Work Text:
“You missed a date on your report, Crowley.”
Crowley froze at the glee in that voice. Glee was never a good thing. “Er, hi. Hi, Duke Hastur. We’re not doing…?”
Ohshitohshitohshit, what was it called? It had been too long since he met up with another demon on Earth.
“Deeds of the day?” Hastur ignited the end of his cigarette with a gesture, then took a long draw and blew out the smoke. “No. No, we’re not.”
“Oh.” Crowley gulped. That didn’t bode well for why he’d been ordered to report to this old cemetery, then. The shadows of the gravestones loomed all around. “Can I fix the report?”
Hastur chuckled. “You’ve definitely been up here too long, if you think that’s gonna happen. I’ve gotta report your failure up the chain. Might even pass it all the way up to the Dark Council.”
Shivering despite the roasting hot day, Crowley considered his options. He wasn’t actually sure if the Dark Council, shadowy figures that ran Hell, would care that he’d left a date off his report. But if they did, he’d be in much worse trouble than he’d get from Hastur.
“There’s gotta be some way I can make up for it,” he said, ignoring the familiar hollow pit opening up in his gut. “Right?”
Hastur just gazed at him for a moment, puffing away on the cigarette. Crowley gulped again. He knew what was coming, already expected it, but he still didn’t like it.
“Well,” Hastur said slowly, rolling the cigarette between his fingers, “there is one thing you can do.”
Crowley almost automatically sank to his knees, but he made himself wait. “Sure. Anything.”
“Take off all your clothes.”
That wasn’t what Crowley had expected. He stared at Hastur, confused. “Wot?”
“You heard me. Strip down, you little worm.” After one more puff on the cigarette, Hastur flung it down to the sand. “And I don’t mean because it’s bloody hot on this island. I’m gonna fuck you.”
Hands shaking, Crowley fumbled with his cravat, then waistcoat. He wasn’t wearing a jacket—too hot for that. He took off his shirt. He shed everything else too, hands unsteady.
But there was something else he wasn’t wearing, had never warn. “Er, Duke Hastur? I don’t actually have a…”
He gestured at the smooth mound of his groin. It had dark, curly hair, because he thought hair looked cool. But he’d never been interested in genitals of any kind. He’d been sexless as an angel, and that didn’t change just because he Fell. None of that had ever interested him.
Hastur gave a dark chuckle. “Oh, I know. That’s what makes it more fun than just making you suck me off like usual. Lay down.”
Crowley looked around, appalled. “On the sand?”
“I can always strap you to a rack, see if you like that better. We can try out some of the things from your reports on the Spanish Inquisition.”
Crowley laid down. He didn’t have a choice. Or rather, he did have a choice, but it wasn’t a good one.
Hastur stripped down too, and he had apparently made an effort. A cock jutted up between his legs, already at half mast. Crowley looked away, embarrassed.
“Now, what should I give you? A cock? A cunny?” Hastur stroked between his legs. “I think a cunt. What do you think?”
“Er.” Crowley had never thought about it, since he’d never planned to get one. “I don’t really have a preference?”
“What you want doesn’t matter anyway.” Hastur shoved two fingers against his mound, and Crowley screamed at the sudden, searing agony.
A miracle drilled into his body, carving out a channel, and Hastur’s fingers followed. Crowley jerked and howled as they rammed into him, sudden hard stabbing motions in oversensitive tissue. Hastur’s thumb nudged at a different spot, at the top of his cunt, and a different sort of jolt went through Crowley.
Hastur laughed darkly, withdrawing his fingers. They were bloody. “Oh, would you look at that. Bleeding for me already.”
Hastur’s cock twitched upward, and Crowley stared at it in horror. Ohshitohshitohshit, Hastur liked the sight of him bleeding. Really liked it, in a creepy way. Not just the way he normally seemed to like watching Crowley bleed.
“Oh, that makes me hard.” Hastur laughed again, then reached for his clothes. He pulled his belt out, hefted it, and then licked his lips as he glanced across Crowley. “Roll over.”
Crowley rolled over, tearing up. The belt snapped down across his back, hard, and he hissed in pain. This, he was used to.
