Chapter Text
“Cheers,” said Crowley, flopping into the nearest chair, slinging an arm over the back of it, and folding one leg over the other in what was decidedly not the demure and modest way a lady should. Aziraphale sputtered, aghast as she inadvertently gazed down and caught a glimpse of Crowley’s undergarments. “For getting me off the hook back there.”
“Good Heavens, Crowley! Fix your posture, please! It’s…it’s immodest!”
Crowley rolled her eyes and scoffed, taking a sip from the wine glass in her hand. “Oh, c’mon, angel! It’s just you and me!”
Red-faced, Aziraphale pursed her lips, her expression radiating with disapproval. Unbidden, Crowley found herself wishing Aziraphale’s face was flushed for other reasons. Although the disapproval wasn’t the worst. Aziraphale had probably intended it to be a deterrent, something to rein Crowley in like a wild stallion, but the demon thought it was sort of sexy.
Bless it all, why did the angel have to be so enticing even when she wasn’t trying to be?
As the angel continued to glower at her, Crowley sighed and, with another overdramatic roll of her eyes, complied. Sort of. She put her other foot down, but her legs were still spread out in a way that later generations would one day call ‘manspreading’. Except Crowley wasn’t a man. Even when she appeared to be one.
“Scoundrel,” muttered Aziraphale, but she didn’t push the issue any further.
“Anyways,” said Crowley awkwardly, “um…thanks.”
Aziraphale gave Crowley a demure smile and a shy bat of her long fair lashes. “No need to thank me. That’s what…” she paused, looking contemplative, and Crowley found herself holding her breath to ensure she heard her next words clearly. “...what friends are for, after all.”
The demon tried not to wilt like a frail and feeble lily. Friends. Just friends. They could never be anything more, after all, could they?
Better than what they’d been in The Beginning. Better than what they’d become after Edinburgh. The 1900s had been so lonely without the angel by her side.
Clearing her throat, Crowley decided it best to move on before sentimentality got the better of either of them. “You are aware that you’re going to be performing on the West End stage tonight, though, yes?”
Aziraphale’s face was as luminescent as the North Star with joy. “Oh, yes! Yes, it’s the most incredible of opportunities!” she said with a clap of her hands and a giddy giggle. “The West End!” she exclaimed, waving her hands like there was a great big marque above her head.
“‘Course it is!” said Crowley, taking a sip of her wine and leaning forward a bit. She didn’t mean to be a buzzkill, truly, but…but she didn’t want this to end poorly for Aziraphale, and it would if she didn’t yank the angel back down to Earth from where she was floating in the clouds and get her to think of a plan. “It’s just…they’ve got some awfully big theaters there. Quite a lot of seats to fill,” she said, giving Aziraphale a pointed look.
The angel waved a hand, tittering and preening with excitement like a rooster, as she reached for her own glass of wine sitting on the nearby table. “Not to worry, my dear, I’ve got this completely under control!”
Right. Just like you had the deal in the church completely under control.
“You are, after all, talking to the angel who fooled Nefertiti with a lone caraway seed and three cowrie shells!” Aziraphale proudly crowed just as she swung her arm out and sent a splash of white wine to the floor. “Whoopsie,” she chuckled, face reddening before she flicked her wrist and miracled the mess away.
“Yeah…” said Crowley, her concern for the success of this show growing by the minute.
Deciding she’d had enough wine, Aziraphale went about rooting around for a book she had mentioned earlier. “Ahem. Anyways, I’m sure to impress my audience with this!” she said, holding her prize aloft for Crowley to see. “A tried and true guide for any aspiring conjurer!”
“Hmm,” said Crowley, downing the last of her wine and setting the glass down as she watched Aziraphale thumb through her book of magic tricks with her superfluous but adorable glasses perched on her little nose.
After a moment of nothing but the sound of pages flicking, Crowley flapped a hand impatiently. “Alright. Go on, then. Tell me how you plan to wow these lonely GIs with those silly magic tricks of yours. They were expecting the lovely dancing Ladies of Camelot and now they’ve got you.”
Personally, Crowley thought Aziraphale was exceedingly more interesting, entertaining, and beautiful than any or all the Ladies of Camelot, but she didn’t think the GIs would agree.
Looking a tad harried, Aziraphale plucked her glasses off her face and snapped her book shut. Harsh treatment from a bibliophile. She turned to Crowley, raising a hand that signaled she was about to try to bargain with the demon. “I was thinking that perhaps, I allow myself one eensy-weensy little miracle at the beginning. You know, just to warm the audience –and myself– up. For instance, turning a common turnip…into an inkwell!” she finished grandly with a flourish of her hands.
Crowley stared back at her, trying to maintain a stoney straight face when she was torn between laughing at the absurdity of the idea and springing from her chair to grab the Aziraphale by the sides of her face and kissing the angel on her sweet little nose and then on her plump pink lips. She opened her mouth to say…well, frankly she wasn’t sure, but something to let Aziraphale know that she’d have to go bigger than that if she wanted to impress the soldiers. But before she could, the angel continued.
“Of course, everything I accomplish shall be achieved through skillful conjuring!” There was a soft jingling noise as she rifled through her pockets, presumably seeking a coin or two.
