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Chapter Text

4004 BC: Garden of Eden

Aziraphale hastily shifted another stone away from the opening in Eden’s wall, acutely aware of the humans’ frightened eyes on him. Something splashed against his cheek. He looked up at the darkening sky and had to squint his eyes as the world’s first rain began to fall in earnest.

“Quickly, my dears,” he said, holding out a hand. He handed Adam through, then Eve. He followed immediately behind, hefting his flaming sword in both hands as he came through the gap, watchful for any threats.

The little trio set off across the sand, the sword offering some light as night began to fall. Aziraphale had no better understanding of the world than the humans did and let them take the lead on which direction to go. Adam and Eve conferred in quiet undertones and then began to head west, toward the setting sun. Aziraphale kept pace alongside.

True twilight had fallen, a strange otherworldly time full of golden light and stark shadows, when Aziraphale heard God’s voice.

“Aziraphale? Angel of the Eastern Gate? What do you think you’re doing?”

Aziraphale flinched as the bright voice rang out, but he didn’t falter in his footsteps. The humans were just ahead of him, helping each other navigate a sandy hill, evidently unaware of the voice of their Creator.

“Guarding,” Aziraphale said promptly, panting a little with exertion. “I am a guardian, after all.”

“You were instructed to guard the Garden, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale frowned, wiping his damp forehead with the back of one hand. “No, that can’t be right.”

“It’s why you were given that sword.”

Aziraphale looked at the weapon in his hand. It crackled, giving off a faint heat. He thought about the Garden. An unutterably beautiful place, full of God’s creations. Certainly worthy of protection. But not in need of a sword. More like a trowel.

“I am to guard the humans,” he said with total confidence, continuing onward. This must be some kind of test. God was prone to those. It was kind of annoying, actually. Poor communication, really. Clear expectations were always best, Aziraphale thought. “They are precious in Your sight. They are making their way in the world for the first time. They have need of my help.”

“Go back, Aziraphale,” God said firmly.

Aziraphale stopped. He stood still for a time, the realization that God was entirely serious washing over him.

He looked at the two humans, silhouetted against the sky. Their hands were clasped as they helped each other to the top of the hill.

“Respectfully,” he said, “that is utter bullocks.”

And he chucked the sword into the sand.

It drove into the earth, buried halfway to its hilt and burning gently.

Aziraphale turned his back on it and followed the humans. He never heard from God again.

3004 BC: Mesopotamia

As the human population grew, it became more and more difficult for Aziraphale to protect them. He was neither omniscient, nor omnipotent. Or omnipresent, come to think of it. Things started to slip through the cracks. Injuries. Illnesses. Aziraphale exhausted himself trying to keep them all safe. The suffering of the humans nearly crushed him with guilt. Bitterly, he wondered where the others were. What work could they be doing that was more important than this? Why was he alone?

One afternoon, he stood bone-weary and depleted on a mountainside. In the valley below a man was building an ark. Crowds gathered to laugh and tease him.

Drip. Drop. The now-familiar sensation of rain fell against Aziraphale’s shoulders. As the water began to rise and the humans began to shout with alarm, he tilted his head toward the sky. His eyes burned with a cold fury that no longer frightened him as he stared at the gathering clouds.

“If I had the power to control the heavens…” he whispered. He raised one open hand to the sky. He clenched it into a fist. Lightning crackled.

He dropped his head. If his powers were insufficient, he would add to them.

Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to describe this period of his life in terms humans would understand. He spent some time amongst the stars, witnessing nebulas crashing and skimming the surfaces of stars. He lingered in the deepest oceans, where no light reached but creatures still thrived, adapting their bodies in marvelous ways.

Despite it all, he couldn’t find the power to protect all of the humans. That would make him a god, and he wasn’t that.

But he wasn’t quite an angel anymore either. He didn’t know what he was.

“You can’t kill kids!”

Crawly looked around in horror. Surely this wasn’t right. Any moment now something would happen and all of this would stop. This was some kind of error. It had to be.

The water was already over the littlest ones’ heads. He waded in frantically, pulling them to the surface.

“Here, hold on to this,” he instructed, depositing one on a floating basket. “You – hold on to this tree. You look after her, got it?” he shouted at an older child. He stared uncomprehendingly back at him, eyes enormous. 

Crawly struggled up a hillside that was almost entirely mud, children clinging to his shoulders and knees. Every breath burned and he was terrified that his legs were going to give out. But he kept going.

He lay flat on his back on the little ridge where they found shelter, staring up at the stars. The children lay huddled around him, all of them too tired to try to build a fire. He stared at the little pinpricks of light and tried not to think any thoughts.

A bird soared out of the darkness and landed beside him, fussily folding its wings against its back. It tilted its head and met his eyes.

“Crawly,” it said in a demonic voice. “What are you doing?”

Crawly had no idea how to answer that. “Securing souls for Hell?” he tried.

The bird shuffled scornfully on tiny stick legs. “Come Downstairs,” it instructed. “It seems you need a refresher.”

Crawly learned to be more careful about his methods after that.

2500 BC: Land of Uz

The blue gecko curled happily around her siblings in the pot, and Crawly sat heavily at the table, alone again. Lightning flashed, followed by a rumble of thunder, and he turned his face tiredly toward the ceiling.

“Nick of time,” he muttered. “They’re starting already. Beelzebub must be showing off.”

He picked at the ox meat, wrinkling his nose, and abandoned it in favor of a bottle of wine. He flung himself on the sacks of grain in the corner and downed the bottle in three gulps. Apparently he would need more.

As the storm raged outside, Crawly helped himself to Job’s angelic wine collection. It was the least he could provide in exchange for Crawly sticking his neck out. In the morning the place was going to be crawling with angels. Agents of both sides with their eyes on this place and Crawly caught in the middle. He took another swig until his brain went fuzzy enough to not think about it.

41 AD: Rome

Crowley slumped into a seat at the bar, flagging down the bartender.

“What have you got?” he drawled, then waved dismissively. “Give me a jug of whatever you think drinkable.”

She slid a jug of the house brown to him across the counter and moved away to help another customer. Crowley lifted the cup to his lips and drank deeply.

“…Crowley?”

Crowley quickly lowered the cup, turning to his right. There was no one nearby. The table behind him was empty. He frowned, eyes flicking over the room. He thought he had heard someone address him, but that was a ridiculous thought. Who did he know that would greet him like that? Shaking his head a little at himself, he turned back to his drink.

“Slacking off?” came a snide voice to his left.

Crowley only just managed to prevent himself from jumping. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Furfur?” he asked dryly.

“Got an additional list of temptations for you. Head Office must have a lot of confidence in you.”

Crowley quickly turned to him, shocked. “More?” he said incredulously. “I’ve already got a task list as long as my arm!”

Furfur rocked on his heels beside him, not bothering to hide his smugness. He’d made a cursory attempt at local garb, but the length of his tunic was all wrong, as was his jewelry. He grinned at Crowley with too many canines. “Must not be too overloaded,” he said, “seeing as how you’ve stopped off for a drink.”

Crowley turned back to the bar, a pulsing headache coming on. “This is for work,” he lied. “Dens of iniquity and market research and all that.”

“Hm,” Furfur said, unconvinced. “Looks to me like you’re taking shortcuts. Giving yourself vacations.”

Crowley took another swig, carefully keeping his expression blank. “Gonna hand over that list?” he said lightly.

Furfur produced a scroll and dropped it beside his elbow. “I hope Head Office’s faith in you isn’t misplaced,” he said sweetly. “Otherwise they might start looking around for a replacement.”

Crowley snorted. He couldn’t help himself.

Furfur’s expression blackened. “The Other side gained a huge advantage with the crucifixion,” he snapped. “We all have to be working twice as hard. Anyone who’s not pulling their weight should get the sack. No exceptions.”

Crowley took another careful sip. “Too bad that’s not up to you, isn’t it, Furfur?”

Furfur snarled. “Watch your back,” he snapped, and turned away.

“Nice seeing you!” Crowley called over his shoulder.

When he was sure Furfur was gone he sank further against the bar, his shoulders coming up to his ears. He quickly downed his drink and poured himself another. The reminder of the crucifixion made his gut twist and boil. He believed he had been the only representative from either side in attendance. He wondered if any of the others had been there if they would have been able to see how wrong it was. He doubted it. That seemed to be his burden alone. He finished his drink and poured a third.

Heaven. Hell. It was all the same. He didn’t see the point of any of it.

537 AD: The Kingdom of Wessex

“Sir?” the squire poked his head fearfully into the tent.

Crowley blinked awake, his brows already set into a scowl. “What?”

“The White Knight has been spotted nearby,” the squire said timidly, ducking back like he expected a shoe to be thrown in his direction. When none was forthcoming he offered; “Shall we engage?”

Crowley groaned. “What’s the point? There’s a 50/50 chance they’re doing evil anyway. Might as well let them cook and take credit for anything nasty they get up to.”

Stretching exaggeratedly – his spine seemed to have a few extra vertebrae outside the norm – he reluctantly hauled himself upright.

“Speaking of which, have you finished that compliance paperwork yet?” He lifted a nearby cup and sniffed the contents suspiciously.

“Yes, sir. It’s ready for your signature.”

“Excellent. Bring it here,” he said, gesturing.

The squire approached cautiously and watched with wide eyes as Crowley lazily affixed his signature to the scroll.

“Aren’t you worried they will find out you didn’t actually complete these tasks?” he asked, a bit awed.

Crowley waved this away, tossing his quill aside in a splatter of ink. “They have better things to do than verify our paperwork,” he said. “We just need to be seen doing something every now and again. You’d do well to remember that,” he said, shaking his finger at the boy. “Don’t work yourself to death.”

The squire bowed and scurried outside. Crowley promptly lay back down and wrapped himself in the wool blanket. But nothing could really keep out the damp.

1601: The Globe Theater London

“To be! Or not to be!” Richard Burbage screamed from the stage.

Crowley jolted awake, peering around him blearily. He stiffly shifted upright, taking his feet off the chair in front of him.

“Not so harsh,” Shakespeare was scolding his actor from the edge of the stage, hissing at him in hushed undertones that nevertheless traveled through the whole theater. “More contemplative.”

Burbage glared at him. “You don’t pay me enough for this shit.” He stepped back and filled his lungs. “That is the question!”

Crowley cupped his hands around his mouth. “Boo! Boooooo!”

The author whipped around and glared at him. Crowley tossed his hand in a rude gesture.

The handful of other patrons in the echoing theater seemed unfazed by this interaction. Crowley slouched back down in his seat, hanging his head over the back. He’d come here to try to get some peace, and it had worked for the last hour or so.

He was dreading his impending trip to Edinburgh. He had tried every underhanded thing he could think of, but Beelzebub was holding firm on insisting he be there. He was currently weighing whether to try submitting a false report without actually being on location. He’d forged plenty of paperwork in his time, but he had always been in the general area Head Office expected him to be.

He was just so tired. His bones felt like lead. He couldn’t hold on to a thought in the thicket of his brain for longer than a few moments. He closed his eyes. He’d decide after another nap.

1793: Paris

A panicked voice rose outside the window, shouting and swearing. There was a rattle and then the bright ring of metal falling. The crowd roared.

Crowley stared helplessly up at the window, his wrists chafed from where he was twisting against the shackles. For perhaps the hundredth time in the past handful of minutes, he snapped his fingers. Nothing happened. Genuine fear twisted through his gut.

“Sir, there’s no need to look so distressed!” An entirely too-jovial guard strode into the cell and checked Crowley’s manacles. “You are in my capable hands!”

“There’s been some mistake,” Crowley responded desperately in French.

The guard waved this away. “Ah, you all respond the same!” he said with delight. He tapped his nose. “Say, are you passing around a script? It really is uncanny!”

“The paperwork is going to be such an enormous pain,” Crowley said urgently. “It really would be better for everyone if you let me go?” He raised his bound wrists hopefully.

The guard guffawed. “Nice try,” he said. “Don’t fret! You are my thousandth beheading! I will make sure it is quick and clean for you.”

“How lovely,” Crowley said faintly. He leaned in closer, and the guard ducked his head conspiratorially. “Look, I’m really in favor of you lot,” Crowley murmured, gesturing vaguely to his surroundings. “Honestly, well done with all the…killing, and stuff. Whoever turned me in must have made a mistake.” He looked at the guard meaningfully.

