Chapter Text
There was a demonic miracle needed, a temptation at that. A large grand scheme that involved many moving parts and the eye of a particular man of power. A change in corporation was required for it, only this time Crowley wasn't posing as a prim 60s housewife, but as a vixen who could slither her way into a party with sultry whispers and flame in her eyes. Temptations like this were tiring but could have Crowley keep his standing for months, not that he couldn’t just defy Hell like normal and sleep away a century when he felt like it but they always needed a job, at least one, with a high reward every once in a while to have him in high regard, to keep him afloat amongst humans and out of that blasted spiral.So a corporation change, her feminine form, albeit, hasn’t been used in a while so she took a day before the party to feel comfortable in it again. She must admit, it was easier to tempt people into the sin of lust like this but lust wasn’t her favorite sin to experience, it always left a foul taste in her mouth she’d rather wash down with wine, maybe in an old bookshop, with an angel. No, definitely not.To the party, she wore a tightly fitted red dress that slimmed her waist, accentuated her hips, and kept her modest with knocking knees as she walked, or, attempted to. Usually long strides contained to small steps in her high heels, red bottoms, of course, this was an expensive party.
Or at least she thought it was, she vaguely remembers completing her temptation and being given a lot of alcohol, she’d done her job perfectly and felt she deserved one (or six) of the many drinks men were offering her. The burning alcohol on her throat kept her warm despite hardly wearing anything, there was another memory with that, of warmth, of stumbling up to her hotel room like a newborn gazelle and the distinct ripping sound of her dress and white curls catching her eye-
She woke up.
She was in her hotel room and she didn’t remember much of anything and what was barely a glimpse into the past was there, is locked behind a fog, not a hangover, keeping up with the humans made her know what even the worst hangovers felt like. This was different, every sensory felt muffled, cotton in her ears, down her throat, up her nose, taped to every finger. She felt like she was underwater, every crevice blanketed and every limb floating with no ground, no sky, no way to tell up from down. She opened her eyes to try to prove where she was, passed out on a hotel bed, legs over the bottom bed frame, skirt ripped up the side to her hips by the seams.
Panic caught up to her, she tried to breathe but water spilled into her airways choking her, she tried to swim up whichever way that was, her lungs searching for air she didn’t even need. Did she? Had she? Did someone else? She was spiraling faster than her quickening breath, a wetness falling into her mouth causing her to cough with already limited oxygen making her head spin harder. She was just swimming down, absolute terror bleaching her bones. A cry of a whale fall, scared she had been taken advantage of and desperately grabbing for a sign, heaven forbid praying, to tell her none of this is real, pawing at between her legs through the crimson fabric.
There was a break in the seal of stale air in the room, a light calling out and spilling onto Crowley’s skin and the bed she sat on, coming from behind a now open door was a figure whose spilt light framed white hair in gold, encapsulating it in a halo above the figures head. The familiar imagery just brought more fear for what if her prayers were being answered and for what those answers might be, she only ever asked questions.
But Aziraphale walks in, an angel yes but not one to damn her again, that’s what you think , her brain interjected, no not my angel, “Did you know they had a free continental-”
Azirphale looked at her with wide eyes, quite a scene it must be, Crowley frantically pawing at her crotch (trying to find evidence) in a hotel bed, unfurled yet tight in her stature. “Sorry dear girl, I didn't mean to interrupt”
He began turning back to walk out while Crowley was reeling in any memory from last night, the tuft of white curls, barely being able to walk. A warm feeling in her head. A vague sentence about needing “wiggle room” followed by tearing cloth.
It confused her, it scared her, Aziraphale wouldn't do that, right? Unless drunk me was more brash. Told him how I felt and he thought I would sober up to make the decision. ‘Less he be my punishment sent by Her. Loving Her creation and turning it dirty. What happened? What question did I ask? What was said? her mind fed her poison in a silver chalet.
“No please, come in, I wasn't-” she stops pawing and removes her hand from under her skirt, “I wasn't masturbating. Unless um-” unless you wanted me to, sat like lead on her tongue as she drank from it.
“My dear you're crying.”
“I'm what?” Her words choked in the back of her throat. Indeed, her eyes were glazed over, shining in what little light came from the hallway beyond the door where Aziraphale stood, giving her that look, that look she only knew as pity but it was shaped so differently on him, it didn’t feel as mocking as it usually feels. Sympathy? Fear? That.
Aziraphale walks from the threshold, the halo and light dimming but if she closes her eyes she feels as if she can sense its glow, his glow. He gets to the bed and sits on the edge facing her, a plush hand raises to gently grab her cheek and wipe away the tears as gently as she knows she doesn’t deserve. “Rough night?”
Aziraphale meant the party, Crowley thought he meant the hotel, she flinched away at the words, from the hand as she fought to find enough balance to look into his eyes without falling dizzy, and her voice finally came back to her, hoarse and small. “We did it. Didn't we?”
Aziraphale was about to say ‘Yes, your temptation got off without a hitch dear girl!’ but the fear on her face made him stop, and consider her words, we, We did it. Didn't we ?, carefully and softly, as if not wanting to spook a sensitive lamb, “Did what exactly, darling?”
