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Chapter Text

Azi knew he was well-hidden in the thicket. His siblings never ventured beyond the tree line, and even if they did, they wouldn’t easily see him in the hollow stump he had found. He shifted in its comfortable slope and thumbed the remaining pages in his book. Their number had been dwindling all afternoon, and Azi thought he might just have time to find out the ultimate fate of the shipwrecked family before he was missed at the cottage for pre-dinner chores.

He had just lost himself in the story again when the silence of the woods was pierced by a loud fragment of birdsong. The fragment repeated twice more, the beautiful melody evolving slightly each time. Azi looked up and around to spot the culprit, but saw nothing. When he returned his attention to his book, he was startled to find a small, brown bird perched on the edge of his tree stump, eyeing him curiously. 

A nightingale, he thought. Rare, but not unheard-of in that area. 

Azi never knew wild songbirds to be anything but wary towards humans, but this one seemed undaunted. It hopped from the stump directly onto the upper edge of Azi’s book, mere inches from his face. They considered each other in silence, Azi motionless and hardly breathing, the nightingale tipping its head with quick movements. It must have been satisfied with what it found, as it gave another loud warble of its enchanting song directly at him. 

Azi fancied it sounded like a question. 

Before he could answer, the bird gave a parting chirp and disappeared lightning-quick into the treetops.  

Azi was so taken aback by the strange encounter that he found he could not return his attention to his book. He stared at his page for a few more minutes, but the words did not seem to want to enter his head. 

He closed the book with a sigh and returned it to its hiding place, wrapped carefully in an oilskin and tucked up against the inside of the stump. The shadows were lengthening, in any case; he may as well make his way home.

That night, Azi had a dreadfully strange dream. 

He dreamt he was lying in the grass on the bank of a small, burbling stream. It was night time, and the air was cool on his face. He was looking up at the night sky, a vast, distant void with rivers of twinkling lights spilled carelessly across it. 

As he stargazed, a light breeze began to move through his hair. Soon, he realised the breeze was starting to form itself into whispers, as though many low voices were speaking to him from a distance. He listened hard as the whispers slowly swirled and took shape, coalescing into a single low murmur. 

“Azi,” said the wind. Its gentle breath tickled his hair. 

“Come, Azi.” The wind condensed further until it felt like a hand running through his pale curls. “Come. Come.” 

Azi looked around in fright. He had the sense of a black shadow in the edges of his sight, but as he turned his head he could not pin it down. 

He touched his hair, and felt something in it, tucked behind his ear. He pulled it out and saw that it was a beautiful flame-red rose. 

Suddenly, he felt a single cool finger run up the back of his neck, making him gasp and shiver. 

Azi awoke still gasping. 

Morning sunlight was filtering through the thin linen of the curtains. It took Azi a few moments to clear his head of the dream and recognise the simple, worn furnishings of the tiny bedroom he shared with his older brother. 

The other side of the narrow bed was empty, the patched quilt tucked neatly in. Gabriel was already up, then. That meant Azi was late for his morning chores; there was no time to linger on the dream. He shook its remnants from his head and rose to start his day.

Azi rushed through his ablutions and quickly dressed himself. When he entered the main room of the small cottage, he found all three of his siblings sitting around the table. They all turned to look at him as one.

“There you are, you lie-a-bed.” Michaela’s voice was as sharp and judgmental as ever. Urielle smirked next to her.

“Azi, will you please sit?” Gabriel sounded impatient and distracted. “We’ve been waiting for you.” 

“Yes, Azi,” said Urielle. “Rude to keep your brother waiting.”

Azi warily took his seat. As familiar as the needling was, the situation was a strange one. At this time of morning they should be finishing their breakfast and getting on with the menial work of the homestead, not sitting idly about an empty table. 

Gabriel nodded in satisfaction as soon as Azi sat, and cleared his throat.

“I have some important news to share with you all. I received a letter in this morning’s post carrying a message of great interest. It is from a solicitor in the North, who writes to report that there is a piece of Father’s estate we were not aware of. It is enough to settle the last of his debts, and much more besides.” He paused meaningfully. “Enough, I dare say, to repair our standing to what it once was.”

His sisters gasped, their eyes wide, and exchanged a look. Azi was having trouble wrapping his sleep-addled head around their elder brother’s words. 

“Sisters, brother, the Lord smiles on us once more, as I knew He would.” Gabriel was grinning grandly now. “I must travel North immediately and answer this claim, of course. It is about two days’ ride in each direction, plus time for me to conduct my business. I will ask old lady Nutter down the way to check in on you while I am gone, but I trust you will get by for a few days under your own counsel.” He frowned at Azi. “You will heed your older sisters, and attend diligently to your work. Am I understood?” 

“Yes, brother.” 

Michaela and Urielle tittered.

Azi felt himself reddening in embarrassment under his brother’s withering gaze. This would not be a pleasant experience. His typical stumbling would bring him even more chastisement than usual if his sisters were in charge of delivering it.

“I shall return as soon as my business is concluded and the gold is secured. It is the dawn of a new era for us, my siblings. Our family name will be burnished back to its rightful shine, and we will finally be able to return to the city and live among polite society once again, as we deserve.”

“New dresses!” Michaela gasped.

“Proper jewels!” moaned Urielle.

Gabriel laughed. “You shall have all that and more, sisters. In fact, I will bring some back for you as gifts, in celebration, when I return with our fortune. Perhaps they can even serve as a foundation for your dowries.”

The sisters clasped their hands together and laughed in excitement and relief. Azi knew they were desperate to leave the countryside and marry rich gentlemen in the city, returning to a semblance of the life they knew before Father passed. It sounded like they would soon get their wish.

“And you, little brother? What gift shall I bring for your dowry?” 

Gabriel was teasing him. Azi felt himself blush maddeningly once again. His sisters giggled. 

Azi didn’t understand the appeal of clothes and jewels, as he had no one to impress. The only thing he could think of that he might want was storybooks, and he knew that if he asked for those his brother would laugh in his face.

“I wish for nothing, Gabriel, save for your safe return.”

His sisters sniffed as though he had personally insulted them. Gabriel stared at him strangely.

“Are you quite sure, brother?”

Azi felt a familiar feeling. He was being strange again, in a way that made others uncomfortable. He wished he were back in his thicket.

“W-well,” he stuttered, trying to think of something beautiful to ask for that would not be too costly. Suddenly, he thought of his strange dream. “Perhaps a rose?”

Gabriel still looked sceptical, but he was also quickly losing interest. 

“As you like. Well, enough chatter. We have work to do, to prepare for my departure.”

His siblings stood and left to attend to their business. Azi sat a moment longer, staring unseeingly at a knot in the worn surface of the oak table. 

The consequences of Gabriel’s news started truly to sink in. Although they had been forced here by poverty, Azi had come to enjoy the gentle countryside around their little cottage, with its quiet solitude. And now, it seemed, he was about to lose it. Returning to the city - to the terrifying bustle of Society - would be frightful. 

To make matters worse, he had recently reached the age of majority, and if they were returning to Society he would surely be expected to find a suitable wife. He tried to picture a fine lady at his side, hair curled and waist cinched tight, smiling on his arm. The idea filled him with an unnameable dread. 

Yes, this was a disaster. And he only had a few days to prepare himself for it.

Azi spent the next several days keeping his head down and attending to his chores, doing his best to avoid his sisters. He had limited success. 

Michaela and Urielle watched him carefully, looking for faults they could punish. If they found none, they were happy enough to invent reasons to punish him anyway. This punishment mostly took the form of making him do chores that were rightfully theirs, while they gossiped and preened in the shade of the garden awning.

The extra work exhausted Azi’s body, and the looming cataclysm exhausted his mind. He tried to soothe his nerves by taking himself out to the tree stump as often as he dared, which was quite a bit less than usual. 

Azi thought about the nightingale each day, wondering what question it had asked him, but he did not see or hear it again. He thought, too, about the unsettling dream that had followed its visit. He could not help but feel that these two events were connected, and that they were omens of some kind. Perhaps not good ones, given that they had immediately preceded the news of the inheritance. 

But nothing else out of the ordinary happened, and his musings went unanswered.

Finally, the day came when Gabriel returned. It was late afternoon, almost evening time. Azi was out back weeding the vegetable garden when he heard Michaela calling for him excitedly. He joined his sisters at the front stoop to watch their brother’s approach. 

Gabriel’s handsome face was triumphant, and his saddle bags bulged promisingly. He barely had a chance to dismount before Michaela and Urielle were pulling at the bags, finding heavy sacks of jewels and gold coins. They rejoiced and embraced each other. 

Azi watched them awkwardly from a few paces back. It seemed that Gabriel had been successful, and that Azi’s world was, indeed, about to change once more.

“Sisters. Brother,” Gabriel greeted them, pulling his hat off his head and wiping his brow. “As you can see, I have returned with riches beyond measure, as promised! But, er, not quite the way I had anticipated. My journey was a bit of a strange one. Come, help me unpack, and I will tell you the story over supper.”

“My journey North passed much as I expected it would. The road was dry and the weather fine, and I found a good inn to stay at overnight. I made good time. But when I reached the town named in the solicitor’s letter, I could not find his address, and no one seemed to know his name. I exhausted every line of inquiry in vain, and once that was done, I had no choice but to set back out for home.”

Azi and his sisters exchanged confused glances

“But, the gold…” said Michaela.

“And the jewels,” added Urielle.

“Well,” said Gabriel, “that’s the good bit. On my way back, I took a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in a place I didn't recognise. The road I was following ran through the woods, and ended suddenly at a wide park upon which stood a great mansion. I was about to turn around and retrace my steps, when I noticed that the garden in front of the mansion was full of roses. I remembered that Azi had wanted a rose for some reason, so I bent to cut one of them, thinking I could at least return home with that.

“Just as I cut the rose, a man appeared before me, seemingly out of nowhere. Well, he had the general shape of a man, but his appearance was strange and terrible. He told me he was the lord of the mansion, and berated me most strongly for taking his rose. I can’t imagine why, since the garden was full of others, and it was just one of many. Rather greedy, if you ask me. In any case, I explained that my brother had insisted I return home with a gift of a rose, and that I was just trying to humour him. 

“That was when the strange man explained that he was a demon of great power, and could strike me dead on the spot for the theft of the rose. But, fortunately, he was willing to make a deal. He promised to let me live and return home, with my saddle bags full of riches, and all I had to do in return was send him Azi.”

Azi’s fork froze on its way to his mouth.

His sisters turned and stared at him.

“That seems like a fair trade,” said Michaela.

“Yes, I mean, have you seen the size of those jewels?” added Urielle.

“You agree, right, Azi?” said Gabriel. “Surely you wouldn’t deprive your sisters of the life of comfort that they deserve? And anyway, the demon promised he would not harm you.”

“Well, then, there you go. I think that settles it,” said Michaela.

“Yes, I mean, he did promise,” agreed Urielle.

Azi’s thoughts were racing. The decision appeared to have already been made, and in any case, he couldn’t risk Gabriel’s life by breaking the deal. And… well… hadn’t he been praying for a way out of the life they were about to return to? He hadn’t exactly envisioned a demon in the bargain, but at least this way he probably wouldn’t end up trapped in a marriage to a woman he would never love.

“I’ll do it,” he heard himself say.

“Wonderful,” exclaimed Gabriel, and slapped him on the back. “All you have to do is put on this magic ring” - he produced the item from his pocket - “and turn the stone three times, and you’ll be transported to the mansion.” He held the ring out to Azi.

“Wait, you don’t mean right now?”

“No time like the present, little brother.”

His three siblings stared at him expectantly. 

He thought of his meagre possessions, and how there was nothing of any real value for him to miss. He thought of his siblings, and how their future happiness was all down to him. And he thought of the empty place in his heart, and how there was no one who would grieve his absence.

Azi looked down at the enchanted ring, and began to turn the stone.

Chapter Text

It was dark out, too dark to see much of the mansion. Azi stared at the ornately-carved front door and wondered what to do. 

Seeing no bell, he lifted his hand to knock, but the moment his knuckles touched the wood, the door swung inward seemingly of its own accord. 

He stepped into the dim hall. The air was cool and still, and smelled strangely ancient. The walls were all of a dark stone which seemed to absorb the light. There was little in the way of furnishings, with one notable exception: at the far end of the hall sat a baroque throne of red and gold.

Azi walked forward hesitantly, his heart thumping against his ribs. His fear seemed only to spur him on. “Hello,” he called out quietly. And then, a little louder, “is anyone there?”

Only his echo replied. 

Azi ventured further into the hall, curious and a little bolder now, thinking to get a closer look at the throne.

From one moment to the next, it went from being empty to having a man in it. 

No, not a man, he thought. A demon.

The demon was lounging carelessly sideways in the throne rather than sitting in it properly. He was long and thin, and dressed all in terribly elegant and close-fitting black clothes. He had a shock of red hair that licked upwards from his head like a flame. He looked surprisingly young, not much older than Azi. His skin was pale and his features were fine, with high cheekbones and a sharp nose. But of the greatest note were his eyes. 

Azi had never seen such eyes before. They were large and well-formed, but the centres of them were a queer golden colour that reflected the light, and the pupils were inhumanly long slits that made him look like nothing so much as a serpent.

Those terrifying eyes were fixed on him, and Azi found that he could not look away. He felt pinned beneath them like prey.

“Well, hello there,” the demon drawled in a voice that was smooth and enticing. His strange gaze broke loose and drifted curiously across Azi’s body.

Azi swallowed. “Hello. I’m… Azi.”

The demon smiled like Azi had said something funny. 

“Yes, I see that.”

“My brother Gabriel said you were expecting me, Mr…?”

The demon was still smiling as though at a secret joke.

“Just Crowley. And I know who you are, Azi.” There was a distinct hiss on his name.

“Ah. Well. Good. Er, pleased to meet you, Crowley,” he managed.

“Indeed?” He lifted a single shapely eyebrow. “You astonish me. People are rarely pleased to meet me.”

Crowley rolled his neck and uncurled his long body from the throne. 

Azi resolved not to show any fear as the demon approached. He breathed deeply and lifted his chin, not looking away from those hypnotising snake-eyes.

Crowley advanced with a sinuous gait until he was right in front of Azi. At this close distance, Azi could tell that the demon was somewhat taller than him. He smelled of something smokey and slightly spicy that Azi could not place, but which was not unpleasant.

The demon stared at Azi appraisingly. 

“So. You have agreed to come here, of your own free will? To live with me, as my… companion?”

Azi nodded. He supposed that was true.

“Hmm.” Crowley’s tongue appeared briefly between his lips. It was very red. “Tell me, Azi. Have you ever met a demon before?”

“No, I don’t believe I have.”

“Do I frighten you, Azi?” 

“I don’t… I couldn’t say, sir.”

The demon frowned. “Just Crowley.”

“I couldn’t say, Just Crowley.” 

Azi heard himself from a distance and wondered what he was doing. But before he could worry at his recklessly smart mouth, the demon gave a surprised laugh.