But he wasn’t used to the throbbing pain between his legs, the strange ache. And he wasn’t used to the way that Hastur struck lower and lower, the hard impacts of the belt now hitting him directly on the arse.
Hastur made a low moaning sound of pleasure, and Crowley shuddered. He tried to disconnect from it, to go far away inside his head. But he couldn’t, not with the pain.
Hastur kicked him onto his back again and lashed Crowley’s front with the belt. Crowley yelped as it cut into his stomach, his hips. Blood began to flow from the cuts.
“Oh, yeah,” Hastur moaned, dropping down to his knees and pushing fingers back inside him. “That’s it. Oh, Crowley, look at you. Dripping wet for me.”
Crowley was pretty sure he was just dripping blood. But when Hastur knelt between his legs and rammed into him roughly, it wasn’t totally dry. Had he gotten off on it too? Or was that just the blood from having his body torn open?
The question seemed a lot less relevant once Hastur started to fuck him in earnest. Crowley just laid there, taking it, occasionally gasping in pain. He wasn’t totally dry, no, but the newly formed channel into his body burned with agony at the rough intrusion.
This wasn’t fair. He had plans with Aziraphale tomorrow, things they were supposed to be doing. They were supposed to be going out to look for treasure. He didn’t have time to get raped!
It vaguely occurred to him that he might be getting hysterical. It didn’t really matter. There was nothing he could do about it anyway.
Hastur grunted and groaned and pounded into him, seemingly not at all bothered that Crowley wasn’t moving at all. He slammed in all the way, stiffening, and dug his nails hard into Crowley’s wounds.
“You like that, eh?” Hastur said with a chuckle. “Little tart.”
Crowley tried to get the strength to speak. He couldn’t really manage it, but he mumbled vague agreement. He just laid there, watching as Hastur dressed.
“You make a good fuck. Feel free to make mistakes on your reports any time.” Hastur grinned at his own joke. “Consider this mistake fixed.”
Crowley was pretty sure he’d managed to say thanks, like he was supposed to. His ears rang, and he struggled to sit up. He looked between his legs.
The cunt was still there, bloody and dripping with different fluids. He had no idea how to get rid of it, or even if he could. It was a miracle done by a Duke, after all, not an injury like the stuff from the belt. Couldn’t just heal it.
“Whatever,” he muttered, reaching for his clothes with shaking hands. “Got better things to do that worry about any of that.”
---
“Oh, it’s so hot today. Perhaps this was a bad week to go treasure hunting.” Aziraphale tugged his hat to better shield his eyes. “I swear, it gets hotter every day. Don’t you think so?”
Crowley didn’t answer him. He simply stared off into the distance, hand resting on the rudder of their rented sailboat.
“Crowley.” Aziraphale waved at him. Crowley didn’t answer. “Dear boy, do stop ignoring me. I’m talking to you.”
“What?” Crowley turned towards him, like he had entirely forgotten that Aziraphale was there. “Oh. Sorry. What?”
“I said it gets hotter every day.”
“Yeah. Real heat… wave,” Crowley said vaguely, staring at the waves.
Aziraphale frowned. He and Crowley had been together for an awfully long time, their partnership thriving since they formed the Arrangement seven hundred or so years ago. He had seen Crowley like this before, on occasion. Especially in the fourteenth century.
“Are you depressed?” he asked, a little uncomfortable. It went against his habits to talk openly about emotion, even to Crowley. “Or ill?”
“No.”
Crowley was very flushed, though, and Aziraphale leaned forward to touch his cheek. “Good Lord, you’re dreadfully overheated! We must get you out of this boat.”
“M’ fine,” Crowley muttered. But he flinched heavily as soon as Aziraphale touched him. “I’m just… yeah. Depressed.”
“I think there’s more to it than that.”
“There’s not,” Crowley snapped. “I’m fine.”
And then he fainted, slumping across the rudder and nearly falling right out of the boat.
“Oh!” Aziraphale lunged and grabbed him, dragging him back in before he could fall. “Crowley?”
Before he could determine what was actually wrong with his partner, the boat slammed hard into something, and wobbled sideways. Aziraphale yelped, clutching at both Crowley and the rudder.
But it was too late. Crowley falling across the rudder had knocked them off course, straight into a sandbar, and their boat was falling over.
