go fic: Las Vegas

[xylodemon]

Title: Las Vegas
Author: xylodemon
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Rating: NC-17
Words: Not quite 2,000
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Written for angelgazing as part of an Interest Meme. It was meant to be a drabble, but it got away from me. Thanks to fell for the once-over.




Aziraphale did not like the look of this place at all. It did not seem the kind of place for a rare book collector, mostly because the people at hand did not look like the type that read. It was certainly not a place for an angel, even one who had been on Earth for close to six thousand years and who had had a fair amount of dealings with humans.

There was Sin everywhere. Aziraphale could smell it and he could taste it. Sin was so think in the air Aziraphale fancied he could reach out and touch it. All the Sins, at that: Gluttony, Vanity, Sloth... well, Aziraphale could not recall all their names, because Sin was not his area of expertise, but he was quite sure the whole lot could be found, if one would only look.

Not that he wanted to, mind.

Crowley's note had been specific, stating he needed Aziraphale to meet him at this place at this time. Aziraphale was in this place, and this time and come and gone, and Crowley was nowhere in sight, but Aziraphale did not let this worry him. Crowley had been running perpetually late since some time in the sixteenth century.

Aziraphale would not mind Crowley's customary tardiness, if he was waiting someplace else. Perhaps a place with less people and loud noises and blinking lights. Perhaps a place where a scantily clad woman with overlarge hair and garish pink lipstick was not standing a bit too close to him and eyeing him worryingly.

Exactly thirteen minutes past the time Crowley had indicated, a familiar black Bentley pulled up. It stopped just where Aziraphale was standing, and was parallel parked with ease, squeezing into a place meant for a much smaller car.

Actually, it was not meant for a car, at all, but Crowley dealt with that much as he dealt with everything else. He paused as he approached Aziraphale, discreetly brushing at his nose. The red paint on the curb faded away, and the fire hydrant alongside the car was suddenly a post box.

"You could have cleaned up a bit," Crowley remarked, frowning at Aziraphale's plain twill trousers and brown cardigan.

"Yes, well," Aziraphale replied, almost irritably. "It is not like you told me what sort of place this was."

Not that it mattered. Aziraphale did not own anything as flash as what Crowley usually wore. There were certainly no leather jackets in his closet, or tailored black trousers with a shine to them.

"I didn't think I needed to tell you," Crowley said. "I figured you had been here, at least once."

"An angel? In Las Vegas?" Aziraphale asked. "Really, Crowley."

"And why not?" Crowley replied. "Ripe with souls to save," he added, making a grand, sweeping motion. "Everything your kind is against, right here in one place."

"Indeed," Aziraphale murmured, glancing and the overlarge-haired woman, who was looking at Crowley more hopefully than she had been looking at Aziraphale.

"Women, drink, drugs," Crowley went on, ticking each off on his fingers. "Money, gambling, bribery, greed..."

"Yes, yes," Aziraphale interjected, waving him off. "All right."

"Dinner?" Crowley asked, gesturing to the castle-shaped building behind Aziraphale.

A large, flashing sign labeled it the Excalibur Hotel and Casino. The sign said nothing about Restaurants or Food, but Aziraphale let Crowley lead him inside. With all the Sin going on, people could easily work up a healthy appetite, so there was bound to be a place to eat in there.

The Excalibur was as loud and flashy inside as it was without. Even more so, because of the rows of machinery that whirled and clicked and dropped coins into a metal bucket. It was also jarringly decorated in a horribly overstated medieval theme, but Aziraphale forgave it. The owners and operators had not been around in the Dark Ages, and had no way of knowing how far afield they truly were.

The restaurant was a bit dark, and Aziraphale could have done without all the smoke, but the food was excellent. The Excalibur Hotel and Casino did not have sushi, but Italian was the next best thing, especially if it was good Italian. Aziraphale ate his chicken alfredo with relish and almost forgot that Crowley had undoubtedly brought him here for a reason.

Crowley was an all right fellow, as demons went, but he was still a demon, and demons were usually up to something. Especially when they were stopping the waitress to order a third round of drinks.

"So," Aziraphale started. "Why am I here?"

"Why do you ask?" Crowley returned, looking put upon. "Can't a bloke want to have dinner with an old friend?"

"I know you, you old serpent," Aziraphale replied. He pointed at Crowley with his fork, which looked a bit silly, since there was a piece of chicken hanging off the end. "Besides, we could have had dinner in England."

"I needed a change," Crowley said, his eyes flicking from Aziraphale to a busboy walking past their table with a tray of dirty plates.

The busboy stumbled, dumping the dishes on the ground as he toppled over. Aziraphale didn't look over, but he cleared his throat loudly and looked up at the ceiling, and Crowley mumbled something that could have been an apology. He tugged as his ear, and the busboy was upright with his dirty plates in order.

"You have to stop doing that," Aziraphale commented.

"Habit," Crowley said, waving Aziraphale off.

"I am sure that is all these humans say," Aziraphale replied, narrowing his eyes at the demon. "They come here for the drink and gambling and women, and call it habit instead of sin."

"Oh, women are all right," Crowley said quietly, more to his spaghetti and meatballs than to Aziraphale.

"All right, how?" Aziraphale asked.

"They just are," Crowley said, in a tone that said this conversation was over.

Aziraphale, however, was not about to let it go. It was bad business, lying to an angel, and useless besides. He gave Crowley one long, searching look, and knew exactly what he was on about.