“No, it doesn’t seem that I frighten you too much. Though I don’t know if that’s out of bravery or naivety.”

Just stupidity, really, thought Azi in self-reproach.

“Very well, then. I have business to attend to now, but you’re free to explore the house as you wish. You'll find a room prepared for you, if you go looking for it. I will come to you again tomorrow, and we will… get to know each other better.”

Crowley grinned and snapped his fingers, and just as suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone.

Just as Crowley had promised, Azi’s cautious exploration of the ill-lit mansion led him almost immediately to find a grand bedchamber on the upper storey. It had obviously been prepared for a guest. A great fire was burning in the hearth, casting some desperately needed warmth and light over the rich furnishings of the room. It made an alluring change from the cool, grave-still gloom in the rest of the house.

The main feature of the room was an enormous bed. Azi ran his fingers over the luxurious material of the pale blue bedclothes, finer than any he had seen in many years. The bed itself was canopied and ostentatious. In the centre of it sat a carefully folded nightdress of smooth, white linen. 

Azi was exhausted to the very marrow of his bones after his long and wretchedly strange day, and the bed was so inviting. He carefully stripped off his clothing and tried to ignore the feeling of being watched, which was surely a fiction of his overtaxed nerves. Still, he hurried into the nightdress. 

It fit him perfectly, and its cloth was so fine that he could see the outline of his own body through it in the light from the fire. He slipped between the silky sheets and sank into the wonderfully soft feather mattress. 

He tried his best to worry about what the next day would bring, but exhaustion pulled him under and the world soon drifted mercifully away.

Azi was having the dream again. He recognised the night sky and the cool grass and the stream. This time there was already a hand in his hair, running soothingly through the curls as he lay. Azi still could not make out its owner, but he did not feel afraid. 

The wind whispered in his ear like a lover. 

“Azi. Come.”

I don't understand, he tried to tell the voice. Come where? But his lips made no sound.

“Come, Azi. Come.”

The hand in his hair slipped down his neck and under his nightdress to caress his shoulder. 

There was a bouquet of flame-red roses in his arms.

“Come.”

It was late in the morning when Azi awoke. The fire had been banked, and the curtains opened to the weak sunlight. He padded in bare feet to the deep-set casement window, curious to see the view. 

The window gave upon a misty grey courtyard lined with yew trees, with a dry stone fountain at its centre. Beyond that stretched the parkland of the estate and, in the distance, the dark line of the forest. Wherever the mansion was, it was clearly a good distance from civilisation. Not the kind of place one could hope to escape on foot. If, that was to say, escape became necessary. He was rather hoping it wouldn't.

Azi looked around for his clothes, but they had disappeared from where he had dropped them the night before. They were not in the imposing wardrobe, either. Instead, it contained a dazzling collection of very fine raiment, which Azi was now somewhat less surprised to discover were all his size and made in the pale blues, creams, and beiges he favoured. 

Crowley obviously somehow knew certain things about him. And, more importantly, the thoughtful clothes seemed to betray an eagerness to please Azi, despite the demon's rather sneering demeanour at their first meeting. 

This thought was strangely exciting, and certainly more comforting than the clothes themselves. Azi had not missed the stiff fashions of the upper classes. Still, he was grateful, and he dressed carefully and fixed his hair in the glass before venturing out of the bedchamber.

A grey drizzle had set in, so Azi resolved to leave the grounds for another time and spend the day exploring the interior of the mansion. 

It was a vast old pile with multiple wings, and seemed to have been haphazardly expanded throughout the centuries with little regard for aesthetic cohesion or navigability. Several times Azi felt that he must surely be lost, only to turn a corner and find himself in a familiar area again. It almost felt like the house itself was somehow helping and guiding him. A fanciful notion, of course, but a comforting one. 

Still, when Azi noticed his stomach protesting the lack of a breakfast, his next turn led him serendipitously into a sitting room set with hot tea, sandwiches, and pastries.

As he was enjoying these, a brief knock sounded on the door. Azi’s heart leapt in confused excitement. Was it Crowley? But surely the demon would not bother to knock in his own house?

The figure who entered was definitely not Crowley. It was an older woman with startling orange hair and too much rouge.

“Ah, so it's true, then,” she said, with a knowing smile. “Hello, dear. I'm Madame Tracy, the housekeeper.”

“Oh, hello. I'm Azi. I didn't know anyone else was here.”

“Just me, sweetheart, and my husband Shadwell, who tends the horses.”

“You um, you keep house for a demon?”

Madame Tracy cackled.

“Someone has to keep the place standing. Have you met the master, then?”

“Yes, briefly, last night, right after I… arrived.”

“Well, he keeps odd hours, but I expect you'll be seeing him again tonight. Supper will be on in the main dining room at eight o'clock sharp. Mind you're on time.”

“Where’s the main-”

But Madame Tracy had already shut the door behind her.

When the appointed hour came about, Azi set out determinedly  into the maze of the mansion. He did his best to take random turnings while focussing his mind on the idea of a main dining room. Sure enough, he soon found himself in a long room he hadn't seen yet, which was dominated by a very long dining table. 

There was a single chair positioned at one end of the table, with a place setting and a single candle in a silver holder that was creating a small halo of warm light in the murky room. 

Azi found himself disappointed that there was no second setting.

He was sure the plate had been empty, but when he took his seat he realised it was piled high with food that was perfectly to his taste. The elegant drinking glass held a generous amount of a wonderful red wine, which never seemed to decrease appreciably in quantity no matter how deeply Azi drank from it. He rather thought he could get used to this.

But despite the richness of the supper, Azi was feeling somewhat despondent as he set down his napkin. He had just resigned himself to returning to his room when a voice cut through the silence from behind him.

“Enjoyed that, did you?”

He turned around and saw Crowley sprawled across one of the overstuffed leather sofas in front of the room’s carved fireplace. 

“Ah, you're here! Yes, thank you, it was very good.”

Crowley motioned for Azi to take a seat on the sofa across from him.

“And yet, you do not look happy.”

“Oh! Well, it's nothing, really, I just suppose it would have been nice to have some company.”

Azi was feeling flustered under the demon’s intense stare, which was not helped by the distracting way that the firelight was catching his coppery hair.

The demon’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Company?”

“Yes, that is to say, I rather thought you would be joining me?” 

There was a long silence.

“I see. Well, I'm joining you now. Whiskey?”

Before Azi could reply, a glass of amber liquid appeared in each of their hands. He gratefully took a large sip. It was exquisite, of course.

“What do you think of my house so far, Azi?”

“It's quite… intriguing, certainly. And my bedchamber is very comfortable, thank you,” he hastened to add.

“Is it,” Crowley hissed. It didn't sound like a question, but a smile seemed to play about his eyes. “Well, Azi, if you're to stay with me, I think it's best that we be clear about our arrangement. Don't you agree?”

Azi nodded. A strange combination of dread and excitement was coiling through his gut.

“Very well, then. As I said yesterday, you are free to explore the house and grounds to your heart's content. I see you met Madame Tracy already; you may socialise with her and Shadwell as you like. But you're not to step foot off the property. You'll know the boundary when you reach it. And you will not communicate with anyone outside of this estate. Am I understood?”

“Yes, si- Crowley.” This was all as Azi had expected, more or less. 

“Anything you need or desire will be provided to you. You'll have noticed by now that your preferences are... accommodated. If you're unsure whether something is permitted, you may ask myself or Madame Tracy.”

He paused. Azi suddenly realised that the demon was now sitting next to him. When he spoke again, his voice was lower.

“In return for my hospitality, you will provide me with your company whenever I ask for it. I will not… that is to say, I have no wish to... make you uncomfortable. But you have agreed to be mine, so you will keep my rules and obey me in all things. Is that clear?” 

Crowley was sitting very close. He extended his hand as if to touch Azi’s hair, but it only hovered and then withdrew. Azi was fixated on those golden eyes, mere inches from his own.

“Actually, I… I'm not sure it is. Clear. In what way do you desire my company, precisely?”

He was close enough to feel the rather unnatural heat radiating from the demon’s body.

Crowley's tongue flickered briefly between his white teeth.

“In whatever form you're willing to give it to me.”

Azi’s throat tightened. He wasn't quite sure what that meant, but it felt overwhelming.

Crowley leaned closer still. His nose hovered behind Azi’s ear, but still he did not touch him. Azi didn't dare to move. After a moment, the demon pulled away and sat back, his arms crossed in front of him.

“You'll hear from me when I want you next,” he said, curtly.

With a snap of his fingers, he was gone again.

Azi drank his whiskey and sat staring into the fire well into the night, turning the interaction over in his mind, trying and failing to arrange its pieces into something that made sense.

Chapter Text

The next morning when Azi opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a vase on the dressing table bearing a single flame-red rose.

He blinked sleepily a few times, but the rose was still there. It looked exactly like the ones in his strange dreams.

It was either a curious coincidence, or those dreams were connected somehow to Crowley. Two days previously he might have dismissed this second idea as an impossibility, but he was coming to learn that the world could work in stranger ways than he had ever imagined. 

Azi approached the rose to take a closer look. As he neared, he caught a whiff of its scent, which had a strangely spicy undertone. He touched one of its petals gently. It was very soft and perfectly formed. The stem bore strikingly long and sharp thorns. Azi smiled at it. In a room full of ostentatious decor, the red bloom had a simple beauty that drew Azi in.

He dressed in a good mood, and when he wandered into the hall he was holding a hopeful picture in his mind of a breakfast of savoury crepes and earl grey tea.

The breakfast room he found had tall windows and a set of elegant french doors that let out onto the grass. The day was a fine one, so, once his belly was pleasantly full of crepes, Azi let the sunshine lead him outside. 

He could finally see the exterior of the mansion, which was made of huge, smooth, dark stones that rose into high-pitched gables and spires. The grounds proved to consist of a riot of wild gardens separated seemingly at random by sections of crumbling stone wall. There were trees and shrubs of every description, but mostly, there were flowers. Azi saw many flowers he knew and many he did not, growing in bunches and sprays, laying in beds, dripping from the walls. 

Among the flowers were a wide variety of roses, in several shapes and colours, but though he wandered for some time he did not see any that looked like the flame-red one on his dressing table. 

At length, Azi came upon a curved stone bench under a shady bower, and decided to give his feet a respite. 

Sitting tucked away in the greenery made him think of his thicket at the cottage. Now that the first shock of his strange new circumstances was wearing off, Azi realised that he missed his books. It would have been perfect to have a good novel with him while he lounged in the quiet gardens.

He had seen many rooms in the mansion so far, some more interesting than others, but none of them had contained any books. He remembered the novel wrapped in oilskin that he had left behind in the tree stump at his family's cottage, and regretted that he would probably never see it again. 

Just as he was recalling the last bit of the novel he had gotten to, the air seemed to waver minutely and Crowley was suddenly next to him. 

It was strange to see the demon in proper daylight. It almost seemed indecent for him to be so exposed, rather than wrapped in the shroud of a half-light. In apparent concession to the outdoors, he sported a small pair of spectacles with lenses of smoked glass and a tall black hat. He was reclined against the back of the bench and his knees were spread rather insolently, taking up more space than his slim frame seemed to warrant.

“Hello, Azi. I see you've found the gardens.”

“Yes. They're very lovely.”

Crowley smirked. “That's because they know what's good for them. Come, walk with me.”

They stood and began an aimless meander through the tangle of plant life, side by side.

Crowley walked with his hands clasped behind his back and his gaze off in the distance.

“Did you like your present?” 

Azi fancied he heard a bit of anxiety under the careless tones of the question.

“The rose? That was from you, then? Yes, thank you. It was most beautiful.”

Crowley continued to stare ahead, but his mouth curled slightly at one corner.

Azi wondered if he should ask about the dreams, but he felt unaccountably shy about them. “I haven't seen any such roses around here,” he said instead.

“No,” murmured Crowley, but did not elaborate.

They wandered on in a peaceable silence for a time, eventually reaching the courtyard with the dry fountain that Azi could see from his bedchamber.

Crowley stopped in front of the fountain and stared at it.

“Azi, I want your company tonight. You will come straight to me after your supper.”

“As you please.” Azi felt himself blush slightly. “Where will you be?”

“You'll find me.”

Crowley finally turned and looked at him. Though Azi could not see the demon's eyes behind the dark spectacles, he could feel himself being appraised.

“Tonight, then. Don't forget.” He paused, then added, “the sunlight suits you.”

And with that strange pronouncement, he was gone.

Azi turned up at the main dining room at eight o'clock sharp as before, feeling it was safest to assume that was expected of him until told otherwise. He hadn't seen Madame Tracy again yet. 

After his solitary supper, he set off uncertainly in search of his master. His steps turned him toward a long corridor wallpapered in red brocade, at the end of which stood a pair of intricately carved wooden doors. As he got closer, Azi could see that the carved design was of a tree that spread across both doors. From one of its boughs there hung a single apple.

Azi pushed one of the doors open and was overcome by what he found. 

It was an enormous library, larger than any he had ever seen, and breathtakingly beautiful. The shelves on the walls spanned two high storeys, and every inch of them was packed with books. There was a narrow, bannistered walkway that ringed the second storey, held up by deep red columns and connected to the main level by a delicate spiral staircase of wrought iron. Both levels had sliding ladders affixed at intervals to allow access to the higher reaches.

The soaring walls were capped by vaulted ceilings that were painted to look like the night sky. At the centre of it was a kind of cupola with the cardinal directions picked out on it in gold leaf. 

The floor of the large space was dotted with reading tables and display cases. On one wall there was a huge fireplace with a sweeping mantle of green marble, and before it was arranged an assortment of comfortable-looking furniture. There, in one large winged armchair, sat Crowley.

Azi could scarcely take it all in. He drifted slowly towards the fireplace but his gaze darted about above his head, drinking in the beauty and the sheer volume of tomes.

“Oh, Crowley,” he breathed. “This is…”

“Does it please you, then?”

“Please me? I don't think I've ever seen anything that pleased me more! I was just thinking this afternoon how much I missed my silly little collection of books, and now it seems I have every book in the world at my fingertips.”

“Well, perhaps not every one. But enough to keep you occupied, I hope.”

Azi tore his eyes from the books and turned to Crowley, who had stood from his chair and was now lounging against the mantle. The firelight was burnishing his copper hair to a high shine. 

“Thank you, Crowley. Truly.” Azi impulsively reached out and laid his fingers on the demon's arm. It occurred to him that this was the first time they had ever touched. He was almost surprised to find Crowley real and substantial under his hand, and not just scattering like a puff of smoke.

Crowley was staring at him very intently. He gently took the hand from his arm and lifted it to his lips, never breaking eye contact. The touch of his mouth on the back of Azi’s hand was brief and gentle, yet it seemed to burn into his skin. 

Azi was suddenly very aware of the fact that Crowley was one of the most handsome men he had ever seen. 

“You are welcome, angel,” murmured Crowley, and released his hand. He finally broke eye contact and turned stiffly away, as though in embarrassment. He did not explain the startling epithet, and Azi thought better than to ask.

