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Aziraphale had been about to meet Crowley at a nearby cafe. It had been so long since they'd seen each other in person, and Crowley had finally convinced him.
(Although that perhaps sounded like Crowley had worked very hard to do so. Really, Aziraphale had been the one to mention that restaurants were reopening, and they could sit outdoors, two meters apart, and not be a particularly bad example, and Crowley, very drowsily, had suggested lunch.)
But then the Satanists had grabbed him outside the bookshop. They'd tied him up and thrown him unceremoniously into the back of a van, but if the contents of the van were anything to go by, the rest of this was going to be awfully ceremonious. There were candles and chalk, a mixing bowl from someone's kitchen and a large, shiny dagger with a black handle and a fake ruby in the hilt. Also quite a lot of hand wipes.
The last time this had happened, it had been Hell doing the kidnapping, but since it was just Satanists, he wasn't particularly worried. He was actually sort of intrigued, even, because humans could be so ridiculous about these things, and so elaborate, and he was curious what they thought they were going to do. Of course, he would be able to escape at any time. He could do miracles, after all.
He decided that lying in the back of the van wasn't particularly comfortable, and miracled himself into a more comfortable situation. Well, he tried to.
He did not succeed. Sigils burned ice-white on the ceiling and floor of the van, and Aziraphale realized his mistake. They had known he was an angel, and had prepared for him.
Well, that was all right. Crowley would miss him when he didn't show up, and then Crowley would come and find him, and use his demonic wiles to convince the Satanists that actually Satan wanted them to let Aziraphale go. Perhaps he could hint darkly that he had been sent personally by Satan to corrupt Aziraphale himself, to really sell it.
That sounded nice to Aziraphale. Crowley hadn't got around to it yet -- corrupting Aziraphale, that was. Aziraphale had certainly had a lot of silly little fantasies that started out like this, and ended up like that. He'd been trying to be a bit more direct about things, but... well -- Crowley was the only friend he had who wouldn't die in a few decades, and what if he wasn't interested after all? And then there'd been the whole... well, the whole year really. It'd been a mess, and Crowley had sensibly slept through a lot of it rather than breaking the rules to come visit Aziraphale.
Maybe the Satanists were providing them a valuable service this way? Certainly, Crowley had saved him from humans before, but he'd never quite been able to show his appreciation properly before, and it could be just the thing to bring them together.
So, while of course he had no access to miracles, he wasn't at all worried. He was definitely miffed about having missed lunch at the cafe, but this would all be sorted out soon enough and then it would be just a funny story.
Eventually after quite a long time, the van stopped, and the driver directed the other two Satanists to carry him out of the back of the truck. He tried to loosen his bonds then, but there must have been some sort of Hellish influence upon the rope they'd used to bind him, because he couldn't do anything with it.
"Try not to damage him," said the driver, though he was muffled by his mask. (They were all wearing cloth masks along with their ritual robes. Aside from the kidnapping and the Satanism, they seemed very polite.)
"Shit, I don't even know if this is going to be enough," said another. "Maybe we should've got two angels?"
"Allan, come on, where are we going to find another angel at short notice? Everything's all set up, it'll have to do."
"Who, pray tell, is Allan?" the fellow asked, coldly.
"Oh come on," the third Satanist said, "we're not calling you --"
"Please?"
"I can't even pronounce it."
"Uzigrus the Destroyer, come on, it's not that hard."
"Okay, Mr. the Destroyer," said the other Satanist, rolling his eyes.
"I don't think you're taking this seriously enough," said Uzigrus the Destroyer, formerly known as Allan, "and if the ritual fails I think we all know who to blame." And with that, all three of them began squabbling about whether sacrificing Aziraphale was going to work, and whether calling people Uzigrus the Destroyer was a vital component of same.
They carried him into a crumbling building, something that had been a church at one point, but had fallen into terrible disrepair, and that was a bit worrying, because Aziraphale wasn't sure Crowley could walk into the church without pain, even if it was a bit run-down. Still, Crowley had walked into a church under much more dangerous circumstances for Aziraphale, so he still wasn't worried.
Until the Satanists set him down carefully in front of the altar, and Aziraphale saw Crowley there, sitting glumly on the floor, with a metal collar around his neck, chained to the altar. He was still in his pajamas, it looked like, and he did not seem happy to see Aziraphale at all.
* * *
Crowley, meanwhile, had spent the morning? Afternoon? Whatever it was; he had spent a portion of time being furious at himself for suggesting Hell adopt the human practice of collecting people's information and then selling it to potentially interested parties, because he was pretty sure that was how the Satanists had got his address. He had got out of bed because Aziraphale had mentioned the restaurants were open again, but instead of getting dressed he'd decided to read up on the surely thrilling tale of how the humans had beat this whole pandemic thing in a few months, when it had swallowed up the better part of a decade back in the fourteenth century.
Then he'd got absorbed in scrolling through Twitter, which frankly made him want to go straight back to bed for, well, the better part of a decade. Still, Aziraphale had sounded so pleased on the phone, and that was encouraging, and gave him a measure of hope, if not for the world generally, for himself.
And then someone had knocked on the door, and he'd panicked and thought he must have doomscrolled right through their lunch date. (Date? Not a date. It was just lunch.) So he'd opened the door, prepared to apologize, and then the Satanists had been on him with fucking holy symbols, the hypocritical bastards, and then they'd spent the whole car ride apologizing to him, but that didn't matter because here he was. At least the church they were in didn't burn all that much; it stung a little on his knees, but no one had worshiped here in a long time, not even the Satanists.
He'd hoped maybe Aziraphale would come for him, but he'd had a bad feeling when they'd demanded that he curse the ropes, under threat of holy water. And then, shortly thereafter, three more Satanists had showed up with Aziraphale in tow, and as their eyes met, Crowley knew they were at least semi-fucked.
Aziraphale looked around, and saw the other three Satanists. "Look here, you -- you aren't supposed to have gatherings of more than six people, not even for religious reasons," said Aziraphale, after they threw him down, still tied up, in front of Crowley.
"Don't think they're counting us as people," Crowley said. "Listen, if you're trying to sacrifice him to me it's not gonna work, so you might as well give up," he told the Satanists, who were busily sanitizing their hands.
"Well we've got to do something, haven't we?" said the Satanist with the fanciest robe, a reddish-black velvet number with tacky gold embroidery. "I know this isn't, ah, an ideal situation, but, well... desperate times."
"I still think we need another angel," said one of the others. "Seems like a two-angel problem at least."
"We've talked about this, something needs to be done now," insisted Fancy Robe.
"No, it's definitely a two-angel problem," Crowley said, latching onto this. "I only accept angelic sacrifices of two or more. Five, ideally, that would be great," he said.