The guard shook his finger scoldingly at him, grinning. “Oh, you are a wily one!” He said happily. “There has been no mistake. This informant is very trustworthy.”

“Really,” said Crowley straightening. “And that informant would be…?”

The guard didn’t respond. He was frozen in place, his smile more grotesque now that he was immobilized. Crowley tensed and looked around.   

“Hello, snake.”

Crowley froze, an icy chill flooding through him. “Uriel.”

The Principality assigned to Earth stood in the open cell door, brushing off her clothes and looking around the dingy cell with a wrinkled nose. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time, demon.”

Crowley raised his palms non-threateningly. “It honestly wasn’t me,” he said quickly. “The humans thought it all up themselves –”

Her eyes flashed gold as she glared at him. “I’m not one of the stupid imps you hang around,” she snapped. “You got a commendation for this.”

Crowley winced. “That was just – a trinket, really,” he said, casting about frantically. “Meaningless –”

“Liar,” Uriel said. “I’m not sure you’re capable of telling the truth. Thankfully we’ll soon be free of your corrupting influence.”

Crowley stared at her, desperation growing. He gambled. “Look, I’m sorry I invited you to lunch that one time,” he said baldly. “I just thought – since we’re both stationed here –”

Uriel’s face twisted into an ugly mask and Crowley’s heart shriveled. “The sheer arrogance of thinking you could tempt even me,” she said with disgust. “Your depravity truly knows no bounds.” She straightened her blazer. “It is my singular pleasure to be the one to thwart you. Goodbye, snake.”

“No, no, please,” Crowley whispered, mostly air, as Uriel turned on her heel. There was sudden movement beside him and he reared back.

“The time certainly flies!” the guard chortled, mobile again and unaware of the exchange that had just occurred. “Time to go.”

As he was dragged down the stone hallway, his feet sliding on the flagstones, Crowley felt a fear so profound it felt like being frozen in a block of ice. His brain was blank white static. He was helpless. This was going to happen.

The sudden daylight blinded him, and the jeers from the crowd deafened him. He was shoved over ground slick with blood.

He had never been discorporated before. He had managed to avoid it for all these centuries, although there had been a few close calls. As he was led past a basket of decapitated heads, it was hard to remember that this wouldn’t be a true death. He felt like his chest was being crushed. 

He was pushed to his knees, and a fist in his hair forced his neck into a saddle wet with blood and viscera. It stank so powerfully he retched. Flies buzzed on every surface.

He couldn’t see the blade hanging above him, but he could feel its presence like a physical weight. As the rope dropped and the blade began to fall, Crowley had one final thought – he had no one to blame but himself.

1827: Edinburgh

Crowley pushed off the statue and jumped to the ground, swaggering back to get a better view of his handiwork. He cocked his head and admired the painted dick now adorning Gabriel’s forehead.

“Suits you,” he told it. “Now everyone passing by will know what a wanker you are.”

There was a grunt and a thud from nearby.

“Oh?” Crowley said, perking up. “Is someone there?”

“This one’s mine, ya bastard!” came a cross voice from among the graves.

“Ooo, who’s that?” Crowley called, delighted. “Who’s sneaking around a graveyard in the dead of night?”

“I’ve got a spade, and make no mistake, I’ll use it on you!”

“Don’t fret dear, I’ll not interfere,” Crowley said, laughing. He could see her now, a tiny slip of a thing struggling to haul a body out of the ground. Come to think of it, his bosses would love a bit of bodysnatching. And he could use every opportunity he could get to make up for Paris. “Say, do you need a hand?”

Elspeth was fiery, and angry, and desperate. She reluctantly accepted Crowley’s help getting her prize onto her cart. Crowley privately doubted she would have managed it on her own, but cheerfully followed her every order.

The doctor opened the door the second they knocked, ushering them inside quickly and checking the street anxiously.

When presented with the body, he frowned and wrinkled his nose exaggeratedly. “Bit past his prime, isn’t he?” he murmured.

Elspeth bristled. “He’s in perfect condition!” she argued.

Crowley breathed through his mouth and didn’t comment.

The doctor sighed and rifled through his wallet. “Shall we say five pounds?”

Elspeth crossed her arms, anger radiating off her tiny form. “The going rate is eight pounds.”

The doctor snorted. “You’re dreaming, lass. Take the five pounds or take him away.”

Elspeth fumed, practically breathing fire. “You’re trying to cheat me!”

The doctor shook his head condescendingly. “Your information is off,” he tutted. “This is a fair rate.”

Crowley examined the liquids and specimens on the doctor’s shelves, trying to tune out their bickering. Hell would approve of the doctor swindling the girl, and he was still scrounging for points. But he made the mistake of glancing over. Elspeth’s grimy fists were clenched and her cheeks were streaked with earth. Tears of frustration stood in her eyes. Before he knew it, Crowley was moving.

“Strange you don’t want it,” he said to the doctor casually. “This one had all manner of diseases. He’ll practically be a treasure box once you get him open.”

The doctor frowned doubtfully. “Truly? It doesn’t appear there’s anything wrong with him.”

“Oh yes, he had all kinds of nasty pustules and tumors and whatnot. One of them killed him, no doubt. But, if you’re not interested – come on lass, I’ll help you move him. Someone else is bound to want him.”

He moved to put the lid back on the barrel, but the doctor held out a hand.

“Wait.” He was silent for a time, studying the body with furrowed brows. Finally he pulled a few more coins out of his wallet.

“You drive a hard bargain,” he said. “Fine. Here’s your eight.”

“Oh! Thank you, sir!” Elspeth said, astonished. She held the money cupped in her palms like it was a baby bird.

“Yes, thank you!” Crowley called cheerfully, taking her shoulder and pushing her toward the door. “Good luck with your cutting!”

The cold and dark of the street was a shock after the bright warm interior. Crowley shivered irritably and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“How did you know the man was sick? Did you know him?” Elspeth asked him curiously.

Crowley grinned at her ferally. “May have stretched the truth a bit.”

“Ah.” Elspeth stared down at her earnings. “Well…thank you.”

Crowley nodded at the money. “Aren’t you going to hand over my share? I did half the work, after all.”

Elspeth’s eyes widened and she instinctively clutched the money closer. She looked down at it, stricken. “Oh – well –”

Crowley sighed and relented. “Don’t mind me lass,” he said tiredly. “I’m not gonnae take your money. Best run off now.”

Elspeth turned toward the main road, looking back over her shoulder at him hesitantly. He flapped a hand at her. “Go on, get.”

She relented and ran off down the street, disappearing around the corner. Crowley sighed and rubbed his face. It seemed that regardless of the consequences, he could only go along with Hell so far.

Furfur found him beside the water, throwing rocks into the estuary.

“Looks like the snake got his head back,” he drawled, materializing out of the fog. “How appropriate you managed to lose it. Isn’t it true that when most people see a snake they reach for a hoe?”

“Furfur,” Crowley acknowledged, throwing another rock as far as he could. It sailed into the darkness, followed by a distant plop. “Can I help you with something?”

Furfur scowled and reached into his coat. He extended an envelope toward Crowley between two fingers. “Downstairs has seen fit to offer you accolades, for your work in Edinburgh over the last few months,” he said grudgingly.

Crowley reluctantly plucked the envelope from his hand. “How kind of you to deliver it in person,” he said, laying particular emphasis on “kind.”

Furfur wrinkled his nose. “Didn’t want it to go to your head,” he said. “You may be back in the bosses’ graces, but your perfect record is ruined. You fuck up that badly once, you will again. They won’t forget. And neither will I.”

“Always a pleasure talking to you, Furfur,” Crowley drawled. He threw another rock.

He waited until the bank was entirely silent again, Furfur gone, and then he let the remaining pebbles slip loosely through his fingers. He stared out over the water sightlessly. It was clear he needed to take additional precautions. He absently rubbed the small metal shape of his recent acquisition in his pocket. 

1967: Soho

Crowley gripped the sides of the ladder so hard it was painful. He was barely outside church property and had to keep drawing back when he felt the sting of sanctified ground. He craned his head, desperate for any clues about how it was going. Trevor’s head was just visible on the roof. He hadn’t moved for the past ten minutes.

Something scraped loudly as it slid along the tiles. Crowley’s heart leapt in his chest and he leaned forward urgently. Trevor’s head whipped around as he searched for the source of the noise. It abruptly cut off.

The light in the rectory came on.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Crowley hissed under his breath. He whisper-shouted to Trevor: “Someone’s awake! Hurry up!”

Trevor’s head disappeared as he leaned through the skylight. Crowley heard him shouting to Marina. He groaned and banged his head against the rungs of the ladder.

Trevor leaned back and braced himself as he began to winch Marina back up. It seemed to take an eternity. Crowley jogged in place to burn off his nervous energy, glancing at the warm light in the rectory every few seconds.

Marina’s head appeared and Trevor hauled her the rest of the way up. The pair cooed at each other and exchanged a kiss. Crowley groaned. Why were humans like this?

“Hurry up!” he hissed at them.

They haphazardly replaced the glass over the skylight – that was definitely going to leak the next time it rained – and Marina started descending the ladder. Crowley braced a foot against the bottom rung and held it steady as she moved down. Trevor packed away the winch and rope and began to follow her.

Marina jumped the last foot to the ground and extended a canteen to him triumphantly. “Ta-dah!”

The canteen was wet from where she had dipped it. Water beaded along the lid and ran down to collect around the base. Crowley reared back instinctively.

Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself he was wearing gloves for a reason. He forced a smile and took it from her gingerly. “Thank you, dear,” he said.

Trevor reached the ground and began collapsing the ladder. Just in time – there was light in the church proper now as well. A voice could be heard calling inside.

Crowley quickly wiped the outside of the canteen with a cloth and tossed it aside. “Got everything? Let’s go,” he said urgently.

The strange trio ran down the alley and were soon several streets away. They emerged onto a busy thoroughfare and Crowley began to relax.

“Well done, team,” he said. “You’ve earned the rest of your payment.”

He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved two packets. Marina took hers with a beaming smile.

“Piece of cake!” she said cheerfully. “It was just sitting in fonts at the front. You made it seem like it would be way harder.”

Crowley stopped as he was handing Trevor his cut. Trevor plucked it eagerly from his hand. “It wasn’t locked up?”

Marina hooked an arm through Trevor’s. “Nope!”

“Huh.” Crowley blinked, dumbfounded. “Irresponsible,” he muttered under his breath.

He focused on the pair in front of him again. “All right, job well done, now get out of here,” he said, shooing them off.

Marina stopped him as he opened the door to the Bentley. “If you ever have another job –” she started.

“Not likely,” he said, and got into the car.

Safe in his own flat, he carefully transferred the holy water into a steel container with an airtight lid.

2015: Mayfair

Crowley dismissed yet another commendation to the ether with a snap of his fingers. It was getting a bit crowded in there. He tried not to think about it.  

He sat in the middle of his enormous bed, his laptop hissing angrily against the silk sheets. He squinted down at the screen without pausing to put down the bottle of wine he was downing. His other hand flicked idly through webpages. A faint noise was emanating from beneath his bed, but he ignored it.

Something caught his eye. He set the bottle down on his thigh with a thunk.

“What the fuck,” he said out loud, “is a Cuddlist.” He sneered derisively at the words on the screen.

He clicked the link.

Chapter Text

Crowley stared through the window of the Bentley at the adorable little house on the outskirts of London. He had been staring for a full ten minutes.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, turning to face the steering wheel again. “I should go.”

The Bentley rumbled disapprovingly.

“Oh, shut up,” Crowley said. He looked back at the house.

A few moments later he was standing at the gate, one hand on the latch. He studied the house suspiciously, but it looked much like the other houses around it. It was in a pair, like the other houses in the neighborhood, and there was enough room round the sides of both for a little garden. When he had left the motorway and begun to approach the neighborhood he had sensed something powerful nearby, but this about as boring and ordinary a place as one could find. Maybe there was a saint’s finger or something interred nearby; Crowley could never keep track of those things. There were powerful spots like that all over.

As he approached the front door, he noticed a cheery little card in the window. Cuddlers, please go around the side it read in cutesy, flowing script with an arrow pointing to the left. There was a koala bear on it. Crowley lifted his lip.

He stomped down the little stone path beside the house, well on his way to a bad mood. He couldn’t believe he showed up for this. Humans were so weird. 

