1 - 20 of 28 Works by ashaydamn
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Summary
The plants adorning Crowley’s living room in Mayfair had been enjoying a surprisingly lengthy reprieve from their master’s tortures when the tranquil, pin-drop silence was interrupted by a tumult of tumbling bodies. All at once, two vaguely human-shaped blurs crashed through the front door, pressed flush to one another in a chaotic flurry of patent leather, teased hair, and oh so much body glitter.
“Fuck...”
Crowley was reasonably sure it had been his own voice, but not quite sure enough to dissuade the thought that it was Aziraphale who had bitten out the swear between their feverish kisses. After all, it had been Aziraphale who’d greeted Crowley after his performance with a greedy kiss, who’d practically thrown him into the Bentley’s driver’s seat, who’d spent the drive from the Soho drag bar to Crowley’s flat steadily creeping a hand up Crowley’s thigh, only to abandon teasing the moment the car was in park and drag Crowley into his flat by the scruff of his bedazzled neck.
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In which Crowley fulfills two bucket list items in one night – ‘perform in drag’ and ‘get railed in drag’.
Series
- Part 15 of the flash bastard and the southern pansy
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Summary
“That’s it, love. Deep breaths...” Aziraphale’s voice echoed through the tenebrous sleeping chamber, his hushed tones getting caught up in the interlacing cross-beams of the vaulted Gothic ceiling.
Crowley’s sharp intake of breath made a similar journey, his teeth clenched and expression knotted with a tension that quickly disappeared as his hips settled against Aziraphale’s lap, the stifling heat of his mortal form at last filling him inside as well as out.
“Oh, look at you-” Aziraphale mused, then caught himself, shooting a half-cocked smile at his own reflection. “Well...”
Indeed, despite his lover’s presence, Aziraphale was the sole denizen of the looking glass.
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In which Father Fell takes it upon himself to explore the preternatural traits of his vampiric companion.
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Summary
Aziraphale could not stop staring at Crowley’s lips.
“Right-o.” Aziraphale breathed, hoping it made up for the fact that he hadn’t heard a word. His mind was much too focused on the delicate dip of Crowley’s cupid’s bow, the sleek cut of his opera gloves, the impossible tightness of his leotard.
The leotard which was now hanging loose off his newly-masculine chest, exposing the whole of his torso. A gasp slipped from between Aziraphale’s lips before he could catch it, and he averted his eyes, lest his sin be made evermore blatant.
Oh, dear Lord.
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In which this author/artist team explores what might have transpired if a certain demon had taken his angel’s place on a West End stage back in 1941.
Series
- Part 14 of the flash bastard and the southern pansy
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Summary
Aziraphale had been good. He’d arranged himself exactly as she’d asked - nude, knelt, and motionless.
“Impressive.” Crowley hummed, and Aziraphale preened under the praise even as he fought to remain still, fought against the instinct to do that adorable little hip-wiggle he so often employed when he was pleased.
After all, moving his hips would only remind him more clearly of his predicament, of his arousal standing hot and heavy between his legs, untouched for going on 8 hours now. It was a miracle none of his customers had noticed how he shifted so restlessly in his seat behind the pay-desk, how his eyes would drift to the lithe, black-clad beauty, how it only took a pointed flick of that beauty’s finger to summon Mr. Fell wherever she bade him - typically, someplace private, where he would return with a face tinged a bit more apple-red than before. It had taken a more potent miracle to keep customers from noticing the metal ring locked tight around Mr. Fell’s neck.
His Mistress really was giving no quarter tonight.
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In which Aziraphale makes himself the perfect toy for his beloved Mistress.
Series
- Part 13 of the flash bastard and the southern pansy
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Summary
“Ohh, what a horrendous undertaking I’ve been handed!” Aziraphale affected the highest disdain with his voice, though his expression bore nothing but mirth. “Alas, I am so unfortunately deigned to bed my gorgeous husband and make him cum until he begs me to stop! King Sisyphus truly has nothing on my plight.”
Crowley did manage a small laugh, warmth returning to his features once more. “I’m serious, y’nut, I mean...” oh, but it was so hard to talk with Aziraphale’s hands on him, especially once Aziraphale dipped down to get his lips involved, mouthing along the sensitive skin where neck became shoulder. “S-surely there’s gotta be another... fuck, another way t’... counteract this.”
Aziraphale raised his head to give Crowley a look, something that was a motley mix of confusion, adoration, amusement, and a healthy dash of pride. The hand not on Crowley’s neck swept downward, taking a greedy handful of Crowley’s ass.
“Who wants to counteract Paradise, dear boy?”
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In which Crowley’s risky forays into xenobotany finally come back to bite him in the - well, you’ll find out.
