Good Omens Fic - Markings

[mad_madam_m]

So I've been mostly MIA because I've been hard at work finishing my second fandomtrumpshate fic and also spending way too much time on Discord. However, since I finished the aforementioned auction fic this weekend (which clocked in at a stunning 50,618 words for the first draft), I'm now getting caught up on posting some of the shorter fics I wrote to give myself a break while I was in the middle of that.

This particular fic was inspired by a discussion in the Ace Omens Discord server about whether Aziraphale had ethereal markings like the other angels. Personally, I liked the idea of him having one where no one else could see it, and of course, I really liked the idea of Crowley seeing it.

888 words, established relationship, fluff.

Later, Crowley will wonder how he went so long without finding out.

He's curled up in bed, dicking around on his phone, when Aziraphale comes in to get changed. It's only been a week or so since they've moved in together; Crowley still pinches himself sometimes when he wakes up to see Aziraphale sitting in their bed with a cup of coffee and his fussy little glasses perched on his nose while he reads.

Crowley looks up from his phone with the intention of saying something and his voice freezes in his throat.

He knows the Archangels, at least, have ethereal markings—glinting gold marks on their skin. He's always assumed Aziraphale didn't have any, being a Principality.

Now, looking at Aziraphale's bare back for what is apparently the first time in six thousand years, Crowley sees he was wrong. He was so very, very wrong.

Ethereal markings run the length of Aziraphale's back—or perhaps it's just one large mark, winding from just beneath his neck, between where his wings would be, down to disappear past the waistband of his trousers. Crowley can't tell if they're gold or silver; in the lamplight, the markings seem to change color as Aziraphale moves. They're also not as irregular as the markings he saw on the Archangels; rather, they look like...scales.

Crowley doesn't think he makes a sound, but he must, because Aziraphale half-turns and frowns at him. "My dear, are you all right?"

"Er—you—" It takes Crowley's brain a minute to catch up with his mouth. "Since when do you have a snake on your back?!"

Aziraphale's frown only deepens. "A snake? What are you—" He cuts himself off and reaches behind him. "Oh. I suppose it does look like that, doesn't it?"

Crowley tosses aside his phone and gets out of bed, hurrying to Aziraphale's side to get a closer look. Aziraphale most graciously obliges him.

The markings are indeed perfectly symmetrical diamond shapes, just like scales in nearly every respect except that they don't overlap. They start just above the middle of Aziraphale's back and curl up toward his neck, then widen in a band diving all the way down to his waist. At its widest, the mark is the width of Crowley's hand; at its thinnest, maybe the width of his thumb.

"Have you really not seen it before?" Aziraphale asks.

"No," Crowley says hoarsely. He lifts his hand to touch and has to stop himself. "Can I..."

Can I touch you, can I kiss you, can I—

Aziraphale lets out a shaky breath. "Of course. You know you can."

I don't know, Crowley wants to say, but words are suddenly overrated. He brushes one finger over the edge of the marks, where they meet Aziraphale's skin, and feels very much like he might stop breathing.

The marks are smoother, a bit more like scales than skin but not quite, and cooler, surprisingly—Crowley had half-thought they would burn him. He traces along the edge of one curve with the tip of his finger, taking in the way the marks shift from gold to silver and back again, and then gives into his desire and gently kisses along the same path.

Aziraphale shudders. "Oh, my."

Crowley pauses. "Want me to stop?"

"Not in the least."

Crowley goes back to kissing his way down the mark, pressing his lips to each small scale in the ethereal not-snake that has apparently been emblazoned on his angel's body for millennia. Not his mark, surely, but Crowley feels a little possessive anyway, like maybe it was a sign Aziraphale had been marked for him, even from the beginning.

"Beautiful," he whispers, and Aziraphale trembles.

By the time he's made his way to the end of the mark—the end he can see, anyway—Crowley is on his knees. He presses one last kiss to the small of Aziraphale's back and runs his hand over the mark, loath to stop touching.

"Would you like to see the rest of it?" Aziraphale asks, so softly Crowley is half-convinced he imagined the question.

Crowley lifts his head away. "There's more?"

Aziraphale turns around and looks down at him, blue eyes soft and desirous. "Yes, there's more. Not much more, but—"

Crowley leans forward and nuzzles Aziraphale's stomach. "I want to see all of you, angel. Please."

Everything you'll give me. Everything, please, just let me love you.

Aziraphale takes his arm and tugs gently; Crowley slowly stands until they're face-to-face. Aziraphale cups his jaw, thumb resting lightly at the corner of Crowley's mouth, and Crowley hardly has to turn his head to kiss it.

"Take me to bed, then, my dear," Aziraphale murmurs, the words barely a breath between them.

Crowley slides his arms around Aziraphale's waist and kisses his mouth this time, kisses him thoroughly while he runs his nails over the mark and Aziraphale sighs contentedly.

He lifts Aziraphale in his arms, which earns him a surprised gasp and Aziraphale's arms around his neck. Which, of course, means Crowley has to kiss him yet again, drinking in the gasp, savoring the surprise. Savoring this moment, which is entirely theirs, and the anticipation of all the wonderful moments to come.

They land in the bed together, and they don't leave it for a very, very long time.