He rounded the corner of the house and saw a sunroom attached to the side of the building, all in glass. The path led to a door in the center. Another cutesy card read: Cuddlers, please knock here! This time there was a penguin. Crowley glared at it until it began to smolder as he hammered on the door. The glass rattled in its fittings.

“Coming!” came a voice from inside.

Crowley took the time to survey the garden – simple, only a few herbs growing – and heard the door open. He turned back.

A hideously twee and hopelessly dated human was hanging out of the doorway, beaming at him. He was wearing a bowtie, for Satan’s sake. A stiff collar emerged from the neckline of his soft blue jumper. Against his will, Crowley noticed that it matched his eyes. His corduroy slacks looked well-worn and comfortable. His white, tousled hair stood up from his head. He was wearing a pair of ridiculous round spectacles. His socks were striped. Crowley stared at them in disbelief.

“Forgive me, dear boy,” the human said warmly, taking off his glasses and tucking them away. “You are Anthony, I presume?”

Crowley plastered a smile on his face. “Call me Crowley,” he said magnanimously.

“Crowley, of course,” the human said. “Please, come in.” He stepped back from the doorway so Crowley could pass.

Crowley didn’t move. He stuffed a hand in his pocket and tossed a thumb over his shoulder toward the street. “Too kind,” he said rotely, “but there’s an emergency with my dignity and I really must be going.”

The human looked at him knowingly. “You’re not the first to be a bit nervous,” he said. “Take your time.” He disappeared inside.

Well. Crowley couldn’t let that stand. He took a deep breath and walked up the steps and through the door.

The inside of the sunroom was humid and smelled like damp soil. Crowley inhaled appreciatively despite himself.

The walls were lined with shelves, all of which were overflowing with plants. More plants hung from the ceiling. Crowley eyed them with interest. They all seemed to be healthy and happy.

There were padded mats covered in blankets and pillows in one corner. Crowley turned away from them to find the human standing beside a small round table, watching him.

“Would you like to sit?” he offered.

Crowley approached defensively and collapsed into one of the chairs. The human pulled out his chair and sat down neatly.

“I’m Aziraphale,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m not sure I am,” Crowley muttered, eyeing him. He was trying to remember if he should know the name Aziraphale for some reason. It seemed occult-y.

For his part, Aziraphale had noticed that Crowley was a demon instantly. He was surprised that a demon had found him, but not surprised that one would be in need of his services. He pushed away the ache in his heart. He would need to approach this deliberately.

“Have you ever done this before?” he asked.

Crowley snorted. “Take a wild guess.”

Aziraphale’s lips quirked.

“Well, let’s start by going over a little about what we do here,” he said warmly. “There are a lot of reasons people might be feeling a bit lonely or in need of more physical touch – maybe they just moved, or a loved one has passed, or their wants and needs don’t match up with the needs of the people in their lives. A lot of people also find it difficult to ask for they want, or even know what they want. Our culture has a bit of reputation for being reserved,” he said, smiling wryly. “Not all cultures throughout the world or the through history approach physical touch the way we do, so we might have a harder time finding the physical touch we want and need. I have a whole lecture on it if you’re interested,” he said smiling even more broadly. “Am I boring you yet?”

Crowley studied this man who looked like the textbook definition of British “stiff upper lip” but who exuded a warmth and kindness he thought could likely be felt a county over. What a strange contradiction of a person. “So what does this mean for what we’re doing today?” he drawled.

Aziraphale nodded. “Right. So, Cuddlists like myself,” he gestured at his own person, “- there’s a whole network of us – offer touch to people who might be looking for it, for whatever reason. Our sessions are strictly platonic and nonsexual. We might hug or hold someone, pet their hair, rub their shoulders – there are many possibilities. Holding space for any emotions that come up and giving people a chance to ask for and receive affection and practice boundaries is also a big part of it.”

He tilted his head, studying Crowley. Crowley was stupefied. Perhaps he’d assimilated into British culture more than he’d thought over the centuries, because Aziraphale stating all of that so boldly left him tongue-tied.

Aziraphale correctly interpreted his expression as one of discomfort. “We don’t have to touch at all if you don’t want,” he reassured him. “We could just have a chat. Or you can go. You are free to leave at any time, of course.”

Crowley stared at him, eyebrows raised above his glasses. “Doesn’t that kind of defeat the point?”

“Nothing happens here that you don’t want,” Aziraphale said firmly.

Crowley stared at him, a little shiver prickling across the back of his neck. With astonishment, he realized Aziraphale meant it.

“I’ll let all that information settle in. Would you like some tea? I also have juice and water.”

“Tea’s fine,” Crowley said faintly.

Aziraphale bustled off and Crowley took the moment to try to get his head on straight. He looked around the room, trying to spot any clues that would tell him more about who this person was, and was distracted by a few yellow leaves on a nearby pilea. Tsking, he stood to examine it more closely.

Aziraphale returned with a tray with a gently steaming teapot and a few bowls with assorted nibbles. “That one has been a bit unhappy lately,” he said, nodding at the plant.

“Needs more sun,” Crowley said. He switched it with another plant on a higher shelf, giving it a sharp shake on the way, to warn it to shape up.

“Are you interested in plants?” Aziraphale asked as he poured.

“Hm,” Crowley said, throwing himself into the chair again. “You just gotta show ‘em who’s boss.”

“I see,” Aziraphale said, handing him a cup. He sat across from him, cradling his own.

“Many people find it helpful to know what others ask for when they come here,” he began. “I also have some books you can look at for ideas. Or, if you already know what you want, we can discuss that now.”

Crowley didn’t have the faintest idea what to ask for. That was alright; all he had to do was figure out what Aziraphale wanted and give him that. He set aside his tea and leaned forward on his elbows, smiling crookedly at Aziraphale. “Are we entering negotiations?” he said suggestively, trying to put this conversation back in familiar territory.

Aziraphale eyed him with exasperated amusement. “Perhaps this is a good time to remind you that we will only be engaging in platonic, clothed, non-sexual touch,” he told him.

“Ngk,” Crowley said, unable to think of a single thing to say to that.

“Many people ask for hugs,” Aziraphale continued. “Spooning is also popular. People also ask to have their shoulders or scalp rubbed.”

Crowley tilted his head. “Some of those sound more enjoyable than the others,” he said leadingly. Extending a temptation.

Aziraphale looked at him calmly. “Which ones?”

This man was like a brick wall. He couldn’t get anything out of him. Crowley was starting to feel a tangle of genuine anxiety scrabbling in his stomach. “Surely there are requests you get tired of,” he said, changing tack.

Aziraphale smiled. It made his whole face soft and warm. “There are things I’m not interested in ever doing,” he agreed, “and there are others that I may not be up for on any given day.” He put his elbows on the table and leaned toward Crowley conspiratorially. “But I prefer to have my clients lead on deciding what we will do together,” he said. “I’m worried that too many of them will simply capitulate to what I want, instead of expressing their own interests.” He gave Crowley a saccharine smile.

Bastard, Crowley thought, with grudging respect and growing panic. Crowley had only ever fulfilled other people’s desires; when he got what he wanted it was by sneaking it in the side, not by asking for it out loud.   

“In fact,” Aziraphale said, leaning back, “that’s part of what some of my clients come here to practice. Expressing interest and getting comfortable with saying or hearing no.”

“So you do refuse requests,” Crowley said challengingly. It was a trap! He knew it. He probably just wanted Crowley to admit to something embarrassing so he could laugh at him.

“Not often, but yes,” Aziraphale said agreeably. He considered Crowley. “Maybe a rejection exercise would help us here.”

“Rejection exercise?” Crowley’s eyebrows shot high above his glasses.

“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “I’ll ask you for a few things – a hug, for example. You will always answer no, regardless of your interest in the activity in question. Then we’ll switch and you’ll ask me for things and I’ll say no.”

Crowley imagined saying no to Hell and went a bit pale. You didn’t say no to Hell; you said yes and then fucked off and did whatever you wanted anyway, in secret.

Aziraphale was looking at him so earnestly. Crowley swallowed and tried to hold on to his cool. “Sounds masochistic,” he said, leaning back in his chair until his back nearly formed a right triangle with the chair. “Lay it on me.”

Aziraphale twinkled. “Can I hug you?”

“You're asking if you're capable of hugging? I think that’s something you’ll have to answer, but I don’t see anything that would appear to prohibit you.”

Aziraphale quirked his lips. “I didn’t hear a ‘no’ in there.”

Crowley shrugged and rolled his head back to look at the ceiling. “Maybe you should have been more precise with your question.”

“May I take your hand?”

“You wouldn’t like it. Poor circulation, me. ‘m always cold.”

Aziraphale sat back, studying him. “That was a refusal of a sort,” he said. “In these circumstances it’s best to be as precise as possible – a simple no or no thank you will suffice.”

Crowley pouted at him exaggeratedly, but internally he was panicking. “You’re no fun.”

Aziraphale tilted his head at him, mouth quirked with amusement. “Will you put your head on my shoulder?”

Unbidden, an image of himself pillowed against Aziraphale’s chest wavered and solidified in Crowley’s mind. A strange warmth and yearning bloomed in his chest. Then his mind utterly betrayed him. Sure, that would be nice, it said, but lying underneath him would be even better.

Crowley choked and shook his head to banish the image. “No,” he said involuntarily.

Aziraphale lit up. It was like the sun finally breaking through on a cloudy day. Crowley stared, stunned. “Wonderful!” he said. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Crowley felt a strange sense of anticlimax, like when you’re expecting a blow but it doesn’t come.

“Your turn,” Aziraphale said encouragingly. “Ask me for a few things.”

Crowley managed to rally, leaning forward and dragging a smirk onto his face.

“Will you wear a feather boa and go skating with me?”

Aziraphale grinned. “No, thank you.”

“Will you help me dig a tunnel through the center of the Earth to create a shortcut to New Zealand?”

Aziraphale covered his mouth, stifling his giggle. “No.”

Crowley grinned, some of his confidence returning. “Will you work with me for years in secret on a functioning time machine?”

Aziraphale laughed. “No, absolutely not.”

“Well,” Crowley said, slouching back in his seat. “Your loss.”

Aziraphale put his chin in his hand. “Have you given any more thought to what you’d like to do?”

Crowley knocked his chair back on two legs and landed with a thump. “What are my options again?”

“Too many to name,” Aziraphale said, “but lots of people ask for hugs, spooning, or shoulder rubs.”

Crowley squinted at him. “And which ones are the ones you like again?”

Aziraphale leveled a flat glare at him. “Crowley.”

“I don’t see why you’re so put off by people being interested in what you want,” Crowley protested. “If they’re just as happy to give it to you, what’s the harm?”

“Hm,” Aziraphale said doubtfully. “What if I feel the same way? What if I want to make sure you have a good experience but I guess wrong about what you want and find out later that you didn’t enjoy yourself? I would feel terrible.”

Crowley crossed his arms irritably.

“It seems we’re at an impasse,” Aziraphale said drily. “What if I make suggestions for things I’m willing to do, and you use your newfound skills to tell me if they match up with what you want?”

Crowley grumbled under his breath and rocked his chair again.

Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled as he watched Crowley with his chin in his hand. “Spooning?”

“Ngk.” Crowley’s cheeks warmed. “Buy me dinner first.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Hugging?”

“Liable to cut you on my bony ribs,” Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale tilted his head. “Sitting back-to-back?”

Crowley’s chair legs landed with a thump. “People do that?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Oh, sure. Frees your hands up in case you want to work on anything. One of my clients comes here and knits.”

Crowley hesitated. “That could be…fine,” he said.

Aziraphale beamed. “Let’s give it a go, shall we? Do you mind if I fetch a book?” he asked as he rose.

Crowley bowed exaggeratedly from his seat. “Be my guest.”

Aziraphale disappeared through a door to the rest of the house and returned with a hefty tome in one hand. He made a detour to the table to collect his tea and then settled on the mat on the floor, his back to Crowley. He took a sip from his mug. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Crowley stood uncertainly. When Aziraphale didn’t move or look around, he approached cautiously. He gingerly lowered himself to the mat, acting for all the world like it might explode at any moment. Aziraphale didn’t react.

Crowley wiggled carefully back until his back touched Aziraphale’s. He froze.

Aziraphale calmly turned a page in his book and took a loud sip of his tea.