“You may come in here anytime you wish, but regardless, you will come straight here to meet me after your supper every night. I expect you to obey me strictly in this, as in all things,” he ordered gruffly, as though Azi would find it a hardship to comply.  “Now, go choose a book that catches your fancy, and bring it here.”

Azi grinned at him in excitement and rushed to the nearest shelves to scan the titles. He found a novel he recognised and remembered enjoying, and returned with it as commanded.

Crowley was in the wingback again, his long legs casually crossed at the knee. He pointed at an armchair opposite him. 

“Sit, angel. I wish for you to read to me.”

Azi was surprised by the request, but politely tried not to show it. He made himself comfortable and began to read from the book in a clear voice.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife…”

Azi read until the words swam and his eyes began to drift close. When he opened them again, he was alone in his bed.

The library immediately became Azi’s favourite haunt.  He was back there again first thing the next morning, to do some exploring on his own time. No matter how many types and subjects of books he found, there always seemed to be more.  He had only to think of something of interest and he would soon stumble across it. And the library itself proved to be full of comfortable nooks for hiding away and reading. He even found a hot cup of tea in one of them.

Eventually Azi became aware that the distracting, uncomfortable sensation plaguing the edges of his attention was hunger. He pulled himself reluctantly away from the library, reminding himself that he could come back any time. 

This time, his search for food led him into a modest kitchen he hadn’t seen before. Madame Tracy was seated at a small table there, along with a shaggy and unfriendly-looking man that Azi assumed must be the husband she had mentioned.

“Hello, dear,” said Madame Tracy in a voice that suggested she had been expecting him. “Shadwell, this is Azi. Say hello to the nice young man.”

Shadwell grunted a noise that could have been ‘feck off’ as easily as ‘hello’.

“Oh, hello Madame Tracy. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just looking for something to eat.”

“Not at all, darling. You’re welcome here anytime you like. Have a seat and I’ll fetch you some lunch.”

As he sat and chatted with the friendly woman, Azi released a tension from his shoulders he hadn’t been aware he was holding. As fascinating as Crowley was, his presence keyed Azi up, and Azi had been bouncing between that and total isolation in a way that was somewhat wearing. It was relaxing to talk idly with someone relatively normal over a cup of tea and sandwiches.

“How are you getting on with the master then, Azi?”

Azi reddened. “He’s been very hospitable, but… I find him... confusing.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, yes, I mean… he’s a demon, isn’t he? Doesn’t that mean he’s, you know, evil? I must confess, it makes me rather nervous that he’s being kind to me.”

Madame Tracy smiled into her tea. “I won’t talk out of turn about the master, Azi, but I will tell you that he keeps his word. If he promised not to harm you, he will not break that promise.”

“But I still don’t understand why I’m even here. Why would a demon need company, and from someone like me of all people? And am I… am I to be here forever?”

“You’ll have to ask him that, dear. I’m just his housekeeper.”

It was plain that Madame Tracy knew more than she let on, but she changed the subject and Azi learned no more from her.

That evening, Azi returned dutifully to the library and found Crowley once more in the wingback chair. Over his usual clothing, he was wearing a fine dressing gown of black velvet and jacquard. Azi’s eyes were drawn to the way it was tied carelessly about his narrow waist.

Crowley was sprawled out in the chair in his usual boneless way and seemed generally relaxed, but he still watched Azi intently. 

“Good, you’re here. Sit, angel.”

Azi obeyed and sat in the chair opposite, as he had the night before. The book he had been reading to Crowley waited for him on the small table at its arm. He reached for it.

“Shall I read to you again?”

“Yes. But first, tell me how you’re getting on.”

“Oh, quite well, thank you. I spent most of the day in here, just looking around. It’s all so terribly fascinating and beautiful.”

“And you found Madame Tracy’s kitchen.”

It seemed that little happened in the mansion that Crowley was not aware of. Azi wondered whether Madame Tracy reported their discussions to Crowley, and resolved to be careful with his tongue around her.

“Yes. She’s very nice.”

Crowley huffed. “Well, as I said, if you need anything, you may ask her.” 

“Crowley?”

“Yes?”

“Why am I here?”

Crowley frowned. “To read to me.”

“No, I mean, why did you bring me here, to your mansion?”

Crowley’s expression darkened dangerously. “You do not want to be here?”

“No, that’s not– I just mean, why me? I don’t understand what I have to offer to a, a being like you who is obviously so powerful and wealthy and…” And beautiful, he did not say.

Crowley’s entire body relaxed into the chair again.

“You’re right, Azi. I am powerful. Powerful enough to have whatever I want, regardless of what anyone else may think. And what I want is you. It’s not important that you understand why.” He hooked one long leg over the arm of his chair and closed his eyes. “Now, read.”

This answer did nothing whatsoever to allay Azi’s concerns, but he could only swallow them down and open his book.

Chapter Text

They soon fell into a routine. Each day, Azi amused himself in the mansion and the gardens, and occasionally had tea with Madame Tracy. Each evening, Azi ate supper alone and then went directly to the library to sit with Crowley before the fire.  

Some evenings they drank wine and talked. Their conversation rambled easily and Azi was pleasantly surprised to find that Crowley was interesting and well-read, and even, on occasion, rather funny. Other times, Crowley was in a black mood and wanted only to sit in silence and be read to. Either way, every night, Azi stayed until he fell asleep, and every morning he awoke in his own bed, in his nightshirt. 

The flame-red rose never moved from its spot on the dressing table, and neither did it wither, even as the days turned into weeks. 

Every now and then, Azi was visited again by the strange dreams. He always found himself lying in the cool grass under a starry sky, next to a small, burbling stream, and there were always those same flame-red roses about him. But each time he had the dream, the voice that whispered come, Azi grew louder, and the hand that touched him grew bolder. In time, the shadow took on the shape of a man, though Azi could not make out his face. He would wake from the dreams with his skin tingling from the man’s caresses.

But Crowley did not touch him again, as he had on that first night in the library when he had kissed Azi’s hand. This thought plagued Azi each day as he curled up in his favourite reading nooks or walked through the gardens. Azi was not stupid. He had been getting an idea of the kind of companionship Crowley was seeking. But if that were so, surely he could have any beautiful girl in the country? Any one of them could offer him things that Azi never could. 

Perhaps Crowley had made a mistake in choosing Azi, and had finally realised it. Perhaps he would keep Azi for his conversation, but find a woman to bring to the house to be his wife. Perhaps - and this was the worst one - perhaps he was just humouring Azi now, and would soon send him away. Back to Gabriel. 

Worry ate at Azi, biting deeper into him with each evening that they passed in the library with a careful distance between them.

One fine day, Azi was taking a stroll through the gardens, as had become his custom on sunny afternoons. He had started to learn his way through the tangle of trees and walls, and had even discovered quite a sizable pond that hosted a family of ducks among its lily pads. 

It was on a bench near this pond that Azi sat, reading his latest treasure from the library, when he heard a familiar sound. 

It was the loud cry of a nightingale.

Azi had never forgotten his strange encounter with the nightingale at his family's cottage, but he hadn’t seen or heard one since. 

The cry came again, much closer this time. He turned his head and found the bird perched on the arm of the bench. It was cocking its head and staring at him. Then, it jumped right onto the edge of his book and repeated its song, much like the one back home had done. Azi wondered wildly whether it could be the same bird. 

The nightingale stared at him some more, and Azi once again felt that it had asked him something and was waiting for a reply.

“I'm sorry,” he told it. “I don't know what you want.” 

This seemed to be the wrong answer. The nightingale gave its parting chirp and flew away.

Azi was still thinking about the bird’s visit that evening, as he sat drinking and conversing lightly with Crowley by the fire. "Crowley," he started after a short silence, "this may be an odd question, but are there nightingales around here?”

Crowley's glass of wine froze on its way to his lips. "Why do you ask?”

“Well, it was the strangest thing. I swear one came right up and sang at me this afternoon while I was reading in the garden. And, stranger still, the exact same thing happened to me once before, back at my family's home. Just shortly before I came to you, in fact.”

The wine glass completed its journey and Crowley emptied it entirely before answering. "No. There are no nightingales on this estate. You must have been mistaken.”

“But I'm sure it –”

“Leave it, Azi!” Crowley was suddenly angrier than Azi had seen him yet. He was gripping the arms of his chair and leaning forward, his eyes blazing yellow. “You are mistaken, and that's the last I want to hear of it. Am I understood?” 

Azi was shocked into silence by this outburst. He nodded mutely at his master.

Crowley collapsed backwards into his chair, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply to compose himself. "Fine. Perhaps you should read to me now.”

Azi picked up his book, but his voice shook slightly as he read, and Crowley interrupted him after only a few sentences.

“Stop. You're tired. We'll end our evening early this time.”

“Oh, no. I'm sorry, I can continue…”

“Good night, angel.”

Azi blinked and the room changed around him. He was sitting on his bed, the book gone from his hand, his clothing unchanged. 

He wasn't sure what he had done wrong, but it had clearly been a terrible misstep. And now, as punishment, he was apparently being denied his evening with Crowley. Azi’s fear of being found lacking swelled up in him again, stronger than ever. 

Surely Crowley would not send him away over this? 

Panic gripped his heart and his breath came too fast. He curled up on the fine bed in his fine clothes, and shook through the waves that wracked his body until he finally passed into sleep.

Azi avoided the library the next day. He took one of the books that had migrated to his bedchamber and went to huddle on the window seat of an airy sitting room near the front of the house. 

He was staring blankly at the page when Crowley appeared in the room, looking tense. 

Azi blinked at him in surprise. He hadn't seen the demon during the day in quite some time. Just as he started to panic about what that could mean, Crowley spoke. 

“I believe an apology is in order.”

Azi jumped at his chance to set things right. "Oh, yes, I really am terribly sorry –” 

Crowley cut him off irritably. "What? No, not you. I…” he gave a small growl of frustration. “Look, I shouldn't have shouted at you like that last night. Can we just take my apology as said?”

Azi was lost. “I… of course. I'm not angry with you. I rather thought you were angry with me.”

“What? Why?”

“You sent me away…”

“Sent you away?”

“Yes…? I, that is to say, I very much enjoy our evenings together, and… I thought you were punishing me by cutting it short.”

Crowley was staring at him like he had never seen him before. He crossed the space between them in two long strides and sat next to Azi on the window seat, close enough that their knees were almost touching. "I was trying to spare you the rest of your duties for the evening.” His voice was raspy and unsure.

“Duties?” Azi’s brow furrowed as he guessed what Crowley meant. “Crowley, it’s not a chore for me to spend time with you. It's a pleasure. Did you really not know that?”

Crowley’s golden eyes burned into him. Azi realised that behind the intensity there was a wretched sadness in them. 

He girded himself and placed his hand on Crowley's slim leg, just above the knee, and squeezed it reassuringly. Crowley's gaze snapped down to the touch, and back up at Azi's face. 

Crowley leaned forward slowly, very close, and brushed back a pale ringlet that had fallen on Azi's forehead. Azi shivered slightly at the touch of a hand in his hair, suddenly remembering his strange dreams. 

Crowley's hand slipped down, tracing a path behind Azi’s ear and then down the side of his neck. Azi's eyes fluttered shut against the sensation but he could hear Crowley breathing heavily. He was certain now that he had guessed right as to what Crowley was seeking.

The moment stretched out between them, silent and fragile.

Crowley swore under his breath and withdrew his hand.

Azi opened his eyes and saw him getting up off the window seat, pulling his leg away from where Azi’s hand still rested on it. He was leaving.

The heat pumping through Azi's blood made him brave. “Wait,” he cried, scrambling to his feet. “Please.” He grabbed at the demon’s sleeve, forcing him to turn around. 

“Please what? You don't know what you're asking for,” Crowley snapped.

Azi pursed his lips in determination. “I'm not a child.”

“And I am not a man! I’m cursed, Azi. Do you even know what that means?” He gestured at his eyes and the yellow of them spread until it overtook all the white, turning them fully into enormous serpent’s eyes. “I am a monster.” His face twisted. “And you're too stupid even to fear me!”

“You're right, I don't fear you.” Azi tilted his chin defiantly. “You promised not to hurt me, and I believe you.”

“Are you sure about that?” he hissed. “I'm a demon. Demons lie.”

He was sure. Mostly. No, he had seen Crowley. He had seen the things Crowley did to please him, and the way he hesitated to touch him, even though he didn't have to, even though Azi was his powerless prisoner. He had seen the wild beauty of the gardens, and the ducklings in the pond. He squared his shoulders. "I'm sure.”

The fire went out of Crowley's eyes and the whites reappeared. He sank back and bit his lip in frustration and confusion. "Who are you?” 

Azi knew the answer to this one. “I'm your angel.”

Crowley looked wrecked. “All right, angel,” he managed. “Meet me outside at the fountain tonight, instead of the library. I have something to show you.”

Crowley was beautiful in the moonlight. It lit up the lines of his black clothes and turned his strange eyes into quicksilver. Azi kept glancing over at him as they strolled together under the jewelled canopy of the night sky.

He was feeling braver since their confrontation that afternoon, and proud that he had stood up for himself. He was certain now that Crowley wanted him, even if he still wasn't sure why. The thought made his heart beat faster.

They had met in front of the dry fountain as agreed, but their path was quickly taking them into parts of the gardens that Azi had never seen before. This section seemed older, the stone walls more decayed, the encroachment of the moss and vines more advanced. 

They came to the centre of a relatively open area. Azi noticed a broken arch of carved stone in one of the crumbling walls that looked like it had once been a window. He examined their surroundings more closely, and spotted more such ruins.

“A church?”

“Close. A chapel.” 

Azi frowned. “I’ve been walking these gardens for weeks. How is it that I’ve never come across this before?”

The demon shrugged. “Because I didn't want you to.”

They passed through the area of the ruined chapel and came to a stop in front of what appeared to be a damaged stone monument. Crowley lifted his hand and a small flame appeared above it that brightly illuminated the area.

The first thing Azi noticed was that the monument was surrounded on three sides by masses of thorny bushes bearing flame-red roses. The second thing he noticed was that the monument was a life-sized statue of an angel. It was broken in places, and badly worn, but he could still make out the folds of its robe and the curve of a wing. 

The third thing he noticed was that a small, burbling stream ran through the grass beside the angel.

“Azi,” said Crowley quietly. “I haven't always been a demon.”

Chapter Text

They sat looking out onto the moonlit ruins of the chapel. The angel’s stone pedestal was cool against Azi’s back, a marked counterpoint to the heat radiating from Crowley at his side. The spicy-sweet fragrance of the roses hung heavy in the air.

“I’ll tell you everything, Azi. You deserve that much. But I’m afraid you will regret hearing it.”

Azi gently bumped their shoulders together. “I haven’t regretted anything about you yet.” 

Crowley gave a small huff of a laugh, but there was no humour in it.

“Trusting angel. Don’t know how you’ve made it this far in life, really.”

“Just tell me, Crowley.”