Series
- Part 12 of the flash bastard and the southern pansy
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I'm So Afraid (But I Still Feed The Flame) [A Touch Of Evil] by ashaydamn
Fandoms: Good Omens (TV)
24 Apr 2024
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“Ohhhh, come now, little lamb, surely you’ve got some naughty ideas floating around in that big, beautiful brain of yours.” Z teased. “Let me in and I just might make a few of ‘em come true.” he whispered against Raphael’s temple, earning a whimper and a helpless little shiver.
“I-I don’t...” Raphael swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure exactly when the tone in the room had shifted towards the amorous, nor was he wholly certain that this wasn’t just Z’s latest tactic to wind him up, but he couldn’t bring himself to care when those devilish lips were this close to him. “I couldn... I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
Z hummed in the negative. “Quite think you do, though...” when he pulled back to meet Raphael’s gaze face-to-face, those dark-chocolate eyes were wandering up and down Z’s form. “’Cause you’re lookin’ at me like you’ve got one very naughty idea that you’re too proper of an angel to say.”
Oh. Z wasn’t kidding.
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In which a certain ex-Archangel can’t resist a touch of evil.
Series
- Part 11 of the flash bastard and the southern pansy
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Summary
“How about thisss - Lunch. The Ritz. I’ll wine, you’ll dine. Then, we’ll come right back here, and I will do whatever. you. want. But, you’ve gotta use your words.”
“M-my...”
“I’ll do anything for you, angel – anything. But, you’ve gotta asssk for it, with wordsss. I wanna hear your filthiest fantasiesss, all those dirty little thoughts I know you’ve got flitting about that brilliant brain of yoursss when we’re together. And I wanna make ‘em real.”
“I- so you even... you’d like to hear the... the rough bits?”
“Oh, I wanna hear everything. Gimme the roughest bitsss. Do your worssst.”
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In which Aziraphale’s communication skills are put to the test [in the fun way].
Series
- Part 10 of the flash bastard and the southern pansy
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Happy Birthday, Captain! by ashaydamn
Fandoms: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
23 Mar 2024
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Summary
Spock’s growl was thunderous in the near-silent cabin, his purr unabating as Jim once again yanked his head away from the space between Jim’s legs.
“Easy now, sweetheart.” Jim chimed, face absolutely beaming with iniquity.
Jim had lost count of just how many times he’d denied Spock the pleasure of finally tasting him. Spock, naturally - and he was quietly cursing his Vulcan mind for its perpetual astuteness - hadn’t, and thus knew full well that the number was 12.
The whine Spock let loose was the equivalent of an overwrought shout, at least when filtered through his rigid Surakian disposition. Still, he obediently backed away from Jim’s cunt, latching onto the plush of his inner thigh instead. Jim hummed out a little ‘mmhm’ above him, and Spock’s ears tinged green. “Ashayam, surely you’d like me to-“
“Bup-bup-bup...” Jim interrupted him, holding up a single finger. The grin he was sporting could rightly be termed ‘shit-eating’. “Whose birthday is it?”
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In which Jim’s birthday present - fittingly so - involves testing the patience of his beloved Vulcan.
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Summary
The world around Aziraphale was a bit blurry at the edges.
It wasn’t just the low lighting - illumination relegated solely to the ornate chandelier hanging above his head in the center of his bookshop - though it certainly didn’t help. The false flicker of electric candles cast foreboding shadows, mock firelight dancing ominously over the quartet of columns surrounding him. The movement gave them a sapient, almost lifelike air - a regiment of cold, stone-faced guards keeping silent vigil over their captive angel, holding his chains taut, keeping him knelt in the exact center of the sprawling circular rug beneath his knees.
Though Aziraphale’s eyes were open, all that existed to his clouded mind was sound. The rough heave of his own breath. The sharp click of snakeskin boots behind him. The sultry drag of leather against the wood floor, then the thin pile of the rug. The deep, commanding voice, its familiar sibilant undertones crackling like infernal embers:
“How many was that?”
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In which Crowley’s lips are venomous, and Aziraphale doesn’t wanna break these chains.
Series
- Part 9 of the flash bastard and the southern pansy
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Summary
Above all, Aziraphale had taken the keenest liking to the taste of Crowley’s cunt. Though, ‘liking’ was not a strong enough word - he adored it, craved it, was an absolute glutton for it. From the first touch of his tongue to those throbbing folds, he was insatiable, devouring Crowley like the starved creature he’d been before that fateful night in Job’s cellar. After all, he had certainly been hungry for more than just food.
Aziraphale enjoyed Crowley the same way he enjoyed a meal - ravenously.