"Crowley, what are you doing?" Aziraphale whispered. "The last thing we need is more angels here."
"The last thing we need is for them to sacrifice you for me," Crowley hissed back.
Aziraphale bristled. "But can't you just --"
"Do you... know each other?" Fancy Robe said.
"Er. Well," said Aziraphale, guiltily.
"Nah," said Crowley, just as Aziraphale said "Yes."
There was an awkward silence, and then, then, with a defiantly dignified expression that would have been comical had the situation not been pretty dire, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley's hand, and squeezed it. "Yes, we do," he said.
Ah. He was going to try the power of friendship. Sure, why not?
"Oh, this is going to be so awkward," muttered one of the other Satanists.
"Not as awkward," said Aziraphale, "as a grown person going around calling himself Uzigrus the Destroyer." Crowley was startled into laughter.
It was difficult to read the expression of Uzigrus the Destroyer, given that he was wearing a black mask (with, of course, an inverted pentagram picked out in red), but he might have been scowling. "I rescind my suggestion of additional angels," he said.
"Got a point, though, hasn't he?" someone muttered, and Uzigrus turned and glared.
Fancy Robes cleared his throat. "Allan, would you get the bowl? And the knife?"
Uzigrus sighed wretchedly and toddled off to find those.
"If you hurt him," Crowley told Fancy Robes, "I will rip you to pieces and drag them down to Hell mysself, do you undersstand?"
"I am prepared to accept that possibility," said Fancy Robes. "Probably deserve it," he added, sounding sheepish.
Aziraphale cleared his throat. "What, er... what exactly is the point of all this?" he asked. "Perhaps we could provide a better solution."
"We can't just go giving them what they want," said Crowley.
"Maybe we can!" Aziraphale said.
"No, I mean -- they're just gonna be on us all the time after the money runs out and they crash the cars, demanding more."
"Money?" Aziraphale asked.
"Or hot babes or whatever," said Crowley. "They don't ask you lot for all that stuff --"
"I'm afraid they do," said Aziraphale, sighing. "But --"
"No, no, no, we don't want money," said Fancy Robes. "Well. We do want money, that would be wonderful, actually, but -- mostly, we want to take it all back," he said.
"Take... what back?" Aziraphale asked.
"What do you think? 2020? The apocalypse?" said Fancy Robes.
"We didn't think it would be like this," said one of the other Satanists. "We thought it would be way cooler."
"Yeah, with like -- fires and stuff," said yet another one.
"There's definitely fires, Ian, do you not... read the news?"
"Not cool fires, though," Ian said. "I wanted cool fires, and, and horsemen, and aliens, and all that airbrushed van kinda stuff!"
"We thought," Fancy Robes said, with a brittle sort of dignity, "that it would be a philosophical sort of apocalypse. A remaking of the world! But I'm so tired of staying at home."
Aziraphale looked wearily back at Crowley. "Oh dear," he said.
"So. Let me get this sstraight," said Crowley, who was, somehow, even more annoyed than he'd been before. "You think. The apocalypse is happening. Right now, this year, in 2020. And you think... you think some ritual you did made it happen?"
"What other explanation is there?" Fancy Robes said.
"What -- what -- what other -- d'you mean -- do you really think -- that'sss -- I just don't know what to say," said Crowley, astonished. "I jussst. You really think. That this entire shitshow of a year happened because you lot brought an unfortunate goat out here and said some words and waved some knives around like really method LARPers?"
"It wasn't a goat," said Fancy Robes, indignantly, "it was a willing virgin sacrifice."
"That's not better, you do realize," Aziraphale put in. "You can't just -- go around killing people and then be surprised when --"
"Didn't say she was killed," Fancy Robes said. "You've got a very old-fashioned view of Satanism, I have to say. You could be more open-minded. She sacrificed her virginity."
"He's six thousand fucking years old, and also you brought us here to sacrifice him, so I think he's got an excuse," Crowley snapped.
"Wait, hang on," said Aziraphale. "Could you -- is that -- does that mean you're not going to kill me?" he asked, hopefully. "Is that -- is that the sacrifice?" he asked Crowley. He was blushing rather a lot.
"Oh, no, you're going to die," said Fancy Robes. "I'm very sorry. There's nothing else for it. Ah, there you are," he said, brightening, as Uzigrus, or Allan, or whoever he was awkwardly tried to hand him the knife and the bowl without getting too close to him. He approached Aziraphale, grabbed his arm, and rolled up his sleeve. "Now, hold still, or this is going to hurt more than it has to."
"If you kill him I will eviscerate you," said Crowley.
"Oh, no, no," said Fancy Robes. "I'm not going to kill him, no, no. You're going to do that. But if it's any comfort, you're supposed to enjoy it a lot once the whole..." He gestured vaguely. "...the whole everything takes effect."
Crowley watched with a sick sort of dread as Fancy Robes' knife carved a red line into Aziraphale's arm. He made a small sound of pain, and Crowley had to restrain himself from lunging at the bastard, collared and chained as he was. But Aziraphale simply gritted his teeth against the pain. "You could sharpen your knives more often," he told the man resentfully, as he held Aziraphale's arm over the bowl to collect the blood.
"What's it look like?" one of the Satanists called out.
"It's just blood, you ghouls," said Crowley, and he heard a disappointed noise from out in the disused, ruined pews of the church. Slowly and carefully, so as not to be noticed, he crawled forward a bit, so that the chain and the collar were tense. He knew if he could reach Aziraphale he could probably free Aziraphale's hands, and Aziraphale could get the collar off of him, but Aziraphale would be just out of his reach. He longed to knock the bowl out of the fucker's hands, seize the knife, and make a different sort of sacrifice.
Aziraphale was furious too -- that much was obvious, if you knew him. The Satanists probably thought he was some kind of pushover, and... well, Aziraphale could be that, sometimes, depending on who you were. Today he was not; today, Crowley suspected, he would have maybe given the Satanists one chance before they all got smote.
Crowley did not plan to give them even that chance, once he was free.
What had they meant about him killing Aziraphale, anyway? It didn't sound like they expected him to do it of his own volition. (He tried not to think about how Aziraphale had looked at him when the idea of virgin sacrifices had been clarified. That was... interesting, and distracting, and he would deal with it later.) He hoped whatever they did it backfired on them, ideally before Aziraphale could be injured any more than he already was.
"Gemma, have you got the other ingredients?" Fancy Robes asked.
"Yeah," said one of the other Satanists, stepping forward and showing them a heavy cloth grocery bag. (It had a cartoony dachshund on it. Crowley couldn't decide if that made her the most normal Satanist of the lot, or the weirdest.) "But they were out of the fancy salt you needed and half the herbs at Tesco, I had to go to Waitrose too," she said. "You're gonna pay me back, right?"
