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Happy Holidays, Andremeese!

An Illustrated Fic tonight!

title: Winter Burn
gift recipient: andremeese
Author and Artist: refche
rating: R for abstract wanking
summary: Anyone can create a pair and start fondling them, but to touch one's core only with your fingers takes dedication.



When Crowley sleeps and dreams, (if he dreams at all) he doesn't conjure up images of flesh, life, or anything that can be corrupted. No dreams of beings with a will of their own. Instead, there's unnatural light coming at odd angles, flying and falling at amazing speeds. The sound of air and something more, whooshing past his ears. It's upon waking, -- when he's too busy remembering he doesn't have to breathe -- that he forgets what the difference between the two is.

When he's awake, panting unnecessarily, his wings are always out and aching.

He saw a photograph once, of a mortal with false wings attached, loitering on a rooftop. It was badly done, and the meaning was gallingly shallow. The lighting was all wrong. It was too bright, the model too happy to be there, and it wasn't noisy enough. Not even close to the gloomy effect the photographer was aiming for. But something about it struck Crowley as a good idea. It had a very optimistic feel to it.

That day, without much thought, access to the roof from Crowley's flat arranged itself.

When left alone, the roof was flat, gray and dreary for most of the day. But mornings, (which Crowley preferred for stretching his wings) especially winter mornings, had the tendency to light up the place in the most contrasting ways. It challenged the city when it could, snatching sunlight in cloudy weather and clouds when it was surprisingly warm. Climate didn't matter much to Crowley, but he sometimes forgot himself and would shiver or, Somebody forbid, sweat. Those occurrences were quickly rectified.


Wishing away his trousers, Crowley shook himself and yawned. A few feathers choreographically landed on the ground. He beat his wings once, twice and they scattered, being replaced by new ones that fell. The wind wasn't particularly strong, and the little sunshine was dutifully absorbed on his back. One doesn't argue with physics on some points.



He raked a hand through his hair, sliding it down till it lands on his neck, a soothing lingering pressure on his skin. There were always muscles intent on protesting no matter how expensive a mattress Crowley bought. Only at this hour was it possible for his body to have a mind of its own and, and it usually used that time to complain.

He could miracle away the aches and just beat his wings a few times. An effective morning routine for Crowley to go about his day. He might have things to do, paperwork to finish. Who knows how long he's been asleep this time?

It wasn't a very effective argument. The wind blew stronger, tickling his wings and his hand automatically smoothed them over. Long, soft strokes from root to wingtip, touching only the surface. After a few minutes he paused and twisted an arm to rest at the cleft between.

There were times where human anatomy had to be ignored and, Crowley was very flexible.

This sort of thing has to be done properly. A balance had to be established between the human body and demon parts. Both are imperfect and ill-suited for certain activities. Anyone can create a pair and start fondling them, but to touch one's core only with your fingers takes dedication.

Aziraphale called it grooming.

He would have laughed, but his hand had moved just a fraction and fingers danced firmly over the roots, massaging them. Light scratches that soothe and make him moan without noticing. The silence that follows stretches, engulfing the city and cloaking Crowley's existence to it. It numbs everything so that only sensations remain.

Crowley takes a deep breath and doesn't exhale.



There's a patch of thin, dark hair curving bellow his navel. An unnecessary product of his human body contrasting the smooth skin between his legs. Short nails gently scrape the hair and reach lower, hungering four a touch. It's never quite enough. A physical touch is too superficial for translation, and led by instinct, not need. Still, Crowley grasps.

It is easy to think of it as indescribable, but Crowley's been among humans too long. He's learned to rationalize, file away, and explain things in simple terms for his reports. His mind is alight with thoughts and ideas. He tries to think of his dreams and fails, sees flesh instead. He smells dust and chocolate, feels old paper on his tongue. Flashes of things he knows to be real and things he can only dare imagine.

Crowley inaudibly sucks in a breath as his hand tugs at the lower layer of feathers. It's a gentle tug, a slow preview before his wings start to flutter and he can reach beneath the softness. There are scars beneath, memories of days before the Arrangement. Of wrath and mistakes. Burnt skin he cannot renew. He fingers each scar and doesn't bother to remember, just touches and forgets himself in the feel.