Crowley cautiously leaned back until their backs were fully touching. Aziraphale was solid and warm behind him. He could feel Aziraphale’s chest expanding and contracting as he breathed. Crowley unconsciously started trying to mirror him.

Since nothing dire had happened, Crowley got out his phone and crossed a couple of work things off his list – he sent a couple emails and finalized the last few steps to ensure a major government publication would send pamphlets to the general public with a lewd typo. Smirking a bit to himself, he swiped quickly between apps.

“You can lean a little more on me,” Aziraphale invited casually from behind him. “I won’t break.”

Crowley admitted internally that he was still sitting a bit stiffly, which wasn’t his normal m.o. at all. He slowly melted against Aziraphale’s broad back, gradually adopting something closer to his usual sprawl. Aziraphale straightened his back to support him.

An hour later found Crowley draped contentedly against his companion’s back, breathing in time as he played some horrendous mobile game on his phone (muted, thankfully). Aziraphale shifted a little and Crowley lifted his head.

“I’m sorry to disturb you my dear,” Aziraphale said, “but I’m afraid our time is drawing to a close.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, feeling like he was surfacing from deep under the water. With some effort he flexed his spine so that he was more vertical.

Aziraphale stood, the mat rustling, and deposited his empty mug and book on the table. Crowley watched him, brain slowly returning to its normal speed. He gathered his spindly legs beneath him and stood as well, a faint bit of uncertainty and worry collecting in his gut again.

It faded a little when Aziraphale turned back and smiled at him. “Thank you, Crowley,” he said, and he sounded sincere. “That was a lovely way to spend an hour.”

Crowley smirked at him, dragging his bravado back into place. “How did I compare to other clients?”

“Our negotiations were ultimately successful,” Aziraphale said dryly.

Crowley snorted, delighted despite himself. “You are such a bastard.”

“Thank you,” said Aziraphale placidly. He gestured toward the door.

Crowley stepped out into the garden and suppressed a shiver at the cool evening air. He turned back to find Aziraphale hanging in the doorway, watching him go.

“Best of luck with your time machine,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley laughed. Something warm and a little helpless was blooming in his chest. “If you don’t help make it, you don’t get any traveling rights,” he warned.

Aziraphale smiled. “I think I’ll live.”

Aziraphale watched him disappear around the corner of the house. Exhaling, he turned back inside and began to tidy, gathering up the mat covers and their mugs. Thirty minutes later, his computer chimed to signal that he’d gotten an email. Anthony Crowley had booked another appointment.

Crowley swaggered away from the Bentley, feeling lighter than he had in ages. He leaped up the stairs to his building and pushed through the spotless glass doors.

A figure emerged from the shadows and quickly caught the door, slipping in behind him.

“Working late?”

Crowley’s mood immediately soured. “What do you want, Furfur?”

Furfur lunged forward to catch up with him. Crowley continued his rapid pace toward the lift. Furfur’s grin was vile.

“You played a good game,” he said, “but everything must come to an end.”

“What are you on about?” Crowley said irritably, jabbing the button to call the lift.

“You days as the golden boy are over,” Furfur said. His breath stank of rotted fish. “It’s my turn now.”

The doors opened and Crowley slipped through, hammering the button to shut the doors. Furfur stepped into the open frame, but made no move to try to enter the elevator.

“Remember it was me who brought you down,” he laughed. The doors closed over his delighted face.

Crowley lifted a lip and smoothed his waistcoat, shaking his shoulders as though dispelling a chill. He stared unseeingly at the floor numbers as they slowly ticked up.

He slammed the door to his apartment behind him and immediately poured himself a drink. “Slimy little pit-stain,” he muttered to himself, and tossed the drink back.

Suddenly his TV made a sound like a dial-up modem fighting a goblin. It twitched and vomited up a cloud of enormous black flies.

“Crrrrrowley?” came Beelzebub’s voice.

Crowley was frozen with his glass still raised. “Yes, lord?”

“It hazz come to our attentionnn that there may be…discrepanciezzz in your work.” The voice vibrated around the space, rattling the plants and scattering the flies. “We are conductinggg a full audit. You will comply completelyy.”

Crowley stood for a moment, jaw hanging. “Yes, lord.”

The TV switched off abruptly.

Crowley stood rooted for an extended moment. Then he sprang into action.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he hissed, racing through the apartment. Clouds of flies lifted and swirled. He batted at them furiously, charging into his bedroom and leaping for his laptop charging on the bedspread.

He used the box that night.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale was still tidying from his last appointment when there came a rapid knock at the sunroom door. He opened it to find Crowley slouching on the step, his collar damp from the rain.

“Come in, come in,” Aziraphale ushered him out of the wet. “You’re a bit early,” he said, a little harried as he stuffed a blanket in a hamper.

“But I come bearing gifts?” Crowley offered. He was standing even less vertically than last time, leaning over at an odd angle. He wagged a wine bottle in Aziraphale’s direction.

Aziraphale frowned. “What’s the occasion?”

“Work has been Hell,” Crowley said, missing the quick quirk of Aziraphale’s lips at the double entendre. “I thought we could unwind a little.”

Aziraphale studied him, considering. Crowley waggled his eyebrows at him.

“One glass,” Aziraphale capitulated. “But neither of us will be getting intoxicated,” he said warningly. Crowley threw up his hands innocently.

Aziraphale located some glasses in the kitchen and took the bottle from Crowley to ensure a reasonable pour. Crowley toasted him sardonically and drank heavily.

Aziraphale tasted the wine tentatively. “Oh!” he said, lighting up. “That’s lovely.”

“I need to be horizontal,” Crowley said, half his glass gone already. He wandered over to the mat and collapsed onto his back upon it.

Aziraphale eyed him thoughtfully, still holding his glass.

“Can I make a suggestion?” he said. Crowley waved a hand at him lazily.

Aziraphale lifted a blanket he hadn’t had a chance to put away. “My previous client asked for a weighted blanket,” he said, “and I think you might like it too. Want to try it?”

Crowley starfished on the mat. “Lay it on me,” he said.

“Let me get a fresh one,” Aziraphale said, putting the blanket in the hamper and retrieving another from the chest against the wall where he kept supplies. He took the wine glass Crowley was still holding up in the air and set it aside. He shook the blanket out and gently draped it over Crowley’s legs, and then let it settle over his chest.

“Ohhhh,” Crowley breathed. His eyes were wide behind the glasses.

Aziraphale’s lips quirked, his eyes warm. “Good?”

“Mmm. Mmm-hmm,” Crowley assented. He closed his eyes.

Aziraphale watched him fondly as his breathing slowed and deepened. He was struck by a sudden urge to brush Crowley’s hair back from his forehead and had to look away, twisting his fingers together nervously.

Casting about for something to occupy himself, he retrieved his book from inside the house and settled down at the table to read.

“Whatchya reading?” came Crowley’s sleepy voice. Aziraphale looked up to find his head tilted toward him.

Aziraphale checked the cover. “Treasure Island,” he admitted.

“Mm,” Crowley said. “Read to me?”

Aziraphale eyed him a little skeptically but obediently began reading aloud. Crowley listened for a while, then piped up again.

“I’m having trouble hearing you – can you come closer?”

Aziraphale suspected there wasn’t truly an issue with his voice carrying through the small room, but he wasn’t opposed to coming closer. He stood and approached the mat.

“Can I sit against you?” he asked.

Crowley nodded lazily.

Aziraphale settled beside his feet and gently pressed his leg against Crowley’s. Crowley sighed contentedly. Aziraphale lifted the book and resumed reading.

They passed a peaceful hour in this manner, Aziraphale’s voice a gentle deep rumble washing over Crowley as he reveled in the light pressure covering him.

Eventually Aziraphale laid a gentle hand over Crowley’s ankle. “I’m afraid that’s our time, my dear.”

Crowley sighed reluctantly. “If you insist,” he grumbled.

Aziraphale helped Crowley take the blanket off and turned away to put it in the hamper as Crowley slowly sat up and made sure his hair was still in place. He stood and arched his back until it cracked, slowly returning to his normal awareness of his body.

Aziraphale turned back and something in his chest warmed as he watched him languidly step off the mat and start preparing to leave. He hesitated over an impulse before opening his mouth.

“I thought I should mention,” he said, attempting casualness, “I’m not opposed to friendship with my clients outside of our time together here.”

Crowley slowed to a stop, his eyes dragging over to Aziraphale. Amusement pulled at the sharp corners of his mouth.

“I’m surprised at you,” he drawled. “That was an incredibly vague statement. It’s best to be precise about these things, you know.”

Aziraphale flushed. “Oh, you’re incorrigible,” he complained. “Very well, you irritating thing, I’d like to take you to lunch. Is that something you would be interested in?”

Crowley smiled slow and wide. “I could be persuaded.”

Aziraphale huffed. “I’ll email you. Now get out of my house, you minx,” he said, ushering him toward the door.

Crowley backed toward the exit, that crooked smile still on his face. “Goodbye!” he sang, hopping down the steps.

“Goodbye,” Aziraphale returned, struggling to conceal his fondness. He shut the door behind him and watched him disappear into the dark.

Crowley snarled at the tome he was flipping through and tossed it into the pile. His apartment was covered in books, papers, scrolls, and artifacts. Some were pulled from the ether where he had carelessly tossed them over the centuries, others from the library, and others outright stolen from private collections and museums around the world.

The trouble wasn’t producing documentation. He could forge with the best of them, and in general Hell wasn’t familiar enough with Earth to be able to spot even amateur forgeries. They were even more ignorant of digital properties; Crowley didn’t think any of them even knew the word “metadata.” Forging the last few years of his work had by far been the easiest aspect of this; it had taken him an afternoon and he’d drunk bourbon the entire time. No, the trouble was remembering what was supposed to be included in “his work” in the first place.

He could remember some of the big ones he had taken credit for – burning coal and disposable razors sprang to mind – but claiming credit for things the humans were doing anyway had almost become a reflex and there was no way he could remember all of the times he had casually tossed it off in conversation with his superiors. He had never been able to get anyone to understand that almost everything that happened was just humans being human-y. Privately he believed that everything Heaven took credit for was just the humans too.

And then there were all the times he had directly contravened something Hell had instructed him to do, like with Job. Some of the evidence on those was shaky too. He’d never thought past submitting his reports to Hell. He figured if they didn’t have a problem with his work as he submitted it that was that. No need to cover his tracks further. He never imagined that they would do a review.

Now he was stuck going through all his paraphernalia and doing bloody research to try to jog his memory and build a flimsy trail behind him. Damn Furfur. He had always been a thorn in his side. He dragged a hand down his face. He needed coffee.

As his gleaming espresso machine whirred quietly to itself in the corner of his spotless kitchen, he played around on his phone to try to gain one moment’s peace from the fear that gnawed hungrily in his belly. Crowley was no stranger to fear. He had been more or less terrified for the majority of his existence. He’d managed to turn it into a game, pressing it back with bravado and bluster and thrilling at his ability to evade and circumvent it. But it was always there, snapping at his heels. The knowledge of what would happen to him if he slipped up. And now it seemed that ancient fear may be becoming reality. Dammit, the stupid bird had missed again, the physics on this stupid slingshot were bullshit.

His phone chimed to let him know he’d received an email and he gladly swiped away from the game. It was from Aziraphale, wishing him well and asking him if he’d like to accompany him to a little Vietnamese place he loved not too far from his house. It offered a few dates and times and closed with kind regards. The entire thing was far too formal and epistolary and Crowley smiled the entire time he read it. He quickly wrote back.

Aziraphale was already seated with a menu when Crowley peeled up outside the restaurant, swinging into a too-small space that miraculously accommodated the Bentley. Aziraphale noticed and shook his head fondly. Crowley was perhaps the least subtle person Aziraphale had ever met. Aziraphale lacked the self-awareness to see the irony in this.

He had deliberately selected a restaurant only a few miles from his house. He was certain that Crowley had noticed the aura of power he exuded; he just wasn’t attributing it to the unassuming human in the cable knit jumper. If he met Crowley far afield and the aura was still there, it would become a bit harder for him to obscure that he was the source.

Crowley burst through the door, nearly toppling a pile of menus in the process, and was immediately scolded by a tiny woman in loud Vietnamese – Ms. Ninh, the owner.

“Sorry,” Crowley said, holding his hands up placatingly.

“He’s with me,” Aziraphale said, waving to her. She immediately softened.

