PAIRING: Aziraphale/Crowley
RATING: M for sexuality
WARNINGS: YAOI (male/male) sexuality, body waxing (which I guess some people would consider torture)
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Good Omens or these characters and am not profiting from any of this

"You're sure you want to do this." Spatula in hand, Crowley turned from the small kit he'd laid open on the kitchen counter and met the eyes of his best friend. He honestly didn't know what response he was going to get.

It was difficult enough to meet Aziraphale's eyes, as it was, because his friend was naked as an angel can be and very distractingly beautiful in his modern-ancient austerity that was anything but plain. Aziraphale was spread-eagled on a futon, a pillow under his head and several more in close reach in case he needed them.

Ignoring the question, Aziraphale nervously muttered something about the possibility of getting the wax on Crowley's expensive sheets, but Crowley fixed him with a single reptilian glare, reminding him, without speaking, that instantaneous clean-up was one of the perks of being supernatural. In response, Aziraphale raised a pale eyebrow. "I thought the whole point of this little exercise was to go, so to speak, 'all natural'. No cheating."

"That's during," Crowley assured him with a smirk. "We never said anything about the clean-up after."

Aziraphale knew he meant that in more than one sense. He was silent for the time being.

"Well, to answer your question," Aziraphale started again as Crowley approached him, tub of wax in one hand and spatula in the other, "yes. I am sure."

"It is going to hurt," Crowley said kindly. "There's not much to be done about that."

"Well, yes," Aziraphale breathed, nervous in spite of himself. "There is no point having a human body unless it comes equipped with the hair. And the nerves…"

"We've been over this," Crowley shrugged. "We could have made ourselves hairless this time around, or any other; but we didn't."

"Would you believe," Aziraphale replied with some incredulity, "In all my human incarnations and avatars, I never thought to be without the hair. Whether on my head or … otherwise. It just seems – well, thinking about it, it seems – like, I don't know, having wings, but …"

"But without the feathers," Crowley finished for him. "I know."

"Well, get on with it, then," Aziraphale said. He braced himself, grasping the sheets and closing his eyes.

"It's not going to be like that," Crowley said, laughing outright. "Open your eyes. This is going to take a while. And I'll need your help through parts of it." He smoothed down a section of hair just above the pubic bone and expertly applied the warm wax in the direction of the hair growth. "This is the most painful part, believe it or not, so we're going to get it out of the way first."

"How in heaven's name do you know all about this, anyway?" Aziraphale watched Crowley's every move, aware that his nervousness was making him overly chatty and unable to do anything about it.

Crowley chuckled. He tapped the wax that he'd already applied, feeling its viscosity. It wasn't quite ready. "Oh please, Aziraphale. Think of all the torture techniques my lot witnessed – or encouraged – during the middle ages. Hair removal was among the first things they did during a session. Sometimes it was the only thing they had to do … the point of torture is really the fear, not the pain. Other times, it would just warm the subject up, so to speak. Either way, very effective. But back then, they used pliers and tongs and weren't particularly careful," he continued hastily, seeing the first touch of real fear in Aziraphale's eyes. "Trust me, I've seen this kind of wax used before. It's very gentle."

With that, he took hold of the lower skin of Aziraphale's belly and, without asking whether Aziraphale was ready, removed the wax in one lightning-fast stroke, opposite the direction of the hair growth, pulling parallel to the skin rather than straight up. The angel opened his eyes, and he made an involuntary sound.

Crowley eyed him in concern. "We don't have to continue…"

"I'm fine," the angel waved his hand in a vague motion. "Go on."

As Crowley continued, Aziraphale gasped and said, "I'm not sure … I would describe this as … gentle."

Crowley patted his friend's leg in sympathy, then continued to work as quickly and efficiently as possible. "Well, gentle is a relative term," he said. "Hair removal is going to hurt, yes. But if you used candle wax, for example, it would both burn and likely tear the skin. This kind of wax leaves the skin intact – doesn't tear it or stretch it overmuch." He sounded almost clinical.

Aziraphale's eyes drifted closed again. "I see … AH! … yes. Very gentle."

Unexpectedly, Crowley leaned down over the patch of skin he had just removed the hair from and placed a burning kiss on the area, followed by a slow, leisurely lick. The angel gasped; his eyes flew wide open. "C-Crowley, that's – "

"Probably still a bit too sensitive, I know," the demon whispered soothingly. "Don't worry." His lips moved to Aziraphale's ear. "Trust me," he continued. "You're going to love the results."

