Gonna play with yourself?” Aaron looked up with an arched brow and snorted. He tossed it back, and Red caught it with considerably less grace, “Seems to me like you’ll have a pretty monotonous day.”

“You’re more than welcome to play with me, partner. Or watch, hey, I won’t judge.”

Aaron shook his head, amused. He sniffed, reaching for a packet of cigarettes he’d left on the table and lit one with a snap. The sound was crisp, unlike his voice. It rumbled low when he spoke, “Well…aren’t you a comedian.”

-------

Red realized that Aaron could appreciate a joke now and again. He also learned that going up against him in just about any game was a lost cause, because Aaron was a stickler for the rules and an incredible bluffer.

He’d lost every round of heads-up poker for the first ten before Aaron gave him such a slow blink, it was clear he was losing patience. Or getting bored. Red felt the frustration bubbling up. This damn guy — he must’ve been playing cards for the past three centuries. He threw down his hand with a groan.

“Do you like to lose?” Aaron taunted. The pile of licorice on his side of the table (in place of gold, naturally) was swept up and placed into a jar. He drew the cigarette from his mouth with a light cough and a sniff, “You can take a licorice if you’re feelin’ sore. I have…truly no desire to try one of these things. Kind of a shit wager.”

“I’m not going to wager my soul, unfortunately for you, if that's the implication.”

He enunciated the last four syllables, annoyed.

“Course not,” Aaron shook his head and balanced the cigarette between his fingers. He took another drag, and Red watched wisps of smoke disappear up his nostrils. “That’d be mixing business and pleasure.”

Barely any pleasure to be had here, if he were betting with money, he’d be out of house and home!

“HHEH—tschHHHEOOo!! Darn…”

“Bless you.”

He said it out of pettiness. Aaron’s face scrunched up with disdain, and Red caught a brief glare before the inevitable.

“Ih!HH—Hh’YSSCHHhheeoo!!”

“Sorry.”

“Ghh…agh, colder than the fifth layer in this damn icebox.”

Aaron sniffed again. It sounded heavier, a little more productive. When he folded his arms, it was stiff.

Red rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t terribly cold, but he also wasn’t wet, nor was he a fiend.

“You should bet your clothes,” He blabbed without thinking, “Might be the only way I could convince you to take 'em off.”

“Aren’t you supposed to strip in poker when you lose? I’d have you naked as the day you were born in two fuckin’ rounds,” Aaron laughed under his breath.

“How about we play where…hm,” Red scratched his chin, “If I win, then— no, if you win, then you can put your clothes on?”

“If you win, then I put my clothes on, that’s the only way it’ll work in your favour. And I ain’t doin’ that.”

“I need luck.”

“Take it up with the gods, Red…”

Aaron stood up to make himself a mug of coffee and stare out the window. Red sighed and looked at the deck.

Devil’s luck…

“Hey now, wait a second!” He said, “That’s not fair. You’re cheating, I bet!”

“What?” Aaron turned around with the cigarette between his teeth.

“I bet you’re using some kinda— hellish, fiendish, somethin’ wicked this way comes shit! There’s no way you could statistically beat me ten to none!”

“What!? You can’t fault me when you’re just shit at poker,” Aaron scoffed, “Even if I had a better hand to yours fifty percent of the time, you can’t sniff out a lie if it reeked of garlic!”

“I want to even the playing field!”

“Oh yeah? How? We’re gonna play go-fish?”

“I wanna play blackjack.”

“You are one sore loser, Cad.”

“And! You still have to take your clothes off.”

Aaron’s grimace was something to laugh at, but Red squared his jaw.

“Which wouldn’t be an issue if you keep winning. But, of course, you’d need to be real lucky, unnaturally lucky-“

"I've got nothin' to prove to you."

"We've both got all the time in the world."

The wind whistled in their silence, and Red swept up the deck once more.

“Shit,” Aaron rolled his eyes, “Maybe this is the fifth layer. Stuck in limbo playing cards with a jackass…”

-------

The thing that Red was banking on, really truly, was that they both had a lot of layers. Call it Devil’s luck or whatever, but he was the first to take off his hat. Then his gloves. Then Aaron, with his jacket. Red’s scarf. Aaron’s gloves.

Now, he swore up and down, as they played, he had all the most righteous intentions. Just a simple game for camaraderie, given the odd nature of their company with each other.

But seeing Aaron’s hands — which he’d never seen before — and watching them nimbly align the deck, shuffle with perfect coordination…his nimble, thin, yet slightly nicked fingers.

Gods, have a little mercy because it stirred up something fierce. Especially watching them balance the cigarette, and the way they curled as he put it out on the oak wood table.