Crowley closed his eyes. For a few moments, Azi wondered whether he had changed his mind. Then he sighed and began to speak in a low voice.

“This was my family’s estate. We had first come into it during the War of the Roses. By the time I was born, it was thriving. My family had vast holdings and the income from our rents was plentiful. I was the first of my parent’s children to live, but my mother died giving birth to me. Maybe that’s where the curse started,” he added wryly. “My father didn’t manage to remarry before he was killed in a hunting accident when I was twenty-one. That just left me, barely an adult, lord of a wealthy manor and no one to tell me what to do. 

“You can imagine how well that went. The money was practically endless and I was bored out of my skull. Most young men probably would have started looking for a wife at that point, to give them something to do, and to produce heirs for the estate’s future. It should have been easy to find one, I suppose. I was young and rich and had all my teeth. But I found fault in every prospective bride that came sniffing around. I told myself I just had high standards and wasn’t in a rush to give up my freedom for just anyone. 

“The truth was that someone had already caught my eye, even though I couldn’t admit it to myself. Someone who was out of reach, even for me. The eldest son of a neighbouring noble.” A small, bitter smile twisted his face. “Raphael. He was beautiful. Smart and adventurous. So curious about the world.” Crowley noticed Azi shifting uncomfortably and laughed slightly. “Don’t be jealous, angel. He’s been dead for centuries. 

“Anyway, we spent every spare moment together. Drinking, hunting, getting in and out of trouble, in the usual way of wealthy and careless young men. By the time I could admit to myself that I was in love with him, his father had already found him a match. Their estate was desperately floundering and Raphael had finally been promised to a young noblewoman whose dowry was more than large enough to save them. 

“I was frantic. I knew he was miserable about the match so I begged him to leave everything and come away with me to the continent. In desperation, I even confessed my love to him. I knew he loved me back. But he was stubborn, and loyal, and couldn’t bring himself to abandon his family to ruin. He told me that nothing had to change, that even if he married we could still be together, in secret. I couldn’t accept that. 

“So, he cut me off. I couldn’t accept that either. Trying to live without him was like a slow death. The night before his wedding, I snuck into his bedchamber in a last, desperate attempt to change his mind, or at least get a goodbye I could try to live with.” 

Crowley swallowed heavily. 

“A maidservant walked in on us. Her screaming brought the whole house down around our ears. His fiancée’s family was staying there too, in advance of the wedding, so there was not even a chance to try to contain the scandal. I fled, but the damage was done.

“The next day, I received a visit from Raphael’s father. I expected fury and threats, but he was grey-faced and solemn. He.” Crowley drew some deep breaths and Azi was astonished to see that his eyes were wet. “I’m sorry. I haven’t talked about this in… well, ever. It’s… a difficult thing to revisit.”

“It’s all right,” Azi said softly. “Take your time.”

Crowley stared down at his hands. “Well. After I had shown up and ruined everything, Raphael’s fiancée's parents had of course immediately cancelled the wedding and left that same night. Not only his family’s fortunes but now their reputation were beyond saving. The next morning, Raphael would not emerge from his room. They finally broke down the door and found him… There was a vial… I don’t know why he had it.”

Crowley paused, lost in the past. His face was a mask of regret and pain. Azi tipped his head to rest on the demon’s shoulder, trying to give him some silent comfort.

“His father cursed me to live with the weight of what I had done to Raphael. But how was I supposed to live with that, angel? What had loving me gotten him, but his utter destruction?”

Azi had no answer.

“I saddled a horse and fled, blind with grief, not knowing where I was going. I rode until I reached the sea and could go no further. I found myself standing at the edge of the cliff, staring into oblivion. I had damned the only person I loved. The pain that was crushing me was impossible to bear. There was no one left in the world to miss me. The decision felt easy. 

“But just as I made it, I heard a soft voice behind me, calling my name. It was a handsome man with black hair and green eyes, dressed in beautiful clothes. I couldn’t imagine where he had come from, as we were out in the middle of nowhere. But he seemed to know all about me. He… offered me a deal. My soul for Raphael’s. His sins would be forgiven and he would ascend to heaven as an angel, and in return I would be cursed to haunt this estate for eternity as a demon. 

“There was one caveat, which at the time seemed like a mercy, but I have come to realise was just a twist of the knife. The devil - I don’t know who else he could have been - told me that my curse could be broken by true love." He spat the words out. "What a miserable joke. Something to torment me just a little more as I spent endless centuries broken-hearted and monstrous, cut off from the rest of the world. 

“But I accepted, of course. Without hesitation. I was prepared to pay any price to undo some of the evil I had brought upon the one I loved. I awoke back here at the estate, in the form you see now, lying at the feet of this angel statue that had appeared outside the family chapel. I can only assume it is a mocking reminder of my deal.  And… here I have remained, ever since.”

They sat in silence as Azi digested this.

“And Madame Tracy and her husband?”

“Madame Tracy is a witch. I have found some humans, on rare occasion, who are enamoured enough of the occult to brave serving me. That is all.”

“But… you brought me here to try to break the curse.”

Crowley flinched.

“I’m sorry, Azi.” His voice was drowning in shame. “It’s been so long. You can’t imagine how lonely I’ve been. Being a demon has not spared me my blasted human feelings, just made them impossible to deal with. I saw you in your brother’s memories when he came stomping all over my rose bushes. You were so beautiful, like something from a church window, and I had grown so weak. I doubted you could ever come to love me, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I felt that I at least had to try. 

“But having you here has just made me realise how cruelly unfair this whole thing is to you - trying to deceive you and use you for my own purposes, when I have nothing to offer you but my misery. I can’t fix this by hurting another young man. I won’t.”

Crowley crossed his arms across his chest and curled in on himself defensively, looking determinedly away. His mouth was set into a thin line.

“You’re free to go, Azi. I've taken down the boundaries around the estate. You can use the enchanted ring again and it will return you home. I just… I hope you can forgive me, and perhaps one day even remember me with some fondness.”

The thought of leaving Crowley alone and never returning made Azi’s stomach churn with panic. He fought to keep his voice even.

“What if I don’t want to go?”

Crowley’s head whipped around toward him.

“Don’t be stupid,” he whispered. 

Azi lifted a hand and gently placed it on his cheek. Whatever Crowley saw on his face made his eyes widen. 

“Stop this, Azi. Please.”

“I can’t leave you.”

“What? Why not?”

Azi kissed him softly on the mouth, pouring everything of himself into it, holding nothing back.

“That’s why.”

Crowley was shaking. His eyes were like moons. 

“We’ll figure it out together, Crowley. If you’ll have me.”

“Are you…”

He didn’t seem to know how to end his sentence, so Azi kissed him again. 

This time, the demon kissed back.

The surge of heat through Azi’s blood was so sudden and sharp that it made him lightheaded. 

Crowley pressed Azi’s back into the cool grass next to the burbling stream and carded long fingers through his hair. The weight of his slight body was like a brand as they kissed frantically, gasping against each other, as though the world were about to end. 

He ran his hands over Crowley’s neck and under the top of his collar, desperate to feel more of that smooth skin. Crowley’s cravat obediently fell open and his buttons gave way from collar to navel, allowing access to the front of his shoulders and the smattering of hair on his chest. It was an invitation that Azi immediately accepted, eager to learn the feeling of Crowley’s flesh, taut and lean, where it swelled, and where it tapered. 

Azi’s waistcoat and shirt were open too, but he couldn’t remember how that had come to be. He knew only the pressure of Crowley’s fingers on his waist and of Crowley’s lips on his jaw. 

Crowley rolled his hips against him and Azi gasped at the sparks that went shooting through his entire body. 

“Do that again, please,” he begged. 

Crowley made a low, pained sound and obliged him. 

Azi wound his arms around the demon’s neck and curled one leg around his hip, trying to press the hot skin of him even closer. Biting kisses travelled along his collarbone, drawing helpless moans out from deep inside his chest. 

Crowley found the placket of Azi’s trousers and palmed him firmly, making Azi buck, caught between the teeth on his neck and the hand between his legs. 

“Let me, angel,” Crowley mumbled against his neck. “Let me give this to you. Please. May I-? Please. Just for you. Want you so much. Oh, Satan.” 

Crowley’s wrecked voice and devastating words sank into Azi like fangs, delivering a trickle of stupefying venom into his bloodstream that made his head spin and his body pliant.

Azi’s trousers were unfastened now, and the slim heat of Crowley’s hand was wrapping around his cock. His mind was buzzing white. There was nothing in his world but the burning points of contact between his body and the demon’s. 

Azi threw his head back and gave himself over to it. He squeezed his eyes shut as Crowley’s hand worked, every stroke ricocheting sharply through his nerves. It was all so much that he was sure his skin could not contain him much longer. 

“I’ve got you, angel. Do it for me. Please. Need it. Need you. Come, Azi. Come. For me.”   

Azi inhaled sharply as his pleasure neared its unforgiving peak. His eyes flew open as he came, flooding his senses with the milky riot that spilled across the dark heavens above him.

Chapter Text

Azi sat in front of the looking glass on his dressing table and gently pressed the bruise that was peeking over the collar of his nightshirt. It was warm and quite tender to the touch. Best of all, it had visible teeth-marks. He closed his eyes and pressed it again, harder, revelling in the hot sting of it, breathing in the faintly spicy scent of the rose at his elbow.

He had awoken alone in his own bed, and had almost wondered if the previous night had been a dream. But dreams did not bite in the throes of passion.

The memory of the desperate way that Crowley had wanted him caused laces of pleasurable sensation to tighten around his ribs. It had been… Azi hadn't known that anything could feel like that. His juvenile fumble with a neighbouring farmgirl certainly hadn't.

But considering the horrifying story Crowley had told him at the angel statue, Azi suspected the moody demon would need some time to think over what had happened between them. And Azi didn't know how long that would take, or what the end result would be. He would just have to be patient and keep his hopes under control. 

Easier said than done.

He figured he may as well keep his usual schedule, so he dressed and went in search of breakfast. He was just finishing his scrambled eggs when Crowley materialised at the other end of the table. Azi jumped in surprise and dropped his fork, which clattered loudly against the china.

“Crowley! You startled me.”

“Are you all right?”

“I just didn't expect you. You've never joined me for breakfast before.”

Crowley actually coloured at that. 

“Ah, yes. Well. I er, just wanted to see you. I don't really sleep, as a rule, so I spent all night. Erm. Thinking about you.”

Azi almost laughed at the centuries-old demon's boyish shyness. It was adorable. And relieving.

“Well, I'm pleased to see you, too.”

“That's erm, good. Very good. I'm glad to -” Crowley suddenly squinted across the table. “What is that on your neck?” He reappeared next to Azi’s chair and put his fingers to Azi’s collar. “Oh bugger, was that me? Shit. Here, I'll fix it.”

“No!” Azi slapped his hand over the bruise, as though that would affect Crowley’s magic in any way. “I… like it.”

Crowley stared at him. Azi saw his strange pupils dilate and his throat bob around a swallow. 

“Is that so.”

It was Azi’s turn to flush. He could tell he was turning embarrassingly pink. It made Crowley’s eyes darken a little more. His fingers still hovered near Azi’s neck. 

Crowley snatched his hand away and stepped back, clearing his throat. 

“Come walk with me. If you like,” he hastened to add.

“Certainly.”

Crowley held one of the French doors open for him and, once outside, politely offered him an elbow. Azi looped his arm through it, reflecting on the fact that these gentlemanly manners were not helping with the pinkness of his face.

They strolled arm in arm through the garden in companionable silence. Crowley had rematerialised the dark specs and tall hat in deference to the mild sunshine. Azi thought they looked very fetching. He was just wondering whether he should say so when Crowley spoke.

“You're still free to leave whenever you like, you know,” he murmured, looking straight ahead. “I won't change that. Just so we're clear.”

“I know.”

“And you’d… still like to stay? For now,” he asked the trees to his left.  

“I'm here, aren't I?”

Crowley finally turned to look at him.

“Indeed you are.”

“So how about you just assume I want to be here unless I’m not, hmm?”

Crowley stopped. Azi, who was still on his arm, stopped with him.

“And… if you did not want me to kiss you again?”

“I would tell you,” Azi said, staring at his lips.

Crowley released Azi’s arm and placed his hand on Azi's back, just above his waist, pulling him in. He leaned down the couple inches of their height difference.

“Promise?” he asked Azi’s mouth.

“Promise,” Azi whispered.

It was a chaste enough kiss in practical terms, just a press of slightly open lips, but it felt filthy. Crowley kissed with his whole body, long and slow, gripping Azi against him, stepping forward between Azi’s legs and setting him slightly off balance. Azi could feel the tightly coiled spring of what he was holding back.

When they broke apart they were both breathing heavily. 

“Satan help me, you've been torturing me for weeks. No,” Crowley corrected himself, “I've been torturing myself with you. All those nights we spent together, your wine-stained mouth just out of reach...” He pressed a thumb against the bruise on Azi’s neck, leaning forward to swallow up the noise it caused him to make. “You've woken something in me that I thought I had killed off long ago. I must confess, it frightens me a little.” He replaced his thumb with his mouth, gently laving over the bruise with his tongue.

Then he pulled away and released Azi from his grip entirely. 

“I'm scared I can't control myself around you.”

“I trust you,” Azi panted, trying to regain his composure.

“Mmm. Part of what scares me.”

Crowley straightened his cravat and offered his elbow again.

“Come, I actually did want to walk with you. And I have to do a tour and remind the plants who their master is, from time to time, or they get impertinent and lazy.”

Azi was certain he was joking, until he noticed some hyacinths actually shiver under a particularly ominous glare as they passed. 

Once Crowley was finished gardening, they stopped by the duck pond and took a rest on the nearby bench. Crowley adopted his usual boneless slouch, his arm extended carelessly along the back of the bench, and Azi sat tucked up neatly against him. 

“Crowley?”

“Yes, angel?”

“Are we still meeting at the library tonight, as usual?”

“I’d like that. Why?”

“I was thinking perhaps there may be some useful information among all those books. About your curse, I mean.”

He felt Crowley tense against his side.

“Azi. I know you want to help, but you shouldn't get your hopes up.”

“But we must at least try, surely.”

Crowley made a non-committal noise. 

“If it makes you happy, read away. Just… don't expect too much. Please? Don't…  don't wait for things I can't offer you.” 

His voice had gotten terribly small. Azi leaned into him. 

“I'm sorry. Let's not dwell on that right now. Why don't you summon some demonic bread so we can feed the ducks?”

“Demonic bread?”

“Is that not what it's called?” he asked innocently.

“Don't be ridiculous. They much prefer demonic peas.”

He was right. The ducks quite loved them.

Although they had spent the better part of the morning and early afternoon together, Azi was wound up with excitement as he hurried through his supper and headed for the library. He still wasn't sure where this fragile new thing between them was going, but the sense memory of Crowley's hands on him was making him eager to find out.

As a result, he was rather earlier than usual to the library, and he noted with some disappointment that Crowley was not yet there.  Azi went to their usual spot by the great fireplace and stared into the flames as he waited. He had spent the afternoon turning the question of the curse over in his mind, and he returned to it now.