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Of course, nothing made Crowley happier than watching his angel cum. His body would light up - sometimes literally - with a sort of pure, unadulterated joy, and the sounds he’d make then could rival the oeuvre of any composer in the known universe. But, Crowley had found it markedly difficult to resist his innate ophidian biology on the journey to said ecstasy - though frankly, he’d also discovered that indulging in it from time-to-time ultimately fostered a uniquely euphoric experience for them both.
Crowley’s a snake - he likes to play with his food.
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In which Aziraphale indulges in his favorite meal, then Crowley has a go at making his angel see stars.
Series
- Part 6 of the flash bastard and the southern pansy
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Summary
As Sir Francis led the assemblage of men through the thick forest, Aziraphale found himself impressed at the air of eerie mysticism Dashwood had cultivated. The foreboding drone of a church bell echoed in the distance, and the dark, winding elm branches shrouded their path in darkness and speckled moonlight. When the foliage eventually thinned and parted, the crumbling Gothic façade of the Abbey itself completed the thoroughly spooky picture. On either side of its massive main door stood a pair of statues, one of Harpocrates - Egyptian god of silence - and another of Angerona - Roman goddess of secret passions - both with single fingers held to their lips in request of secrecy. Emblazoned above the door were the words ‘Fay Ce Que Voudras’, the motto of Dashwood’s debaucherous club.
Do What Thou Wilt.
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In which a chance encounter at a secret society’s infernal orgy leads to shenanigans of a most unholy kind.
Series
- Part 8 of the flash bastard and the southern pansy
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Du Vesh'Pukeshta Nash-gad ['You Were Born Today'] by ashaydamn
Fandoms: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
07 Jan 2024
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Summary
Spock’s slumber that night had been... tumultuous. His typical calm, dreamless state had persisted for the bulk of the night, but now, as his consciousness drifted languorously along the dwindling vestiges of a REM cycle, said awareness idly warped around a new bit of stimulus. Over time, his aura bloomed, visions of whorling color flitting in front of his metaphysical eyes, pleasure manifesting in rhythmic swirls of purple and red before snaking down to coil low around his hips.
Soon, he became aware of a vague, dull sound, and when his subconscious drifted to focus on it, he realized it was his own purr. All at once, that soft rumble pulled him forward, urging him up out of the pulsing, desirous ether, and then he was awake.
Awake with an enthusiastic pair of lips working diligently between his legs.
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In which Jim has a surprise in store for his bondmate’s special day.
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Summary
Aziraphale’s gaze never wavered from his page.
“I’ll just be down here then.” Crowley sighed, clasping his hands together over one of Aziraphale’s knees. “Gettin’ m’self comfortable...” he nuzzled his cheek into the plush of Aziraphale’s thigh. “Bein’ all needy ‘n shit...”
Finally, Aziraphale’s eyes flitted down, fixing Crowley with a stone-cold glare through his spectacles.
“Alright.” Aziraphale made no move to discard the book, only shifted it so it once again rested in one hand and shimmied his hips to rest more comfortably in his chair. “I suppose - if you truly are that desperate for it - you could warm me while I finish my book.” before Crowley could do more than grin triumphantly, though, Aziraphale held up a single finger. “If you promise to behave. I had better not catch you touching yourself, and you’d do well to not distract me from my reading. Are we clear?”Crowley was nodding before the question left Aziraphale’s lips. “Yes, angel.”
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In which Crowley’s got a warm, needy mouth and Aziraphale’s got something to stuff it with.
Series
- Part 7 of the flash bastard and the southern pansy
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Summary
Crowley made a dejected sort of ‘hmph’ sound, recoiling back down into the covers. As he landed, something sharp poked him in the shoulder blade. Reaching back and feeling around, he retrieved the culprit from the uneven folds of the duvet - a single feather.
Long, elegant, bright-white, with a slight pearlescent sheen. One of Aziraphale’s primaries.
Evermore bereft of Aziraphale’s presence by this find, Crowley once again flopped down atop the bedspread. “Miss you.” he grumbled into the receiver, fingers absentmindedly spinning the feather back and forth in front of his face.
“I miss you, too, my love.”
Crowley groaned inwardly, the endearment punching a burning hole through his chest, its heat pulsing all the way down to his groin. His love, that’s what he was. Aziraphale’s. His to love and touch and kiss and-
Now, there’s an idea.
“What’re you wearing?” Crowley smirked, a single fang digging into his lip.
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In which an angel’s stray feather becomes part of something rather unholy.
Series
- Part 5 of the flash bastard and the southern pansy
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Summary
Aziraphale must have been doing it on purpose.
For Satan’s sake, that conniving little angel had to know how fucking edible he looked - all dolled up in that ancient getup of his, settled in his red brocade armchair with an evidently quite engrossing book, those adorable spectacles balanced on the tip of his nose. He looked like domesticity in cream and tartan. Not that this was much different from any other day, but that was beside the point.