Fancy Robes sighed. "Can we please do that later?"
"Just, you never paid me back for the time I had to go all the way across London in --"
"Later," said Fancy Robes.
"Just, it was a lot!" Gemma said. "And what if you die in the ritual?"
"Well, then you'll probably die too," Fancy Robes said.
"I would hope not. I mean, I don't plan on it," she said, sounding unimpressed that Fancy Robes would even bring up this possibility.
They continued to squabble a bit about payment while Fancy Robes bandaged Aziraphale's arm. (Why he was bothering to do all that when he’d just sliced it open, Crowley couldn’t understand.) When he left, taking the bowl and the the knife back with him, to examine Gemma's receipts and decide what to do about them, Crowley leaned as close as he could to Aziraphale and hissed, "Can you get clossser to me?"
"Maybe?" Aziraphale said, trying to scoot closer. He was not making much progress with his hands tied up. "I'm sorry, I'm a little woozy, I think. They took a lot of blood," he said.
"Well, if you can manage it later, do it. I can untie you -- I'm the one who cursed those ropes -- and then you can get this awful collar off, and then we'll be able to take care of this lot."
Aziraphale nodded. "I'm sure I'll have to get closer to you, if they mean for you to kill me. What a ridiculous notion!"
"It'sss..." Crowley hated that he was wearing neither his glasses nor a mask at the moment, because his expression must be so easy to read. "They might have ways of making me do it even if I don't want to," he admitted.
"Oh, Crowley. I won't let that happen," said Aziraphale, and that made him feel better, even though Aziraphale probably wasn't thinking terribly straight, what with all the blood loss. "I mean, the worst that would happen is I'd be discorporated, and then I'd just have to... oh. Oh dear. Never mind," he said.
"Yeah, let's not see if Heaven'll give you another body within the next decade," said Crowley. "Also, angel, a request? Let me deal with them, when we do?"
"Oh, well. You met them first, I think; they're your friends," said Aziraphale, with an open, cheery smile, and a vicious glint in his eye. "It's only fair."
"Thank you," said Crowley. He looked over at what Fancy Robes was doing. "Oh, Satan, it's a bloody cooking show now," he said, watching as Fancy Robes used his stupid dull knife to try and chop up herbs to mix into whatever he was making with Aziraphale's blood. "I'm so ssorry, they shouldn't have got the better of me, I'd jusst got out of bed, and --"
"Oh, no, none of that, my dear; I know you'll find a way to make it up to me," said Aziraphale, and the way he was looking at Crowley... He couldn't afford to be distracted by that right now, but it was blessed distracting anyway. He hoped it wasn't just because Aziraphale was loopy due to blood loss or whatever.
Whatever sort of horrible angel blood concoction Fancy Robes was making, it was either finished or they needed some other horrible ingredient, because he was bringing the bowl over to Crowley. "Open your mouth," Fancy Robes said, clutching the cheap plastic mixing bowl, and Crowley looked at him incredulously.
"What, you think I'm going to just cooperate?" he asked. "You might've threatened me with holy water and --"
"Open your mouth or we'll kill this angel," said Fancy Robes. "It sounded like you wouldn't like that." It wasn't the kind of power tripping attitude Crowley was used to from these high-ranking Satanists, which made it all the worse; this idiot genuinely thought what he was doing was necessary and would work. He wasn't getting any joy out of this, or any thrill, and that meant Crowley couldn't divert his attention into something more fun. He'd come this far; he wasn't going to back down. But Crowley had to try.
"You can't kill him, you said I was going to kill him," Crowley pointed out. "Come on, you didn't cause all this nonsense individually. Well, maybe you did do some of it. Depends on how you voted --"
"I don't want to kill him!" said Fancy Robes, plainly frustrated. "But I will if I have to. We'll keep you here, and then we'll find another angel."
Crowley grimaced, and then opened his mouth reluctantly, but when the sickly, half-clotted lukewarm mixture hit his tongue, he spat it out reflexively.
Fancy Robes retaliated by kicking Aziraphale in the ribs. "I really wish you wouldn't," Aziraphale said weakly, still tied up, and Crowley didn't know what he was going to do to these costumed fucks when he got out of this mess, but whatever it was, he'd really make it count. Then Fancy Robes wrenched Crowley's jaw up, and, holding his mouth open as if he was a recalcitrant pet, he poured the sickly mixture down Crowley's throat. Crowley could have bit off his fingers, of course, and wanted to, but Aziraphale had a better chance of survival if the bastard didn't keep kicking him.
So he swallowed it all, and grimaced after. "Well, that's the second most disgusting thing I'll ever taste," he said, the flavor of iron lingering in his mouth.
"What's the most disgusting thing?" Aziraphale asked, indulging Crowley's little joke, because the Satanists sure wouldn't.
"His throat when I rip it out," Crowley said, glaring at Fancy Robes. "I'll -- I'm going to --" But things were going all swimmy now; Fancy Robes shifted and changed. He was Death; he was a giant vulture; he was a monk Crowley had tempted to greed; he was one of those awful chattering nuns. He didn't feel himself at all; everything was hot and that was usually lovely, but just now it was overwhelming and terrible and loud. And Crowley felt himself change too, which only added to the noise and the heat and the light and the dizziness, and he was surrounded by enemies, and there was someone among them he wanted to find, needed to find. Whoever they were, they tasted absolutely delicious.
Crowley flicked his tongue out to smell this delicious prey, and it was so close! He strained forward, using his hands and his tail to push, but there was something restraining him and it was right there and he wanted it, he wanted it more than anything, it was his favorite, and he lunged until, obligingly, one of these strange enemies shoved it forward.
He didn't like that; didn't like the enemies touching his favorite prey, so delectable, so sweet and delicate; he had to protect it. So he snapped at the enemy's hand and hissed, before returning his attentions to the... meal?
"Crowley," it said, sounding beautifully worried. "Crowley, you're not really going to -- I mean -- I mean that would be silly," it said, and Crowley paused, listening blissfully, because he liked the noises it made. He cradled the creature's face in his claws. He ought to savor this thing; it was very pretty, and -- Crowley licked it -- it tasted very good. Maybe he shouldn't eat it. There was other fun to be had with something like this.
* * *
Aziraphale had gone from unpleasantly dizzy due to blood loss, to unpleasantly dizzy due to fear, and now he found himself frustrated about that blood loss, because Crowley was on top of him, behaving in an overfamiliar manner, in a form that was a fascinatingly dangerous blend of his usual two, all fangs and sharp points, with shining black scales speckling his skin. The way he was slithering around on top of Aziraphale, sniffing him and licking him and generally touching him quite a lot... well, it was very distracting. The sort of thing Aziraphale wished he had more blood for, really. And privacy. And perhaps a previous discussion with Crowley about how this was going to go.