He probably hid them for good reason. The tendrils of a thought tickled his brain, the idea of such deft fingers by his mouth...

The rifle of cards gave a satisfying rip as Aaron dealt out their hands.

“You haven’t made a comment yet,” Red muttered, “Hit. Like, a comment about, mh, kickin’ my ass even when you’re unarmored.”

“Thought that was implied,” Aaron scratched the side of his nose, not even bothering to look up, “You can figure that out. You’re a smart boy.”

“Well, I got that!…stand.”

“Stand.”

Cards on the table.

Aaron sighed and slid off his belt with a mighty thunk on the wooden floor. Just the weight of the buckle echoed.

“Hey! Belt should count as part of the pants.”

“On your life.”

Another round. Shuffle. Deal. Red watched the tendons on the back of Aaron’s hands. His knuckles.

Stand.

Cards on the table.

Aaron clicked his tongue and scowled, standing up.

“I don’t see what you were going on about with that luck bullshit,” He grumbled, undoing his shirt. Red felt his face grow oddly warm. It was the prospect of seeing his exposed collar…and his neck. His teeth ached, his gums itched.

It was like something he wasn’t allowed to see, and he knew Aaron was being extremely cautious. One odd move and he could imagine a knife pinning his hand to the table.

“Huh…”

His lips parted with a dumbfounded mutter, seeing two scars running along the underside of Aaron’s barren chest. A strong stare gave warning before his voice.

“Choose your next words real careful, son.”

“Uh, no…just- nevermind. I mean, we match.”

He motioned to his chest.

“So?”

“Nothin’!”

Aaron sat back down and momentarily thumbed around his pocket for another cigarette before deciding against it. Red could get a good look down that there wasn’t any movement in the way. He was very lithe…his shoulder bones were prominent, and his skin had a different sort of paleness to it. There was something unnatural about his anatomy; the fiendish blood coursing under his skin gave it a visual flavour. His muscles were all like a human’s in their placement, but the way his arms moved seemed to indicate strength without mass. His collar, though…

Gods—

Red could feel saliva pooling under his tongue. He looked away.

“Don’t be a dog,” Aaron muttered. He sniffed, swallowed, and the tendons shifted on his neck.

The next round of cards. Red’s turn. He figured it would only be fair, but he’d go shirt first rather than pants. Physically, he was pretty sturdy, and over his metallic skin were occasional scratches and marks. Seams of red cracks ran under his pecs, and he stood there for a moment before sitting as if wanting to show them off; Aaron seemed to barely take note, his eyes were focused elsewhere, off to the side.

The hazy look became scrunched eyes.

“HhIDt’zZDCHYIIEHww!!”

“Mngh—“

“—‘tscHHHEOOo!”

He sniffed then sighed, wiping at his nose with the back of his thumb.

“You alright? You’ve been sneezing nonstop since-“

“Yeah? Big surprise, I’m sitting here with my shirt off!”

The cards rifled again.

“Well, uh…” Red scratched the back of his neck, “Did you want to get a blanket?”

“No. That means forfeit. I thought you wanted to win.”

“Right, but if you’re cold-“

“Give me a break, Mr. Bleeding Heart, I'm fine…”

Red nodded, certainly distracted. Fuck. What is going on? Normally, he had such a good handle on his hunger, but something about Aaron bare-chested made him feel suddenly famished.

Something about it was celestial. He swallowed hard.

Aaron had sneezed over and over. He could tell there was some insight going on, the way he glared whenever he rubbed at his nose and sniffed back a runny nose. He could probably smell the guilt on him. Or pity? Or…ergh…whatever this mixture of lust and hunger was sitting in his stomach. Aaron always complained about sniffing pity on him like ragweed.

The next two rounds he played on autopilot. He could feel those devilish eyes on him as he sheepishly stood, scolding himself for not paying attention, as he dropped his chaps, holster and belt in one swift motion. Aaron let out a cough as he turned around and tugged down the final layer. All he had left were boots. Which, in all honesty, only mattered to keep himself in the game.

The favour went to Red once more, and he was forced to sit and watch as Aaron, who had undone his belt prior, got up and undid his spurs and a sheath on his thigh.

“You’re not taking off your pants?”

“No. Consider yourself champion, I’m keeping on my boots.”

Which meant…pants were probably off limits. That was part of the fun but he didn’t want to push. And, to be honest, he was a little afraid of what Aaron looked like naked. Something about seeing a bare thigh when his throat was itching to feed would have made a right fool out of him.

He gathered up the deck as Aaron walked around the side of the table, beginning to redress.