"I don't believe you!" Aziraphale gasped, putting his fork down to shake his finger at Crowley like a Sunday School teacher. "With women. Human women."

"Well, I've yet to come across any other type," Crowley said dryly.

"But why?" Aziraphale asked. It was an almost desperate question, in a tone that said he simply did not understand and it was driving him to distraction.

"I have needs." Crowley said simply.

"Our kind do not have needs," Aziraphale argued. "Humans don't either, when it comes down to it. Not for that. They have desires."

"Very similar, needs and desires," Crowley said. He gave Aziraphale and almost plaintive look, but Aziraphale seemed unmoved, so he turned his attention back to his spaghetti.

There was a long pause. Both studied their dinners, trying to fill the embarrassed silence with food.

"How?" Aziraphale asked finally, is tone curious again.

"What do you mean, how?" Crowley returned. "You know as well as I do how it works."

"I know how it works," Aziraphale said impatiently. "Only, you're not... you don't have..." he trailed off and made a vague gesture with his hand. From anyone else it would have looked obscene, but from the angel it looked helpless. "Angels are sexless."

"Not if they make the effort," Crowley said simply. Aziraphale just stared at him, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. Crowley stared right back, a smile spreading over his face. "You're really curious, aren't you?"

"Well, yes." Aziraphale admitted. "You just told me that you've..."

"...had sex."

"Yes, that," Aziraphale managed. "With women. Human women."

"Louder, angel. I don't think they heard you the next table over."

"Of course I am curious!" Aziraphale finished, ignoring Crowley's jibe.

"I can show you," Crowley offered noncommittally.

Aziraphale gave a start, and furrowed his brow. "I'm not a woman."

"You're not?" Crowley replied, smiling. "I hadn't noticed, after six thousand years."

"Crowley."

"Aziraphale."

"Men cannot... have sex with other men." Aziraphale pointed out.

"Of course they can," Crowley replied.

"Have you?" Aziraphale asked. "With a man?"

"Possibly," Crowley said, shrugging. "But, we're not talking about me. We're talking about you."

"And, you say you can show me." Aziraphale said slowly.

"If you want."

"What do you want?" Aziraphale asked.

"Really, angel," Crowley sighed, reaching across the table to grab Aziraphale by the wrist. "After all these years, you should know better than to ask a demon a question like that."

There was a loud crash as the busboy from earlier toppled over once again, this time into a table hosting a family of four. Every person in the restaurant turned towards the commotion, and did not notice Crowley haul Aziraphale out of his seat.

Crowley pulled Aziraphale close and snapped his fingers.

Aziraphale blinked at the rapid change of scenery, disoriented by the sudden quiet of the room. It was large and softly lit, but not dark, like the restaurant, and it was distinctly lacking smoke.

"I hate it when you do that," Aziraphale mumbled. "It makes me feel like I have been hit by a lorry."

"Have you ever been hit by a lorry?" Crowley asked.

"No," Aziraphale conceded.

"How would you know, then?" Crowley murmured, his mouth suddenly close to Aziraphale's neck.

"I just..." Aziraphale trailed off, going rigid as Crowley's lips moved along his jaw. "What are you..."

"Quiet, angel," Crowley said. "Enough talk."

And with that, he kissed Aziraphale, gently, but insistently, his tongue flicking lightly over the angel's lips. Aziraphale did not respond, standing stiffly in Crowley's arms, until he opened his mouth to protest and Crowley slipped his tongue inside.

It was so strange to Aziraphale, so foreign and confusing. He'd never thought about kissing anyone, let alone Crowley, who was a demon, for heaven's sake. But as Crowley's tongue slid against his own, slick and wet, he felt strangely warm, and a bit giddy, and he couldn't figure on why he hadn't tried this before.

Crowley moved his hands up to Aziraphale's cardigan and it fell away, his shirt following shortly after. Aziraphale gasped as Crowley's long, thin fingers trailed over his skin, overwhelmed by sensations he had never felt before, never even dreamed of. It was such a little thing, just the slow slide of fingertips over his chest and sides, but it was stunning, and he suddenly understood why humans thought this was a need, rather than a desire.

When his pants disappeared with a wave of Crowley's hand, he grew nervous, almost shy, but Crowley shushed him with soft words and light touches down his waist and thighs. And as it turned out, Crowley was right about an angel's ability to stop being sexless, because when Crowley's hand dipped low, there was something for him to curl his fingers around.

"Oh my," Aziraphale breathed, an odd warmth coiling in his belly. "How... but, I don't know what do to."

"Just like this." Crowley said, guiding Aziraphale's hand.

They found a rhythm, moving against each other, thrusting into each other's hands. It was slow, a rough, dreamlike glide, yet fast, too fast, and Aziraphale felt his body rushing towards something, reaching for something he could not name.

Crowley kissed him again, and Aziraphale was lost. Everything happened at once, his vision flashed white and his body snapped taut. His strange, inexplicable human body released itself, spilling over Crowley's hand, and he shook, his free hand digging into Crowley's shoulder as he tried to make sense of the way his body seemed to thrum and buzz.

A moment later, Crowley moaned low against Aziraphale's neck, his body coming apart the way Aziraphale's had.

"Is it always like that?" Aziraphale asked, once he had found his voice.

Crowley smiled. "Honestly, angel, it gets better every time."