Aziraphale shivered. Crowley drew back, and Aziraphale felt more wax being applied. He cried out involuntarily as Crowley once again set part of his lower region on fire – fire that lasted just a second, but fire nonetheless.

The demon moved lower, and lower still, with his hellacious administrations; Aziraphale was instructed to hold the upper portions of his anatomy while Crowley tightened the skin of one small area at a time and subsequently removed the hair. Aziraphale never completely got used to the sensation, but he was aware that the pain bothered him less and less as time went on.

Finally, the order came for Aziraphale to get on his hands and knees. "This won't take long at all," the demon said, and to Aziraphale his smile looked particularly wicked for some reason. "Reach underneath you and hold your … angelic glory up toward your belly for a few moments."

"Oh … yes," said Aziraphale, and complied somewhat sluggishly. He felt almost as though he were drunk. "Absolutely." He giggled while Crowley coated the back of his perineum and the inside of his buttocks with the warm wax.

"What's so funny?" Crowley demanded, but in his tone Aziraphale detected relief. He can't be too bad off if he's laughing, Crowley's logic would dictate.

"It's just that … my real angelic glory … AH! … it really, well, makes these human bits seem a bit dull, doesn't it?"

Crowley was taken completely by surprise. He blinked as he threw the last of the wax containing his friend's light-colored body hair into the trash, still clutching the spatula in the other hand. He wasn't used to hearing Aziraphale talk like this or, for that matter, display anything but sympathy or empathy toward humans. Then it occurred to him that the angel was making a joke. Crowley dropped the spatula and collapsed onto the futon beside Aziraphale for a real, deep, rich belly-laugh, the kind even he didn't get to indulge in as often as he'd like. Aziraphale joined him.

Aziraphale was still laughing when the demon snapped his fingers, taking care of any wax he'd spilled or left on Aziraphale's skin. Aziraphale still hadn't moved from the position on his hands and knees, Lord only knew why. He had to be aware that the waxing was done.

"Now, my love," Crowley said gently, "I am sure that poor battered flesh of yours could use some soothing."

"Not really," Aziraphale said matter-of-factly, crouching back a little to better inspect himself. "Even without using any, er, powers, you know, this kind of thing heals really qu– A-aaah!"

Crowley was taking the liberty of smoothing an oil designed for this very situation all over the hindquarters – and forequarters – of his very naked, very bare, very beautiful best friend. The fairer man sighed and succumbed to his ministrations. He felt one very sensitive area being lingered on and explored, and leaned into Crowley's gentle hand.

Crowley grinned at that invitation, and pushed a little deeper.

The demon was two fingers in, as best Aziraphale could judge through his building ecstasy, when Aziraphale felt a warm hand snake around his front and caress the incredibly sensitive, newly-hairless flesh. The angel gasped again. Crowley was right. He'd never felt anything like this. It was as intense as salt poured into an open wound … but pleasurable rather than painful.

How long Crowley's gentle torment lasted, the firm thrusts from behind together with the sweet caresses in front that kissed the angel's sensitized nerve endings and stoked his desire, Aziraphale could not have told. He only knew that when his lover finally mounted him, wrapping that highly skilled hand around his straining erection, the pleasure was so intense he thought he might discorporate. He'd had the thought many times before – it never grew old – that nothing, nothing could feel this good, and he wondered how he'd ever managed to wait so long…

He could tell that Crowley was ready, far closer to the edge than he would expect, and for some reason that knowledge drove him mad with desire. He arched back against the demon's loving assault and was rewarded by his friend's loud groan of surrender, the pulsation of his ecstasy inside. Crowley's hand, amazingly, did not hesitate in its work, and soon Aziraphale felt himself helplessly spilling out, heard his own voice crying aloud as if from a distance…

Later, when they were lying drowsily side by side, Aziraphale pulled Crowley to him and kissed him soundly.

"Hmm," Crowley said dreamily, placing a smaller, lighter kiss on Aziraphale's chin. "What's that for?"

"Do I need an excuse?" Aziraphale smiled.

The demon extended his tongue and gave the angel one long, slow lick from the base of his neck to the back of his ear. Aziraphale shuddered and sighed.

"No," Crowley whispered. "You don't need an excuse. And I have all the reason in the world."

Gently, with kisses and caresses, Crowley began working his way back down again.