Disclaimer: Good Omens doesn't belong to me. Just borrowing.

Warning: Contains graphic slash. Don't like, don't read.

Mundane

A tired sigh sounded through the back room, resonating off the walls in the bookshop. It was silent. There was no wind, no voices outside, no music, not even rain, which was unusual for winter time in England. Feeling weariness beginning to settle in, Aziraphale turned on the spot where he stood and leaned against the tall cupboards behind him, holding his mug of tea tightly with both hands.

The small space of room was dimly lit. Briefly, his eyes wandered over the doorway leading into the front. It was completely dark in there. Inwardly, Aziraphale shrugged. The shop was closed and he was finished reading for the night. There was no need for it to be on any longer.

Slowly, the angel's eyes moved downwards and he looked into his tea. The black liquid stared back, unmoving and cold but Aziraphale held onto it nonetheless. The temperature of it didn't matter, it was just nice to have something to hold, no matter how small and insignificant. He didn't know if his visitor was coming tonight or if he'd have to wait until tomorrow. It'd already been two nights in a row without a sighting.

Feeling despondent, Aziraphale decided that the silence wasn't needed tonight. Normally, he'd relish in it, but not again. Tonight needed music. Lifting his hand and with a stiff flick of his wrist, the vinyl record moved into place and within seconds, the music started to play.

With another, softer sigh Aziraphale walked to the table. He stopped between two tucked in chairs and carefully put his mug of tea down and to the side. Perhaps he would get another book, just to pass the time. At one look of the clock, his shoulders slumped slightly. It was just after midnight. It would be another night alone.

But just as Aziraphale made to turn around, he stopped, feeling his body tense at a sudden but familiar presence. The light had darkened to barely a dim glow as it was turned down. Aziraphale pressed his fingertips into the bare wood of the table, letting his mind think of how the wood felt and how he had only this afternoon taken off the tartan cloth to be washed.

From the front, a deep hissing reached him but he remained still. The instinct to turn and face what was slithering towards him was strong but he resisted. This game was well known to both of them. If he turned now, he'd get a punishment and it was one he knew well.

Suddenly, strong hands grabbed him from behind, one enclosing around his throat while the other snaked around his waist possessively. It produced a strangled cry from the celestial being who blinked rapidly, his breathing instantly going back to normal.

"Is that Bach's cello suite number one prelude in G-major or do my ears deceive me?"

Aziraphale didn't answer.

"Do you know what I'd like to do?" the demon hissed in his ear, its forked tongue flicking lightly against the lobe.

"What would that be?" asked Aziraphale quietly, keeping still, his arms rigid by his sides and his eyes directed straight ahead although focused on nothing.

"Remember that secret fantasy I once had concerning you?"

"The one you alleged was mundane?" said Aziraphale helpfully.

"Precisely," the demon whispered. "The mundane one about bending you over this table," he added, pointing to the table in front of the angel with his eyes. "You pointed out it was ordinary and I agreed and went with your suggestion of tying you to the bedpost instead but now... I want to try this, as mundane as it may seem."

"If you wis-"

Aziraphale's sentence was cut short as the demon pressed his hand firmly against his windpipe, causing the angel's head to pull backwards, hitting the demon's shoulder.

"Crowley..." the angel choked out. "I..."

"Shhh..." Crowley hushed. "You don't need to breathe."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. The not needing to breathe wasn't the problem; it was the lack of warning. But Aziraphale relaxed as the hand moved from his throat and down his chest coming to rest in the middle, the other hand soon joining it to undo each button of the white shirt slowly.

The shirt fell to the aged floor boards and Aziraphale breathed in deeply, enjoying the cool air that touched his skin. Crowley skimmed his fingers around the curvy torso of his angel before settling them onto his nipples, squeezing and rubbing them gently until they turned hard, eliciting a moan from the angel.

Aziraphale shifted his weight between feet with impatience and he brought his hands up, taking hold of Crowley's wrists. Another moan rolled from his mouth as he tried to move on of the hands downward, towards a spot that was being neglected.

"Aren't we eager?" the demon chuckled.

But he gave in, allowing his hand to be led downwards. At reaching the top of his brown trousers, he knocked the angel's hand off his own, sending it back down to his side while he did as he pleased. An evil smirk spread across the demon's face, making his slitted yellow eyes gleam with pride.