She went on to demonstrate her trick with insufferable little wiggles of her hips, a bit of bouncing on her feet in her excitement. She grinned broadly, her hair gleaming in the warm, low light of the bookshop. Her eyes were wide and her tone high and theatrical as she wound up for the trick and then blew on her fist. When she opened her hand again, sure enough, the coins were gone.
Aziraphale looked so preciously pleased with herself that, once again, the desire to leap out of her seat and capture her lips with her own reared up in Crowley’s mind with overwhelming intensity.
But after nearly six millennia, Crowley was an expert in stifling such desires in moments such as these. She focused, instead, on the reason why Aziraphale was even doing magic tricks so that she could give actual advice. Well, advice but with some gentle ribbing in the process because she couldn’t help herself.
Crowley blinked beneath the cover of her glasses once…twice…and then lowered them to peer over at the angel as she leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Angel…that’s a good trick for a small crowd, or maybe some school kids, but…you’re gonna need something better than that for a show like this.”
Her heart broke as she watched the angel’s face fall. “Oh…yes, right. Of course. You’re right, I…”
“You’re going to need something that really captures their attention, otherwise they’re just going to whistle and catcall you relentlessly and– and I don’t want that to happen.” Mostly because she didn’t think she’d be able to restrain herself from filling all their boots with scorpions. Because she certainly wouldn’t use snakes. Snakes didn’t deserve to be used like that. Or to deal with the next-level stink of soldiers’ shoes. But alright, fine! They’d be the non-venomous kind. A good scare and a nuisance but not injurious. The things she did for her angel…
Aziraphale’s face reddened, her eyes widening again but this time in alarm. “Would they really?”
“Yeah, given that you’re an attractive, curvaceous woman– I mean, that’s how they’d see it! Not– Y’know. Not that I–” Fuck fuck fuck. She attempted to clear her throat, which turned into a cough. “That is to say, you’re going to need something truly dazzling. Something new. Something dramatic!” she explained, flicking her long, painted fingers. “Otherwise they’ll be doing nothing but heckling you to take your clothes off, to do a little spin for ‘em, or something else ridiculous and risque.” And her angel would never. Aziraphale was far too classy for that.
“Oh, dear! Heavens, no! I don’t want that at all!” She then retreated into that brilliant mind of hers, eyes distant as she tried to think of something like what Crowley had described.
Crowley leaned back in her chair once more, considering. “Perhaps we could buy a trick or two?”
At this, Aziraphale seemed to brighten once more. “Well there is Will Gladstone’s quaint little magic shop around the corner, but um” –her eyes swept downward and she fiddled with her signet ring, a tell-tale sign of bashfulness or nervousness or both– “that’s for professional conjurers only.”
Now this Crowley could not abide. Negative self-talk? Self-doubt? Not from her angel. No, that was most certainly not on. This time Crowley did rise from her chair, plucking her glasses from her face and pocketing them.
“Uh-uh. You, my Nefertiti-fooling friend, are about to perform on the West End stage!” she said, striding over to put her hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders and ohhhhh this was a terrible idea because they were so close now. Their faces were inches apart as Crowley looked her square in those big, steely blue eyes. She told her fluttering stomach to fucking shut it and squeezed her angel’s shoulders reassuringly. “If that doesn’t make you a professional conjurer, I don’t know what does.”
Aziraphale stared back at her, something bright and intense gleaming in her eyes. A familiar twinkle of hope and confidence, but perhaps something more that Crowley didn’t dare read further into.
Swallowing, Crowley stepped back and cleared her throat again. “Off to the shop, then?”
“Oh, indeed!” A skip in her step, Aziraphale excitedly took Crowley’s hand, their heels clacking along the floorboards as she tugged her out the door and into the night.
After the Show
As soon as the velvet curtain closed, Crowley was making a beeline for the dressing room backstage and trying not to wobble in her heels as she did so. Her whole body was shaking. Her breaths were short and shallow.
“Never again. Never a-fucking-gain,” she growled to herself, forcibly keeping it together until she shut the door behind her.
Shockingly, Aziraphale was not immediately behind her. Perhaps Mrs. H had kept her to tell her what she thought of the performance. Maybe she’d ask the angel back for more shows.
Since it seemed she had a moment to herself, Crowley took it. She closed her eyes and shook out her trembling hands, sucked in a deep breath and held it for five seconds before she released it in an unsteady stream of cool air. She repeated it two more times.
She fell back onto the sofa and let her head fall back onto the armrest, ran her hands over her face, unbuttoned her blouse and grabbed an old playbill to fan herself with.
A moment later, the door opened and Aziraphale danced in, giddy as a schoolgirl. “There you are, my dear! I got a bit worried when you immediately disappeared after the show.”
“Mmm,” hummed Crowley, slowly sitting up and peering up at Aziraphale. “Here I am,” she said with a weak laugh.
Despite her attempt at aloofness, however, Aziraphale immediately noticed something was off. She came to sit beside the demon, taking the liberty to gently swing Crowley’s legs onto the floor, and frowned. “Is something the matter, Crowley?”
“What?” she blinked back at the angel and shook her head. “No, no. Absolutely not. Just…bit more intense than either of us bargained for, though, eh?” she asked with a nervous titter.
Thankfully, it seemed enough to distract Aziraphale. “Oh, yes, indeed!” she agreed with a sheepish chuckle. “It seemed like the men enjoyed themselves, however.”
“Yeah. Yeah, they did, angel. It went well,” said Crowley, tone softening and lips curling into a reluctant smile.