"Crowley," he said again, because he had seemed to respond to Aziraphale's voice earlier.
Crowley hissed, and then licked him again. "Delicioussssss," he said, in a low, growling voice that was very much Doing Things to Aziraphale.
"I dunno, does it really look like it's gonna eat him?" asked the Satanist their leader had called Gemma.
"Of course it's going to eat him," said the head Satanist. "What else would it do?"
"Mm," said Gemma, noncommittally. "No, you're probably right. Probably it'll start eating him anytime now. But I don't really want to watch that, do you?"
"No. No, definitely not," said the head Satanist, shuddering. "Come on, we'll come back when the demon is done so we can sacrifice the demon," he said, "and then hopefully Satan will be angry enough at us to take back the apocalypse, but not angry enough to kill us."
"What if we want to watch?" said the fellow who'd wanted a cooler Apocalypse.
"You don't," Gemma said, very firmly. "Come on."
"But --"
"There are some sights," their leader intoned, "that men should not see, lest they go mad."
"Not me," the other Satanist insisted. "I wouldn't. I'm strong."
"Especially you. Come on, Ian," said Gemma, and Aziraphale heard them all leave, although it was a bit difficult to see them, since he was on his back and all.
"Have they gone?" Aziraphale whispered to Crowley, on the off chance that perhaps Crowley was just pretending.
Crowley was not just pretending, as it turned out, or if he was, he was pretending very thoroughly, because he bit Aziraphale in the arm, sinking monstrous fangs into Aziraphale's flesh.
Aziraphale yelped. "Crowley, please, don't do this, it's me," he said, desperately. "Or, if you are going to do this, I'd like a little input." A sort of awful numbness began to spread up his arm from the bite, and Aziraphale had to give his blood vessels a stern talking-to to keep it from going much further.
Crowley licked the blood off his lips. He sat up, somehow, though it still felt like he was lying on top of Aziraphale, and then Aziraphale realized, as a large, scaly tail came 'round and dragged him further towards where Crowley was chained up, that whatever nasty potion they'd fed him really had made... a lot of changes. Aziraphale couldn't do much as Crowley wrapped his body around him. "I don't suppose you could tell me whether you're venomous or not," Aziraphale asked, hopefully.
"Deliciousss angel," said Crowley, tilting Aziraphale's head up to look at him. "Mine," he added.
"Well. Well, I mean, of course, obviously, only, you know, Crowley, it's usually considerate to -- aah!" Crowley bit his shoulder, and this time the venom spread faster than Aziraphale could stop it.
Aziraphale felt very faint now. "Listen, I think I should just warn you that if you're going to eat me you'll regret it very much when you're more yourself."
"Mine," Crowley repeated, running claws clumsily through Aziraphale's hair and looking at him... fondly? And oh dear Lord, Aziraphale could feel something further down -- two somethings, actually, and Aziraphale wasn't going to pretend he didn't know entirely too much about snake sexual anatomy not to know what they were -- sticking out of Crowley's tail, pressing into Aziraphale's thighs. "Ssso deliciousss," Crowley said. He was wild-eyed, and dark scales speckled his neck, and Aziraphale had certainly had... ideas, about this sort of thing, but he didn't know how Crowley -- normal Crowley, anyway -- would feel about it all if he just sort of let things happen, and also he was on the verge of passing out.
But at least he probably wasn't going to be eaten? Probably. "I'm -- I'm more than happy to be yours," he said, "but look, I'd appreciate it if you didn't bite me again," Aziraphale said, hopefully. "It hurts very much, and also, er, I'm starting to feel woozy."
Crowley leaned forward and licked the blood off his shoulder with a long, forked tongue. "Mine," he said, agreeably, and bit Aziraphale's neck, and everything went dark.
* * *
Crowley's prey had gone from talking to not talking after he'd bit it the third time, and he didn't like that. He'd just wanted to make sure it didn't escape, but now it was slumped silently in his coils and that was no fun at all. At least it was still warm.
He licked the blood off its neck, and it was delicious, and he resisted the urge to bite again. Maybe it would start moving again if he was patient? He wasn't very patient, but he could try. The scents of its fear and desire were still in the air, though, and that made Crowley want. He rubbed his dicks up against his prey's thighs, and that felt good, but it wasn't enough at all, so Crowley contented himself with holding it close, stroking its hair and making sure any stray drops of its delicious blood didn't go to waste.
Eventually, its eyes fluttered open. "Crowley?" it said, and Crowley liked when it said his name especially. He waited, attentively, for the creature to speak again. "Crowley, my dear, please don't bite me again, and would you -- would you be so good as to untie me?"
"Un... tie?" Crowley asked.
The creature wriggled, and Crowley's coils tightened around it, because what if it got away? But instead it merely held up its arms, which were bound. Had he done that? He had had something to do with the ropes, somehow. He had... he had...
"Azsssiraphale," Crowley said, cautiously.
His lovely prey brightened. "Yes! Yes, I'm Aziraphale, you're Crowley, please can you untie me?"
"Azsssiraphale," Crowley said again, stroking its soft hair.
"Yes. I. That's me!" said the creature. It was turning a little red.
Crowley had a vague idea that he had always wanted an Aziraphale, but that, for some reason, it had always been out of reach. But now that he had one, he knew exactly what to do with it. He took its chin in his hand and tasted its mouth, which it seemed to like, so he rutted against its thigh a bit more, and it really seemed to like that. He pulled away from the kiss. "Azsssiraphale," he said, delightedly. The scents of fear and desire were back, stronger than ever, and Crowley's heart was pounding. He wanted this creature so much it hurt.
"Goodness," it said. "Crowley, listen, there'll be time enough for all of that... er, later, hopefully. If you like. But I really do need you to untie me." The Aziraphale held its arms up again, and seemed to be struggling to pull them apart. "Free me? Cut... the ropes? Oh, for Heaven's sake..." It let its arms drop in defeat.
But Crowley thought he knew what the creature wanted, and who was he to deny it? It didn't seem to want to escape. "Mine," he reminded it, stroking one claw along its neck.
"Mngh. Yes. Certainly," it said, squirming a little.
Crowley sliced through the rope at its wrists with his claw, and the creature shook them out and rubbed at them before saying, "Oh, my dear, thank you! Now come here, and I can get that horrid collar off of you."
Crowley remembered the uncomfortable metal thing around his throat. Something was wrong here. Something... bad had happened? Bad people had come to where he lived, and taken him away.
And yet, for some reason they had given him...
"Azssiraphale?" he asked, reaching out to touch Aziraphale's cheek. "Shit, I bit you, didn't I?"