With his long, pale and skilled fingers he undid the trouser button before sliding the aging zipper down all the way. Aziraphale's head rolled onto his shoulder heavy with anticipation at knowing what was coming. Crowley's hand slipped beneath the woollen material before plunging it into the warm depths of the angel's cotton underpants which he knew were white.

With his index finger, Crowley touched the head of the angel's throbbing member before running it up to the base slowly, teasingly. The mix of a grunt and a moan rolled from Aziraphale's mouth. Crowley was unsure if it was from pleasure or frustration but decided that it was probably a little of both.

A strangled cry flew through the room as Crowley wrapped his hand around the hard organ tightly, pulling the flesh firmly. Within a few short seconds, the pressure built rapidly and Aziraphale felt that his end was close, but just as he was about to reach it, the demon released his hold of him and pulled out of his trousers.

The angel whimpered in protest and the demon chuckled, running a hand down Aziraphale's long back. "Bend over," he whispered thickly.

"This is your fantasy, Crowley," said Aziraphale firmly. "If you want something you'll have to do it yourself."

A growl sounded in the demon's throat. "Fine," he grounded out roughly.

Before Aziraphale could think any further ahead, the demon grabbed the angel and forcibly bent him over the back room table. His arms flew out to the sides, knocking the mug of tea to the floor. It smashed, the dark liquid spreading through the cracks in the floor.

The angel pressed his cheek into the wooden surface, suddenly panting heavily, his heated breaths fogging up the table. This wasn't new between them either but for some reason, Aziraphale always found himself surprised by how swift and efficient the demon was.

A yelp escaped Aziraphale's mouth as his trousers and underpants were yanked down and left around his ankles. Crowley then stepped back and admired the view. Another smile crept onto his face and he walked around the table and bent down and turned his head so they could look at each other.

Crowley moved closer and flicked his forked tongue against Aziraphale's lips. They parted slightly, allowing him access. He curled his fingers into Aziraphale's light-coloured hair, keeping him still and where he wanted him. After a final lick inside the angel's mouth Crowley pulled away and walked back behind him.

"Don't move," he ordered sternly.

As he pulled a small bottle from his pocket, he heard the angel pant heavily against the table. Crowley spread a generous amount of lotion over his fingers and at the first press of his finger against his entrance, Aziraphale shuddered. Pushing in slowly but not altogether gently, Crowley added a second finger and then a third, twisting and moving them leisurely until Aziraphale was panting consistently beneath him.

"Please..." he begged, his hips bucking.

"Patience is a virtue, isn't it?" asked Crowley, sensing the grimace appearing on Aziraphale's face.

"So some say-oh," Aziraphale's comment was stopped short by a sharp intake of breath as Crowley shifted and pushed inside him.

Crowley laughed dryly as he sank the rest of the way into the angel. He rolled his hips and the angel's breathing hitched, so Crowley did it again. Abruptly, the demon stilled inside Aziraphale's body, although it took all of his patience to do it (1).

"Is something wrong, my dear?" asked Aziraphale tightly.

The demon didn't answer. Instead, he put a hand on either side of the angel's head and bent down, laying his chest over his back. Crowley rested, letting his entire weight fall on the angel, the table creaking heavily from the extra weight. He heard the angel groan but he said nothing.

Crowley enjoyed this. He liked pressing their body's together half-way through, feeling the angel's sweat and heated skin mix with his own. It was forbidden and wrong. Just how he liked it. Slowly, he began thrusting in and out of the angel's tight warmth, running his hands down his side, smiling at each twitch that surfaced.

"C-Crowley..."

The demon lifted his weight off the angel, knowing he was frustrated at not being touched. He grabbed the angel's hips and pulled him back a little before reaching around one hand to help him out. At the first tug, Aziraphale's hands grabbed the sides of the table tightly, his knuckles turning pale from the strain.

Neither of them lasted long. The angel shouted first, spilling over Crowley's hand as well as the floor. Crowley quickly followed, grunting heavily before spilling inside the angel's body. Aziraphale collapsed on the table and Crowley collapsed on him, both beings panting deeply.

"Was it as good as it transpired in your head?" Aziraphale asked as soon as he caught his breath.

"No," admitted the demon. "Better."

(1. Admittedly, patience wasn't one of Crowley's virtues (or vices) as it was.)