Title: Crowley Sutra
Author: tea-and-snark
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Fandom: Good Omens
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Good Omens belongs to the geniuses known as Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.
Warnings: Well, the Kama Sutra's involved...
Summary: Crowley has a fabulous book that he thinks would interest Aziraphale.***
Crowley liked to be loosened up.
Point in fact: though he could have willed his muscles into a relaxed state in less than a second, he still spent the first fifteen minutes after waking in a series of elaborate stretches designed to safely and comfortably contort every part of his body into a new day. He took his time, even indulging in the recommended breathing exercises, feeling every slide of muscle, every shift under his smooth skin. He thought it was a wonderful way to waste time, and that was reason enough for the ritual.
When he was bored at a meal, or had something on his mind, Crowley liked to flex his fingers, one by one and then in quickening succession, observing closely the tendons that seemed to ripple under the skin when he did so, the special gleams caught by his skin as his hand’s angle with the light changed.
Crowley enjoyed this pastime one rainy afternoon as he shared tea with Aziraphale in the back room of the angel's shop. Crowley realized the angel had finally shut up about his books--or whatever he'd been talking on about--because Aziraphale's eyes were trained just as intently as Crowley's own on the demon's fidgeting. Aziraphale cleared his throat when Crowley looked up. Crowley took this as a sign that it was his turn to swerve the conversation.
"Picked up the most fantastic book today, angel. Think you'd approve. 'S in mint condition, quite an old one, too."
"Oh?" asked Aziraphale, distractedly. He had switched to staring at his own hands rather than at Crowley's face, and this annoyed Crowley irrationally.
"It has to do with this hobby--no, it's more of a personal interest, I suppose. A personal interest in the human body, and its contortional abilities."
"Yes, dear?" Aziraphale appeared to be working something out in his mind, and that something was detracting attention from Crowley. It was beginning to become downright aggravating. It was time for desperate measures.
With an unnecessary flounce, Crowley reached beneath the table and pulled up a brown paper bag, of the kind typically procured at a bookstore, and typically containing a book. He dropped it onto the table with a satisfying, rounded thump and smiled when Aziraphale flinched ever the smallest flinch.
This time, Crowley waited for Aziraphale to pick the conversation back up.
"Well, whatever could be in it?"
Crowley's grin could only be described as wicked.
"Go ahead. Take it out and have a look, angel."
The angel took it out.
The angel had a look.
"Well, I know it's not exactly your kind of thing, but you know, you can never have too many handbooks. I mean, they make them for everything."
"C--Crowl--"
"And the engravings are in beautiful condition, aren't they? Just flip through and look at 'em. Beautiful."
Aziraphale seemed to be trying to say something.
"Sorry, angel, trying to say something?"
Aziraphale put the book down with great care, nudging it to make sure the bottom edge was perfectly parallel to the edge of the table.
"I believe, my dear boy," he said in deliberate, calm tones, "This is not the sort of exercise one can attempt on one's own."
Crowley's smile faded slowly as the angel's words sank in. He floundered, but all he could produce was a small, half-strangled cough.
"I'm sorry, dear, are you trying to say something?"***