Just looking at him was making the front of Crowley’s trousers tighter. Best he do something about it before Aziraphale does something properly suggestive and Crowley spontaneously combusts.
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In which Aziraphale is an avid devotee of Crowley’s magical fingers.
Series
- Part 3 of the flash bastard and the southern pansy
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Summary
“Aaaaaaangelll!” Crowley’s voice echoed through the bookshop. “M’feet are going numb!”
Aziraphale checked his watch - his needy little fiend had barely lasted a half-hour. He rolled his eyes, slamming his book closed and setting it on his desk with an audible ‘thump’. He begrudgingly rose and righted his rumpled waistcoat, tsking to himself as he made his way up the spiral staircase, bound for his and Crowley’s bedroom.
For all his frustrated posturing, he was still smiling. It was his birthday after all, and Crowley’s too.
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In which two ageless occult beings find a novel way to shoehorn themselves into the human ritual of birthday sex.
Series
- Part 4 of the flash bastard and the southern pansy
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Summary
“Missed you rather terribly, actually.” Aziraphale admitted, a bit quieter. Then his fingers slipped beneath Crowley’s shirt hem to get at his bare skin, and Crowley’s lips curled into a smirk.
“Hunting for something, there, angel?” Crowley asked, inching closer to guide Aziraphale’s hand farther up his shirt. “’Cause I’d be more than happy to point the way.”
Aziraphale’s lips quirked a touch, but his eyes remained on his work. “Afraid I’m still hours from closing, dear.”
Crowley shrugged. “So?” he murmured into the scant few inches between his lips and Aziraphale’s temple, making a small upward gesture with his offhand.
The air around them shifted. Aziraphale knew the feeling, how could he not - the space around their bodies was now teeming with miraculous energy, creating a focus blur for the lesser beings in the shop. At last, he looked up from his work, cheeks blooming pink at the implication.
“You can’t be serious.” Aziraphale spoke lowly now.
“Deadly.” Crowley said.
--
In which Crowley gives his angel some attention during the bookshop’s open hours.
Series
- Part 2 of the flash bastard and the southern pansy
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In the Depths by ashaydamn
Fandoms: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: Strange New Worlds (TV), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
03 Sep 2023
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Summary
“I apologize for the inconvenience, Captain.” Spock said, sounding unmistakably coy.
Jim sighed, lacing the fingers of both their hands together to send love and warmth through the pair of el’ru’esta. “Apology accepted.” he smiled, content to stop his carping for the moment. “Right, c’mon.” he started backing through the doorway to their bedroom, urging Spock to follow.
“Where are we going?” Spock asked as he acquiesced to being led.
Jim smirked, coiling his fingers around the bottom hem of Spock’s Science-blues as they walked. “To get you in the bathtub.” as if on cue, the door to their en suite slid open before them.
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In which the boys take a well-earned bath and Spock experiments with his Vulcan lung capacity.
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It had been 3 weeks. 3 inexplicably long weeks since he’d last picked up Julian’s scent. His Cardassian genes were screaming for it, finally slaked when he inhaled. He held his breath at its apex, lungs blissfully filled with unadulterated Julian Bashir. Garak’s psyche unraveled under a rush of possessive lust - he never wanted to exhale again, just wanted to keep this piece of his dear doctor within him forever. Only when his vision began to blur at the edges did he relinquish his breath, lifting his face to press his cranial ridges against Julian’s forehead.
“Kiss me.” Garak rasped, a desperate command. No lilt, no subtext, only need.
Julian’s breath hitched, taking in the truly primal expression on Garak’s face. “Uh huh.” he nodded, pulling Garak by the collar of his tunic until their lips crashed together. It was perfectly messy, all teeth and growling and muffled groans.
It was going to be one of those nights - a filthy, rough, indecent kind of night.
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In which Julian gets a salacious welcome back to Deep Space Nine.
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After the onslaught of the Armageddon That Wasn’t, it seemed the only beings - organic or occult - left to occupy the space were the plants.
The plants which adorned the bedroom, for instance, had found themselves in complete solitude for nearly the whole summer, by the looks of the slowly yellowing leaves on the trees outside their window. Wherever their master was, the silence and solitude was a nice change of pace from the typical leaf-shaking fear which accompanied the regular presence of the snarling beast that tended them.
Today though, the silence was broken.
A voice not unlike their long-lost master’s echoed through the wall, colored by affects of passion and exertion. Seems not only had someone brought home a guest, but if the muffled whimpers and frantic begging were any indication, it wasn’t their master that the plants should quake in fear of today.
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In which Crowley learns the consequences of cumming without permission.
Series
- Part 1 of the flash bastard and the southern pansy