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The enterprise, Crowley decided as he snapped his fingers and transported onto it, wasn't quite up to shit today. For one thing, it existed around two hundred years into the future, and that meant that pretty much everything Crowley knew to be fact was suddenly changed. He looked around, realising that in his experimental travelling, he’d plopped himself right into the middle of someone’s bedroom.
“Oh, bollocks,” said Crowley, putting his hands on his hips and walking swankily across the room to examine it. It was large, and there was an atrocious looking orange bed in the middle, devoid of pillows or blankets or anything beds were very much supposed to have. Whoever lived here, Crowley thought, must be a right wanker.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and took a sticky beak at the photo on the desk. It was of a solemn looking man with pointed ears and upturned eyebrows that screamed, “we’re REALLY into plucking in the 23rd century.” Crowley could understand this. He himself had sculpted a fair amount of brows in his time. “Gee wiz,” he said aloud.
Suddenly, a speaker on the wall crackled to life and announced that they were about to descend onto a fiery planet, but that no one should worry, because that would be a bunch of tosh and no officers in their right wee minds would give into the temptation of panic.
It was then that Crowley realised he was in space. Honest to goodness space, devoid of air and everything. He blew out a breath. Good Satan, he’d never made it to space before, not while stuck on Earth. Even the humans had only managed to launch themselves up to the moon for a couple decades now, and they couldn’t even colonise the place yet!
“This is totally radical,” Crowley mused. “I wonder if that fellow is an alien?”
“What the hell are you doing in my quarters?”
Crowley spun on his four inch heels, his mom jeans… considerably too tight for the whole twirl situation. He was planning to deliver a good telling off to the person who’d so rudely interrupted his external monologue, but when he turned, was disappointed to find that the man was extremely handsome and therefore quite hard to tell off. Instead, Crowley rather wanted to make out with him, or perhaps take him out for a drink.
Aziraphale wouldn’t have liked that much, but then again, he’d gone off and had a fling with Mozart a while back, so Crowley figured he was entitled to a bit of flirtatious tomfoolery. “Vavoom,” he said appraisingly to the man, who looked stony faced. Then he held his hand out and willed the man to grab it. “Nice to meet you, my dude. I’m Crowley, your average Hellborne demon - can’t say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but…”
“Jim… Kirk,” the man said in a daze. His blond hair flopped across his forehead in a whorish way that Crowley thought quite stylish. “I demand you tell me who you are.”
“Didn’t we just go through this? Demon of hell, Crowley, etcétera etcétera?” He shrugged. “Let’s skip the posh posh. Mind telling me what year it is?”
Kirk told him, and Crowley whistled. “Right. Well. Hate to tell you, but this isn’t my time. I’m a good old fashioned twenty-first century fellow myself, but I’ve no doubt some version of me is puttering around this part of the universe right now.” He waved a hand around. “Wild shit, space, eh? All the timey-wimey stuff, aliens, big rocks crashing into other big rocks.”
“I think I’m going to have to put you in the brig,” said Jim Kirk, tapping his chin.
Crowley shrugged. “Lovely. I’ll get out in a jiffy. Anyhoo-“ he thought he’d shoot his shot while he was here “-have you by any chance a boyfriend? Girlfriend? Other sentient being shaped object of that regard?”
Kirk couldn’t hide a blush.
“Ahhhh,” said Crowley. “Bummer, you would have been a jolly good shag.” He tsked. “Well, I suppose I should be getting back, Aziraphale and I have lunch planned about two hundred years ago, and he’ll have my arse if I’m late. Not in that way,” he added, “unfortunately.”
“Wait!” called Kirk.
“Toodaloo,” Crowley called back to him, before snapping his fingers and closing his eyes.
When he opened them, he was back in SoHo. He sniggered, shook his head, and wandered off to go find Aziraphale.
A couple of centuries from now, he might even seek out a Jim Kirk again, see if he couldn’t find a way to get laid then.