“Aziraphale has never brought someone here before,” she said, eyeing Crowley speculatively.

“Go easy on him,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley slid into the chair across from him and leaned back on one arm. “Friend of yours?”

“I’m a regular here,” he explained. “Their broth is to die for.”

Crowley frowned, flipping through the laminated menu. “Soup’s a bit messy, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes at him. “Are you one of those people who primarily thinks about their clothes when deciding what to eat?”

Crowley smoothed his hand down his chest. “These are designer,” he protested.

“May I introduce you to the napkin,” Aziraphale said, lifting his from his lap in demonstration.

Crowley wrinkled his nose at it. “The bib for your lap,” he quipped. He turned back to the menu. “So, what’s good?”

Aziraphale expounded on his favorites with enthusiasm, gesturing to each line and describing heat, texture, and depth of flavor. Instead of following along on the menu, Crowley settled his chin in his hand and watched Aziraphale as he talked, eyes warm behind his glasses.

“Anything appealing?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley leaned back, waving a hand dismissively. “I couldn’t possibly decide,” he said. “Choose for me.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him. “I shall endeavor to find the driest items on the menu,” he said.

Crowley grinned sharply. “Perfect.”

A gangly teenager arrived to take their order, hunched and obviously uncomfortable with the height of her body. Aziraphale ordered his favorite brisket pho and a pot of tea, and some spring rolls and a bahn mi for Crowley.

“How’s work?” he asked as they waited for their food. 

Crowley groaned and bent backwards over the back of his chair, his spine bending unnaturally. “You know how it is,” he grumbled.

“I’m not sure I do,” Aziraphale admitted. “I haven’t exactly had a typical career.”

Crowley lifted his head. “It’s mainly navigating a bunch of idiots you’re not allowed to call idiots,” he said. He tilted his head at Aziraphale. “How long have you been doing the cuddle thing?”

“Five years,” Aziraphale said.

Their conversation wandered over the various jobs they had each had – turns out they both had eccentric resumes – and the places those jobs had taken them – they had both traveled extensively as well. They were briefly interrupted by the arrival of their food, the teenager furtively stuffing things onto the table like if she did it quickly enough it wouldn’t be noticed. Ms. Ninh followed behind with a plate of sticky rice. “On the house,” she said, smiling as Aziraphale cooed and clapped his hands with excitement. As she turned away she narrowed her eyes at Crowley. He gave her his most shit-eating grin.

Crowley watched with raised eyebrows and Aziraphale expertly distributed the contents of the entire tray of ingredients that had come with his soup, chatting idly about Italy as he did. Somehow this got them onto the topic of Shakespeare.

“Hamlet is one of my favorites,” Aziraphale sighed wistfully. “I’m not sure why it’s not more popular.”

“Too depressing,” Crowley grunted, scooping up sticky rice.

Aziraphale ended up eating half of Crowley’s bahn mi and spring rolls, relishing each bite with delight. Crowley was openly staring. Ms. Ninh snorted to herself as she passed their table.

With the dishes cleared, they lingered over their drinks: tea for Aziraphale, coffee for Crowley.

Crowley had waved off Aziraphale’s questions about his job, but Aziraphale had noticed the tight lines of his neck and shoulders. He tilted his head consideringly.

“How much do you know about kink?” he asked.

Crowley choked on his drink.

He almost said: “I am a demon,” but bit his tongue at the last second. “Aziraphale, you can’t just ask people that.”

Aziraphale smiled at the faint blush on Crowley’s nose. “Why not?”

“Ngk,” Crowley said, tongue not cooperating.

“If you’re unexperienced –” Aziraphale began.

“I’ve been around the block a few times,” Crowley interrupted defensively.

“Oh! Excellent. In that case, I wondered if I might tie you?”

Crowley stared at him.

“Platonically, of course,” Aziraphale said. He sipped his tea, eyes sparkling at Crowley over the rim.

“I’ve noticed that you seem to enjoy activities that are grounding or restrictive in some way,” Aziraphale continued as Crowley remained stunned. “Forgive me for saying so, but you seem stressed. Some people find being tied soothing. Meditative, even. If it appeals, I’d be glad to do it for you.”

Crowley struggled to get his mouth to cooperate. “Okay,” he said, a bit strangled.

Aziraphale lit up. “Oh! Excellent!” He set down his teacup. “Shall we?”

“Now?” Crowley hissed as Aziraphale waved for the check.

“Why not? Do you have somewhere else to be?”

He really didn’t.

They exited into a cold spring afternoon. Aziraphale hunched his shoulders against the chill. Crowley stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Give you a lift?” Crowley offered, indicating the Bentley.

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale said warmly.

Aziraphale sighed contentedly as he slid onto the plush leather seats. “This is a lovely vehicle,” he said admiringly.

“Lovely?” Crowley said with faux-offense. “She’s far more than that, aren’t you, you gorgeous, stellar, incomparable –”

“Warm, too,” Aziraphale interrupted, holding his hands up to the vent.

Crowley turned to him accusingly. “Is that why you asked me over? To bum a ride?”

Aziraphale smiled mischievously. “You’ve caught me out. I only offered to tie you to avoid walking in this damp.”

Crowley huffed and started the engine.

It was barely a five-minute drive to Aziraphale’s house. Crowley pulled up to the curb and had a brief moment to feel panicked before Aziraphale was slipping out of the car, calling “Come along!” as he did so.

They went in Crowley’s usual way, around the side to the sunroom. Aziraphale unlocked the door and flicked on the lamps. Crowley stood uncertainly in the doorway, looking around the familiar space as though it were brand new.

“I need to fetch some supplies from inside,” Aziraphale said, gesturing toward the inner door. “In the meantime, might I suggest you make yourself more comfortable?”

Crowley stared at him. “Are you asking me to take my clothes off?”

“No,” Aziraphale chuckled. “I was thinking your shoes. And maybe your tie.” He tilted his head as he studied Crowley.

“I’m pleased you’re here,” he said, “but if you’ve changed your mind, or if you’ve just been humoring me, you can take advantage of my absence to slip out the door.” He nodded to the rain-specked garden outside. “I won’t be offended, and we don’t ever need to speak of it again. I’ll treat you exactly the same if you choose to schedule a cuddle session with me again.”

Crowley exhaled slowly.

Aziraphale nodded briskly to him. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, and sailed through the inner door, closing it behind him.

Crowley looked around the room again, surveying the shelves of lush green plants. He inhaled the scent of damp earth. He looked down and toed out of his shoes, kicking them under the table. He pulled his tie over his head, and then, after some thought, slipped his waistcoat from his shoulders as well. He draped both items over the back of a chair. He hadn’t revealed any more skin, but he still felt strangely exposed.

He heard Aziraphale’s footsteps returning and noticed when he hesitated outside the door. After an extended silence Aziraphale pushed it open. His expression was set as though bracing himself. When he spotted Crowley his entire face melted into delight, his smile lightening the room brighter than the lamps. Crowley had to fight back a smile at the sight.

“You don’t keep these supplies in the cuddle room?” he drawled, trying to regain his footing.

For his part, Aziraphale was thinking that Crowley’s henley looked extremely soft and cozy and he would love to run his hands over it, but that might slightly undermine what he was trying to accomplish here. He hefted the bag he was cradling in one arm. “These are for special occasions,” he returned, winking. The bridge of Crowley’s nose reddened.

Aziraphale set the bag on the table and rifled through it. “Let’s see, which ones shall we use – what do you think of this?” he said, lifting a coil of fluorescent pink rope into the air and raising his eyebrows questioningly. Crowley lifted his lip in disgust.

“Not your style?” Aziraphale asked innocently. “In that case, what about these?” He held up a coil of red rope.

“I think I can bear to be seen in that,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale hummed as he dug for another few coils in the same shade. “You know, pink is just light red, my dear.”

“It fucking isn’t.”

Aziraphale turned around with his selections and found Crowley trying very hard not to look nervous. He smiled at him. “Shall we sit on the mat?”

Crowley bobbed his head and moved swiftly to plop himself down. Aziraphale settled himself in front of him. He put one hand on the rope beside him.

“I was thinking we would tie your arms in front of you, and tie your legs together,” he said matter-of-factly. “No difficult positions, nothing complicated. It should be comfortable.”

Crowley nodded slowly, eyes on the rope. “That sounds…good.”

“I also wondered if you might like to be blindfolded?” Aziraphale held up a black sleep mask questioningly. “It can help people relax and avoid distractions.”

Crowley thought about trying to figure out where to look while Aziraphale worked on him and said, “Yes, yeah, great.” He lifted a hand to his face and hesitated. “My glasses.”

“I can take care of them,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He slipped his glasses from his face and held them out into empty space, waiting for Aziraphale to take them. He felt his fingers brush his own as he lifted them gently and then they were gone. The hair on the back of Crowley’s neck prickled.

But then something smooth and satiny was being pressed into his hand. He felt out the shape of it and fumbled it onto his head, stretching the band wide to avoid tousling his hair. He relaxed a bit once his eyes were covered again.

Aziraphale’s gentle voice came from just in front of him. “I’m going to start, okay?” Crowley nodded.

“Can you put your arms together in front of you for me?”

Crowley lifted his arms into the black space before him and felt his forearms connect.

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale said warmly.

Suddenly Crowley felt the pressure of Aziraphale’s fingers against his arm. Nervous and excited anticipation swept through him. He could still feel their imprints after he let go. Something brushed against his arms and then tightened. He took a startled breath.

Another couple loops were laid below the initial one and also tightened. Aziraphale pulled on the tie a little, testing it, and then patted his arms.

“How does that feel?” he asked.

“Good,” Crowley said, trying not to sound breathless.

“Good. In that case, we’re done here,” Aziraphale said. “Can you kneel up for me?”

Crowley rocked up onto his knees and stifled a noise when Aziraphale brushed his thighs. He subtly tried to pull his arms apart, but they were held fast. A warm shiver ran down his spine. With his eyes covered, all his senses were focused on the pressure of the rope on his body. Aziraphale wrapped a loop of rope around his thighs, winding several times again before tying off. Crowley exhaled slowly.

“Think your calves will be easier if you’re lying down,” Aziraphale said. “Can I help lower you?”

Crowley nodded and felt Aziraphale’s hand on his shoulder. He slowly leaned to the side, more and more of his weight in Aziraphale’s arms until Aziraphale was lowering him to the mat. Aziraphale quickly found a pillow and pulled it under his head. Crowley’s thoughts were dissolving into soft gray static.

“Comfortable?” Aziraphale said and it took Crowley a moment to answer.

“Mmm, yes,” he sighed.

He felt Aziraphale lifting his legs in order to slip a length of rope beneath his calves, but it felt far away. He could hear himself breathing. Aziraphale lowered his legs down to the mat and Crowley didn’t even try to pull them apart. His mind had slowed and emptied, occasional thoughts drifting through in the distance.

He heard Aziraphale move and tensed slightly. “Don’t leave,” he said with sudden fear.

“I would never do that,” Aziraphale reassured him. “What if I lay down beside you? That way I’ll be close.”

“Okay,” Crowley sighed, sinking deeper into the mat. It crinkled and dipped behind him as Aziraphale arranged himself beside him. There was a pause in which Crowley simply breathed.

There was another rustle as Aziraphale shifted and then his voice came again: “May I put my arm over you?”

That sounded even more secure and warm. “Yes,” Crowley said.

He could feel Aziraphale’s body heat along his spine and then a loose arm draped over his waist. It didn’t grip him or pull him tighter, it just rested over him. Crowley exhaled long and low.

He didn’t have to go anywhere. He didn’t have to do anything. He didn’t have to work, or think about his boss. He didn’t have to brainstorm new temptations, or troll looking for more atrocities to claim as his own. In fact, he couldn’t do any of those things. All he could do now was lay here. Crowley drifted, the tension slowly leeching out of his body.

Far too soon, Aziraphale was shifting beside him again and sitting up. “Crowley,” he said quietly.

“Hm?” Crowley sighed.

“It’s been 30 minutes,” came Aziraphale’s voice. “I don’t think we should leave you tied for much longer.”

Crowley turned his face into the pillow. “Little more?” he tried.

“No, my dear. I’m sorry.”

Crowley sighed and lifted his arms in the air. “M’k.”