Aziraphale’s shy smile burst into a radiant beam of delight. “Oh, you really think so?” she asked, gripping the rim of her magician’s hat. At Crowley’s confirmation, she giggled and plucked up a nearby white feathered boa, twirling around as she wrapped it gleefully around her neck with flair.
Crowley watched, legs once more propped up on the sofa, with a smile she forced herself to rein in lest she give herself away. But the angel’s joy was infectious, spreading a blossoming warmth through the demon’s old cockles. Bless it all, she was so angry that this stupid stunt had nearly ended in her shooting her best friend, but to see the happiness it brought Aziraphale…she didn’t regret that. Not for a second.
A knock on the door drew both of their attention, and Aziraphale cheerily called for the visitor to enter. When they did, Crowley felt her blood run cold. Not a problem for serpent Crowley, but it was for human-shaped Crowley.
Furfur, was it? Somebody from Hell, certainly. He smelled of skunk spray and roadkill.
One did not show fear or even interest in any visitor from Hell, however, and so Crowley cranked up the snark until the dial snapped off. Feign aloofness to hide the paralyzing fear and uncertainty lingering beneath like one douses oneself in perfume to hide the smell of sweat or their half-dozen cats.
Furfur could use some perfume.
“Well, well, well,” said Furfur grandly as he strode into the dressing room. “What have we here?” He glanced between the two of them, voice dripping with suspicion and eyes radiating accusation.
Aziraphale’s face pinched (adorably) in confusion. “Sorry, have we met?”
“Oh, no. You’ve never had the pleasure, love.” Crowley bit her tongue hard enough to puncture it to hold herself back from scolding Furfur for addressing her angel like that. It wouldn’t look good for her to do that right now regardless of how much she wanted to. “But we have,” he said, turning his attention to Crowley.
Crowley blinked up at him. Of course they bloody had, but it would make the stupid fawn preen with satisfaction if she admitted it. Again, the key to dealing with fellow demons was to feign disinterest. “Have we?”
Internally, Crowley sniggered as she saw him frown. “Are you– Are you serious? ‘Have we?’ We were in the same legion! Did battle together on the plains of Heaven before the Fall!” She said nothing, determined and eager to see him riled up.
But not all of that was a guise. The serpent found herself bristling at the fact that she truly couldn’t remember any of that. “I remember going into battle,” she said slowly before shaking her head. “But I don’t remember being there with you.” Or anyone else, for that matter. She had the vaguest of recollections of it beginning, of heading for the conflict, and then– Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. “Sorry.”
Furfur huffed. He threw his arms up in indignation. “Seriously? I was right next to ya! And before the Great War we did loads together!” Did they? “Ya used to jump on me back like a monkey. Beg me to give ya ‘piggy-back rides’.”
Aziraphale raised her fair, silvery-white brow, intrigued. “Did she now?”
Noooooo. No no no no no. No, Crowley would never. She’d never! Oh, her stupid bloody angel self had been such a–a– Ugh! She wanted to burrow into a hole like the snake she was and hide in secondhand (firsthand?) embarrassment at her former self.
And was Crowley mistaken or…was there a degree of begrudging fondness in the other demon’s voice?
And AND: why the ever-loving-fuck did Furfur remember all of this while Crowley didn’t recall a blessed thing? Did the other demons remember this much about their angelic lives?
Whatever. Not important right now.
“Anyway,” began Furfur, surprisingly on the same page as Crowley. “Whether ya do or ya don’t, doesn’t matter.”
No. No, it didn’t. And dwelling on it any further would just be painful. Any demon would agree on that.
“Then why, praytell, are you here?” asked Aziraphale, twiddling with the feathers of the boa still wrapped around her neck.
“I was getting to that,” said Furfur, shooting the angel a momentary glare before turning back to Crowley, looking all too pleased with himself. “I'm here to inform you, as a representative of the Higher Powers of Hell, that you, Crowley, are in breach of the Infernal Code.”
Pfffft. Infernal Code? It was more like a set of guidelines than any sort of strict set of rules. To Crowley, anyway. She was sure she’d broken it a dozen times over in a single decade in the past and no one had ever called her on it before. And Furfur was a just nobody trying to be seen by the higher-ups. Trying to nail Crowley for a stupid infraction was his way of saying, ‘hey, look at me!’ As she’d heard the people of the American South say: bless his heart for trying.
Except not really, because Furfur was a kiss ass of the worst calliber.
But ‘consulting and collaborating with an angel,’ as Furfur put it…that certainly was one rule that Hell observed quite strictly.
Shit.
As Furfur struggled with Aziraphale’s name, Crowley felt the icy fingers of dread streaking down her spine, its chilling caress working its way through every bone and vein and muscle until she was shivering from the inside out and trying hard not to visibly shake once more.
She tried to console herself with the knowledge that Furfur wasn’t very bright. He probably had no real proof of this so-called ‘consulting and collaborating’. And if he did, it was probably some bullshit evidence that the Infernal Council would never believe.
“Aziraphale.” The low growl of Aziraphale’s voice as she corrected the idiot had Crowley snapping back to herself and, if she wasn’t so terrified at the thought of being found out and punished (again, and so soon), she would’ve melted at the proud, authoritative voice the angel spoke in. She would’ve imagined what it would do to her if they were in bed together and the angel said something along the lines of, ‘strip for me’ or ‘get between my legs’ instead.