Time is heavy, and 'linear' isn't a word he'd use for it. He touches his wings and recalls every detail of every day with amazing clarity. Crowley isn't the sort of demon to have regrets, so he doesn't. But he can close his eyes and see a chain reaction of events happening if just one little thing is changed. In those few seconds, that reality is real and Crowley moans at the freedom of it.

The world around him skews, and he is brought back with a jolt as he circles that spot, between two joints on his left wing. It bares no scars or any particular common sensitivity among creatures of angel stock (or demon breed), but it always makes him wish he had something... someone to push against. Instead he rubs his hand on his groin, getting nothing beside the satisfaction of his body urging him to. The hand on his left wing almost cramps.

He wants to stop, whispers that it's too soon, not even night yet, but he can't because his fingers are suddenly there, pushing against it, and bones seem to melt and freeze at the same time.

G -- An -- Som -- fuck.

It's not divine ecstasy, not the way a human would experience it. It's a pause, a loud hiss abruptly stopped. The echo of a note hovering in the air.



Time passes and Crowley still hasn't regained the ability or desire to sit down. He is in no particular rush. There's a certain quality to winter air attempting to burn very stubborn skin.

The door behind him opens. A few steps and an intake of breath.

"Aziraphale, I was just thinking about you," he says.

The angel makes a disapproving sound and comes closer. It takes a lot of concentration, but Crowley makes sure he has privates hanging happily when he turns towards him. It's well worth the effort just to see Aziraphale's eyes wider for a second and then slightly roll back for emphasis. "Crowley, really."

"Just enjoying the sun."

He gets another disapproving look for that. Well deserved because the sun was nowhere in sight.

"A little bit too much, it would seem," Aziraphale says.

Crowley just grins in reply.

"I heard that playing with your wings can make you blind."

The world certainly seemed a bit blurry around the edges. "I'm not drunk enough for the self-gratification discussion, angel. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"We were supposed to meet downstairs. Going on a trip, remember?" Aziraphale said nervously.

Information started fitting into place and Crowley calculates being asleep for a week.

"Ah, well Rome can wait a few hours," Crowley says and gestures for a blanket, wine and two glasses to appear.



He watches Aziraphale as his throat works at swallowing his first sip of wine. Crowley's back throbs just once.





Happy Holidays, andremeese, from your Secret Writer/Artist!

Comments

( 31 comments — Leave a comment )
corporal_katz
Dec. 25th, 2005 09:43 am (UTC)
That was... amazing. Oh my. The writing! The art! Wonderful, absolutely wonderful. :)
secret_kracken
Dec. 25th, 2005 08:10 pm (UTC)
Thank you! :)
chuckjd
Dec. 25th, 2005 10:19 am (UTC)
You win, hands and wings down.
secret_kracken
Dec. 25th, 2005 08:07 pm (UTC)
*grins and goes off to pick up the prize*
violent_rabbit
Dec. 25th, 2005 05:00 pm (UTC)
EEEeeeeeeeeeee. Eeeeeeeeee. Eeee.


*pants*

That was beautiful. The last line was perfectly pitched. I thourhoughly enjoyed it. :D
secret_kracken
Dec. 25th, 2005 08:12 pm (UTC)
Te last sentence was written in the first outline, before the story was done. It just had to be there. Glad you liked it! :)
andremeese
Dec. 25th, 2005 06:02 pm (UTC)
*points* WANK.
I would say I'm speechless, wonderful secret writer/god?/artist, but it would be a lie. I have a lot to say about this.

First, WINGS! I love how Crowley seems so familiar with this certain act of his. He knows just where to touch, just where to stroke, exactly what he needs to do to relieve his ache. He knows and appreciated the might of his wings, and that confidence fits him perfectly. The gorgeous descriptions of the scene had me entranced long before the second picture came, but when it did...

Wow. Just... wow. The white, outstretched wings, the body hair, the LOOK on his face! Incredible!

Anyone can create a pair and start fondling them, but to touch one's core only with your fingers takes dedication.

*dies, revives, applauds wildly*

It takes a lot of concentration, but Crowley makes sure he has privates hanging happily when he turns towards him.

SUCH a Crowleyism!

"I heard that playing with your wings can make you blind."

Aziraphale is just enough of a bastard, no? I love this line to bits.


And as all things must come to, the ending. I admit to you in all honesty that I read that last line and SQUEAKED. I am beyond impressed!