Aziraphale brightened. "Oh good, you're back!" he said, as if Crowley had ever gone anywhere. Crowley remembered how very far he'd gone, and physically recoiled -- well, uncoiled -- and allowed Aziraphale to stand on his own. "Let me take that collar off of you," said Aziraphale, "and then I think I'm going to have to sit down for a while. Can you deal with the Satanists?"
"Oh, absssolutely," said Crowley, relieved that Aziraphale wasn't bringing up the whole... everything he'd just done. Everything he still wanted to do, if he was honest, because the scent of Aziraphale was still fucking intoxicating just now. So he leaned down for Aziraphale to wrench off his collar -- fuck, there was a lot of him now. He'd change back after he'd dealt with the Satanists, though, no point wasting the opportunity to terrify them.
Aziraphale kissed him on the forehead, and that did not help Crowley think clearly at all, especially not when Aziraphale lost his balance and had to lean against him. "I'm so sorry, my dear, I'm so dizzy. I'm going to find someplace to sit, Crowley, and then we'll work out what to do about all of... this."
Crowley swallowed, and strongly resisted the urge to grab Aziraphale and just bury himself inside Aziraphale -- dicks, fangs, claws... all of the above? "Yeah," he said. "I'll. I'll be right back." And he slithered off to hunt down some Satanists and ignore the terrible need that the potion had inspired.
* * *
Aziraphale watched Crowley slither off, and then sat in one of the very uncomfortable, badly-warped pews of the ruined church to clear his head for a few moments. Poor thing, he was all wound up now. At least maybe he could take some of that aggression out on the Satanists.
What happened after that... well. Aziraphale would try not to get his hopes up too much, but he thought that probably after this he had learned his lesson about simply hoping for Crowley to break the rules and come see him during quarantine, instead of just asking him to come for a visit and see that he wasn't spotted.
Aziraphale overheard shouting from outside the ruined church. He miraculously replaced some of his lost blood -- not all of it at once, that didn't always go well -- and wandered outside to see what the ruckus was about.
He poked his head out of the door to the church and saw Crowley, still extraordinarily serpentine, gripping the leader of the Satanists by the neck and holding him about a foot off the ground.
Crowley was speaking too quietly for Aziraphale to hear, but he imagined that whatever he'd said to the fellow must have hit home, because he was shaking like a leaf. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said. Crowley shook his head in disgust and slithered away. He was terribly handsome, Aziraphale couldn't help but think. Although he did hope Crowley wasn't stuck that way; he'd be so put out about having to refit his car so he could drive it without feet. And there would be no more of those very tight trousers he'd been wearing for the past few decades.
Aziraphale supposed he ought to go and offer comfort to the Satanist, even though the fellow had tried to kill him; it was only polite. "Hello," he said, ambling over to the man, who was still sitting in the middle of a dirt path.
"I'm sorry, I'm -- I'm sorry!" the man told him, shivering. He began to sob.
"Yes, well, all water under the bridge," said Aziraphale, agreeably. He ignored a horrified screech from another one of the Satanists. Might've been the one who'd been looking forward to the fires, now Aziraphale thought about it. He decided that that wasn't important. Crowley would do what he felt was best. But a lovely thought occurred to him. "You don't happen to have a copy of that recipe you used, do you? For reference," he added quickly, "not to use, obviously." And, in fairness, this was not entirely a lie; he wanted to see if it had any nasty side effects that might hurt Crowley down the road. But, also, if... if there weren't any nasty side effects, and if Crowley was amenable...
"I'm -- oh, oh, god, I'm sorry," said the Satanist, wiping his tears away on the very elaborately-embroidered sleeves of his robe and reaching one shaky hand inside his robe to pull out a worn, folded scrap of paper.
"Thank you very much," said Aziraphale, smiling at the Satanist. But the man didn't stop weeping, and Aziraphale's face fell. "Good Lord, what did he do to you?" he asked.
"I'm sorry, I didn't -- I didn't want --"
Aziraphale cut him off by putting a hand to the man's forehead and looking inside him. "Ah," he said. "I see. Well. You did want that, didn't you? In a way."
"I'm sorry!" he said, lost in his own head.
Aziraphale knew he would gradually come back to himself, but he'd always remember having slain two people in a poorly thought-out but surprisingly effective Satanic ritual, and he would have to live with that for the rest of his life. "Chin up," he told the man. "At least now you know you're not cut out for this sort of thing. Takes some of us a lot longer to work that out." And he wandered off towards the van.
"No, no, please!" he heard somebody shout. Wherever that unfortunate cultist and Crowley were, Aziraphale couldn't see them, and he ignored the shouting as he leaned up against the van they'd kidnapped him with and perused the recipe.
It did not appear to be designed with an angel in mind; that little wrinkle had been added by the Satanists. In fact, Aziraphale couldn't really tell if this was a ritual to get a demon to go after somebody you didn't like, or a ritual to summon up a demon for... personal and private amusements. Aziraphale felt it would have been easier to just go to an appropriate venue -- a private club, say -- and engage in polite conversations and lovely meals and let things take their course, if one was lonely in this particular way. He did not pretend to understand the ways of human demonologists, though. And he couldn't really fault them for finding demons attractive.
"Help! Somebody? Anybody!" a man cried in the distance.
There'd been six cultists; Crowley had dealt with four of them. Aziraphale still had a bit of time. He squinted at the recipe.
Was it possible -- oh no, Aziraphale thought, that was silly, why would anyone do that?
Desperation, perhaps? And a lack of knowledge of the fundamentals?
It had been an awfully bad year.
Given that, Aziraphale began to suspect that the Satanists' precursors had failed to keep particularly good records, and these particular ones, in their desire to quickly pull together a ritual to make things better, had accidentally combined two potions; one to set a vicious demon against one's enemies, and the other to summon an amorous demon. And now poor Crowley was a bit of both.
His eyes settled on the note at the bottom. Effects to last until demon has taken (?) its target. And underneath that, with an arrow pointing at the word taken, the same hand had written How is this defined???
Aziraphale could think of several ways he might have defined taken in this context, but perhaps that was wishful thinking.
"No, no, let me go! I’ll give you anything! Please, don’t hurt me!" Aziraphale heard one of the Satanists shout. That was number five. He supposed he ought to be getting ready to go, then.
Aziraphale opened the door to the van, and then remembered that these things needed keys to start, too. Of course, he could just make the thing start, but he was woozy and he'd rather just have the keys.
He wandered back to the head of the cultists. "So sorry to trouble you again," he said, "but I'm going to need to borrow the keys to your van."
Apologizing and sobbing, the man fumbled around for a few moments before producing a handful of jangling keys.
