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Crowley opened the door to the bookshop and felt none of the relief he had hoped for. Even the familiarity of the teetering books and smell of dust seemed nothing more than an annoyance, a reminder of how inexorably tied up into the world he was. A reminder of how far he would have to run to escape this choking feeling of existence.
He sighed.
“Oh! Hello, dear.” Aziraphale poked his head around the corner. “What brings you here at this noontime hour?”
“Boredom,” Crowley answered, somewhat acidly. “Complete, all-encompassing boredom.”
It was a truthful answer, even if it left out some of the details of existential dread and crushing ennui.
“That’s unfortunate,” Aziraphale said, coming fully into view. “Out of pennies to glue to the sidewalk, I take it?”
“No,” Crowley said shortly, aware he was being unpleasant and unwilling to do anything about it.
Aziraphale eyed him. “Are you…planning to glue pennies to the bookshop floor, then?”
“No!” Crowley said, mildly outraged at the very insinuation that he could disrespect the bookshop like that.
“Well that’s good, then,” Aziraphale said.
There was silence.
“Is there something you’re looking for, or shall I get back to my shelving?” Aziraphale asked finally.
“I don’t need anything,” Crowley growled.
“Of course,” Aziraphale agreed. “That’s why you’re standing here looking like an angry lizard in the middle of my bookshop instead of sitting down like you usually do.”
“I don’t want to sit down!” Crowley snapped.
Aziraphale stepped forward. “Well, I don’t want you scaring off my customers with that aura of yours, so come along.” His hand settled firmly around Crowley’s upper arm and pushed toward the back of the shop.
Crowley was aware that this did not logically make sense. Aziraphale generally liked it when he scared off customers. He was also fairly sure that the sign on the bookshop door had just flipped to Closed, which would scare off customers at least as well as any of his glowers.
Yet the hand on his arm was the first thing that had felt anything but wrong in hours, and he quite wanted Aziraphale to do more of…that. So he let himself be moved forward, around the corner, and pushed — none too gently — down on the sofa.
Aziraphale didn’t let go of his arm. How was it that Aziraphale always knew when he shouldn’t let go?
“Now,” Aziraphale said. “I think some tea may be in order, yes?”
“Don’t want tea,” Crowley said grouchily, because tea would mean losing the hand gripping his arm, and he didn’t want that.
Aziraphale sighed, so dramatically Crowley was pretty sure it was mostly performative. “Very well, you don’t want tea. I am also assuming you don’t want me to go away, seeing as you came here. Tell me if I’m wrong.”
Crowley shook his head.
“I can deduce that you are not exactly in a mood to talk,” Aziraphale continued. “So we have limited the options considerably, but I am running out of conclusions to make. Do you want me to hold you?”
Crowley shook his head instinctually, knowing that that usually-foolproof solution wouldn’t help and unable to articulate why.
Aziraphale’s patient voice continued. “Do you want me to just keep talking at you? Do you want to sit in silence?”
Crowley shrugged.
Aziraphale’s hand on his arm tightened a bit. “Crowley, this one I need an answer to. Do you want me to continue giving you options?”
Crowley shook his head, realized that would give Aziraphale entirely the wrong conclusion, and nodded instead.
“Ah.” Aziraphale, bless him, curse him, figured out the confusing gestures. “Do you want me to take away your options?”
And that, finally, sounded like it might work. Crowley breathed in shakily…and nodded.
“Slap you around a little, maybe?” Aziraphale’s voice had taken on a low confidence now that he’d gotten an agreement from Crowley. “Is that what you need, darling?”
Crowley curled in on himself, crumpling at last under the warm velvet of Aziraphale’s confidence. He nodded.
“Good,” Aziraphale said. “Then I need you to ask for it.”
Crowley made a grumbling noise.
“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice was stern, the velvet threadbare. “I will not do this based only on my guessing. You know that.” His thumb stroked Crowley’s arm. “Your choice, love. But the last one for now, if you want.”
Crowley sucked in a breath. “Please, Aziraphale,” he said roughly. “Take over and smack me around until I forget just how big this god damn world is.”
Aziraphale’s weight hit him from the side, pushing him down to lie flat on the sofa.
“Good boy,” Aziraphale murmured in his ear, and-
Smack!
A stinging blow to his cheek, and Crowley gasped, reflexes instantly wanting him to curl up, to hide.
Smack!
The vulnerability was stronger than the pain, just the fact that he was here, opening his softest parts to such an attack.
Smack!
It was wrong, it was so wrong, it hurt, but it was right too and he craved it.
Smack!
He flinched, turning his head to hide his stinging cheek.
“Now, now,” Aziraphale said. “That’s no way to behave.”
Gentle, firm fingers gripped Crowley’s chin, turning his head and pinning it in place.
Smack!
Crowley whimpered.
“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” Aziraphale said into his ear. “But you know you’ll just have to take it.” His fingers skimmed Crowley’s cheek in almost a mockery of the pain. Crowley tensed, waiting…
Smack!
Another one, right on schedule, and Crowley squirmed, not really trying to get away, but unable to stop himself.
Smack!
His skin burned with tiny needles, warm and tickling and so, so grounding.
Smack!
One more, and Crowley felt his world tilt, his limbs leaving his control and taking on a reflexive mind of their own, trying to get him away from this constant onslaught of sensation.