But given that she was terrified, albeit putting on a very brave face to appear like she wasn’t, she didn’t imagine such naughty things. Best she didn’t imagine them ever, given that it was never going to happen.
“Right. Terribly sorry,” said Furfur, not sounding very sorry at all. He didn’t try to correct himself, instead moving on. “Point is,” he said sharply, glaring at Crowley once more, “I’ve caught ya red-handed collaborating with an angel. The enemy! And now, I’m going to–”
“You haven’t, though,” said Crowley, projecting a haughty indifference that she didn’t feel.
Furfur’s declaration shuttered to a violent stop. He blinked back at Crowley. “What?”
“You haven’t caught me red-handed. You have no proof. It’s just pure coincidence. I happened to be here and she happened to ask for a volunteer. I thought it too fun an opportunity to miss.”
And then Furfur whipped out a pamphlet that looked mildly familiar except for the splashes of blood upon it. Still a vibrant red. Still shining in the overbright lights of the vanity mirror.
Still fresh.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.
The grey-haired demon opened the pamphlet with a snobby little huff, and Crowley imagined his fawn form scruffing its little hooves into the ground as his nostrils flared and his little tail wiggled. That’s probably what he did to show off for old Shax. One of the Erics had informed her during her time in Hell after Edinburgh that the two were a Thing. Had been for quite a while. And they were not subtle.
Furfur tapped a passage hard enough to make the blood-damp paper fleck red specks onto the dressing room floor. Aziraphale looked pale and aghast. With an imperious, Ha-Ha I Win voice, the other demon read: “The miraculous Bullet Catch requires the use of a trusted stooge and confidant.”
Well, Crowley was no stooge. But confidant…
Furfur had her there.
Aziraphale sputtered with indignance. “Where did you get that?” she demanded, sounding firm enough that only someone who knew her well enough, like Crowley, would hear the little tremor of fear running beneath the surface like a trickling stream. “That’s only available to working professional magicians such as myself.”
How ever-so-humble of you, angel.
Instead of answering, Furfur called out in German over his shoulder, indicating for another guest (or guests? The ‘sie’ in ‘Kommen sie herein bitte’ could either be a formal ‘Sie’ for a singular guest or the informal ‘sie’ which was uncapitalized and indicated more than one guest) to enter the little dressing room.
Three hideous and familiar figures came stiffly stumbling in, all greenish-gray and wearing tattered and burnt clothes and–crack!
Ope! There went somebody’s tibia.
thump
Aaaaand there went somebody’s…middle finger?
Gross, but sort of poetic, in a way.
“But you’re dead,” said Aziraphale in disbelief at what she was seeing.
“How astute of you,” grumbled Greta.
Aziraphale shot her a withering glare. So bitchy of her. Crowley couldn’t be more proud. Or more in love. But again, best tamp that down for now. Or perhaps she shouldn’t if Furfur was actually on to something here and Crowley was completely and utterly fucked. And not by Aziraphale like she had always hoped.
Once Furfur and Harmony explained things to a horrified Aziraphale, the other demon handed Crowley an envelope. Warily, she opened it and plucked out the infernally polarized photograph tucked inside with nimble, black nails and gave it a once over.
Oh. Oh, this wasn’t good at all.
Satan’s big buggering blustery ballsack, she really was fucked.
Swallowing thickly, as if doing so could also make the well of ice-cold fear flooding her body, drowning her in panic, evaporate into the air, Crowley silently tucked the photograph away again and handed the envelope to Aziraphale.
The angel scrutinized it carefully. As she did, Furfur explained the miracle block before motioning for Crowley to get up. “So. As you can see, there’s no need to delay any further.” He held out an impatient and expectant hand toward Aziraphale, waiting for her to return the evidence. Taking her time to slip the photograph back into the envelope and giving him a nasty side-eye for rushing her, Aziraphale handed it back. “Shall we, then?” he said, again turning to Crowley.
Crowley scoffed. “Oh, no, we shan’t,” she drawled, flopping back onto the lounge sofa dramatically, plopping her hat over her face and folding her arms across her chest. “This is ridiculous. Not going anywhere,” she added, the sound muffled from beneath the hat. There. No one could see how truly terrified she was underneath the wide brim.
The indignation she could feel radiating from the other demon was almost satisfying enough to offset the terror. Almost.
“No!” Furfur cried, leering over her. She knew because the scent of skunk spray and roadkill grew more pungent. Eye-wateringly strong. “What’s ridiculous is demons like you getting to do whatever they please and never getting a single reprimand for failing to meet soul quotas, turning up late to performance reviews, completely failing to turn up to mandatory training, or avoiding any of that other stupid bureaucratic shite! All the while, demons like me toil away for millennia, breaking our backs without even a sniff of a promotion!” shouted Furfur, no doubt jabbing accusatory fingers or stomping those little hoofie-woofiekins. Crowley was glad for the hat which helped to hold back the fetid smell pouring from Furfur’s mouth with every whiny little word.
“Well, not this time!” he cried, probably with an epic final flourish of his hands.
“Are you quite done?” deadpanned Aziraphale in the bitchiest tone Crowley had ever heard. Satan, how she loved when her angel got sassy.
Choosing to ignore Aziraphale, Furfur pronounced that a Legion was going to come for Crowley ‘first thing tomorrow.’