“Be frank...are you looking to try somethin’ guilt-free? Spit it out, spare me,” Aaron huffed at him. He was suddenly face to face with his stomach, and the near translucent skin over his hips, “I can hardly breathe in here—hHYSCCHHhhihww!!”

A dash of heat and moisture hit his shoulder and part of his exposed lap.

Shit. Ugh. That made his body react in a way he didn’t want it to. His hands felt tingly. His shoulders squared, and his fangs peeked out from his gums. He could feel his inhibitions slipping away. This was how it felt to be on a high, to be hunting, but he couldn’t. Not when a more lethal foe was the subject of his appetite.

Aaron turned to the side, and Red watched his core muscles momentarily tense as he sneezed again, to his dread. His lips ran over his tongue and, feeling dry, Red mirrored it.

“I mean no disrespect,” He coughed, trying to avoid looking up. He put his hat back on just to make some distance, “It’s not that you’re— I’m trying to- not, uh…”

He stared ahead as he stammered on, watching Aaron’s fly get unbuttoned and the top of his thigh peeking out under the hem. A surge of adrenaline hit his chest. His teeth were suddenly bared. His jaw was open.

And grabbed. Aaron’s hand was around his jaw, a grip firm enough that he winced, with his gloved fingers digging into his cheekbones. It jolted some sense back into him for a moment. His teeth were but a hair from the meat of Aaron’s thumb as his head was tilted up.

“Was wondering how long you’d go before you asked.”

He wanted to answer. Wanted to say he was never going to ask because he wasn’t stupid enough to try. He was going to just satiate himself with red meat, however long he could, he would swear it up, down and sideways! Aaron pushed back his lip to look at his gums before giving a hefty sniff.

“It’s not gonna hurt, lest you do something less than wise, you hear?” He said in a steely voice. He felt his thumb running over the top of his fang, as if to assess it, “You stop when I say so. Or I’ll sever your tongue…you thirsty, Red?”

Red nodded. His heart was pulsing quicker. Saliva was dripping off Aaron’s knuckle as he pulled his hand back and released his grip. Red jumped as Aaron lifted a leg onto the bench, slapping at his leg as if to mock him. He could feel the grain of a lasso, white and hot with infernal magic, snaking around his waist and wrists and anchoring him to the bench.

He leaned timidly, jaw squared as he looked at Aaron’s leg. The rush of warmth under his skin, a fiery, hellish, infernal warmth. His tongue ran over his fang before he closed his mouth around his inner thigh.

He didn’t like to bite…people. And he’d done so only to those he knew deserved it. But there was a distinct kick to Aaron as he tasted rich copper on his tongue. It was burning, but sweet. Smokey, almost, like a sauce. It stung, coating his tongue, and he let it run over his tastebuds before rubbing some on his gums.

Spicy…he felt taken aback. A heat that left one’s mouth watering. Best not to think too hard about it or he’ll develop cravings for things he couldn’t possibly have-

He suddenly got a stern grip on the shoulder and froze. Aaron looked down with a questioning glare.

“What the hell are you waiting for?”

“Sorry-!! I-I got nervous! You can’t blame me for that!”

He got an impatient huff in return.

Red furrowed his brows. He was going to enjoy this. He better. But forgive him, it was like being told to savour a meal when your host had a sword to your neck. He could smell the warm leather of his gear, the belt he wore, the chaps…when he ran his tongue over the spot he nipped on his leg, it was enough incentive to properly bite down.

There was an audible grunt from above, which sent a shock of arousal right through him. A moment later, it petered out to a sigh.

He heard the air shifting over his shoulder again. The grip had loosened and instead, his hand had returned to his nose.

“HhDk! HHTchHHUHh! KkHH! Haah...”

Aaron coughed, but the sneeze was considerably quieter. Maybe he was trying not to jostle around too much. Red pulled at his binds but found his hands secured to the bench without room to budge. So, instead, he found himself burying his face, hands free, between Aaron’s legs.

Not a drop to waste, his tongue caught whatever sanguine had been dripping from his lips. Really thoughtful of him, he mused, to offer an artery. He could feel the thrum of his heartbeat, and each hitch above him tensed the muscles around his core.

“HiIISChhhiHHWw!! FhH-fuck!”

Red grunted as his head was pulled away. Aaron had lifted his heel to dig it into his thigh instead, and the pain that was always there suddenly became clearer. It was burning, it was hot. When he sneezed, he had lurched forward and pressed his weight in enough to probably bruise.