But Aziraphale stopped him, leg wrapping around Crowley’s own, weight pressing him into the sofa, hand wrapping in his hair until Crowley could feel the sting on his scalp.
“I don’t think so,” Aziraphale murmured, somewhere near Crowley’s neck, and the hand pulling his hair loosened.
Chastened, Crowley’s muscles subsided in their escape attempt.
“The other side now, if you please,” Aziraphale said, calm and expectant
And Crowley didn’t want to, he didn’t, but he did at the same time, wanted to obey, wanted the pain.
He turned his head.
“Good boy,” Aziraphale said approvingly, and Crowley trembled.
Smack!
Crowley felt himself jerk reflexively, but he subsided, keeping his head turned through sheer force of will, because if Aziraphale was going to praise him he would damn well earn that praise.
Smack!
The blows seemed to come faster this time, or maybe it was the way Crowley’s thoughts seemed to be turning to liquid, his mind returning to some earlier, primal state that it had never had a chance to experience. There was very little to think about now, the world having shrunk to only the space between Aziraphale and himself, and the experience of feeling.
Smack!
He was whimpering more now, a sort of constant, half-verbal pleading that Aziraphale was apparently completely disregarding, just as Crowley — the Crowley that could think — wanted him to.
Smack!
He’d been hit before, of course. All of this and so much worse. There was no way to explain why it was so different, why this reduced him to a whining puddle so much faster.
Smack!
He could smell Aziraphale’s cologne at this distance. Smell Aziraphale, and nothing else. That’s what was so different. That’s what made him crumple faster. It was Aziraphale here, and it was safe.
Smack!
He sobbed softly, twitching, trying to escape without truly trying to escape. Vaguely, he tried to pull himself together, awaiting the next slap.
Instead, soft fingers began to stroke his cheek, comforting. Crowley trembled and closed his eyes.
“Enough, do you think?” Aziraphale said softly in his ear.
Crowley sniffled, pushing his face against Aziraphale’s neck. He shook his head.
“Hmm,” Aziraphale said, smoothing Crowley’s hair with his other hand. “One more, then.”
Crowley stilled, holding his breath.
Smack!
The knowledge that it was the last, that he didn’t have to wait for another one, that pushed Crowley over the edge. He sniffled once, twice, and then he was crying, clinging to Aziraphale in a desperate bid for comfort.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Aziraphale said, and he shifted, rolling them until they were lying side by side, Crowley nestled in Aziraphale’s arms.
“Yes, that’s it,” Aziraphale said. “It’s over. You did amazingly.”
Crowley nodded through the inexplicable tears, holding tighter, like he’d finally found space in the world and couldn’t imagine leaving it. It felt like relief. Like safety. He wasn’t entirely sure what existed outside of all this, but he didn’t think he needed to. Not now. Not when Aziraphale would hold him and take care of him like this.
Slowly, slowly, the tears subsided, leaving him oddly quiet. No stray buzz of thought bothered him. No tense awareness of everything that was and could be and would be. Aziraphale was stroking his hair, the only bit of movement in the whole room
His face was tingly with the remnants of Aziraphale’s slaps, and he took the opportunity to rub his cheek on Aziraphale’s waistcoat. It was soft. Soothing.
He hummed, comfortable, and felt Aziraphale smile.
“Good, love?”
“Mhm.” Crowley idly twitched Aziraphale’s sleeve. It was fascinating, really. All the little folds and fine threads. How nice it was to see it up close.
“I’m glad,” Aziraphale said.
Crowley walked his fingers up to Aziraphale’s neck, exploring the skin there, then down the angel’s chest. Aziraphale’s arm stayed firmly around him, protective and comforting.
It was nice to be like this, a simple creature having simple thoughts. There was no complexity to this world, where the only thing that mattered was Aziraphale’s touch and sound and smell. He could just exist like this, with nothing else needed but existing.
He dropped his hand to rest flat over Aziraphale’s heart, pleased to know it was there, under the layers of plush, tailored clothing. His angel, tangible and real.
He sighed contentedly and nuzzled into Aziraphale’s wrist as it went by, kissing it. “Thanks, angel.”
“You are so welcome, my dear.”
“You’re the smartest angel.”
Aziraphale’s hand stuttered in its stroking, and Crowley heard him catch his breath.
“Mhm,” Crowley continued, high on endorphins and the feeling of being surrounded by love and safety. “Smartest angel. My smart angel.”
“Yes,” Aziraphale said, and his arm tightened, squeezing Crowley against him. “My demon.”
“Yours,” Crowley said contentedly. “You did so good, angel. You were perfect.”
“Oh, I’m so glad,” Aziraphale said. “I worry, sometimes, that I’ll misjudge.”
“I know,” Crowley said. “But you didn’t. You won’t.”
It was nice, to have that kind of certainty. It was one of the things Crowley loved about scenes like this, the clarity they left him with. And maybe sometimes the conclusions it led him to were overly simplistic, but that was fine. The complex discussions were for other times, when they made boundaries and contingency plans and safewords. And they’d already done that, in the past. So it was fine.
“Yes,” Crowley said, snuggling closer to Aziraphale. “You were perfect.”
Aziraphale didn’t respond this time, but Crowley could feel the smile on the angel’s face when he kissed Crowley’s forehead.