There was a little bit of tugging as Aziraphale unwound the rope from his forearms. Crowley’s mind got a little brighter. Thoughts started to trickle in. He rolled onto his back.

He lay with his hands on his chest as Aziraphale unknotted the rope on his thighs, and finally his calves. As the last loop pulled away the gears of Crowley’s mind turned over and began to whir at high speed. He grit his jaw.

“Blindfold?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley carefully pulled it over his head and held it in the air, keeping his eyes closed. He felt the cold metal and glass of his shades pressed against his palm and carefully fit them over his face. Even after they were in place, it took him a moment to open his eyes.

Aziraphale was kneeling beside him, looking a bit apprehensive. “How do you feel?”

Crowley took several slow breaths, trying to summon his usual persona. He worked his mouth.

“That was an elaborate way to trick me into spooning,” he drawled.

Aziraphale jumped, his eyes widening. “Oh, my dear,” he said, face creasing with worry. “I’m so sorry, I took advantage and I should have thought –”

“Relax, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, hauling himself upright. “I’m teasing you.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s eyes were enormous. “Truly?”

“Yeah.” Crowley rubbed his temple. He still felt a bit out-of-sorts, and there was a strange well of grief welling just under his sternum. “Sorry. Still coming back online, I guess. It was nice.”

Aziraphale was still watching him. “We could keep laying here for a while,” he offered. “It might help you feel a bit more grounded.”

“Nah.” Crowley hauled himself to his feet. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. I should be going.”

Aziraphale scrambled to his feet as Crowley stepped off the mat and collected his clothes and shoes. “Wait,” he said, hurrying to the chest in the corner. He turned back with a weighted blanket in his arms. “Take this,” he said, holding it out. “It might help.”

Crowley accepted it with surprise. “Thanks,” he said.

On the steps he turned back to find Aziraphale hovering in the doorway, still looking concerned. Crowley summoned as much sincerity as he could muster. “Thank you,” he said. “You did a good job.”

Aziraphale’s expression lightened. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Take care of yourself.”

Crowley waved and swaggered off down the path.

Snarling, Crowley peeled past the soulless corporate building that housed the entrance to Heaven and Hell’s office and turned too-sharp of a corner into an alley along the side to reach the loading dock at the back. The bay door was already open and a few Erics were loitering, checking clipboards and obsessively rearranging dollies and carts.

Crowley swung the Bentley into the doorway and hopped out of the car. “Morning, gents,” he said with a strained smile.

“This everything?” the nearest Eric asked, nodding toward the Bentley. She was stuffed to overflowing with papers, folders, scrolls, and even a few statues and urns.

“Yep,” Crowley said.

“Sign here for delivery of audit materials,” Eric said, handing over a clipboard.

Crowley took it and signed aggressively, his looping signature covering several lines.

The other Erics moved in and began transferring the contents of the Bentley onto their carts.

“Careful,” Crowley called, wincing as they bumped a trolley against one of her doors. He groaned under his breath.

It took the Erics a while to empty the car. Crowley made no move to help, standing with his arms folded and occasionally checking his watch.

Finally the Bentley was empty and the Erics had the freight elevator packed full of carts and dollies. The first Eric turned to Crowley.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” he said, extending a hand.

“Shut up, you little twerp,” Crowley said, and climbed back in the Bentley.

Chapter Text

Crowley hammered on Aziraphale’s front door and looked around the street with restless energy, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. He had been using the box less frequently over the last few weeks, but it had definitely been taken out after he turned over the documents for the audit. He was eager to see Aziraphale and raring with an energy he could barely explain to himself: to impress him, to delight him.

He heard the door swing open and quickly turned back. Aziraphale was emerging from the house, with his coat already on, ready to go. “Crowley,” he greeted him warmly, his eyes crinkling.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley returned jauntily, heart hammering. He watched as Aziraphale locked the door behind him. “Are you well?”

“Yes, thank you,” Aziraphale said, turning back to him. He slipped an arm through Crowley’s and Crowley found himself being towed down the walk, his hands in his pockets, Aziraphale warm against his side. He tried not to stare at the place they were connected. “And you?”

“Er…you know,” Crowley said airily, coming back to the present. “Say, I think you’re really going to like this place.”

“Where is it again?”

“Right,” Crowley remembered. “Change of plans. I managed to score a reservation at this fancy place the next county over. It’s one of those posh farm-to-table places. You’re going to love it.”

They had reached the Bentley. Aziraphale stopped, a frown coming over his face. He looked up at Crowley. Crowley held his breath, some of his excitement draining out of him.

But then Aziraphale smiled. “That sounds lovely,” he said tentatively.

Crowley exhaled, relieved. “It’s going to be great. You’ll see,” he assured him.  

Aziraphale was a little quieter than usual but he smiled readily at Crowley as they chatted on the drive.

Something was niggling at the back of Crowley’s brain. Something was off, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it. As they exited the populated area and started moving through green fields, Aziraphale began to fidget, twisting his fingers together.

The road narrowed as they neared a crossing over a river. The bridge narrowed further to one lane. Two cars were already on it, facing each other. One driver was hanging out the window and shouting.

Crowley slowed the Bentley, cursing. “Idiots,” he muttered under his breath.

Aziraphale was watching the water. A narrowboat was floating toward the bridge, but it was at an odd angle, pitched almost sideways across the river. They both watched as the boat made an effort to straighten out, but failed to do so before it rammed into one of the pylons supporting the bridge.

The bridge shuddered. The shouting stopped as the drivers looked around in alarm.

“Shit,” Crowley said, preparing a miracle.

The bridge cracked down the center. The cars began to slide forward as the bridge began to pitch into the water.

Aziraphale got out of the car.

Suddenly the broken halves of the bridge froze in the air. There was a grinding noise and a shower of dust as they rose up and slotted back together. The hair on the back of Crowley’s neck stood up.

Aziraphale stood at the entrance to the bridge and waved at the nearest driver, urging her to back up. Shaking, she fumbled with the gearshift and managed to reverse the car, swerving a bit wide and scraping the side of the car against the barrier as she hastily retreated. Across the bridge the other driver was doing the same, shooting backwards off the bridge a bit too fast.

The driver drew level with Aziraphale and he bent to speak to her. She turned enormous eyes to him, her chest heaving.

Crowley remained frozen, one hand still poised to snap. He suddenly realized what he had been missing before. The strange, ancient power he had noticed the first time he visited Aziraphale was still present. But they were miles and miles from Aziraphale’s neighborhood. That meant it couldn’t belong to an ancient site, as he had assumed. Slowly, reluctantly, his eyes were drawn to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was waving to the other driver across the way. They were sitting with their hands fused to the wheel, but as he called to them, they managed to lift a hand to give a small wave.

Crowley hadn’t sensed a miracle, or any version of divine or demonic magic. He began to be truly, physically afraid in a way he wasn’t sure he had been since his Fall. His heart was thundering so hard in his chest he could barely breathe. His brain was screaming at him to run, but his body was locked in place, shaking as he clung to the steering wheel.

As the immensity of the power he was sensing washed over him, he blinked and transferred his gaze to the ethereal plane. The world around him went grey and shadowy.

Aziraphale lit up like a beacon. He was so bright Crowley couldn’t look directly at him. He was an open white flame, a person-shaped cutout in the world with a sun burning behind it.

Eyes watering, Crowley looked away and saw that Aziraphale was tethered to the world, shadowy cords stretching out from him in all directions as far as Crowley could see. He noticed that several were wrapped around the bridge pieces, holding them up. A few trailed the driver across the way as they shakily turned around. Others guided the narrowboat into a truer heading. They were even in the Bentley, a few curved protectively around Crowley’s headrest. It was overwhelming.

Crowley blinked back over to the physical plane and all evidence of Aziraphale’s power vanished. He was once more a bookish man in a cozy jumper, speaking kindly to the remaining driver and waving as she drove off. But Crowley could still feel it all around him, pressing him down. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

The driver disappeared down the road and Aziraphale straightened up, his shoulders squaring and his spine going strangely rigid. Slowly, he turned back to the Bentley.   

Crowley stared straight ahead as he approached, listening to the crunch of his footsteps on the asphalt. Aziraphale bent down to look through the window and Crowley tried not to flinch.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley was just now realizing how important it was to him that Aziraphale was human. As much as he’d diverted and misdirected, Crowley had undeniably made himself vulnerable to him. He’d initially sought him out for a soft reason. He’d been eager to spend more time with him. He’d let him tie him up, for Satan’s sake. Those things had only felt as safe as they did because he thought he understood what Aziraphale was. He had assumed that Aziraphale was weak and finite. It was now abundantly clear that he was neither.

“What are you?” he whispered.

Aziraphale sighed. “I’m not sure there’s a word for it,” he said. “I am the only one of me.”

Crowley swallowed. “You’ve known what I am the whole time?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said quietly.

Crowley twitched involuntarily, his hands clenching painfully on the wheel. “Are you going to report me to Hell?” he whispered.

“No,” Aziraphale said immediately and urgently. “I would never do that, Crowley. Please –” his voice grew a bit thick. “I would never hurt you.”

“I didn’t know that you could,” Crowley said helplessly. He felt like the walls were closing in on him. He was being buried under a mountain of earth and it was crushing him. Every time he tried to carve out a little place for himself in the world the door closed on him. There was absolutely nowhere for him.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said helplessly. “I’m afraid I’ve handled this rather badly.”

Crowley couldn’t absorb that. He felt like he was unraveling at the seams. He didn’t know what would happen when he came apart.

“Can I leave?” he asked tightly. He still couldn’t meet Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Of course,” Aziraphale said fervently. “Crowley –” He stopped. Seeming to think better of it, he took a deliberate step back from the car.

Crowley started the Bentley and the engine turned over. He peeled away, not looking back at the small figure shrinking in the rearview mirror. His body and brain felt raw and bruised. His vision grew blurry and he had to swipe beneath his glasses.

Aziraphale watched him speed away like it wasn’t possible to get away from him fast enough. He tightened his jaw even as his eyes welled up. Behind him the bridge slipped and fell into the river as he let it go.

Crowley used the box for a long time that night. It hurt.

With the surrender of the audit materials, Crowley was suspended until the conclusion of the investigation. Normally not having to work would be something to relish, but the timing couldn’t be worse. He badly needed a distraction. Instead he stayed locked in his apartment, drank, and utterly failed to think about anything other than Aziraphale.

He cursed himself for his own stupidity a thousand times. In the painful hours of the early morning, when all the bottles were empty, he cursed himself for wanting what he wanted at all. Everything would be simpler if he could just manage to be someone else. But every single chance he had he chose the other way.

He repeatedly reviewed every interaction he’d had with Aziraphale and cringed at how pathetically he’d behaved. But over time, he started to pay more attention to Aziraphale instead of himself. How he always treated him with kindness and never showed any contempt. How much effort he put into learning what Crowley wanted. How, rather than using his power against him, he gave Crowley every opportunity to refuse or leave.

After about a week he ran out of alcohol and didn’t bother to miracle any more. Slowly he started to feel more like himself. He ordered a new jacket. He shouted at his plants. He broke the lift in his building. As his mood improved he discovered that he still wanted what he wanted. He just felt less pitiable for it.

Two weeks after he left Aziraphale beside the bridge, he hammered on his sunroom door.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale sank into his favorite armchair, trying to focus on the words on the page before him. He’d been distracted and moody the last couple weeks. It was so bad even one of his long-time clients had noticed. She’d been happy to give him a long hug, but he still felt embarrassed it had come to that. He was supposed to be serving others, not the other way around.

There was a double-edge to his regret and misery over Crowley. First there was the guilt and shame over failing him. He’d wanted to be able to offer a safe and comfortable place to someone who surely had few options in that arena, but instead he offered a taste and then yanked it away. The second piece was how much he missed him. He hadn’t realized how fond he had become of him or how much he looked forward to seeing him until he was faced with the prospect of it never happening again. He felt hollow inside.

A banging on the side door startled him out of his reverie. He jumped and spilled tea on his sleeve. He set aside his cup and book to dab at the spot, grumbling to himself. “Who could that possibly be at this hour?”

He tuned in to his extra senses, seeing what clues his tethers could provide. He couldn’t see or hear with them, but he could sense things like heat and movement and materials. He was hoping to find the shape of a delivery van or something else that would let him stay put and return to his book.

Instead he found the shape of a Bentley parked in front of his door.