Thank you so much, Secret Person Whom I Love Very Much Right Now!

secret_kracken
Dec. 25th, 2005 06:48 pm (UTC)
Re: *points* WANK.
Aziraphale is just enough of a bastard, no?

Of course he is!

I am very, very glad that you liked it. Wanted you to have what you asked for, but I wanted to surprise you as well. So I hope it worked. Happy Holidays! :)
ajodasso
Dec. 25th, 2005 06:07 pm (UTC)
Beautifully done. That last picture is stunning - the lighting of the sky behind the silhouettes! The art may be a new discovery, but I recognize the witing. I'm so very proud *hugs*
secret_kracken
Dec. 25th, 2005 08:09 pm (UTC)
*hugs* I giggled incoherently, because dude, you noticed. Yay, and thank you. I haven't done art in ages and it was so much fun to do!
htebazytook
Dec. 25th, 2005 06:32 pm (UTC)
Wow. Um. I really like Crowley's wings--so many hues. And the little dividers! And the fic, obviously. Wonderfully sensual, in both er, senses.
secret_kracken
Dec. 25th, 2005 08:13 pm (UTC)
I'm glad you do. I like white wings, myself, but I started adding colours and I couldn't stop. And thank you!
tiggymalvern
Dec. 25th, 2005 07:39 pm (UTC)
Wow. This is beautifully done. I think you've defined erotic in the writing, both in the idea itself and the exquisite choices of words and phrasing. That would have been gorgeous on its own, but then you add the artwork with the skyline and those wings, and just... incredible.

Found one small typo - hungering four a touch. for
Sorry, can't switch off my inner beta!
secret_kracken
Dec. 25th, 2005 08:06 pm (UTC)
Thank you, I'm glad you liked it! I'll note the mods to change it. :)
onefrabjousday
Dec. 26th, 2005 01:16 am (UTC)
Mmmmm.
secret_kracken
Jan. 2nd, 2006 01:44 am (UTC)
*grins*
waxbean
Dec. 26th, 2005 03:24 am (UTC)
this is really just beautiful -- the prose, the art, the story... I love all of it!

thanks for this gift!

--Mary
secret_kracken
Jan. 2nd, 2006 01:34 am (UTC)
Thank you, I'm glad you do. I know I was a bit of a pain with the execution, so I hope it made up just a bit.

Thanks for doing the exchange!
vulgarweed
Dec. 27th, 2005 08:15 am (UTC)
This is utterly delicious...sultry and cool and poetic and evocative, and the illustrations...wow. *fans self* So original and gracefully executed.
secret_kracken
Jan. 2nd, 2006 01:37 am (UTC)
*grins* Glad you enjoyed it and thank you for doing all this! I'm off to try and guess some of the work and catch up on the unread fics. :)
argyleheir
Dec. 27th, 2005 04:53 pm (UTC)
Wonderful job! The descriptions were perfectly delicious and vivid.
secret_kracken
Jan. 2nd, 2006 01:40 am (UTC)
Thank you very much! I had to rely on descriptions more than what I'm used to, no dialog to fall back on, so I'm glad it worked.
(Deleted comment)
secret_kracken
Jan. 2nd, 2006 01:42 am (UTC)
Thank you, for the comment and more. :D I had a bit of fun with the little illustrations, thought they made the formatting pretty neat. ;)
bethbethbeth
Dec. 30th, 2005 06:10 pm (UTC)
Sensual. Wonderfully evocative. And beautiful illustrations.
secret_kracken
Jan. 2nd, 2006 01:42 am (UTC)
Thank you very much!
shayheyred
Jan. 1st, 2006 04:11 am (UTC)
How very unexpected, and very lovely. And the illustrations are to die for.
secret_kracken
Jan. 2nd, 2006 01:43 am (UTC)
Thank you, I'm very glad you think so.
magicicada
Jan. 2nd, 2006 10:22 am (UTC)
That was fantastic! The illustrations and the fic work together wonderfully. Nicely done.
shinzuku
Sep. 20th, 2007 04:53 am (UTC)
"He wants to stop, whispers that it's too soon, not even night yet, but he can't because his fingers are suddenly there, pushing against it, and bones seem to melt and freeze at the same time. "

"The echo of a note hovering in the air."

That was awesome.
sticktothestory
Nov. 22nd, 2007 10:24 pm (UTC)
That last line was just perfect.
( 31 comments — Leave a comment )

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