True love. Azi thought he understood it as a concept, but he could only guess what it meant in terms of the curse's caveat. The true love of another for Crowley? Was that sufficient? Azi had never been in love before, but he knew that what was ripening in his heart now was something uncommonly precious. He was certain that as it unfurled it would meet anyone’s definition of true love. But perhaps it had to be mutual? Did Crowley - could Crowley - feel that for him as well? 

His musings were interrupted by a pair of slender hands sliding onto his waist. Crowley's hot form moulded itself to his back and he felt lips against his ear. 

“There you are,” murmured a low voice, and a gentle kiss was pressed to the hinge of his jaw.

Azi’s eyes lit up and he turned in Crowley's embrace. He was struck anew by how handsome the demon was, with the firelight playing along his fine, sharp features, burnishing his golden eyes, stoking the red flame of his hair into an inferno. His lips were red, too, and Azi submitted happily to their greeting.

One kiss turned into two, then three, and began to deepen. Crowley collapsed backward onto his large wingback chair, pulling Azi with him onto his lap. His hands dug into Azi’s hips as they continued to kiss hotly.

“Oh, hell and damnation. I swear I did intend to have you read to me,” Crowley groaned into his neck. 

“Nice to see you, too,” Azi panted, feeling a little dizzy.

“I’m sorry, we can stop. It’s all right. Sorry. Your book is just there…”

Azi stubbornly resisted the attempts to dislodge him and looked Crowley directly in the eyes.

“I know you don’t sleep much, but surely you still have a bedchamber?”

Crowley stared at him disbelievingly for one long moment, then his eyelids slid shut. “Satan have mercy,” he murmured, and the room changed around them.

Azi barely got the impression of a great deal of dimly-lit grey and black before he was being pulled down by the lapels onto Crowley’s reclining form.

It was interesting to be on top. Azi found he liked the sense of control he got from being able to undo Crowley’s buttons one at a time and watch the effect of his actions on the body below him. The fact that Azi himself was still fully dressed just made it better. Crowley was humouring him, of course, but he seemed to be enjoying the game at least as much as Azi was. 

He got to the bottom of the shirt buttons and spread the two halves of the garment open, drinking in the view of the demon’s lithe form, naked to the waist. Crowley lay obediently still and let him look, although Azi could see that he was biting at his lip somewhat nervously.

Azi hadn’t gotten to see much at all during the brief tryst of the night before, or to touch any skin lower than Crowley’s chest. He took his chance now to run his exploring hands down Crowley’s lean muscles, over his ribs, and into the valley of his slim midsection where a trail of dark red hair disappeared provokingly into his trousers. 

Crowley was breathing heavily under him. On impulse, Azi thumbed at his small, flat nipples. He felt them pebble under his fingertips, so he pressed at them again, harder, and was rewarded with an upwards jerk of the torso and a bitten-off noise. 

“Azi, please,” Crowley managed.

Azi smiled to himself and resolved to remember that for later. 

He returned to his task and put his fingers to the top button of Crowley’s close-cut trousers. Before he could undo it, though, he got distracted by the shape straining at the fine, black wool of the trouser-front. He certainly hadn’t gotten his hands on that yet. He ran his hand along it, finding it firm and very hot. This earned him quite a nice gasp indeed.

“Azi!”

Azi bit back a pleased smirk and returned to the buttons. He worked the first couple open and lifted an eyebrow.

“What?” Crowley asked defensively. “No self-respecting demon would wear underpants.”

“You don’t imagine that I’m complaining, I hope,” Azi murmured, and quickly undid the rest of the flies. 

Crowley’s cock was pressed tightly against his red pubic hair. It was somewhat longer than Azi’s own and felt delightful in his fist. He gave it a squeeze. That seemed to be Crowley’s limit.

“All right, you’ve had your fun,” he choked. “My turn.” 

He grasped Azi by the upper arms and flipped him over with more strength than his wiry body should rightly have been capable of. By the time Azi found himself flat on his back, they were both entirely nude. 

Crowley was kneeling between his legs and leaning over him, eyes flicking all across his supine body. Azi knew his soft, white flesh must be making a nice contrast to the dark silk of the bedsheets. He wondered whether he should feel shy, being exposed so wholly to another person like this, but the way Crowley’s gaze was eating him up gave him courage. He even dared a provocative little wiggle.

Crowley closed his eyes briefly and seemed to be trying to master himself.

“Angel, I swear. If I weren’t already damned, this would do it.”

He grabbed Azi’s wrists and pinned them to the bed above his head, just hard enough to keep them in place, and began sucking merciless kisses down his neck. Azi bucked and keened against the intense sensation.

“You can’t imagine the things I want to do to you.”

“No, I'm rather afraid I can’t,” Azi gasped, trying to regain his breath.

Crowley stopped and looked down at him suspiciously.

"What does that mean?"

“I, er. I must admit that I didn’t even really realise that two men could… not that I particularly know anything much about women either, but… Oh goodness, this is rather embarrassing.”

Crowley released his wrists and dropped his forehead onto Azi’s chest with a groan.

“You’re going to be the death of me. I know I’m immortal, but you’re going to manage it anyway.” His head snapped back up. “Wait, does that mean that last night, when I… was that… why didn’t you say something?!”

“Oh, well, that wasn’t too far outside my experience, although it didn’t feel nearly so good when the neighbour girl did it…”

“Neighbour girl? What neighbour girl? Give me her name, I’ll have her hands removed.”

“I’d much rather you concentrated on going back to what you were just doing.”

Crowley laughed and kissed his mouth, once, twice, softly.

“Don’t you worry, angel. I’ll take care of you. Although it’s been so long for me that my innocence may as well have grown back.”

He continued the soft kisses, but now they were travelling down Azi’s body, onto his shoulders, his chest. One on each nipple, which gave Azi a little sympathy for his earlier reaction. Crowley was clearly taking his time, letting Azi wind himself up as he worked. By the time he was kissing along the crease between pelvis and thigh, Azi was shaking with it. 

Crowley gently nosed the side of his cock and looked up at him. 

“You’re delicious. D’you know that?”

But Azi couldn’t answer, because there was a tongue running up the length of him, and it was addling every thought in his head. Then Crowley took the whole of him into his hot mouth - and wasn’t that something - and started doing something with his tongue that Azi could only assume was a skill particular to demons. Azi could hear the pathetic noises coming out of his own mouth, but didn't seem to have any control over them.

Just before the sensation truly became overwhelming, Crowley pulled off and crawled back up Azi’s body to kiss the heaving breaths from his mouth. He pressed his entire body against Azi’s, and the feeling of so much skin against over-sensitised skin was a marvel all its own. Crowley was even hotter to the touch than usual, and the effect was almost soporific.  

Then Crowley began to thrust against him, and Azi could feel the slide of hard-but-soft cock against his own, lubricated by the saliva that had been left there. It seemed unimaginably dirty to Azi, but he was enjoying it too much to care, and besides, Crowley was whispering in his ear again.

“Yes, there you go. You like that, angel? You like to feel me against you? Feel how desperate you make me?"

Crowley wrapped a hot, slick hand around them both to keep them aligned, and the slide and pressure of it was electric. He was still whispering, thrusting faster as he went on. Azi hooked his legs around Crowley's narrow body to pull him closer and move with his rhythm.

"Satan, you taste amazing. Could have sucked you for hours. You drive me insane. So soft. Can’t get enough of you. Want to… want to devour you. Make you mine. Come for me. Please come for me. Angel. Please.” 

By the end, Azi could barely process the begging before he was coming hard, clutching at Crowley’s hips with his legs and pressing his face into Crowley’s neck. 

“Oh, God,” he gasped, and went limp.

“You leave Him out of this,” Crowley mumbled, still rubbing lazily against him.

“That was incredible.” He let the pleasure wash gently through his body for a few moments, until he was sure he could move again. “Let me touch you now? Please?”

“Anything, angel. But I don't think it'll take much."

Crowley raised himself up on all fours over Azi to give him access. This, Azi knew how to do, although the angle was foreign. Crowley moved with Azi’s fist and made the most intoxicating noises. Azi watched his face, hungry for the ecstasy on it.

Crowley quickly reached his own crisis, spilling on Azi’s stomach and chest with a bitten-off curse, and then promptly collapsed on top of him.  

After a few moments, Azi tried to urge him up, but he just groaned into Azi’s shoulder. 

“Come on, it’s getting… sticky.”

Crowley carelessly flicked a hand without otherwise moving, and their skin was clean once more.

“I think I may actually sleep tonight,” he told Azi’s shoulder. And then, after a moment, “you can stay, if you want.”

Crowley finally shifted off of Azi and turned his head to look at him. There was something sad and vulnerable in his eyes again.

“I would love that, darling,” Azi whispered, and stroked his hair until he fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Azi settled deeper into his favourite reading nook, the one in the curved ledge of a large, round window on the library’s upper storey. He had forgotten about the book on his lap and was staring unseeingly out the window, thinking about the events of the morning with a small smile on his face.

It had still been mostly dark out when he had awoken in Crowley's bed, roused by the feeling of the demon's unnaturally hot body pasted along his back, a half-hard cock making itself known against his buttocks. Azi re-lived the feeling of Crowley's hands on him, of the way he had nipped at the back of Azi’s neck. Of slow lovemaking as the dawn broke. Of being wanted. Yes, it had been a very good morning. 

He shook himself from his reverie and forced his attention back onto his book. He just had to find a way to break Crowley's curse. He was determined to release him from this endless, lonely life on an isolated estate, where the single companion he had found in centuries could only be with him inside the beartrap of his misery.

He had to give Crowley his place back in the world.

The book on his lap was an old tome of religious lore, one of several he had found on a remote shelf of the library. The rest were piled by the nook. Azi had been flipping through them, looking for anything that caught his eye, but nothing terribly interesting had come of it yet. 

This particular book had a number of cryptic glyphs purporting to be the language of the angels. Intriguing, perhaps, but not helpful. 

He picked up the next book, which declared itself to be an in-depth account of the ways in which witches consorted with the devil. Now that was more like it. Azi read a few pages with growing interest. It gave him an idea.

“Hello, love. Haven't seen you in a while. Come in, I'm just putting on the tea.”

“Thank you, that would be lovely. I'm sorry I haven't been by in a bit. I've been erm, somewhat occupied.”

“Mmm.”

He was certain Madame Tracy’s eyes had flicked over the fading love-bite on his neck. It was making him pink with embarrassment. Thankfully, though, she didn't seem like she was going to comment on it.

Azi received his tea gratefully. He was feeling a little awkward about the reason for his visit, and he always found tea to be a helpful fortification in trying times.

“Erm. There was something I wanted to ask you about, in fact. If you have a few moments. And of course if you want to, that is to say, if it's something you'd-”

“Spit it out, child. I promise you I've heard it all before.”

Azi realised with mortification that she probably thought his question was connected with the love-bite. “No! It's not, anything like that, just.” He took a breath. “Crowley told me that you're a witch?”

Madame Tracy laughed. "Yes, I suppose you could say so. I come from a very long line of witches, at least. Why do you ask?”

It occurred to Azi entirely too late that he had no idea what, if anything, Madame Tracy actually knew about Crowley's curse. The story Crowley had told him had obviously been extremely personal, and Azi hadn't asked his permission to share it. Nothing for it now, though - he'd have to do his best to talk around it.

“Ah. Yes. Well. I'm doing some research, out of personal interest you understand, about the devil. And I was wondering whether it's true that witches have a tradition of communicating with him…?”

“The devil, is it? That seems like a terribly serious subject for a young man to be interested in.”

As usual, he couldn't tell whether she was taking the piss. He remembered what Crowley told him about the humans who tended to wander onto this estate. “Well, I've always had an interest in the occult, you see. Why else would I be living in a demon's house?” He laughed weakly.

“Why, indeed.” She considered him for a long moment before returning her attention to her tea. “Well, to answer your question, there are certainly stories about witches managing to contact him in the past. I don't know of any modern examples. But, we have collected some information about him over the centuries. Was there something specific you were wondering about?”

Azi couldn't think of how to word his question in a way that didn't implicate Crowley, even indirectly. "No, just… general curiosity. Where would I find that kind of information, then?”

“Not written down, I'm afraid. More of an oral tradition. For safety purposes, you understand.”

“Oh. And is that something you…?”

“I'll tell you what, love. If you come to me with a specific question, I'll see what I can do. All right?”

The conversation with Madame Tracy hadn't gone quite as Azi had hoped it would. He worried it over in his mind as he took his afternoon stroll through the garden. No matter how he looked at it, he kept coming back to the conclusion that he would need to speak with Crowley before he asked Madame Tracy anything else. 

With every day that passed, Azi was more certain of his feelings for Crowley. With alarming quickness, the idea of ever being separated from him had become unbearable. And he felt sure he would give anything to make Crowley happy. Azi prodded his heart. The feeling there was huge and simple, and, in all honesty, rather terrifying. And yet, there had been no change in Crowley’s condition.

The simplest interpretation of the curse’s caveat, then, was probably not correct. Azi mentally moved down his list to the second most likely: true love that was requited.

Here, he felt less sure. Crowley desired him physically, beyond a doubt. And certainly, he enjoyed Azi’s company - Azi felt confident that Crowley considered him a friend. He had also disclosed his seemingly most painful and personal secrets to Azi, of his own volition. Surely that had to count for something. But did that all necessarily amount to love? Azi could not say.

Crowley seemed afraid of Azi's enthusiasm for solving the curse. Was he worried that Azi would discover that Crowley did not love him? Perhaps even, as Azi had been worrying, that becoming a demon had made it impossible for him to truly love another? That certainly seemed like the kind of trap that a deal with the devil might entail.

Although, if Crowley did love him, then that obviously wasn't the solution to the curse either.

Azi sighed. He was back, once more, at the conclusion that his next step must be to speak to Crowley about this. And he didn't feel at all certain of how that would go.

Crowley visited him at mealtime again, this time at supper. Azi was surprised when the knock at the door partway through his meal turned out to be Crowley rather than Madame Tracy. Supper had been a solitary affair for the entire time Azi had been at the mansion, except for his very first one, when Crowley had appeared by the fire and they'd discussed the terms of their arrangement.

“Evening, angel. Mind if I join you?”

“Please do. Since when do you knock instead of popping up like a jack-in-the-box?” 

Crowley snorted. “Didn't want to startle you again, like I did yesterday over breakfast. Don't think the china could take it.” He slipped into the chair to the left of Azi’s and picked up the full wine glass that had appeared there for him. No plate, though.

“Are you not eating?”

“Not really my thing. But the food is good?”

“Superb, as always.” 

Azi tucked in to the remains of his veal fricassée, eyes closing in pleasure at its perfect flavour. When he opened them again, Crowley had his chin propped up on his hand and was staring at him. "Are you just going to watch me eat, then?”

“Mmm, I believe I will.”

“As you like. I'm almost finished, anyway.” He took a forkful of the creamy mash that the veal was served over, savouring the exquisite way it paired with the sauce. 