“Yeah, yeah.” Crowley waved her hand like shooing away a fly. Furfur and his rancid zombies were going to draw swarms of them if they didn’t leave soon. “Run along back to your Mistress, little fawn.”
She could practically hear the way Furfur’s rotting yellow teeth ground together like chalk. She thought she heard him stamp his foot and held back a snigger. “Enjoy your last night on Earth, Crowley,” sneered Furfur before he and the zombies retreated. She heard them chatting for a moment– well, arguing more like. The air tingled with the buzz of demonic energy, and Crowley figured Furfur was gone. A moment later, the zombies shuffled off, stopping momentarily to pick up the fallen limbs from earlier in addition to a freshly fallen arm that thumped to the ground.
“You can come out now. They’re gone,” Aziraphale called softly from above, and the demon warily peeked out from underneath her hat to look at the angel.
“I know that,” she grumbled, sitting up slowly and resettling the hat on top of her fiery red curls coiffed in the latest fashion. It was even more difficult now to keep the tremor out of her voice or her limbs. She had a feeling her face was paler than usual despite having hidden it under the warm cover of her hat for the last few minutes.
Aziraphale was standing in front of her, trying to project an aura of calm and reassurance. It did nothing to warm the chill that seeped deep under her skin, her bones, her blood and marrow and far beneath to her very soul. After all, she’d only have it until morning. “Crowley–”
“‘M fine,” the demon grumbled as she swung her legs over the couch and onto the floor. She pushed herself up and sauntered toward the door. “Let’s just–”
“No, you’re not,” Aziraphale sternly replied from behind in a tone Crowley had seldom heard before. Crowley had a feeling she had her hands on her hips. It made her stop mid-stride and turn around, brows raised. “You’re not fine, you’re terrified.”
At this, Crowley snorted and waved a hand at Aziraphale. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Aziraphale’s brow was arched high and her eyes were piercing. There was no hiding from that look. And yep, her hands were, in fact, on her hips.
“It’s alright if you are, you know. I know I would be,” she more gently replied, a warm and soft hand grasping Crowley’s. The demon sucked in a breath, holding it as she forgot for a long moment how human lungs operated. “But, Crowley, you–”
Lungs operating once more, Crowley tugged the angel towards the door. “Would very much like to go back to the bookshop and drink extraordinary amounts of alcohol. Nothing like spending my last night on Earth getting absolutely soused.” It’s what the two of them did most nights, and Crowley couldn’t think of a better way to spend her last hours. Nor better company to spend them with, either.
“And we can, but first, you must know–” Aziraphale insisted, digging her heels in and pulling Crowley back and away from the door.
Crowley blinked at her for a moment, trying to figure what she meant, and then rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re out of alcohol,” she moaned, astounded and horrified and annoyed all at once. Because when did the angel ever run out of alcohol?
“Stop interrupting me, you chattering fool, and listen!” cried Aziraphale, this time yanking Crowley’s hand and causing the demon to fully turn and gape at her in surprise. All of this was so utterly unlike her.
And when Crowley saw the look of fierce determination in her eyes, how could she refuse her angel?
When she seemed satisfied that Crowley wasn’t going to stalk off or interrupt her again, Aziraphale took Crowley’s other hand and gave them both a squeeze. “If you’d still like to drink yourself into a stupor after this, you’re welcome to do so. However, you don’t have to worry about it being your last night on Earth. Or in existence.”
While Crowley knew that Aziraphale, by nature of being an angel, was ever the optimist, even she shouldn’t be so stupid as to think there was any possible way out of this for Crowley. With a disbelieving and bitter laugh, Crowley quirked a brow at her. “And how do you figure that?” she asked, humoring the angel because she found such great joy in humoring Aziraphale. It’s why she rescued her time and time again, why she took her out to dinner, why she saved her books from that church bombing... Pleasing Aziraphale made her happier than anything else.
“Because Furfur doesn’t have any evidence. He’ll get Down There to deliver his so-called ‘smoking gun,’ –the photograph, that is–”
“Yes, angel, I know what ‘smoking gun’ means. And please, no gun references. Had enough of those for one evening.” She had to fight back a shiver as the memory of aiming a gun at her angel’s head flashed before her eyes. The feel of the cold metal trigger; the weight of the barrel in her hand...
Aziraphale’s eyes softened in understanding and she gave Crowley’s hands another, gentler squeeze. “Of course, my dear. As I was saying, Furfur will go to show the photograph to this Infernal Council or whatever your lot calls it and it won’t be there.”
Crowley’s eyes widened as the implications sank in. She felt an all-new sort of shudder go through her. “Aziraphale…what did you do?”
“Oh, just a little…” Reaching into her pocket, Aziraphale whipped out the damning photograph in question and held it aloft with a flourish and a giddy little giggle. The smile on her face was precious, a most proud and bastardly one that made Crowley want to smother it with her lips. “...sleight of hand.”
“You– You switched it out…” croaked Crowley in disbelief. “But– But there was a miracle blocker–”
“Which is why I didn’t use any miracle, but rather my professional conjuring skills! As I said, sleight of ha–hand,” Aziraphale chirped, frowning and blushing adorably as she tried to repeat the trick with the photo by giving it a little flick of the wrist. Except instead of achieving the trick, the card flopped onto the floor. “Well,” she finished lamely with a sheepish, tittering laugh, “it worked when it mattered.”