Aziraphale jumped into the water just before the boat capsized and swam towards the beach of a nearby tiny island. He kept one arm around Crowley, pulling him along.
Crowley was still unconscious when Aziraphale reached the beach. He pulled Crowley out of the water and carried him further inland, gasping for breath. His feet slipped on the sand, and his heart raced. But nothing mattered except getting Crowley to safety.
“Here we are.” Aziraphale laid him in the sand at the edge of the beach, under the shade of palms. “Crowley?”
Crowley’s yellow eyes fluttered open. He had lost his sunglasses. “Won’t make any mistakes.”
“Ah. Well. I’m afraid you did just crash our boat…”
“M’ sorry. I…” Crowley moaned, shifting. “Anything. I’ll make up for it.”
“My dear, you don’t have to make up for it. Although I wouldn’t object to you helping me with our little treasure hunt once you feel better.” Aziraphale touched his brow and inhaled sharply. “Oh, how are you still so hot? Are you feverish?”
“Don’t have a preference.”
“I would think one would prefer not to be feverish.” Although oh dear, perhaps Crowley was delirious? He was certainly sick, most likely from the sustained heat in the islands. “Just lie still, there now. I’m going to see if you’re hurt.”
He began to undo Crowley’s waistcoat. Crowley gave a quiet, weak sob. “Sure. Anything. M’ sorry.”
“Shh, shh. I’m just…” Aziraphale opened Crowley shirt, then stared at his stomach in confusion. “Good Lord. Where did all these bruises come from?”
Crowley flinched and whimpered, curling away. “Okay. Okay, Duke Hastur. Won’t resist, you can… you can hit me, you can fuck me…”
Sudden realization struck, knocking the wind right out of Aziraphale. And in the immediate aftermath of that realization, a fury so intense that he nearly screamed.
Hastur had harmed his Crowley terribly. Violated him, in a way different from the normal abuse.
Oh, that wasn’t something they talked about. Crowley would hardly admit that anything bad happened in Hell, as if talking about it might make it more real. And Aziraphale respected his privacy too much to push.
But he knew. Oh, he knew.
“Oh, dear boy. I am so sorry.” Aziraphale gently kissed his brow. “I’ll be right back. Just going to do a touch of exploration and find some water.”
He stumbled to his feet, head spinning. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, louder and louder as he stomped into the jungle. Fury burned through him, hotter than even the sun, and only getting more so.
By the time his exploration of the area near the beach yielded a little river and soft grass, he was so enraged that he could hardly see. He stormed to the nearest tree, tore it out of the ground, and flung it across the meadow with a howl of impotent rage. He did the same to several more before the fury broke, leaving only grief.
Then, sobbing, he miracled a jug and collected water. He couldn’t heal what had been done to Crowley, but he could shower him with kind acts and gentle words. It would have to be enough.
Aziraphale rushed back to the beach, and found Crowley in exactly the same spot, still feverish and now mumbling about treasure. “Stories in the tavern,” he said urgently, trying to focus on Aziraphale. “S’posed to be cool stuff.”
“Yes,” Aziraphale said softly, bathing sweat from his brow. “Yes, I know. We’ll look for it when you feel better.”
The truth was that Aziraphale did not care even slightly about treasure. But he and Crowley both enjoyed stories about lost treasure, and seeking it out had sounded awfully fun.
It was turning out to be a very bad idea. If he hadn’t agreed to this, or if he would have pushed a little harder when he realized that Crowley was ill…
But there was no point in dwelling on that now. Aziraphale simply focused on his work, on coaxing Crowley back to health.
---
Crowley was vaguely aware of going in and out on consciousness. Of the light levels changing. And of someone fussing over him, touching him gently, speaking to him.
The someone bathed his face when he was hot, and wiped away his tears when he cried. Helped him sip water, even fed him something sweet, probably fruit. Gradually, he realized it was Aziraphale.
Just as gradually, he realized what had happened. That he had totally failed at hiding what happened to him, for one thing. And that even though it had probably been days since the attack, his new cunt still hurt.
When he snapped awake fully, he looked around in confusion. He had been pretty sure he was on a beach, the hot sand digging into his sore back. Now, though, he was in a room or something.