"Thank you!" said Aziraphale, brightly, and left him alone again to go to the van. He wondered if there were any snacks in it. That was supposed to help with blood loss, wasn't it? Aziraphale thought he'd earned it.
He was just opening the back of the van to look when he heard Crowley shout, "Angel!" He looked to see Crowley slithering over, carrying the last Satanist by the scruff of her jacket. It was the one called Gemma, who'd got all the ingredients for the potion. "That'ss the lot of them."
"I thought you were going to deal with them all," said Aziraphale, frowning at her. "What do you expect me to do? I'm not going to smite anyone."
Crowley dumped her on the ground in front of the van. "No, you idiot, 'coursse I don't want you to ssmite her, but we need a driver. I can't drive like thiss," he said, gesturing down at his scaly torso.
"Well -- I mean... I could do it," said Aziraphale, feeling a bit overlooked.
"No, no, no, angel, have you even got a licssensse?" Crowley asked.
"Have you?" Aziraphale asked; he was going to be very surprised if the answer was yes.
"That'ss not the point," Crowley said.
"Well, how hard can it be? I've watched you drive plenty of times," said Aziraphale. "You barely even look at the road. And you take your hands off the wheel all the time."
Crowley looked taken aback by this. "How -- how hard can it -- angel, what'ss -- why do you --"
"Excuse me?" Gemma asked, brushing herself off and standing. "Hey! Hello?"
"Thiss iss not your problem," said Crowley, waving her off. "Angel, do you want to learn to drive?" he asked. "Becausse I'd -- I'd be willing to show you -- but right now I'm in no sstate to --"
"Excuse me," said Gemma, again.
"Not now," Aziraphale snapped at her. He turned back to Crowley. "I don't really want to drive, only -- is she even willing to do it?"
"Willing doessn't really come into it," said Crowley. "She wasss part of thiss whole thing and she'ss not horrible enough to punish in any of the ways I could think of sso --"
"Fuck's sake, I'll drive, I haven't got transportation otherwise," said Gemma. She grabbed the keys from Aziraphale. "Thank you," she said, and stomped around the other side of the van to get into the driver's seat.
"Well. That'ss ssettled, issn't it," said Crowley, smugly.
"Out of curiosity, what exactly did you do to the others? And why didn't you do it to her?"
"I gave them all exactly what they thought they wanted," said Crowley, "but then..." He rolled his eyes. "I found her hiding in a tree trying to get recsseption sso she could look up how to de-esscalate a demon ssummoning without phoning the police."
Aziraphale processed this. "De... escalate?"
"All she sseemed to want out of thiss wass a fun ssocial event without loadss of people about, and then they sstuck her with the grocsseriess and she felt obligated. D'you know, she wass the virgin ssacrifice Mr. Fancssy Robess mentioned earlier?"
Aziraphale made a face. "Oh dear."
"Apparently Ssatanisstss are rubbish in bed, though, which, I mean, I could've told her that," said Crowley. "I told her to get an app or ssomething."
"Or, you know... mail order... devices," said Aziraphale, trying to strike a balance between sounding very worldly and not sounding like someone who'd actually sampled such devices. He tried especially to not sound like he'd gone with mail order because the devices he wanted were too esoteric for the shop next door to carry.
Crowley grinned. "You gonna give her ssome recommendationss, angel?" he asked.
"No! No," said Aziraphale, firmly.
"Come on, let'ss get back to London," said Crowley. "I can't turn back -- I tried -- sso I think I'd better ride in the back where there's room. You can be in the front, keep her out of trouble, ssort of thing," he suggested.
"Of course," said Aziraphale. "And... about changing back... I think you had better come stay with me at the bookshop until we sort that out."
"I... I don't think that'ss a good idea," said Crowley. He looked very worried about this, for some reason.
"I got the recipe for their nasty little potion, and I think I know how to get you turned back," said Aziraphale. "But I'd rather discuss that in private. So. Have her drop us both off at the bookshop?"
Crowley looked pensive. "Yeah," he said, finally. "All right."
"It'll be all right, Crowley," said Aziraphale, smiling at him. "And if it isn't, you know, we'll just... find a way to make everyone think you're normal."
"We will, will we?" Crowley asked.
"The snake people of London are returning to terrorize the streets in vintage cars once again," said Aziraphale, loftily. "Nature is healing."
It was the first genuine smile he'd got out of Crowley in -- well, in months, actually. So that was something, anyway.
* * *
Crowley was coiled in the back of the van, because there wasn't room for most of him in any of the seats, and he tried to keep himself there. Probably he could reach Aziraphale in the front, but he wasn't going to. He absolutely was not. Even if Aziraphale smelled fucking amazing, even from back here.
Aziraphale and Gemma were talking cheerfully about baking, and all Crowley could think of was Aziraphale licking frosting off his fingers. He'd watched Aziraphale do that sort of thing so often, watched him eat like it was fucking obscene. How had he resisted the urge, back then, to take Aziraphale right there on the table? It wasn't like he hadn't had vivid fantasies about it before, but this -- this was a whole new level of sexual frustration.
Crowley dug claws into his own scales, and tried not to think about Aziraphale in any way. He tried not to think about how Aziraphale's blood had tasted, or the way Aziraphale had sort of whined when Crowley had been out of his fucking mind humping his thigh, or how bad it was going to be when he was alone with Aziraphale in the bookshop with no obnoxious car seats between him and Aziraphale. "Ssorry," he interjected, into the polite, normal conversation that wasn't about violently fucking one's best and only friend of six thousand years, "could -- could you open the windowss?"
"I thought you two couldn't get sick?" Gemma asked. "Shit, shit, should I be wearing my mask?"
"No, no, my dear lady, it's perfectly fine," said Aziraphale. "I think --" He looked back at Crowley, and Crowley tried not to look so fucking desperate. "I think it's just a bit stuffy in the back," he said.
"Oh," said Gemma. "It's kind of chilly, though, you sure you wanna --"
"I'll be fine," said Crowley. "Jusst... need some air."
"He gets carsick," Aziraphale said, and Crowley's irritation momentarily outweighed his stupid, snake-brain lust, because he did not, and then Aziraphale smiled back at him, and Crowley loved him so much, the bastard, and how dare he be so fucking adorable.
That got him through most of the car ride, and he half-listened as Aziraphale and Gemma discussed normal things like the weather, television shows Aziraphale was very polite about never having heard of, and whether the world was coming to an end. "No, no, we did that last year," Aziraphale said, to this last one. "We prevented the apocalypse, Crowley and I. Well, we helped, I mean."
"I don't remember that," said Gemma.
"You wouldn't; you weren't involved," said Aziraphale.
"But everything was pretty normal last year. Well, it was horrible but not like this, this is horrible horrible," she said.