His heart leapt and began beating like a bird trying to escape his chest. He threw back his blanket and hurried to the door to the sunroom. As he reached for the knob he had a moment of fleeting anxiety about his appearance and put a hand to his hair, then scolded himself for vanity. He’d kept him waiting long enough already.

He stepped through into the sunroom and his breath caught as he spotted Crowley through the glass, the flash of his red hair marking him against the darkness of the early morning. Eyes round, he hurried across to pull open the outside door.

Crowley stood on his doorstep. A faint drizzle misted the air and caused his hair to wilt against his forehead. His eyes were wide behind his glasses and locked on Aziraphale. As Aziraphale opened the door he swayed toward him slightly, shoulders heaving.

Aziraphale found himself speechless at the sight of him. Everything he planned to stay fled his head. He stood in the open doorway, staring back.

Crowley opened his mouth. Aziraphale leaned forward eagerly, eyes fixed on his face.

Crowley hesitated. Then he surged forward, his mouth descending on Aziraphale’s.

Relief mingled with deep hunger flooded Aziraphale’s body. He wasted no time in taking Crowley by the hips and turning him against the open door, angling his head to press hard against Crowley’s open mouth. The door crunched as it was pinned between Crowley’s body and the wall.

Crowley’s hands hovered in the air like he wasn’t sure what to do with them, but he kissed back urgently, breath coming in gasps as he strove to keep up with Aziraphale. Aziraphale pressed himself bodily against him, desperate to reassure himself he was here. His mouth was hot and greedy, taking and taking as Crowley shivered beneath him.

Shortly he realized that the door must be digging uncomfortably into Crowley’s back and he broke away with a gasp.

“Oh my dear, I’m terribly sorry,” he said anxiously. “That must be terribly unpleasant. Come away from there.”

Crowley stepped away from the door toward his outstretched hand, seeming a bit dazed. “Wasn’t complaining,” he mumbled.

“Won’t you come in?” Aziraphale said, drawing him by the hand through the doorway. He led him through the inner door, aiming for the sofa in the little sitting area.

This was Crowley’s first time in Aziraphale’s house, instead of the just the sunroom. He looked around him with interest, taking in all the details and decisions that made this Aziraphale’s home.

Immediately to one side was an antique desk, piled high with papers, drawings, and photos. Nearby was a squashy armchair with a full teacup on the end table beside it. Opposite it was a small kitchen with painted wooden cabinets and brightly colored containers and utensils. Ahead, beyond the front door and the staircase opposite it, was a pair of couches on either side of a coffee table. Aziraphale deposited him on one of these couches, looking down at him with a mixture of nervous and excited energy.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” he said eagerly. “Tea? Juice?”

Crowley stared up at him, wondering if Aziraphale’s mouth was one of the options. “Do you have coffee?” he finally asked.

Aziraphale’s eyes unfocused as he stared into the middle distance. “I do now!” he said cheerfully, and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

Crowley exhaled and sank into the cushions, willing his heart to slow down. He really should have planned out what he was going to say more. His impulse seemed to have worked out okay though.

Aziraphale returned with a mug of coffee and his retrieved teacup. He handed Crowley the mug and sat beside him on the couch.

Crowley looked down into the black liquid. He lifted it toward his mouth, stopped, set it on the coffee table, and turned to pull Aziraphale into another kiss.

Aziraphale made a muffled noise into his mouth and wrapped his arms around him. His teacup plummeted toward the floor but was arrested and seemed to float up and settle on the table of its own accord as one of Aziraphale’s tendrils caught it and set it aside.

Aziraphale managed to get a knee under him and tilted Crowley back onto the cushions. Crowley groaned as his weight settled over him, his mouth growing sloppy. Aziraphale took his chin in one hand and kissed him firmly, coaxing him into a rhythm that left Crowley weak and gasping.

He felt something glide through his hair and then grip it to tilt his head back so Aziraphale could suck bruises into his neck. He felt faint pressure skate along his ribs. The hem of his shirt lifted and something stroked his stomach. Heat flushed through him and he arched his back helplessly as he realized Aziraphale was using his tethers to pet him even as he kept his hands firm on Crowley’s chest.

“Okay?” Aziraphale murmured next to his ear.

Crowley opened his mouth but all that came out was a strangled moan. He shut his eyes, rapidly losing track of all the places he was being touched. “They’re – everywhere,” he managed, squirming to try to get more of that pressure on him. Several tendrils coiled playfully around his ankles. Others snaked beneath the cuffs of his trousers and raced up his calves. There was a collection of tentacles curling over his stomach and chest, gliding against his skin and scratching through his chest hair. It was overwhelming. All the while Aziraphale kissed down his neck and nosed at the opening of his collar.

“I want to touch you everywhere, dear,” Aziraphale said fondly, his voice a bit rough with arousal.

“Hm,” Crowley agreed, breathless.

Aziraphale brushed his nose along the line of Crowley’s collarbone. “Now that the cat’s out of the bag, I think there’s something else I can do you might like,” he said coyly.

“Oh?” Crowley said, barely keeping up. A few tendrils had reached his thighs and were stroking the delicate skin on the insides of his legs.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, laughing. “Here, I’ll show you.”

For a breathless moment nothing happened. Then Aziraphale – grew. His body expanded upward and outward a few inches and he grew heavier, crushing Crowley into the couch. He suddenly found his face pressed into the collar of Aziraphale’s shirt as he loomed above him, his enormous hand a heavy expanse on his shoulder.

Crowley found himself whining continuously, squirming under the delicious weight pining him down. It felt rapturous. It was like all of the thoughts had been knocked out of his head along with the air from his lungs. He writhed against the solid bulk of Aziraphale’s form, so wound up he felt like he might come apart at any moment.

Aziraphale laughed and it rumbled through him, vibrating his bones. “There, there,” he said soothingly, voice rich with amusement. “That’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley choked desperately.

“Needy thing,” Aziraphale said affectionately. A huge thumb stroked gently against Crowley’s neck. “Can I help you out?”

Crowley tried to arch his back to press his hips against the unyielding weight above him, struggling to keep his eyes open. Aziraphale lifted up onto his arms so he could shift down and kiss Crowley, a messy affair with a too-big mouth. Crowley whimpered a bit as he felt him move.

His shirt began sliding up his stomach of its own accord and he felt a swarm of tentacles against his stomach and chest. They quickly lifted away his tie and waistcoat and pulled his shirt over his head, straightening his arm to help it along like he was a doll. Crowley swallowed hard. Aziraphale smiled down at him, his white curls lit by faint morning sun from the windows behind him.

Crowley’s trousers opened themselves. He flushed as his bony hips and rosy cock were revealed, the latter straining eagerly against his stomach. Aziraphale’s gaze dragged heavily down his body, followed by his large warm palm. Crowley shivered, muscles jumping in his legs.

Invisible tethers pulled his legs wider, exposing him to Aziraphale’s hungry eyes. Their fellows swirled over Crowley’s chest and pinned one of his wrists to the armrest. He stared wide-eyed as Aziraphale shifted lower, hulking shoulders rolling, and exhaled hot over the head of his cock. Crowley jolted and cursed.

Smugly, Aziraphale pinned Crowley’s hips to the cushions and swiped his tongue over the base of Crowley’s cock.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whined, electric shocks running through him.

Aziraphale fixed him with a dark gaze, a smile pointing the corners of his mouth as he licked up Crowley’s cock and swirled his tongue over the head.

Crowley felt like he was burning up. He dropped his head back and whined as Aziraphale’s mouth moved over him.

“Sweet thing,” Aziraphale said fondly. “Let me.” And swallowed his cock.

His cock was engulfed in wet, sucking heat. All his nerves lit up. His cock seemed tiny in Aziraphale’s enormous mouth; he barely had to bob his head to reach the base. Crowley stared down at his pathetic member valiantly spearing Aziraphale’s lips and flushed red down to his waist. He whimpered, arousal swamping him fast.

He reached for him and managed to get a hand tangled in his white curls. A few tentacles wound around his hand and anchored him there.

Once again he was pinned, tendrils holding him and shifting him as they pleased, opening his thighs wider, straightening his leg, pressing down on his chest and wrist. He squirmed, but they held him fast. He groaned, desperate and overcome.

Aziraphale lay a heavy hand on his thigh and abruptly he was twisting up and coming heedlessly, juddering against the tentacles that held him fast. Aziraphale sucked him almost painfully hard until he was whining and then released him, licking his lips. Crowley collapsed. He felt like a wrung out rag.

Aziraphale blanketed him again, tucking his head in the space between Crowley’s head and shoulder. He panted as he came down, Aziraphale’s weight sinking him further into the couch until he wondered deliriously if they had all fused together. Tendrils petted softly through his hair. Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale's neck, throat tight.

A blanket emerged from the stairs and floated over to them. It unfolded itself and draped over them. Aziraphale sighed blissfully.

Curiosity stole over Crowley as he absently rubbed the back of Aziraphale’s neck. “How far can you move those things?”

“Hm? Oh,” Aziraphale said sleepily. “I think my sphere of influence is about…10 miles?”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re stretched out over 10 miles?”

“I’m not actively aware of each of them at all times,” Aziraphale sighed, snuggling closer. “They’re semi-autonomous and warn me when they encounter problems. I can also focus my awareness in specific areas at will. But I do have low-level background awareness at all times, so in that sense, yes.”

Crowley stared up at the ceiling. “Your brain must be so full.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Not at the moment,” he said, digging his nose into Crowley’s neck.

The silence changed, grew more contemplative.

“I should have told you,” Aziraphale said, voice thick with regret.

Crowley sighed. He didn’t want to have this conversation. “When?” he wondered.

Aziraphale huffed. “When we met. As soon as I knew you could understand what I am.”

Crowley snorted. “I don’t think I understand what you are now,” he said. “And that would have been incredibly risky for you. Revealing yourself to an agent of Hell.” He pronounced this last bit with a fair bit of sarcasm.

Aziraphale shrank down to his normal size, wrapping his arms more firmly around Crowley and snuggling in. “Still. I’m sorry.”

Crowley squirmed uncomfortably. “You should be sorry,” he complained exaggeratedly. “You’ve still got all your clothes on.” He slipped his fingers below Aziraphale’s collar.

“Oh, my dear, I’m terribly sorry,” Aziraphale said with amusement, lifting up to crinkle his eyes at Crowley’s pouting face. “Let me rectify that for you.”

He sat back and Crowley shivered and grumbled about the cold as Aziraphale untied his bowtie and began unbuttoning his shirt. His tendrils helped, lifting away items of clothing and carrying them away. He unbuttoned his trousers and lay back over Crowley, letting his tentacles take care of pulling down his trousers and pants. He kissed the center of Crowley’s chest.

Crowley blinked, a little overwhelmed by all of the skin suddenly pressing against his own. He slid a leg between Aziraphale’s and made sure they were thoroughly tangled together. Aziraphale sighed happily.

They both drifted off, comfortable and warm on the couch. As the sun slowly rose it painted warm yellow rectangles against the walls.

It found Crowley, sitting on the opposite couch, a blanket he’d found draped loosely over his shoulders. He was watching Aziraphale sleep, his face smooth and content in the warm sunlight.

What surprised him the most was how much he still felt like himself. Crowley wasn’t stupid. He knew he’d been locked in a painful battle of avoidance and longing with other people since his Fall. It was why he’d extended an invitation to Uriel. It was why he’d sought out Aziraphale in the first place. For the first time in his existence, his temptation had been reciprocated.

He’d expected…something. He wasn’t sure. Angels singing? The immediate wrath of God? Something climatic and exciting. To be transformed, irrevocably. What had happened instead was even better and even more frightening. He felt…confident. Like maybe there wasn’t some fatal flaw at the core of him he needed to obscure or change. Even worse, he felt hopeful. Like all his attempts over the centuries hadn’t been wrong, they’d just been misplaced.

He watched as Aziraphale’s brow furrowed and he slowly blinked open his eyes. Gradually he focused on Crowley watching him across the way.

“What’re you doing?” he murmured sleepily.

Crowley smiled. “Thinking.”

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. “Stop doing that,” he complained. He lifted an arm. “Come over here.”

Crowley slipped off the couch and tucked himself under Aziraphale’s arm, settling himself against his body. Aziraphale closed his arm around him and sighed happily.  

“Hey,” Crowley whispered, eyes tracing over his face.