“Aziraphale?” he rasped.
“Right here, my dear.” Aziraphale took his hand and patted gently. “Oh, it’s so good to hear your voice. Well. To hear your voice when it’s not rambling with delirium.”
“Hrgh.” Crowley gulped. He looked around again. “Where the Heaven are we?”
“Ah. About that.” Aziraphale looked embarrassed. “I wanted to get you out of the sun. And I had sort of, well, torn up some trees.”
“Trees?”
“Mm. Anyway, there were lots of animals and such on the island, and I didn’t quite feel comfortable leaving you alone on the ground while I went exploring.” Aziraphale was blushing now. “So I built a tower for you. And a bed. Do you like it?”
“Yeah. Yeah. It’s great, angel.” Woozy, Crowley pressed a hand to his head. He still hurt everywhere.
“I also… washed your clothes a couple of days ago.” Lip trembling a little, Aziraphale gave him a pained look. “I saw, well. What Hastur did to you. To your corporation.”
Crowley winced. “Yeah. He… made some modifications.”
“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said softly. “That’s a terrible violation, in so many ways.”
“Ngk.” Crowley reached down, pushed a hand inside his trousers, and felt at himself. The tissues still ached, but not as much as they had right after Hastur had his fun. Must be healing up. “Made a mistake on my report, he said I could make it up to him. The usual manipulation, right? Just… went a different direction this time.”
Aziraphale gave a little nod. “I presumed as much. You were, um… babbling a bit while delirious. But you’ve slept for most of the past two days, and you seem to be recovering well. How do you feel?”
Crowley considered it. Humiliated, especially by the rambling. But he didn’t want to admit that. “Thirsty. Also, are we trapped here?”
“For the time being. I suppose we can think of it as an enforced holiday from our responsibilities. You can certainly use more time to rest.”
“Yeh. A holiday sounds terrific, honestly.” At least, as terrific as anything could sound when he felt so awful. Which was probably also a sign that he really was in need of a holiday.
“And the nice thing about living in a tower is that I’m sure someone will see it from the sea and come to investigate eventually. And there’s plenty of food and such.” Aziraphale stroked his thumb along the side of Crowley’s hand, slow and gentle. “On the whole, you picked quite a good island to crash on.”
“And a good partner to be stranded with.” Neither he nor Aziraphale had ever been very interested in a lot of the things that humans seemed to think were the pinnacle of ecstasy. As far as Crowley was concerned, just sitting and talking to Aziraphale was as good as it could possibly get.
Although he wasn’t much in the mood to talk right now, especially about the fact that he now had a cunt he’d never asked for. Aziraphale, seeming to recognize that discomfort, gave his hand another gentle squeeze and helped him drink some water.
Then Aziraphale changed the subject. “Do you feel up to going for a little walk? There’s a very nice meadow that I was rather surprised to see. It has a little river. And some flowers.”
Mostly, Crowley felt like curling into a ball and going to sleep for a century. But he also really, really wanted to spend some time with Aziraphale. For now, that was what he needed most to really start recovering. “Okay. Okay. If we take it slow. And I dunno if I can climb a ladder…”
“Oh, that’s all right.” Aziraphale gently patted his shoulder. “I built stairs.”
Crowley needed to lean on Aziraphale’s arm as they left the little tower and went downstairs, but he could walk on his own again once they got off the sand and onto soft grass. He even managed to smile a little as they strolled through the meadow. “Wow. Wow. Not a bad place to be trapped, is it?”
“Oh, not at all. It reminds me of Eden, really.” Aziraphale beamed, although he still looked concerned. They would definitely have to talk more later, for both their sakes. “And look! I built a bench out of this tree. And there’s so many flowers here. And a little waterfall!”
Aziraphale pranced around the meadow, practically frolicking as he eagerly pointed out every single thing that he’d found. Like the flowers and waterfall and his newly built bench were even better than finding the hidden treasure they’d originally set out looking for.
And maybe they were. It was too soppy for a demon to think like this, but Crowley couldn’t help it. As far as he was concerned, the very best treasure in all the worlds was having such an incredible partner who cared so much about him, and would help him through absolutely any pain.