"Yes, but the world isn't coming to an end," said Aziraphale. "There are certainly a lot of things happening to change the world, but it'll still be here. Really, this sort of thing happens all the time, on a historical level."
"Forgive me but your whole... 'the planet itself is still gonna be here, it's fine' thing doesn't sound that fine? I mean, what makes it... not the apocalypse?"
"Well, Heaven and Hell aren't going to force you into a thermonuclear war and wipe out all life on the planet," said Aziraphale. "I think that was what they were planning."
"Oh," said Gemma. She contemplated this, and Crowley could sense her existential dread. "So. Basically, it's just... stuff, happening, and there's a lot of it, and if we wipe ourselves out that doesn't count as an apocalypse?"
"Well, probably some of you will survive," said Aziraphale.
"I guess that's good?" Gemma said. She was clearly not comforted.
Aziraphale decided to change the subject. "Oh, I should ask, did that fellow ever pay you back for the groceries?"
"Yeah, I sort of... stole his wallet? After your scaly friend did whatever to him, and while you weren't looking," said Gemma. "Didn't think Heaven would be like, on board with that, you know?"
"Oh, no, Heaven probably isn't," said Aziraphale. "I quit after last year. Well. Technically they fired me."
"Technically they only tried to fire you," Crowley reminded him, and Aziraphale laughed at that.
"So how long have you two been together?" Gemma asked, and it was only her trying to make polite smalltalk but Crowley couldn't stand it and he was going to --
"Oh, about six thousand years," said Aziraphale, oblivious to Crowley's torment.
"Really? That's so nice! I've never met anybody I really clicked with, you know, but all my friends who're seeing people, ugh, it's constant drama. It's nice to know it all works out for somebody." And then she started rattling on about her flatmate's ex who had left her in March after having cheated on her with her best friend, and also, he'd stolen all the toilet paper on his way out. (Crowley couldn't tell whether she was describing a particularly unpleasant incubus he knew, or whether human men were Just Like That.)
Eventually, to Crowley's mixed relief and dread, they got to the bookshop, and Aziraphale miraculously transferred the van's registration to Gemma while Crowley slithered out of the back, doing his very best to keep anyone else from noticing him. He finally remembered that after all of this, he was still wearing the shirt from the pajamas he'd been in when the Satanists had abducted him, and he looked even stupider than he'd realized throughout the whole ordeal, but Aziraphale let him into the shop.
Crowley had not been prepared for the bookshop. He'd steeled himself up for it, but the overwhelming scents of Aziraphale and also all of the things Aziraphale loved -- old paper, baked goods, fine wine -- surrounded him, and made him want.
"Would you like some tea, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked, hanging up his jacket.
"Aziraphale," said Crowley, raspily, miserably. He dug his claws into his palms and tried not to stare at Aziraphale's arse. "Let'sssss -- let'ss ssee about dealing with thisss sstupid potion firsst."
"Oh! Oh, well, if you like," said Aziraphale, turning back around and smiling at him. He turned a bit pink, and Crowley thought could smell what might be desire in the air. Then again, maybe Aziraphale's fear just smelled good to him in this form. He didn't know; he'd never sensed anything like that from Aziraphale before. "I do have some... ideas for how to get you back to normal," he said. "The thing is, I don't know if you're going to like them. And I don't know if I'm even right," he said. "So... so I don't want you to feel you have to do anything you would, er, regret."
Crowley had been trying all day not to do anything he'd regret. "Yeah, okay," he said.
"So... it looks like they ended up mashing two very different rituals together," said Aziraphale, fishing a piece of paper out of his pocket. "The first one -- the one I think they were trying to complete -- was to force a demon to hunt down somebody the caster wished to inflict harm upon. That's why they used my blood; you were supposed to hurt me."
"I did hurt you," Crowley said.
"You only bit me a little," said Aziraphale, as if he hadn't been knocked out by venom for a while. "Anyway, the other one -- ah. The other one... is. Is meant to -- it's..." He was very red now. "Presumably it's meant to summon an incubus or a succubus or something, in an... amorous condition."
"Yeah," said Crowley, wincing.
Aziraphale licked his lips, his eyes skimming over the paper, and Crowley should not have been staring that hard, but here he was. "And I think... I might be wrong but I think -- the wording here is that the effects will last 'until the demon has taken its target,' but they don't know what 'taken' means? And I think, if I'm interpreting these ingredients properly, that that condition is from... the other spell. The second one?" He swallowed.
"Ah," said Crowley. Fuck. "Ssso... we..."
"I understand completely if you would prefer not to," Aziraphale said, gently, while Crowley fought off the desire to just take him here on the floor of the shop. "I don't even know if I'm right, frankly, and -- and it's -- well, I would understand, is all. But... I..." That desire smell became impossible to ignore as Aziraphale looked him up and down. "I certainly wouldn't mind... it would be..." He licked his lips. "I have wanted you for a very long time," he admitted.
Yes yes yes yes! said half of Crowley's brain. "Not -- not like thisss, though," he said, trying to ignore that.
Aziraphale swallowed. "Oh, yes. Definitely like that," he said. When Crowley didn't quite know what to say, he added, "I do have a few requests, though?"
"Go on," said Crowley. He knew he shouldn't, but he allowed himself to draw closer, and the effect on Aziraphale was immediate; his eyes went wide as he looked up at Crowley.
"I don't want to do it here; I've got a very comfortable bed upstairs," said Aziraphale, and Crowley grinned because of course he had. "And, and you can bite me all you like," he said, sounding almost like he was anticipating it, "but that venom was -- I want to be awake for this. And let me undress myself; I like these clothes."
"You want -- that's all?" Crowley asked. "Aziraphale, I don't know if you know what you're in for -- I don't know what you're in for, and I don't know if I can sstop mysself if I let mysself --"
Aziraphale kissed him on the cheek. "My dear," he said, taking one of Crowley's hands, "you did give all those silly Satanists what they thought they wanted; give me this? If need be, I can stop you."
"Can you?" Crowley asked, and he was so deliciously close. He couldn't help it; he grabbed Aziraphale by the shirt and --
"I like these clothes," Aziraphale snapped, forcing him to let go. "Now. Will you come upstairs to the bedroom?" he asked, more gently.
"Right. Yeah," said Crowley. Part of him was disappointed, but the greater part was very relieved at this demonstration. Aziraphale started up the stairs, and with some difficulty but no lack of enthusiasm, Crowley followed.
He situated himself on the bed as Aziraphale undressed quickly. Crowley watched hungrily as the bowtie came off, and the waistcoat, and the shoes, and the shirt, and the trousers, and fuck Aziraphale wore too many fucking layers and they all had buttons, apparently. "Angel, hurry up," he moaned.