“That it did,” said Crowley, feeling all sorts of overwhelming emotions all at once and unsure which one or ones she wanted to let brim to the surface. “I–” And then a most incredulous, hysterical laugh bubbled forth and Crowley let herself shake her head fondly and smile. “You truly are terrible at magic.”
Aziraphale responded with an insufferably endearing little pout. Not fair. “And here I thought I just might get a ‘thank you’ for my efforts,” she whined, but Crowley could see the smile underneath, tugging at the corners of her lips to break free.
“Given that you’ve saved me from being doused in Holy Water, I suppose it’s the least I can do,” said Crowley, dropping Aziraphale’s hands so she could wrap her arms around the angel’s waist.
Sod it all! Last day on Earth or not, Crowley wasn't going to wait any longer! With a tug, she pulled Aziraphale flush against her, their breasts pressing together, and kissed her fiercely.
Aziraphale gave a little ‘yip’ of surprise, arms flailing for a moment before coming to drape over Crowley’s shoulders and pulling her even closer.
Crowley’s hands couldn’t seem to figure out where they wanted to go. One moment they were clutching at the angel’s supple waist, then they were roving over her back, then they were threading through her hair and cupping her cheek. Combing through the long, cloud-like curls of silver-blonde hair seemed to be what they enjoyed most, as they did not stray further. Crowley’s long, black-painted nails scritched gently at Aziraphale’s scalp, eliciting happy hums in return.
She felt like she was up in the inky vastness of space, hanging stars and painting galaxies once more, floating and happy and surrounded by color and warmth. She didn’t want to ever return to orbit, but alas Aziraphale pulled away. Still in a daze, Crowley owlishly blinked her eyes open to look at her darling angel.
“Oh,” murmured Aziraphale, blue-gray eyes sparkling with unshed tears. But not the unhappy kind. Her face was flushed, her pupils were blown wide, her hair was tousled due to Crowley’s efforts, and yet she looked more beautiful than ever.
Crowley felt tears welling up in her own eyes as she stared back. “Oh,” she dumbly replied, realizing at the same time the same thing that Aziraphale was realizing.
They loved each other.
She wasn’t sure who reached first this time, who initiated things, but it didn’t matter. Next thing Crowley knew, Aziraphale had gathered the long-legged demon up in her arms, sweeping everything laying about on the vanity aside in a primal and impatient display that went straight to Crowley’s cunt. The angel deposited the demon on the now-empty vanity. Crowley eagerly made to spread her legs so Aziraphale could slot between them, but quickly realized there was a slight problem there.
“Mmm– My skirt,” she panted in between bruising kisses.
Aziraphale paused, gazing down, and frowned. “Are you partial to it?”
Crowley blinked. “What? Oh, um…no? Hold on, I’ll just–”
Before she could try to unfasten it, there was a tug at her skirt, followed by a tearing sound. Crowley’s mouth fell open as she looked down and saw the angel ripping the fabric down the center with her bare fucking hands.
“Az– Aziraphale!”
Fuck, if she wasn’t already wet, she certainly was now. Absolutely quivering with need, really.
“Christ, you’re an impatient one!” the demon gasped, wondering if she was discorporating after all as Aziraphale brushed aside the torn fabric of her skirt and gave her thighs a squeeze.
“Complaining?” Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow.
Crowley snapped her mouth shut and shook her head.
The angel huffed in amusement as she began stroking Crowley’s thighs in a soothing rhythm that made Crowley’s heart thunder in her chest. “So that’s how to get you to shut that snarky mouth of yours.” She leaned in for another searing kiss.
Crowley was more than happy to let her, busying her own hands with peeling away the layers of clothes blocking her from touching her angel’s delicate skin. Except Aziraphale didn’t seem to want her to, because she pulled away again to give Crowley a Look that the demon didn’t have the mental capacity to detail at the moment before grabbing Crowley’s slender wrists and pinning them behind her back.
A moment later, feathers brushed across her wrists so lightly that it made her shiver. Her eyes widened and the molten center of her pulsed with arousal as she realized what Aziraphale was doing. Apparently, the angel really knew her knots because she deftly secured Crowley’s wrists with what must be the white feathered boa she’d been wearing earlier.
Aziraphale leaned back to appraise her handiwork and nodded in satisfaction. Her eyes returned to Crowley’s, searching for any sign of discomfort or alarm. She cradled Crowley’s cheek and stroked a thumb over it with a reverence Crowley could’ve never imagined being directed at her. “Oh dear, I should’ve asked first. Is that– is that alright?” she asked, the confident veneer slipping away as she backtracked to ensure Crowley’s comfort and consent. “Do I have your permission to continue, or shall I–?”
Seeing the angel beginning to fret, Crowley swallowed the lump in her throat that tender caress had caused and found her voice. “Yes, yes, you have my permission! It’s alright! I– Ngk–” Her cheeks burned and she averted her gaze as shyness, of all things, overcame her.
But Aziraphale merely beamed back at her. “Ah, it’s affecting you, is it?”
Crowley swallowed and nodded.
Aziraphale giggled and clapped her hands. “Marvelous! And the binding isn’t too tight, is it, darling?”
The demon only grew redder at the endearment as she shook her head. “No, it's –hnnn– secure.”