“Satisfied?” Aaron’s iron grip seized his chin again. He felt his thumb, the worn leather glove, wipe the blood off his lip. The smell of flesh, living or tanned hide, was overwhelming. He watched as a dark red stained the edge of Aaron’s handkerchief when he went to clean off his thumb, “Someone’s parched…”

“It’s different…” He mumbled, suddenly filled with panic. It was like caffeine, adrenaline shot right into his veins. His heart was beating faster in his chest. Aaron lifted his head and inhaled, his nostrils flaring the same way they did when breathing in smoke. He licked his lips again.

“Don’t get greedy…it’s addictive.”

Red groaned as the binds on his hands were moved from the bench, and he was dragged to the floor with one swift yank. Aaron’s boot kept him on the floor before his knee knocked the wind out of him from the back. Ground into the dusty wooden floor, he panted, fangs aching.

“You’re lucky I’m so generous,” Aaron hissed. He felt him approach, his breath still heavy and ragged. When he hitched, the air moved the fine imperfections and ridges on his skin, “Hh—hhHRZSHHIHWww!! IHH!hddYSCHHhiehww!!”

Hot air flooded the cool surface of his shoulder. Something wet dropped onto his neck, he could only assume it was saliva. His heart pounded against the floorboards. Why was this so visceral? Why did he want it to continue?

“Good…” He heard a guttural sound coming from Aaron’s chest, “Very good.”

Another deep inhale before his lips met his shoulder. Red winced before giving a stifled yowl.

His own fangs were…just that. Fangs. Evolutionary, used for hunting, a bastard child of a vampire spawn. He never did anything special to sharpen them; they were really just standard canines, much like those of a drow or a tiefling. But gods, Aaron’s. It was like feeling daggers in his shoulder. Hooked, like a viper, they would be venomous if he so wanted. They anchored his mouth onto his flesh before he let go. Not enough to break skin, Red realized, only to then feel the pain again on his neck instead. He squirmed, but the knee in his back ground at him harder.

“Shit-!” He gasped. It was so sudden. There was another aching pain in him, one that came unexpectedly. His damn cock was pushing against the floor in a way that made him dizzy.

He felt immediately exposed. A little afraid-- or a lot. Aaron's strength was so alien, nobody built the way he was built should be able to pin a person down with such ease.

“Easy,” Aaron breathed. His lips closed around the spot he’d nicked on his neck, and a forked tongue ran over it. It met a warm liquid just as it started to pool, “Ain’t nothin’ for free…I’ll have my share. Only difference is I’m not blinded by my own urges, you lucky dog.”

“Make it quick-!” Red huffed, only to get the warm leather in his mouth: Aaron’s fingers, an attempt to shut him up. Darn, if there was a circle of hell for wanting to satiate the flesh while being hounded on by a cold-blooded killer, he was sure he’d be dragged down to it.

Aaron’s lips parted with another faint gasp, cold against the damp spot on his neck. He felt his nostrils flare against his neck, and there was a heat to them that juxtaposed the clamminess.

“Don’t—!” Red gasped. A moment of hesitation, where he muttered, out of alarm, “I’ll—I-I’ll come.”

The statement fell out of him, unflatteringly, deeply stupid. He felt his face burn.

Aaron had a wicked laugh, truly, like something right out of a fable. It sent fear and humiliation rippling through him, even as it trailed off into a nasty cough. The bastard righted himself and still had the audacity to sneeze, his weight grinding into Red’s sore back. Fuck! He thought. What he’d do for him to just grind his stupid hips against him. Maybe then this whole ordeal would be over. He thought again about the feeling of teeth at his neck, and his body trembled.

Aaron cleared his throat and wiped his nose with his knuckles.

“You wanna get up?”

“Nnhf…yes…please.”

He sighed as the boot was lifted. With a deep breath, he felt his ribs ache. A cautious glance up showed Aaron with blood staining his dark lips and his chin, and a handkerchief roughly smearing it off.

“God damn, you’re one messy eater…” Red tried not to wince again as he touched his sore neck.

“Warms me up. Like a hot toddy,” Aaron sighed. He thumbed at his nose as his forked tongue rid the last of the coppery red from his lip. Like a snake, picking up a scent. One of lust, that surely saturated the air. Red grimaced. His soul was bared.

“Hot toddy?—ow, shit…your knee could use some damn padding,” He took in another breath and was met with a sharp ache, “Don’t you have any other remedies? Some that don’t involve my face sandpapering the thresh?”

“I think I’ll stick to this one,” Aaron stepped on his belt buckle and slid it over to him. The metal clattered and thunked against the wood’s surface, “Rest up. I’m feeling chilly, might need another soon.”

#H-HELLO? OMG #this will be my bedtime story ngfdkjg #other's snz art #snz

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