“Did we- Did you-” No, she couldn't blame it on Aziraphale, “Did I , tempt you into, an act last night?” Crowley looked down upon her closed legs, giving into the failing equilibrium that only spun worse with fear as she shuffled back further on the bed scared at what Aziraphale's expression might mean.
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows trying to process the ‘act’ Crowley may be implying, and those worrying eyes at the shift of his expression gave him an answer as to what the act was, “No my darling, no no you're okay, you're safe, you didn't tempt me, we didn't do anything.”
The answer, Crowley hardly ever got those in his punishments, it was the straw, the elephant, the other shoe and it broke her. Crowley began to unravel at the seams much like the dress, the cotton grew thicker, and the room spun with her but one small sentence pierced through like a splash of cold water, it was the only thing that was clear, “May I touch you dear?”
Crowley wanted to believe, she desperately did, but was terrified, but also wanted weight, a stronghold to keep her mind from drifting further out to sea and out of the stratosphere, eyes were beyond glazed, blanked and emotionless, she nodded.
She needed to believe. (In something. In her. In him.)
Aziraphale wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her in close her head lolled on his shoulder, the minor sensory had the tears come through soaking her cheeks and Aziraphale's coat he quickly put on to get breakfast, a small hand snaked up Aziraphale's back onto a shoulder blade and resting there. She felt empty and numb, the height of the panic seemed to plateau but somewhere, in the very back of her mind, a lighthouse long passed in the distance, and she was scared of the comedown.
“Harder.” She said.
“What?”
“Harder please, I don't know where my mind is.” Reel me back in, take me back to shore .
Aziraphale seemingly understood as he tightened his hug, she felt it, God she felt it, the gentle pressure at her smaller frame under those soft hands, there was a crash in the waves that rocked her, or maybe Aziraphale was rocking her.
She opened the eyes she didn't realize she closed and looked around, there was not much to see in the dark room if you didn't have Crowley's vision, but she saw the clutch she brought with her to the party standing on a wooden desk in the corner of the room, it was particularly cold from the wine that was spilled on it, Crowley could see it. Next to the bag was a few books stacked high, leave it to Aziraphale to take his “work” with him, a fountain pen, and a key card, presumably Crowley's.
The keycard flicked off light gently spilling from the closed curtains, it flickered because she was right, Aziraphale was rocking her, side to side, she felt the shift in the bed's weight and the weight of a solid hand at her back, not going anywhere below her ribcage, not even past where her bra strap would've been, the realization struck fear and made her feel more exposed.
She leaned back, she wanted her back to the mattress, the press of Aziraphale's torso on hers was addictive, yet comforting, like a good high or a nightcap in the back of a stuffy library. Like the sound of waves crashing or whale calls. But Aziraphale shifted up, removing himself from their pressed bodies and taking away the pressure, perhaps thinking that she would be uncomfortable, she wasn't.
She grabbed at his forearm that lifted him off her, and circled her thumb on that familiar stiff fabric to catch the attention of those ocean-blue eyes.
“Please, lay.” her voice was shot from the tears that climbed out of their ducts.
“Okay, let me make this more comfortable for you though.”
Oh, Angel, you could lay me on a bed of nails, and just the thought that you put me there would keep me comfortable.
He shifted onto his other hip, flipping himself over so his legs faced hers, he then laid next to her, his torso half on hers, his arm laid across her chest, and he kept an eye on her throughout all of it. Gauging her comfort from a blank face but eyes full of pleading. He faced her as he gently took his hand from her shoulder and put her cheek in his hand. He thumbed at the tears.
She needed more, ‘less she drift away again, her legs wrangled to tangle his in hers, making him move his hips to also lay half on her. The knot of limbs at the end of the bed tied her down like an anchor.
She could see Aziraphale's face through her lashes, but she could also hear him in the proximity. She could hear his breath that he didn't need to take but comforted her anyway, low and steady, the calming of waters.
She could hear the bed shift before she realized what she was doing, she met his hand on her cheek and pressed into it. Hearing the friction of skin against skin so close to her ear.
She sighed, she didn't realize she was holding her breath and tried the take in through her nose where she expected to smell sea breezes she smelt Aziraphale, lavender, parchment, and old leather. She also smelt a bit of wine, but she assumed that was her. A call to the present, a sight of the lighthouse's light.
“Are you doing your numbers?”
She nodded meekly.
“What step are you on?”
“One, something I can taste.”
She's aware of her limbs as one of them trails to intertwine their hands, the soft side of flesh against flesh. She brings it to her mouth and places a chaste kiss upon rough knuckles, she tastes him in the haze, a nearly impossible-to-describe flavor because it tasted just like Aziraphale. He called her to shore, it was his lighthouse, and brought those same intertwined hands to his own mouth and reciprocated the jester onto his own knuckles, it wasn't forced, it was offered, an indirect kiss and the docking of her ship with an outstretched hand.
She took it, the outstretched hand and her feet firmly planted in the sand. She kissed his knuckles again, right where he had. She was on land, she was safe, she was home. She could close her eyes and not be afraid of the dark.
“You'll be okay.”