“Excellent!” said Aziraphale with a blinding smile before she seemed to slip back into the role she had, at some point, taken on during this exchange. Her smile dimmed, turning a little more mischievous and predatory as she leaned in, locking eyes with Crowley. “Now don’t you dare break it trying to wrestle yourself free, is that clear, darling?”
Crowley licked her dry lips as she recognized the tone as the one Aziraphale had used earlier when correcting Furfur and nodded. “Yes, angel.”
Fuck fucking fuckity fuck.
Bossy angel giving orders and tying Crowley up while she had her wicked way with her? It was everything Crowley had ever hoped for and more.
Even if she was safe from Hell’s ire, she might find her death tonight at the hands (or mouth, or fingers, or all three, fuck!) of Aziraphale.
Crowley squirmed with growing need as she watched Aziraphale unbutton her blouse, untuck it from her skirt, and reveal Crowley’s heaving chest.
Aziraphale wasted no time diving in to kiss along Crowley’s shoulder and collarbone. “Perhaps in the future I’ll take my time here and kiss each individual freckle.”
The future? Stars above, Aziraphale was already thinking about the future. Their future. Together.
“Hrrnnnhhh, angel, you can’t– You can’t just say things like that,” moaned Crowley, wishing she could sink her fingers into those white-blonde curls and tug.
A hot puff of air tickled her skin as Aziraphale chuckled in amusement. “I don’t think you’re in any position to stop me, my dear.”
“Such a bastard,” muttered Crowley, but they both knew she loved it. She could feel the way Aziraphale’s lips curled into a smile as they dipped between the gentle swells of her breasts, right over her heart.
And then Aziraphale was yanking down her bra and kissing there, too, her mouth closing around her nipple and–
“Ahhh-A-Angel!” she whined, squirming as Aziraphale’s tongue swirled around the hardening bud.
Once she had thoroughly teased it, Aziraphale continued the sweet torture by moving to Crowley’s other nipple. She hummed in appreciation, the vibrations coursing through Crowley like an earthquake and making her mewl. This delighted the angel further, leading her to nip at the sensitive flesh with her teeth.
Bucking and raving, Crowley’s eyes fluttered shut and her head fell back against the mirror behind her.
But that proved to be only the beginning, as Aziraphale’s lips soon began sauntering vaguely downwards, pausing at all the best, most delicious bits of Crowley to sample and to savor the pale, freckled expanse of skin.
As she got to Crowley’s stomach, rising and falling with rapid breaths, Aziraphale got to her knees and wrapped her arms around Crowley’s thighs to tug her forward onto the edge of the counter. Crowley let out a yelp of surprise and scrabbled for purchase, instinctively trying to protect herself from falling and unable to due to being bound, but of course Aziraphale wasn’t going to let that happen.
“Remember not to damage that boa, dearest,” Aziraphale tutted from between her legs, and Crowley groaned in a mix of frustration and desire.
“Oh,” said Aziraphale softly, seeming to realize something. Crowley swallowed with an audible click. “My ordering you about does something to you, doesn’t it?” Blue-gray eyes snapped up to meet hers, making Crowley’s breath catch, and then the angel winked.
“Ngk,” grunted Crowley, trying not to further incriminate herself and certainly not having much to say to refute the accusation to begin with.
Again, Aziraphale giggled and planted a tender kiss on Crowley’s thigh just above where her stockings ended. “Good to know.”
“Vixen,” muttered Crowley. How had the angel wound up with all the cards? Literally and figuratively? Dammit, now Crowley was making stupid jokes, too.
“I think you like it,” said Aziraphale as she began unclipping Crowley’s stockings from her girdle. The demon took a deep, unsteady breath as she watched. The feathers on the boa tickled her wrists; a delicate sensation heightened by Crowley’s want. Every bit of skin tingled, set alight by Aziraphale’s touch.
“No comment,” said Crowley, biting her lip as the last clip was undone and Aziraphale rolled back the material. The angel-turned-magician gripped Crowley’s knees, spread her legs further apart, and leaned in like she was going to…
Those beautiful storm-blue eyes rose to meet Crowley’s liquid gold ones from between her slender thighs. “Go on, then, darling, take your pleasure.”
And then Aziraphale performed the most devious of magic tricks, making Crowley blink in shock and disbelief as she rose back to her feet, stepped back, and offered her thigh.
“Wha– What?”
“Use my thigh. Let me see you work those sinful hips of yours,” the angel explained, exuding patience and amusement as she watched Crowley struggle to comprehend. She gripped Crowley’s hips and tugged her pointedly onto her lap so she was straddling one thigh.
Crowley stammered a string of incomprehensible consonants. When she failed to move, Aziraphale took it upon herself to coax her into doing so by leaning in and nipping at Crowley’s earlobe. The pinch of sensitive flesh had the demon inadvertently rolling her hips with a soft moan. Her face heated as the movement made her realize just how damp her panties had gotten. Aziraphale’s trousers were about to be ruined, too.
And oh, the friction. It was almost too much and yet not nearly enough.
Aziraphale’s hands remained on Crowley’s hips, a grounding and enticing pressure that kept her rooted in the moment as Crowley got into a rhythm, despite the mounting pleasure that threatened to send her floating away into the stars.
As that pleasure grew, she began to grind faster, harder, her small breasts heaving with her panting breaths. Aziraphale held her steady, whispered praise and encouragement, and uttered unseemly things into her ear that Crowley would’ve never imagined her angel saying before.