Crowley was still staring at him, his eyes large and round. “Come to my bedchamber again tonight.”

Azi felt a hot curl of excitement in his gut. He did really need to talk to Crowley, though. "It would be my pleasure.”

Crowley slid his leg over and pressed it against Azi’s at the knee. 

Azi quickly cleaned his plate. “All right, I think I'm finished with supper. Join me in front of the fire for some whiskey?”

“Like that first night.”

“Yes. But perhaps we could sit on the same sofa this time?"

Crowley impatiently flicked his hand and relocated them both to one of the sofas by the mantle. There was a glass of whiskey in Azi's hand. He laughed fondly at the eagerness of it.

Crowley slithered down on the sofa until he was lying with his head in Azi’s lap. Azi got the hint and began to stroke his hair, remembering how fast it had relaxed him the night before. Crowley closed his eyes and butted his head into Azi’s hand. The fire crackled quietly next to them.

It suddenly occurred to Azi just how torturous it must have been for this affectionate creature to go for centuries without the simple touch of another. No wonder he was starving for it. 

And so Azi sipped his whiskey and gave him a few minutes of silent attention before he began.

"Still with me, darling?”

“Mmf." Crowley's eyes were still closed and his breathing had gotten deep and even. 

“I think I made a little headway, today. In my reading.”

“Nng.”

“You see, I found some stories about witches communicating with the devil. And I thought perhaps they might have some useful information about his dealings.”

Crowley opened his eyes now and looked up at Azi. "So you went to talk to Madame Tracy.”

He didn't seem particularly upset. So far, so good. 

“Have you been spying on me, you naughty thing?”

“No, just seemed logical. I would never, angel.”

Azi felt chastised. “Of course. Well in any case, I think she could be a valuable source of information.”

“But…?”

“But, I realised I wasn't in a position to speak to her about any of it.”

“And why not?”

Azi was surprised at this. "Well, because I've no idea what she does and doesn't know about your… circumstances, or how much you want her to know, and I would never risk betraying your confidence.”

Crowley sat up properly at that. "Even for something that's so important to you?"

“Of course not. I wouldn't do that to you, Crowley. You're what's most important to me.”

He hadn't really meant to say that last bit, but the intimate ambiance and the warmth of Crowley's body -- and all right, perhaps the whiskey -- were dulling his defenses. And anyway, it was true. So there.

Crowley's face was doing something funny. He hung one arm on the back of the sofa around Azi’s shoulders, and brought his other hand up to stroke the side of Azi's face. His serpentine eyes were heavy with feeling.

“I don't know what I did to deserve you, angel. Surely a damned soul like mine doesn't merit such good fortune.” 

Crowley kissed him, and the tenderness of it bowled Azi over.

He hadn't exactly gotten an answer as to how to approach Madame Tracy, but surely that could wait a little while longer. And besides, he was starting to get a better idea of the answer to his other question. Crowley was kissing him not with lust, but with something much softer and undemanding. The demon held him close and bestowed slow kisses on his cheekbones, his eyelids, the corner of his mouth, like he was something precious to be adored. 

All of a sudden, Azi was feeling completely overwhelmed. He drew a shuddering breath and was humiliated to feel his eyes welling up. 

“Angel? What's wrong?” Crowley pulled away quickly. “Fuck, that was too much, wasn't it? I know I'm too much, can't help it. Always been like that. I'm sorry, please don't cry.”

Azi marshalled himself enough to interrupt this terrified monologue, though he couldn't keep the quaver from his voice.

“Do come back here, darling. You're not too much, never that. I'm just being terribly silly.” He wiped hurriedly at his eyes and re-insinuated himself into Crowley's embrace, wrapping his arms around the demon’s chest and nuzzling in under his chin. He felt Crowley relax and carefully replace his own arms around Azi.

Azi’s breaths were still shuddering, and he tightened his hold on Crowley as he fought to get himself under control. Crowley seemed to understand now. He tightened his arms as well, pressing Azi to his chest, and petted his back soothingly. 

“It's okay, angel. We’ll figure it out together, like you said. Remember?” 

Azi nodded against him, feeling horribly embarrassed about his loss of control, but he allowed himself to be comforted. They sat together like that for a long while, just holding each other in silence.

Well, then. It seemed that requited love was probably not the solution, either.

Chapter Text

They ended up back in Crowley’s bedchamber that night, of course they did.

There were no games this time, just hot breath and skin. They had undressed slowly, the human way, a mutual reveal of each one to the other. Now they lay facing, tasting each other’s mouths. Crowley had pushed one slim, lightly-haired thigh between Azi’s own and was encouraging him to rut against it.

Azi felt like his blood was on a low simmer. He ran his hand down the bumps of Crowley’s spine, to the small of his back, where sweat collected in the dimples, and over the unbearable curve of his buttocks. Azi dug his fingers into the muscle there, pulling him harder against his rolling hips, gasping at the increased pressure.

Crowley was biting gently at the spot where Azi’s neck met his shoulder and making little noises against his skin. Azi could feel Crowley's cock prodding firmly at his hip, intoxicating proof of his desire.

“Angel. Let me make you feel good,” Crowley purred, his hands rubbing at Azi’s hips. “I could make you feel so good. Will you let me?”

“Yes, anything,” Azi managed, and he meant it.

Crowley rolled toward Azi, pushing him onto his back, and draped himself over Azi’s side. One of his legs was still between Azi’s, and he used it to nudge his thighs further apart. While Crowley kissed at his neck, he slipped one hand down between Azi’s legs and gently massaged at his bollocks, and then the skin behind them. Azi hummed and pushed against him encouragingly. 

Crowley’s exploring hand was oily and slick now, and it started to slide further back, over the sensitive spot hidden there. Azi strained against the shocking sensation, but Crowley held him fast and gave his neck distracting little bites and licks. 

“All right, angel? Promise you’ll like this. D’you trust me?”

The gentle swirl of his finger did feel disarmingly good. Azi nodded against him. 

“Mhm. Yes.”

Crowley latched a purposeful, sucking bite onto his neck and slowly pushed the tip of one finger into him. Azi inhaled sharply and tensed up at the intrusion.

“Breathe for me, angel.” Crowley lapped at his skin soothingly. “Just try to relax.” 

Azi did his best, taking deep breaths and willing his body to unclench. Crowley whispered praise in his ear and pushed his long, slim finger the rest of the way in. The sensation was strange, a confusing combination of arousing and wrong. Crowley slid in, out, slowly, giving Azi time to adjust to the feeling of it. Azi was surprised to discover that it got considerably better as it went.

“How does that feel? Good? Fuck, I’ve been dying to get inside you. D’you want another one?”

“I… I’m not…”

Crowley crooked his finger and dragged it against something inside of him. Every nerve in his body lit up and he jerked upwards against Crowley’s chest with a shocked cry. Crowley repeated the motion a few more times, a little more gently. 

He could feel Crowley smile against his neck. 

“How about now?”

Crowley took his disjointed cursing and begging as a yes, and worked another long finger in. The brief discomfort tipped quickly into a maddening pleasure as Crowley set up a steady rhythm of push and pull, dragging the pads of his fingers lightly over that sensitive area with each motion. Azi began to move with him, pushing back against every thrust of his hand.

“Please,” Azi gasped. He was emitting clipped cries with each breath now.

“Please what, angel?”

Azi didn’t know. "Oh God, please.”

“I thought I told you to leave Him out of this,” Crowley murmured against his ear, and started working his fingers faster. “Try my name instead, see what that gets you.”

Azi was losing his mind. He was certain it was scrambling beyond repair. The pleasure was hitting a level almost past bearing, but stubbornly refusing to peak. He clutched at Crowley desperately and scrabbled against his back. His little cries were getting higher-pitched.

“Please, Crowley. Oh, fucking… please, you menace.”

Crowley chuckled slightly, and his free hand finally snaked between them to grasp Azi’s cock. 

“All right, angel. I’ve got you. Let it go.”

It only took a couple of pulls before the unbearable tension finally exploded outwards through his entire nervous system, tearing the air from his lungs in a shout. It seemed to go on forever, Crowley’s fingers mercilessly dragging it out of his spasming body, until Azi finally pulled away from him with a gasp. 

His heart was galloping in his chest, and he realised distantly that his throat was hoarse against his ragged breaths. 

Crowley magicked them both clean and shifted off him with a pleased sigh. He petted at Azi’s curls and kissed his face as he recovered.

“Menace, is it?”

Azi was still panting. “F-fiend.”

“Hmm, undeniable, I’m afraid.” He kissed Azi’s forehead. “You all right, angel? Was that okay?”

Azi rolled toward him and buried his face into his neck.

“It was perfect, you beast. Did they teach you that at demon school?”

“How dare you. Hell could learn a thing or two from me.”

“I’m going to sleep for a week. Wait, what about you…?”

“Don’t worry about me. Rest, now.”

“Oh, but… I wanted to…” Azi was already yawning.

Crowley ran his fingers gently through his hair. “Next time,” he murmured fondly. “Sleep now, my angel.” 

Azi slept.

When Azi finally awoke, he was alone in Crowley’s gloomy chamber. There was a bit of sunlight creeping around the edges of the thick curtains, but that was not what had woken him. It had been a repetitive noise that he couldn’t place. 

Azi slipped out of bed, smiling as he realised he was dressed in silk pyjamas and there were soft slippers waiting for his feet on the cold stone floor. He looked around with interest at the dark and simple furnishings of the chamber. This was his second morning here in as many days, but the previous day Crowley had still been there as well. They hadn’t lingered long after they had finally gotten out of bed. Today, he was alone to do as he pleased. 

There was the noise again: a sharp tapping from the direction of the window. Azi approached it curiously and drew the curtains back. He was astonished to see that there was a nightingale perched on the window sill, staring right at him. 

It tapped against the glass again, a brisk and demanding tattoo. Azi remembered suddenly that he had never gotten an explanation for Crowley’s angry reaction to his mention of the nightingale visits. He looked around furtively, and opened the window.

The nightingale immediately hopped over the sill and fluttered into the room. It landed on a writing desk in the corner that Azi hadn’t noticed before. It was a beautiful antique, finely wrought, and inlaid with patterns of ebony. The bird stood there and chirped at Azi until he approached, then it pecked briefly at one of the drawers and stared at him again. 

Azi tried the drawer, but it was locked. "I’m sorry, bird, but I can’t open it.”

The nightingale’s dark eye was unsympathetic.

Azi looked around the desk for a key, without success. He finally felt experimentally along the bottom and found a small ledge that was hidden from sight. The nightingale chirped encouragingly. He ran his fingers along the edge until they touched something smooth and cold, and drew out a small silver key.

The nightingale broke out into a triumphant song, then flew back out of the window and disappeared.

Azi looked at the key in his hand and wondered whether he was dreaming. He felt distinctly uncomfortable with the idea of violating Crowley’s privacy, but there was clearly something beyond his understanding happening with the nightingale and he could not bring himself to ignore it. He looked around the room once more, guiltily, and slipped the key into the lock of the drawer. 

There was only one thing inside, wrapped in a piece of crimson silk. Azi drew it out and carefully folded the silk back, revealing a bundle of letters. 

They were clearly very old, but in surprisingly sturdy condition. Azi had difficulty making out the cramped, antique style of writing, but it was obvious that they were all written in the same hand. He squinted at the words and began to make a few of them out. They were all addressed to a C, and signed off with an R. And in between… Oh. Oh, no. They were letters from Raphael. Very personal ones.

Azi folded them back up quickly with shaking hands. This was in no way any of his business. He definitely should not be reading these, magical bird messengers or no. But as he lifted the crimson silk to re-wrap the bundle, something else fell out of it. It was a small bronze medallion, about the size of a coin, with a little loop at the top that suggested it was meant to be worn on a chain as a pendant. It was impressed with the finely detailed image of a heraldic crest, at the centre of which was a figure of a nightingale. 

He quickly took it over to the window, where the light was brightest, the better to see its fine linework. 

That was definitely a nightingale; he had just had the benefit of a live model with which to compare it. It was standing atop a bell, and in its mouth it held a key.  Around the sides of it were branches of what looked like holly. 

There was a banner at the bottom, and Azi squinted and shifted the medallion around in the light to make out its miniscule words.

Azi had had enough Latin at school to know this one: love conquers all. He vaguely remembered it being from a poem. Virgil, wasn't it? ^*

He inspected the face of the medallion closely to see if he'd missed anything, then checked the back of it as well. Confident there was nothing further to be seen, he went and slipped it back into its place. Heart in his throat, he put the bundle of letters back as closely as possible to the way he found them, locked the drawer, replaced the key, and fled.

He went directly back to his chamber and locked himself in. He fetched some paper and a pencil from his things and sat at the dressing table to sketch a good likeness of the crest while it was still fresh in his mind. When he was done, he carefully folded the paper up and hid it in the inner pocket of the jacket he planned to wear that day. 

His task completed, he took some deep breaths and tried to control his spiking anxiety over what he’d done. He suddenly recalled Crowley’s hurt at the suggestion that he would spy on Azi, his surprise and touching gratitude that Azi had respected his secrets. Oh, this was very bad, indeed. But everything would be all right, wouldn't it? Crowley wouldn’t need to know. 

Azi’s stomach hurt at the thought of lying to him. He tried to tell himself it would be worth it - surely the nightingale had led him to this for a reason? He would do some research at the library this morning and see what he could make of the crest. It would be fine. He was doing it for Crowley.

It didn't take long for him to dig up some useful books on heraldry. The consensus among his sources seemed to be that the key represented knowledge, the holly was for rebirth, and the bell was intended to summon angels or drive away devils. The only symbol he couldn't find a reference to was the nightingale. 

He tried to hold the symbols in his mind and test how they fit together. He could see the individual elements at play in Crowley's story, but in the crest they were all connected by the nightingale, the one symbol he had no reference for. 

And then there was the motto: love conquers all. Was that to do with the devil's caveat about true love breaking the curse, perhaps? Or was it just another facet of the riddle of the crest?

Azi sighed and rubbed at his face. He felt like he was going in circles. He wished he could ask Crowley about the medallion, but quite simply, he was scared of facing the consequences of his actions. He remembered vividly how angry Crowley had been at his question about the nightingale. Crowley hadn’t mentioned it when he had told Azi his story, so he clearly wasn’t prepared to talk about it. Whatever this crest was, presumably something to do with Raphael, was probably related to that anger. 

No, he had to at least try to solve this on his own. 

Azi considered what to do next. Really, the only other possible lead he had at the moment was Madame Tracy. He resolved to speak with Crowley properly about that, as soon as possible.

Azi got his chance that afternoon, when he went to take his usual turn around the gardens. 

It was quite late in the day already, and everything was awash in the soft light of the magic hour. He patted the pocket of his jacket, checking once more that his sketch and his research notes were safely in place, and set out. 

He hadn't gotten very far before he spotted Crowley sauntering towards him. At least he hadn’t popped up out of nowhere again; Azi wasn’t sure his nerves could take it today.