"You've only been wearing one thing this whole time and you're still wearing it," Aziraphale pointed out primly, as he took his undershirt off.
Crowley looked down, remembered the pajama shirt, and shredded it in frustration. It wasn't real, anyway. But in a few more (unbearably endless) moments, Aziraphale was naked enough that Crowley felt it was within their agreed-upon terms to grab him and pull him back to the bed.
"Oh!" said Aziraphale, in surprise. "Oh, Crowley," he said, as Crowley stroked his prick and nipped his neck a little bit. He'd done away with the venom; he could make little changes like that, at least, and Aziraphale seemed to savor the pain of the bite like it was a particularly delicious piece of cake. "Please," he said, his voice shaking, "I'm -- I'm ready. I didn't think your claws would be quite the thing for --"
"No, probably not," said Crowley, pushing him down onto the bed and pulling his legs apart. "You -- you do know they're not -- not human -- and I've got --"
"I know exactly what I'm getting into, Crowley," snapped Aziraphale. "Well, enough to be -- Crowley," he moaned, as Crowley rubbed the bulbous tip of one of his dicks against Aziraphale's arse. "Wait, wait, I have -- before you do that, I have... a thought."
"Thought about thisss a lot, have you?" Crowley asked. He was, he thought, very extremely patient as Aziraphale arranged himself and Crowley on the bed, occasionally brushing against one of Crowley's dicks and making him moan. But when he had everything where he wanted, one thigh over Crowley's long, thick body, and the other under his tail, Crowley saw that one of his dicks was lined up with Aziraphale's arse and the other -- fuck.
Aziraphale stroked Crowley's cock along with his own, and the friction of the two of them together... Crowley whimpered.
"I think you ought to start," said Aziraphale, cheerfully, and spread his legs helpfully.
Crowley, overwhelmed from the sight of him and the smell of him and the feel of his hand and the need in his eyes, entered him in one quick thrust and began fucking him hard, and Aziraphale cried out.
"Crowley, oh Crowley," he said, rocking up against Crowley, clenching around him as he and Crowley thrust up into his fist. "Crowley -- oh, oh," he said as Crowley wound the rest of his tail around Aziraphale's thigh and waist.
Crowley held him steady and kept fucking him as he wrapped himself around Aziraphale, so that he could hold him from behind. He raked his claws against Aziraphale's chest, and sank his teeth into Aziraphale's shoulder. "Thisss what you wanted, angel?" he hissed into Aziraphale's ear, as Aziraphale strained against him. "Wanted to be --" It was so hard to think. "Wanted to be mine?" he managed, raggedly.
"Yes, please, Crowley, oh God," said Aziraphale, his hand moving faster.
Crowley bit him again; fuck, he was delicious, gasping and breathless, needy, taking Crowley into himself, his thick pink prick rubbing deliciously against Crowley's bulbous, tapered one. "Mine," he repeated, roughly. "Not God'sss."
"Yours, yes, yes, of course," said Aziraphale. "Yours, always, oh Crowley."
Crowley wrapped himself around Aziraphale a bit further, so he could kiss him more easily, and Aziraphale moaned into his mouth. His heart was pounding in his ears, and inside Aziraphale he was agonizingly close, but the other dick -- oh, it felt good, but... "Azsssssiraphale -- fuck -- I have -- an idea."
"Mm?" Aziraphale asked.
"Move your hand," said Crowley. "Sstop -- not that it doessn't feel good," he said, taking Aziraphale's hand away from their dicks.
Aziraphale whimpered, continuing to thrust against Crowley's maddeningly extraneous dick.
"Jusst -- got to be careful about thiss," said Crowley, swallowing. Then he leaned down, opened his mouth wide as it would go, and enveloped both of their cocks in his mouth.
"Oh, oh, oh fuck, Crowley," said Aziraphale, as Crowley ran his tongue up and down Aziraphale's dick. Crowley laughed; he hadn't heard Aziraphale swear in centuries -- and then he moaned because fuck that felt good. All of it felt good -- his dick in Aziraphale's arse, his mouth on their dicks, Aziraphale's fingers running through his hair, and the fact that it had all reduced Aziraphale to wordless whimpering... he was a weird fucking ouroboros of pleasure and Aziraphale wanted that, wanted him even when he was like this.
Aziraphale came, thrusting helplessly up into and against Crowley's dicks, and Crowley had thought his blood tasted good, but this -- this was everything he wanted, and in a few moments he was overcome as well.
And then they were two sticky idiots, tangled up in a knot of limbs and scales and sheets, trying to catch their breath. "Oh, my dear," said Aziraphale, as Crowley withdrew his mouth from the both of their cocks. Aziraphale moaned as Crowley pulled out of his arse. "Oh, that was so -- so --" He stroked Crowley's hair -- that still felt so good. "Mm. Well. The daydreams didn't really do it justice."
"You had daydreams about that?" Crowley asked, astonished.
"Oh yes. Well, not that exactly," said Aziraphale, looking terribly fondly at him. "My dearest."
Crowley kissed him, too overwhelmed with love to remember that his mouth tasted like two kinds of come, and it probably wasn't great if you hadn't been dosed with a weird sex potion. Aziraphale turned out to be fine with it, though; Aziraphale, it seemed, was fine with a lot more than Crowley had realized.
"Oh!" Aziraphale said, when Crowley pulled away. He seemed to have suddenly realized what a strange position they were both in. "Oh, good heavens, there really is a lot of snake on you right now. Can you -- did it work?" He looked very concerned.
"Did what work?" Crowley asked, and then he remembered why they'd done this and how he'd got into this mess in the first place. "Oh! Oh, right, yeah..." He would probably be up for round two in a moment or two, if Aziraphale was interested, but his head was a lot clearer now. Experimentally, he tried to turn back, and as his snake body and tail shrank down to become legs, which were much easier to disentangle from Aziraphale, and the two of them ended up lying on the bed next to each other. "Oof. There we are," said Crowley. "Oh, should I -- is that -- should I go?" he asked. Aziraphale had said he'd wanted him for a long time, but maybe he'd meant... like... for a few hours, or something. Maybe he was exclusively a snake fetishist. Maybe he wasn’t interested in anything but --
Aziraphale rolled over and kissed him again. "Only if you like, my dear. We never did go to that restaurant."
"Tomorrow?" Crowley suggested.
"Or we could do supper," Aziraphale suggested. Crowley grinned, and wrapped a long snaky tail around one of his legs. "Or. Tomorrow," Aziraphale conceded.
"Mmm," said Crowley, kissing his neck.
"Maybe -- maybe next week," Aziraphale said, and gasped as Crowley rubbed against him. Crowley laughed.