Aziraphale was also peppering her face, neck, and chest with kisses and love bites as her thumbs kneaded circles into her skin. “You’re stunning like this, Crowley, darling,” she said as she suckled at the juncture between neck and shoulder with such fervor that Crowley knew there would be marks left behind.
The thought made her hips snap again. “Fuck, angel…Never knew you were so…so…nnnnghhh,” said Crowley, too flustered and worked up to even finish the thought, to Aziraphale’s great amusement.
“Sorry, what was that?” the angel asked with feigned innocence that once again showed how much of a snarky little shit she could be.
Unable to do much else, Crowley growled and leaned in to nip at Aziraphale’s bottom lip, aiming to turn it into a full-blown kiss as she ground down on that supple thigh, except Aziraphale wasn’t done teasing her yet.
“Ah ah ah, I’m headlining this show, my dear. You do what I say and not whatever you like.”
“Nyuuugh. So bossy,” said Crowley with a pout as she snapped her hips in desperation, chasing her orgasm with harried determination.
A pinch of her nipple and Crowley gasped, back arching. “Manners, Crowley. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”
Crowley let out a string of incomprehensible guttural sounds, unable to focus on anything but that gentle yet commanding tone and the warm, plush, giving flesh between her legs.
“If words are failing you, my sweet serpent, let’s put that mouth to better use, hmm?” cooed Aziraphale in a low, sultry voice that made Crowley’s cunt throb and her mind cloud with lust. Aziraphale reeled her in like a fish, Crowley helpless to resist the pull and unwilling to try even if she could. Again, their lips crashed together in a wet and passionate kiss as Crowley ground down, chasing the climax that was so close.
As they parted, Aziraphale’s hands roved upward, stroking her waist and then circling her nipples with the pads of her fingers and fuuuuck she was going to come! She wasn’t even fully naked, Aziraphale hadn’t even properly touched her, and she was going to come like a horny pubescent teen in her blessed panties.
But at least she was coming on Aziraphale. For Aziraphale.
The angel pressed her thumbnails into the rosy, pebbled buds and Crowley’s whole back arched. She let out a cry of pleasure that earned her a rewarding peck on the cheek and a comment about the lovely sounds she made that certainly helped things along.
Crowley’s legs quivered and her clit throbbed as she continued to ride Aziraphale’s thigh, Aziraphale busying herself by toying with her tits and sucking another hickey on Crowley’s neck beneath her ear, near her snake tattoo.
“Angel…oh, angel, I’m– I’m gonna–”
“Go on, then, dearest. Come for me. Let me see you.”
Sweet suffering Sappho, Aziraphale was telling her to come!
With that, Crowley’s rhythm faltered and she came, hard, with a cry of Aziraphale’s name. Her orgasm pulsed through her in waves from where their bodies met all the way down to her toes, consuming her whole corporation. It was the kind of toe-curling orgasm that she’d never been able to bring herself to whenever she thought of entangling with Aziraphale like this. Her vision went white and her ears buzzed before she came back to herself, whining as the boneless bliss of a perfect orgasm began to fade, to the sound of Aziraphale whispering soothing platitudes. She collapsed against her lovely angel’s supple breasts, face nuzzled into the soft juncture between neck and shoulder as she panted. Hot breath and sweaty cheeks rubbing against the cool fabric of Aziraphale’s outfit and the smooth skin of her shoulder.
For a moment, the room was still but for the heavy panting and tiny mewls Crowley made as Aziraphale held her, stroking her back while she regained enough air in her corporation to think straight.
“Oh, Crowley, you were marvelous, darling. Such a vision to watch,” purred Aziraphale, pulling back in order to steal a kiss that Crowley was a bit too dazed to fully return with the ardor she wished to convey for her angel. Aziraphale reached back around Crowley and untied the boa, tossing it aside and taking the demon’s bony wrists in her hands.
“Just beautiful,” Aziraphale continued, making Crowley blush as she massaged her freed wrists.
Crowley sighed, letting her eyes close and pulling her arms free to drape them over Aziraphale’s shoulders. She burrowed her face into the angel’s chest with a satisfied groan. “You’re beautiful,” she mumbled, knowing it was a pretty lame compliment after the incredible orgasm Aziraphale had provoked with her voice and the generous meat of her thigh. “Always thought so,” she added as her breathing slowed and her mind grew pleasantly numb. “Bet you’re even beautifuller when you come.”
Aziraphale’s chest rumbled with a laugh as she stroked Crowley’s back. “Beautifuller isn’t a word, darling.”
“It is now,” slurred Crowley. “I declare it.”
The laugh grew heartier before Aziraphale hoisted her satiated demon up into her arms and brought her back to the sofa, laying her down. “Why don’t I get changed, you get dressed, and we’ll head back to the bookshop for a good nightcap?”
“Mmmm…that sounds lovely,” said Crowley dreamily. “But I’m definitely gonna make you come first.”
“Right now the only thing you seem to be ready to make me do is carry you out the door.”
“The drive back in the Bentley’ll wake me up, don’t worry,” said Crowley with a wave of her hand. “By the time we get back, I’ll be rearing to go.”
With a chuckle full of warm fondness, Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s hair before stepping away to get changed. Meanwhile, Crowley lay boneless on the sofa and watched with the most damnable look of hopeless adoration in her eyes.