Crowley was wearing a long, shapely black wool overcoat against the autumn chill, along with his usual tall hat. This time he also carried a walking stick under one arm, ebony with a silver handle in the shape of a snake’s head. He really did look very handsome. Azi blushed a little at the thought of what they had done together the night before. 

“Afternoon, angel.”

He seemed perfectly normal, even cheery. Azi cautiously breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at him. "Hello, darling. Come to join me on my walk again?”

Crowley wrapped an arm around his waist and kissed him fondly. "If you don’t mind. I find it difficult to tire of your company.” He held his elbow out for Azi, and they continued on Azi’s usual circuit through the gardens.

"I'm sorry I was gone when you woke up this morning,” Crowley began in a casually conversational tone. “I needed to do a little thinking.”

“Is everything all right?” 

“Oh, yes. I… hm. Don't be angry, but I went to talk to Raphael.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Well, not really, of course. I go to the angel statue sometimes…”

Oh, that was quite sad. Azi squeezed his arm understandingly. “And did you get what you were looking for?”

“Yes, I think I did.”

They walked on in silence for a few moments. Suddenly, Crowley stopped and pushed him up against a nearby willow tree, holding him by the waist. “Azi.” The look on his face was startling. His throat moved ineffectively as he tried to summon the words he was looking for. "Angel. You must know I… what you mean to me. What I-- what I feel for you.” He was looking at Azi beseechingly, willing him to understand.

“I think I do,” Azi said slowly.

“Do you?”

The late-day sunlight was playing across Crowley’s beautiful golden eyes, making them glow like embers.

“I'm dreadfully in love with you,” Azi whispered. “Is it something like that?”

Crowley stared wildly at him for a moment, and then crowded him against the tree and kissed him hard. "Something like that,” he breathed.

Crowley threw his walking stick aside and brought both hands up to cup Azi’s face as he kissed him again. Azi wrapped his arms around his back and held him close. The kisses had a stormy flavour of both desperation and relief that made Azi dizzy.

When they were both breathless, Crowley rested his forehead against Azi's and closed his eyes briefly. Then he laughed, a little disbelievingly, and pulled away. “Not the solution to the curse, then.” It was bittersweet.

“I'm afraid not, darling.” 

“Have you found anything else?”

“Not… not as of yet, no.” Oh, that felt awful. He was such a coward.

Crowley looked at him a little oddly. "Then I think we should start by talking to Madame Tracy.”

“We?”

“We're figuring it out together, right?”

Azi swallowed back a hot flare of guilt. “Right.” A little frown line appeared between Crowley’s eyes. Azi quickly kissed him and it disappeared. "When should we go see her?”

“Right away, I suppose? Or rather, perhaps in just a little while,” he amended, and pushed Azi back up against the tree.

^{* Azi is right about this being from Virgil. As AMOR VINCIT OMNIA (no change in meaning), it is the title of a Caravaggio painting from 1602 that depicts an insolent Cupid with black wings. In his hand, he holds two arrows: a red one for uncontrollable desire, and a black one for the impulse to flee. (Before you Google it, please note it’s a classical depiction that includes the genitals of what appears to be a prepubescent boy.) ↩}

Chapter Text

To Azi's surprise, Crowley was very familiar with Madame Tracy's little kitchen. She had kissed the master happily on the cheek and motioned them both in to sit at the table. Crowley sprawled comfortably while she fussed with a coffee for him. Azi didn't even know he drank coffee.

“Fancy seeing the both of you here,” she said with a little smile. Azi was amazed to see two small spots of colour appear on Crowley’s face. “I'm guessing this isn't a social visit, though?”

She put a plate of biscuits on the table and Azi self-consciously snatched one up.

“Afraid not, Tracy. I’ll get to the point, then. You know what kind of demon I am?”

“I've an educated guess.” 

“Then you know what we've come to ask you. What can you tell us about the deals that the devil makes with mortals?”

She sipped her tea thoughtfully. "Well, from what I know, there's always a caveat.”

“Yes. Are they ever actually usable, though?”

“I have heard stories of people occasionally managing to break their deal, but I don't have any details of how. Whatever the caveat is, it's bound to be less straightforward than it sounds.”

“We figured that much,” said Azi, eyeing a second biscuit.

“I will say that the devil has a reputation for being very… legalistic.” 

Crowley frowned at her. “Meaning what, exactly?”

“It seems that if you can corner him logically, he is likely to concede it.”

“Hmm. That could be useful, perhaps?”

Azi nodded at him in agreement.

“One more thing, love.” Madame Tracy looked down at her tea as she stirred it. “They say that every deal has a talisman that binds it together.”

Crowley and Azi exchanged a look.

“A talisman?”

Azi’s mind was whirring. “What do you mean, binds it together?”

“I'm afraid I don't know more than that. But it may be important.”

Crowley looked thoughtful. "I see. Well, we appreciate your help, Tracy.”

“Of course, my dears.” She looked over at Azi rather sadly, and squeezed his hand. "Good luck, pet.”

“What now, d’you think?”

Aziraphale thought a moment. "Well, the talisman she mentioned is probably the angel statue, right? You said it appeared out of nowhere right after the deal was made.”

“Must be.”

Everything Azi had learned pointed back at that statute - its strange role in Crowley's story, the angel-summoning bell in the crest with the prickly plants around it, Madame Tracy’s mention of a deal-sealing talisman… even the appearance of its location in his strange dreams, dating back to before he even knew Crowley existed. 

“Can we go take another look? I haven’t been back there since the night we -- since that night.”

“Sure thing, angel.”

They wandered back to the ruins of the chapel together in the shadowless dusk, hand in hand. The days had been getting shorter as the summer withered into autumn, and it was dark enough by the time they arrived that Crowley had to repeat his trick with the palmful of glowing flame. 

It all looked just as Azi remembered: badly damaged stone angel, approximately life-sized, surrounded by bushes of flame-red roses.  He cast a glance at the grass by the stream with a little frisson. It was difficult to believe that had only been a few days before; he felt like he had been living someone else’s life up until that night.

Crowley eyed the statue sceptically. “I thought this was supposed to be a reminder, and maybe it is. But if it’s the talisman, how does it ‘bind together’ my deal?”

“I don’t know. Surely not in a literal sense? I mean, I doubt just destroying it would help you.”

“Mmm, that doesn’t sound likely.”

Azi circled the statue from a little distance, staying clear of the rose bushes, looking for anything else of interest. “Crowley, what did this statue look like when it was new? It’s so worn now that there’s not much to make out.”

Crowley glanced sideways at him. “Erm. Might be able to show you.”

“You what? How?”

“I might be able to share my memory of it with you. Won't last long, though - it’ll be draining.” He put his fingers gently to the back of Azi’s head. The statue flickered slightly in Azi’s sight, like it was being overlain by a screen, and suddenly he could make out the whole of it.

It was a beautiful, life-like rendering of a young man with an elegant spread of eagle’s wings on his back. The face was strangely familiar. Azi was just looking closely at it when the illusion faded back to time-worn stone.

“Crowley, was that… am I losing my mind, or did that look like me?”

Crowley was rubbing the back of his own neck in embarrassment. “Couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you through your brother’s memories.”

“Is that why you call me angel?”

“Mnnf.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, darling?”

“Embarrassing. Thought I might be imagining it out of desperation. It is you, though, isn’t it?”

“How is that even possible?”

“Dunno. But it has to be a good sign, right? You’re meant to be here? With me?”

Azi smiled at the hopeful tilt of his eyebrows and kissed him. “Silly demon. I could have told you that.”

It was not quite supper time, but they repaired to the dining room anyway. They were stretched out on the sofa before the fire, Crowley lying against the arm of it with one leg bent and the other on the floor, Azi reclining against him between his legs. Crowley had his arms around him and their hands were clasped together in Azi’s lap. 

Azi was trying to concentrate on their conversation, but it was so tempting to just close his eyes and enjoy the gentle motion of Crowley’s chest as he breathed. It had been a terribly long day.

“Angel, are you listening?”

“Mmhm.”

Crowley kissed the top of his head. "I was asking you about the other thing Madame Tracy said. Legalism.”

“Yes, unpicking the logic of the deal. Did you have any ideas about it? What were the devil's exact words?”

“It's been literal ages, angel, and I was in a terrible state when it happened. I couldn't tell you verbatim. Just that Raphael's soul would be freed from damnation in return for my own.” 

“Hmm. I don’t really see what there is to unpick in that.”

“Nor I."

“But, still, it's an interesting idea. I suppose it merits some further thought.”

“I suppose it does.” Crowley was kissing the side of his neck now. “It's almost supper time.”

“Is it? Thank goodness, I could eat an ox.”

“Sorry, I think it’s chicken piccata, tonight.”

One of Crowley's hands travelled up Azi’s chest and thumbed at his nipple. Azi laughed, though perhaps a little breathily. "You're insatiable, you dirty old man.”

“Can't help it. Like watching you eat.” He was back at work at Azi’s neck. “D’you know you make happy little moans when you try something particularly good?”

“I beg your pardon! I do not moan around my food.”

“Y’do. Trust me, angel, I know what makes you moan.” 

There was a teasing smile in his voice, but Azi still felt himself blush. "You're ridiculous.”

“All right, all right. I won't get you too worked up before your blessed supper.” Crowley released him. “You'd better eat quickly though, can't promise how long my patience will last.”

As Azi stood up, though, Crowley caught him again by the wrist. He was frowning. "Angel, is everything all right?”

Azi felt his heart rate pick up. He forced himself to answer calmly. “What do you mean?”

“I don't know. There's something unsettled about you. Your aura’s strange today. I didn't notice it at first because I was distracted with, y'know, what I wanted to tell you in the garden. But something’s… off.”

Azi hadn't expected this and was struggling to decide how to react. His aura was strange? But Crowley's eyes weren't suspicious -- they were sad. "I'm just… worried about you, darling,” Azi managed. “A lot has happened in the past few days. I just want to make everything right for you.”

It wasn't technically untrue. Still, the words sat in Azi’s gut like lead.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.” He leaned over to kiss Crowley in what he hoped was a reassuring way. And if it had the benefit of hiding his face for a few moments, all the better.

Crowley finally released his wrist and smiled at him a little uncertainly. "All right, angel, if you say so. Come on then, chicken piccata waits for no man.”

Azi ended up begging off Crowley's company that night, citing exhaustion from the day. He needed some time alone to think, and the only place with a guarantee of that was his own bedchamber. Crowley had given him the sad eyes again but hadn't protested. 

He stayed up late staring at his notes, thinking, trying to shift the pieces into place. Finally, his mind worn and fuzzy, he drifted off to sleep.

That night, Azi had a dreadfully strange dream.

He was in the grass by the stream again, just like in the recurring dreams that had led him into Crowley's arms. He knew now that this was a real place, and that, in life, it was where the angel statue sat.  

In his dream, though, the statue was not there. In its lieu was a handsome young man, sitting cross-legged in the cool grass. He was holding his palm up, and there was something on it.  He smiled at Azi and stretched his hand out towards him, offering the item up. It was a golden key. Azi accepted it and held it up to take a good look. There was a figure of a nightingale engraved on its elaborate handle. The young man smiled at him again, and disappeared.

When Azi awoke, he knew what the nightingale meant. And he had an idea.

It was barely daybreak, but Azi rose anyway and went directly to the library. This time, instead of setting out with the intention of finding books on a particular topic, he walked through the stacks randomly and let his mind wander to Crowley. 

He thought about Crowley’s sadness, his gentleness, his passion, his anger. 

He thought about his pain, his self-doubt. His curiosity. His selflessness. His desire to do what was good and right. His desire to please and to amuse and to atone. 

He thought about the elegant lines of his body, and what it was like to be in his arms.

Azi let his love for Crowley flood into every corner of his soul, until he felt like he was glowing with it. 

He didn't even realise he had closed his eyes until he opened them. In front of him was... a shelf of dry old administrative records. He frowned and pulled one out at random, thinking he must have gotten it wrong. Then he cracked it open and began to read.

Azi needed a horse, and he needed it now. 

He had searched high and low for Crowley, but he was nowhere to be found, and every time he tried to find his bedchamber the house sent him in circles of wrong turns. He had finally given up in frustration, not understanding what was happening but not able to wait any longer.

He had never taken any interest in the stables, not caring for either Madame Tracy’s rude husband or horses, but he knew where they were. He hurried through the gardens and into the open parkland off one of the wings of the estate, where some low brick buildings sat unassumingly. The first frost of the season had set in overnight and the grass crunched a little under his feet as he ran.  

Shadwell was just returning with a mare from her morning exercise, so she was fully tacked and ready to go. Azi ran up to him breathlessly.

“Shadwell. Need the horse.”

“Yer what?”

“Please! I don't have time for this.”

Shadwell frowned at him doubtfully. "D’yer even ken how to ride?” 

Azi did ken, from his youth as the son of a wealthy merchant, but it had been a long time. Also, he had hated it and been terrible at it. "Of course, what do you take me for? Now give her to me or… or I'll tell your master.”

Shadwell’s eyes got round and he spit on the ground. "He’s no’ my master, that wicked servant o’ the devil.”

“You're right, he's terribly wicked, and if I tell him you've been rude to me, he’ll, er, hex you?”

That seemed to be good enough. Shadwell threw the reins at him like they were on fire and took off, crossing himself and muttering incomprehensibly.

Azi put a foot into the stirrup and hoisted himself up, praying the mare was as docile as she looked. Then he took a deep breath and set her off in the direction of the only road out of the estate.

Chapter Text

Something was wrong with Azi. 

There had been a strange stress flickering in and out of him all day, and Crowley could sense that Azi had lied to him. More than once. That had never happened before.

And then he’d fled, after supper, and disappeared into his own chamber, rather than spend the night - or really, even the evening - with Crowley.

It was such a sudden turnaround in his behaviour. Crowley must have done something wrong. 

He ran through his memories, trying to remember when he had first noticed the strain. The night before had been… wonderful. Passionate and fulfilling and… hmm. Better not get sidetracked. In the morning Crowley had left rather early, and Azi had been asleep, looking more like an angel than ever. Nothing wrong there. 

The next time he’d seen him had been in the gardens, in the afternoon, after he’d talked to Raphael and resolved to tell Azi how he felt. That had gone well, better than he had allowed himself to expect. But he’d twigged something a little strange when they were discussing solving the curse. And Azi had definitely been a little deceptive about it.

He couldn’t recall noticing anything odd in Tracy’s kitchen, or at the angel statue. Too distracted, maybe. But by the time they’d gone to the dining room in the evening, he had looked directly at the niggling in the corner of his eye, and seen the weird wobble in Azi’s aura. And when he’d asked whether something was wrong, Azi had outright lied. Twice. 

Crowley felt a familiar sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had been too much, again. Had rushed ahead of himself, let himself feel too sure, and dumped a mess of feelings onto Azi that he wasn’t ready for. 

He curled up in a little ball on his empty bed. Maybe he was imagining things. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as all that. He would talk to him tomorrow, make sure everything was okay. But until then, there was only one way to escape the knots in his stomach. 

He cast a protective web of privacy around his bedchamber and went to sleep.

Crowley had about three seconds of hazy peace when he awoke, before the feeling slammed into him.

Azi was gone.

He started casting feelers around, trying to find him. Nothing. Not a thing, anywhere. Azi wasn’t on the estate.

He jumped out of bed in a panic and flicked some clothes on. This couldn’t be happening. He relocated quickly to the library, the gardens, even Azi’s bedchamber (which he had always avoided on principle) to look around and call his name. There was no one.

Finally, he appeared in Tracy’s quarters.  She nearly choked on her tea. Didn’t matter.

“Tracy! Azi’s gone. I can’t… I can’t feel him. He’s not anywhere. I don’t… what’s happening?”

“You don’t know?”

“What? Know what? What is happening? ”

“Oh, dear. You’d better have a seat, then.”

“I’m not having a bloody seat! Tell me what’s going on before I burn your godforsaken kitchen down! ”

“He took a horse from Shadwell early this morning, love. Insinuated that you knew about it, so I didn’t think to tell you.”

Crowley felt himself sliding to the floor. 

“He left.”

“I’ll send Shadwell to go look for him, sweetheart. I’m sure it’ll be –”

But Crowley didn’t hear what it would be. He relocated to an unreachable part of the roof of the mansion that was shielded by an overhang, wrapped his arms around his knees, and wept.

He didn’t know when the last time was that he had sobbed himself dry like this. Probably when Raphael died. He had run out of tears now and was lying curled up on his side, in his hiding spot on the roof, staring blankly into space. He wasn’t sure how long it had been. It didn’t really matter.

He was waiting to feel Azi. Maybe he would come back. Maybe he just went for a ride, out of curiosity, out of boredom, and didn’t tell him. Surely Shadwell had been sent out to check, by now. Even though Azi hated riding horses. 

But the sun was no longer high in the sky, and Azi was not back.

His absence was like a throbbing pain in Crowley’s awareness, an empty socket. He had gotten so used to feeling him near, day and night, a reassuring and steady presence on the estate. Living proof that Crowley, damned as he was, might still deserve a… a true friend. A true love, he whispered to himself, in the secrecy of his mind. What a fool he’d been.

He hadn’t even used the magic ring to leave. Which meant he hadn’t even been returning to his family. He had just taken off, empty handed, into the unknown. To find… what? Anything. Anything would be better than Crowley, than his cursed soul, than his cursed lands.

No wonder the curse hadn’t been broken. All this blather, pretending to love Crowley back, pretending to dabble in other possible solutions. Had he been… afraid of Crowley? Afraid of what Crowley would do if he realised that Azi didn’t love him? Had he just been biding his time until he could make good on his escape?

No, a little voice whispered. He could have left any time. He knew that. You told him. He must have just realised yesterday that he would never love Crowley. Probably when Crowley had made that disastrous confession in the garden. Azi had only needed to pretend a little longer, just long enough to shake him off, to get his things together and go. 

But you felt it. You felt his hands on you. You saw it, coming off of him in waves. That couldn’t have been faked. 

It didn’t matter. He was gone. 

Crowley noticed disinterestedly that the sun was starting to go down. He was cored out and numb. The traitorous sadist in his mind tried to prod the pain back into life, wondering whether he might feel something. 

Oh. He was at the statue, now. The grass was frozen under his body. The statue that had once had Azi’s face. Crowley couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been. Why would a curse from the devil be bringing something good into his life? He should have realised it was a trick. A way to tear him open all over again. He wondered distantly whether Azi was even real.

Then he saw it. Perched on top of the statue.

No.

Suddenly his frozen misery flamed to life, fury running through his veins like incendiary fluid. He could feel the heat bursting outward around him, lighting his skin on fire, melting the frost from the grass and then burning the grass from the earth.

“RAPHAEL!”

The nightingale cocked its head at him.

“How could you leave me?!” 

There were tears of blood-red brimstone pouring down Crowley’s face.

“How could you do this to me?!” 

The screams were tearing his throat. 

“All I ever wanted was your love! Why was that so wrong?!”

He was on the ground, clutching his head, trying to keep it from bursting apart.

“Why are you here?” He was sobbing quietly now. “Why must you torture me like this? Was this your doing? I gave my immortal soul for you. Was that not enough? Why… why was I not enough?”

The nightingale sang for him, a sad, sweet song. A lie.

Crowley slowly pulled himself to standing. 

For a few brief and beautiful days, for the first time in many lifetimes, Crowley had not wanted to die. 

He sucked in every molecule of heat for metres around him, compressed it into pure, black fury, and flung it directly at the statue of an angel.

Chapter Text

Finally, the mansion rose into sight at the end of the forested road. Azi felt like he had been on the horse for days. She had been blessedly cooperative, but still. His arse hurt. And he was vibrating with impatient excitement to tell Crowley what he’d learnt.

The trip to and from the neighbouring estate had taken longer than he had anticipated, and the sun was already going down. He hoped Crowley hadn't worried.

Just as he finished returning the mare to her stall, the air cracked open with the sound of a violent explosion. The horses whinnied and reared in panic. Azi rushed out from the stable and saw a cloud of heavy, black smoke rising from the direction of the gardens.

Crowley.

Azi forgot his exhaustion and his sore legs and ran like hell was at his heels, navigating the twisting paths of the gardens by sheer muscle memory until he reached the ruined chapel.

He was having trouble comprehending what he found there. The angel statue and the rose bushes were gone, and the place where they'd once stood was the centre of a great radius of scorched earth. Right in the middle of that circle lay Crowley. His black clothes rendered him almost invisible against the blackened ground, but the rays of the setting sun glinted unmistakably in his flame-red hair. He was flung across the ground, face down, unmoving.

Azi screamed his name and ran to him so fast that he nearly overbalanced. He grabbed Crowley's jacket with trembling hands and tried to shake him awake. He looked to be in one piece, but he wasn't responding.

“Crowley! Please! Please come back! Please, I- I need you!”

Tears blurred Azi’s vision as he rolled Crowley onto his back and cupped his face, trying to rouse him. He didn't understand what was happening. Crowley was immortal, wasn't he? Why wasn't he breathing? Did he need to breathe? Why wasn't he waking up?

“What a touching scene.”

Azi jerked in surprise and looked up to find a man watching them from a few paces away. He was handsome and elegantly dressed, with black hair and green eyes.

“Bravo, Azi. A commendable effort, really. But I'm afraid your time is up now.” He flicked his hand and Azi was thrown clear of Crowley’s inert form.

Azi rolled over in pain and tried to crawl back, but some great force was stopping him from getting any closer. He saw Crowley's eyes flutter open. They were entirely yellow, enormous and otherworldly. He struggled desperately against the force that was holding him back.

"Crowley!”

The devil -- for Azi did not know who else he could be -- strolled over and peered down into Crowley's face. "Hello, Crowley. I see you've been very naughty.”

Crowley was blinking in disorientation and trying to sit up.

“You've made such a mess, you bad boy. That statue was all that was binding you to this world, didn't I tell you? No? How forgetful of me.”

Crowley suddenly caught sight of Azi and his eyes went very wide. The devil followed his gaze.

“Ah, yes. Your pet human. Adorable. Time to say goodbye though, my dear.” The devil smiled as he paced leisurely around Crowley. “You're mine now, you see. Your soul is finally coming back home with me. Where it belongs.”

Crowley was still staring at Azi, barely seeming to hear his circling executioner. 

“Wait!” Azi scrambled to his feet. He was still fighting in vain against the invisible force, trying to get closer to them. “Wait, I'm challenging the deal!”

The devil turned smoothly on his heel to face Azi, looking amused. "Is that so, pet? There's nothing to challenge, I'm afraid. Crowley’s damnation in exchange for Raphael's. A simple quid pro quo.”

Azi drew himself up to his full height. "But Raphael wasn't damned when you made the deal.”

The devil‘s handsome face suddenly darkened. “What are you talking about?”

“He couldn't have been. He wasn't even dead. There was nothing to exchange."

"How did you --?"

Fury etched itself into the devil’s features. Azi briefly wondered whether he was about to die.

"You had better hope you never end up in my kingdom, Azi,” the devil sneered at last. “You'll regret it more than you could possibly imagine.”

And with a great crack, he was gone.

The force holding Azi back disappeared as well. He stumbled forward and fell to his knees, throwing his arms around Crowley's shoulders where he sat, and dissolving into hysterical sobs.

Crowley allowed it, but didn't respond. Azi finally pulled back, wiping at his wet face, and looked into Crowley's eyes. They were a deep, clear, honey brown.

“...Crowley?”

He seemed terribly dazed. “Azi?”

“Yes, love, I'm here. Are you all right?”

“You're here?”

“Yes, darling. I'm right here.” 

Crowley was collapsing against him, so Azi sat on the burned earth and pulled Crowley's head into his lap.

“You left.”

Azi stroked his soft hair. "I know, my love. I'm sorry. It was just for a little while. I just needed to go find something. I came back to you as soon as I could.”

Tears were running freely down Crowley's exhausted face. “Love you, angel.”

Azi started crying again. “I love you too, you silly man.”

Crowley's human eyes drifted closed as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Azi petted absently at Crowley's shoulder as he read. Crowley was curled up half in his lap like a giant cat, a position he'd been taking up often. He had fallen asleep under the warmth of the fire in the library’s hearth, but Azi felt him shift now as he woke from his nap.

“Angel?”

“Right here, darling. Are you hungry?”

He felt Crowley's head shake ‘no’. 

He hadn't been eating enough. Azi tried not to worry too much; he knew the transition back to human life would likely be slow and challenging, and it had only been a few days. 

Crowley had been clinging to him like a limpet as he recovered, seeming to need the constant reassurance of Azi's presence. He was physically fine, but mentally he seemed to be struggling to surface from the bottom of a deep well. 

Azi had told him briefly that he’d discovered Raphael’s father had lied to Crowley about Raphael being dead, but that was all. Between that revelation, his traumatic reaction to Azi's absence, and the breaking of his curse, he’d had more than enough to deal with. 

Crowley was sitting up now, so Azi put his book down and gave him his full attention. Crowley wrapped his arms around Azi and put his head on his shoulder like a small child. Azi kissed his hair. "What do you need, my love?”

“Can we go for a walk? My legs are feeling… cramped.”

“Of course. Let's go get our coats and you can give the hyacinths a good glare.”

Crowley gave a small laugh. That was new. "They're not scared of me, anymore.”

They walked by them anyway. Crowley held his hand, fingers intertwined despite their leather gloves. They took their walk mostly in silence, but for the crunch of the leaves under their feet, and it was dark by the time they returned home. 

Crowley was exhausted after the walk, so they retired to bed despite the early hour. They stripped naked and got under the dark sheets, pressing together for nothing more than the base, animal comfort of skin-to-skin contact. Crowley still ran hot, but no longer unnaturally so.

Azi had left a couple of candles burning, so that he could read again without getting out of bed if Crowley fell asleep first. Their flickering light picked out points of illumination in Crowley's large, honeyed eyes. 

“Have I mentioned how lovely your eyes are?”

Crowley smiled a little. "Maybe once or twice.”

“They were lovely before, too.”

“Mmf. Think maybe you just like me.”

“Undeniable, I'm afraid.”

Crowley looked at him for a long moment with a serious expression, and then he kissed him, deep and slow. That was new, too. It didn't flare into anything, just glowed comfortingly between them.

“Angel?”

“Yes, love.” 

Crowley curled up against his side. "Will you tell me how you found out?”

“Are you certain?”

“Please.”

“All right, darling, if that's what you want." Azi chewed his lip and considered how to start. Best to be plain about it, he supposed. "Raphael helped me figure out where to look. He came to me as a nightingale, and in a dream. He showed me how to use my love for you to find what I needed. It led me to tax records in the library, showing that someone with his name lived at his family’s estate for decades, around the right time. The morning I left, it was to go there, to find concrete proof that it had been him.”

“You went to his house?” 

“Yes. His descendants still live there, you know. They very kindly let me see the family archive in their library. And they were lovely enough not to notice when I stole his personal journals.”

Crowley half sat up. "You what?”

“They're waiting for you, when you feel up to reading them. I looked through them enough to make sure it was him, but I stopped around the part where he starts talking to you.”

Crowley was looking stricken. Azi squeezed his hand.

"I don't know whether his father lied to you to hurt you, or to keep you away from him. Probably both. But I'm certain Raphael had nothing to do with it. As far as he knew, you just disappeared off the face of the earth. And I don't think he ever forgave himself for letting you go.”

Tears were tracking down Crowley's face. Azi fervently hoped he hadn't overdone it. "Angel, I saw the nightingale too, when you were -- right before I destroyed the statue. It had always been his symbol. I hadn't seen one in so many years. It scared me that he had been appearing to you. I thought he had come back to… to frighten you off. To punish me. It never even occurred to me that he might still love me. Oh, Azi. I said some awful things to him.”

Azi held him and let him cry against his chest, rubbing soothingly at his back. "It's all right, darling. I'm sure he understands. Just… you really should read his journals. When you're well.”

Crowley sniffled. “I will, angel. I promise.”

The hush of snow lay over the gardens, over the house, quiet and still. The hour was late, but the moon was bright, and Azi could see its light reflecting in Crowley's eyes above him. Crowley's hands were in his, holding them in place on either side of his head, as he moved inside him. 

Azi closed his eyes and focussed on the rising tide being drawn out of him by Crowley's long, slow strokes. On the drugging feeling of lips on his neck. He pulled his knees back further, opened himself wider, let him in deeper. 

Crowley was whispering in his ear again. Endearments, encouragements. Words of love and praise and desire. Azi crossed his ankles over Crowley's back and used them to spur him on, wanting more of him, always more. 

Crowley gave him what he wanted, as he always did. Harder, faster. More desperate. More, more. 

Come for me, angel.

Azi threw another pea at the ducks from the little bag in his lap. It landed among that spring’s crop of ducklings, who fell over each other squabbling for it. 

“I finished the last of the journals this morning.” Crowley was sprawled out next to him on the bench in his usual boneless way, drinking in the sunshine like a snake on a rock.

“And how do you feel about that, darling?”

“Good. I feel… I feel like I can finally let him go. You know?”

Azi leaned into his side. “I'm happy for you.”

“It’s like… for the first time in ages, centuries I guess, I can leave the past where it belongs, and actually concentrate on the future.”

Crowley reached over and took the bag of peas from Azi's lap, and set it aside on the ground. He took both of Azi's hands in his. Azi looked at him questioningly. 

“Angel.”

“Yes, my love?”

“I’ve been thinking. About how I finally have my mortal life back. Something finite and precious. Something that… where it matters, really matters what I do with it. And who I spend it with.” He brought both of Azi's hands up and kissed each of his knuckles, one after the other. There was open adoration in his honey-brown eyes. "Do you understand, angel? What I'm asking?”

“Yes,” Azi smiled. “I do.”

The end.