“Hm?” Aziraphale said. He’d already closed his eyes again.

“Work has actually been slow lately,” Crowley said, ignoring the small pang those words brought. “What does your week look like?”

Aziraphale slowly blinked his eyes back open to examine him. His gaze softened.

“I have errands I need to do for work,” he said. “But luckily I’m self-employed and can do things my own way. Would you like to accompany me?”

Crowley narrowed his eyes at him. “Will I be entering a Dunelm in the near future?”

Chapter Text

Crowley parked the Bentley at the end of the high street. He turned to eye Aziraphale skeptically. Aziraphale beamed at him. “Come along, dear,” he sang, and opened the door.

Crowley dragged himself from the vehicle as Aziraphale retrieved his things from the backseat. Crowley found a pile of empty bags shoved into his arms.

“What are these for?” he complained.

“You invited yourself along, you’re going to help,” Aziraphale sparkled. “First stop: the tailor!” He sailed forward toward a shop nearby and Crowley slunk behind him, groaning.

A little bell above the door tinkled as they entered and the young man at the counter looked up from his book. He smiled when he spotted Aziraphale.

“Mr. Fell!” he said. “Tara’s just finished your clothes this morning. Shall I fetch her?”

“If you would be so kind, thank you, dear boy,” Aziraphale confirmed.

Crowley peered obtrusively around the shop as they waited. “Tailor” seemed like a generous word; this looked more like a combo dry cleaners and seamsters. Still, Aziraphale seemed delighted to be there, looking toward the back of the shop eagerly.

In no time at all a large, round woman emerged from behind the curtain at the back. Her face lit up when she spotted Aziraphale.

“Darling!” she cried, opening her arms. Aziraphale embraced her heartily.

They chatted happily as Crowley stood there like a streetlight with a broken bulb. As he watched Aziraphale’s happy face he found he didn’t mind so much.

Aziraphale handed over a couple of mat covers that had been torn for repair and Tara brought out a couple of clean sweaters in plastic. She also brought out a velvety waistcoat, which she helped Aziraphale try on with pride.

“I’ve put the darts in at the back and opened the arms up like we discussed,” she said, examining him proudly. “It looks good!”

Aziraphale turned back and forth in front of the mirror, admiring himself. “You’re a genius,” he declared, and turned to hug her again. Crowley eyed the way the waistcoat tightened over his stomach and privately agreed.

The sweaters and waistcoat went into the first of Crowley’s bags and they departed, Aziraphale waving cheerfully.

They continued down the street, Aziraphale soon turning into the wide doorway of a small grocer.

He spent a long time fussing with the produce, hefting them and squeezing them and turning them all around. When something met his approval he deposited it in one of Crowley’s bags. He was quickly laden with greens, squash, and peppers. Crowley couldn’t stop looking at Aziraphale’s hands. It was dawning on him how far gone on him he was.

Aziraphale also picked up a selection of teas, sodas, and biscuits to restock his pantry for clients. When they approached the counter to pay, Aziraphale examined the flyers tacked to the front of the desk.

“Cora lost her cat?” he asked, looking up sharply.

The grocer bobbed his head, still counting tea tins. “I know, isn’t it a shame? Poor thing,” he said.

Aziraphale got a faraway look in his eyes. “Hopefully she’ll turn up,” he said vaguely.

“Here’s hoping,” the grocer agreed, handing over the change.

“Did you just miracle up that woman’s cat,” Crowley hissed at him once they were back on the walk.

Aziraphale still looked a little distracted. “Not miracles,” he said. “I just found her. She was huddled under a rose bush several streets over. Just lost, poor thing.” There was an extended pause as Aziraphale continued to stare into the middle distance. Then abruptly his face cleared. “There we go,” he said with satisfaction. “Cora answered the door.” He turned back to Crowley. “Shall we?”

Crowley stumbled along behind him, trying to wrap his head around the implications of this. “So you just know everything that’s going on, all the time?” he said.

“Not everything,” Aziraphale said serenely. “But I do try to keep an eye out for places I can help.”

“Anything else you’ve done today?” Crowley asked incredulously.

“I let a child into her house after she locked herself out, turned off an interior car light that was left on, and disposed of a tire that had been thrown in the river,” Aziraphale listed. He tilted his head. “It’s not much, but these are my people, and I take care of them.”

Crowley blinked. “They’re lucky to have you,” he said sincerely.

Aziraphale looked surprised. “Oh,” he said. “Well. Thank you.”

Crowley smiled at him. Aziraphale blushed a little and swayed happily.

“I don’t suppose you’d let me kiss you,” he said. “Here, in front of everybody.”

“Ngk.” Crowley flushed. “Best not.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Shame.” He tilted his head and looked at Crowley mischievously. “I’ll have to make do with this.”

Crowley felt a gentle caress on his cheek: one of Aziraphale’s tendrils, extending an invisible gesture of affection. Only it had an unexpected effect on him. He made an involuntary sound in the back of his throat and flushed redder.

Aziraphale was already turning away, but he caught Crowley’s expression. “Darling?” he asked curiously. His eyes swept over Crowley and something in his hunched posture and red face must have spoken to him. His eyes went dark and he met Crowley’s gaze behind his glasses. “Oh,” he breathed. “I see.”

Crowley squirmed. “Can’t, er, kiss,” he muttered. “But you could do – that.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows lifted. “Truly?” he said with astonishment.

Crowley’s face was burning. He nodded, not quite able to meet Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, overcome. His eyes flicked to the shop nearby. “Bookstores always have fiddly little corners and crevices,” he said leadingly. “It’s very easy to get lost in there. Shall we?” He took Crowley’s elbow and pulled him into the store.

Crowley was immediately hit by the dry smell of aging paper. The carpet was thin and worn beneath his feet. Past the desk and a cart stuffed with books was a warren of bookshelves of all different heights and types of wood.

Aziraphale greeted the store owner, a cheerful, tiny woman with a puff of gray hair. Crowley couldn’t concentrate on their conversation. Anticipation thrummed through him.

“I’ll take a look at the orders that have come in and then I’ll browse a little,” came Aziraphale’s voice distantly, as though through water. “Why don’t you go ahead, dear?”

Crowley blinked and focused on Aziraphale’s face. “Er. Right. Sure,” he said. He mechanically moved forward. Aziraphale plucked the bags from his arms as he passed.

Crowley picked a direction at random and was soon thoroughly lost, winding past shelves with mismatched nails where the originals had worn out. They were crammed with brightly colored paperbacks, the occasional handmade sign sticking out into the aisle to announce: “Ancient History!” or “Gardening!” He tucked himself into a corner with books adorned with dramatic shots of oceans and pristine white sailboats. He took a few steadying breaths.

There was no sign of Aziraphale. Maybe he’d misread it. Maybe Aziraphale hadn’t meant it, or he’d meant something else –

Something brushed against Crowley’s calves.

He sucked in a sharp breath. The back of his neck prickled.

Luxuriously, unseen tentacles curled around his ankles and snaked up to his knees. Their tips curled against the inside of his thighs and undulated there. Another tendril slipped beneath his jacket, stroking his spine as it climbed up to nestle between his shoulder blades. Crowley’s jaw dropped as he realized what was in store for him. His heartbeat leapt into a gallop.

Two thick tentacles latched onto his hips, pressing at the spare flesh and jutting bone beneath. Their ends swirled beneath his shirt and stroked lightly over his belly, making him gasp. His mind was scattered, trying to anticipate where they would appear next.

The tentacles around his legs shifted, pulling apart. His shoes slid on the thin carpet. He grunted and flung his hands out to clutch the shelf in front of him as his legs were forced apart.

He trembled a little, but the tendrils held him up. A collection of thin tentacles slipped beneath the hem of his trousers and squirmed against the bare skin of his calves. He tracked their advancement with growing anticipation, wiggling a little against the tendrils that held him fast as they slid and prodded against him.

One of the thick tentacles against his belly snaked up his chest, sliding over his sternum. He swallowed against the heavy weight of it against his throat. It pushed higher, pressing against the underside of his chin and tilting his head back. He let out a muffled groan, heat sweeping through him. Every inch of his skin felt awake, waiting for a caress that could come at any moment.

The swarm of tentacles had reached the apex of his thighs. They paused. He held his breath, mentally urging them on. He ached.

He jumped and hissed between his teeth as a thin tentacle cradled his balls and tightened. He whined high in his throat. He tried to shift but more tendrils anchored his hands to the shelf, keeping him in place.

His knees were shaking. His whole body felt flushed and overheated. He fleetingly wondered what someone walking past would think of him and that thought made him clench, his body tensing tighter.

Several tentacles slipped beneath his sleeves, gently stroking the sensitive skin on the inside of his elbows. Two tendrils slipped over his ribs and twined over each other to find his nipples. They rolled their tips happily against them, roughly working them to attention. Crowley could feel an unknowable number of heavy tentacles against him every time he took a breath. He groaned low in his throat.

“Find something interesting, dear?”

Crowley nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Aziraphale’s voice. He tried to turn to face him, but the tendrils held him fast. He whimpered.

Aziraphale ran a heavy hand over his shoulders, rubbing him comfortingly. Crowley melted at the feeling. Aziraphale stepped up beside him and examined the books on the shelves before him.

“Boating!” he said excitedly. “Wouldn’t it be fun to go out on a lake, or on the river?”

He reached for one of the titles. A tendril had lodged itself against the base of Crowley’s cock. Now it swelled until it matched his girth and slid with firm pressure up the side of him.

Crowley groaned, hips twitching helplessly. The tendril nudged against the head of his cock and undulated there, pressing hard against the place the head met the shaft. Crowley panted helplessly, his head still forced back.

Aziraphale gently cradled the back of his head with one hand, his fingers scratching through his hair a bit more roughly than it might seem from a distance. “This one seems interesting,” he said, examining the book in his hand.   

Crowley was sure he was sweating through his clothes. Everything felt hot and humid. “Aziraphale,” he gasped. “Please –”

Aziraphale smiled sweetly and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “It seems you need some help being quiet, don’t you dear,” he murmured in Crowley’s ear. “We are in public, after all.”

Crowley swallowed.

A moment later he felt something pressing against his lips. Struggling not to groan, he parted them slightly and a tentacle immediately wedged itself inside. It kept going and going, filling his mouth until he was sure his cheeks were bulging obscenely. He couldn’t stifle a whine.

“On second thought, this one seems too technical,” Aziraphale said, returning the book. He selected another and checked the back. His other hand landed on Crowley’s arse and groped him casually, kneading the flesh under his palm.

Crowley was vibrating with pent-up arousal. The pressure on his cock and arse, the weight on his tongue, the constant touches everywhere – he thought he would shake apart at any moment. His brain filled with that one thought and he moaned, sucking on the tendril in his mouth as he squirmed, pushing himself closer and closer to that all-encompassing goal.

Suddenly Aziraphale’s hand fell away. The tendrils slackened. Crowley stumbled forward against the shelves, shocked. For one hysterical moment he nearly began humping the bookshelf. He swallowed and steadied himself, questioning eyes seeking Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale smiled at him, his eyes dark. His gaze kept roving over Crowley’s body and getting stuck on his crotch. “Are you ready to go?” he asked him lightly. “I think it’s about time we get to our next destination.”

Crowley let out a long exhale, trying to focus. He was confused and desperate. Aziraphale touched his arm gently and then grabbed his hand a little too hard, looking at him meaningfully. "You can wait a little longer, can't you, dear?" he murmured to him.

Heat flared in Crowley's belly again as he absorbed his meaning. “Lead on,” he managed.  

Aziraphale beamed at him and tugged him down the aisle. Crowley looked back over his shoulder at the little corner forlornly.

Aziraphale navigated the shelves with ease, obviously familiar with the place. Although the tendrils had loosened, many of them remained in contact with Crowley: looped over his shoulders, snaked across his chest, towed along by his legs. The banked fire began to simmer beneath his skin again.

“Thank you!” Aziraphale said a bit manically to the shop owner as he hefted a bag of books in his arms. Crowley stood uselessly beside him, speech still somewhat beyond him. The shop owner started to ask a question but Aziraphale cut her off.

“Terribly sorry, but we’re late for another appointment, see you later!” They were out of the shop before she had even formed her response.

The Bentley was all the way down at the other end of the street. Aziraphale cursed and began to fast-walk toward it. Crowley still had a tentacle against his hip and hilarity started to swell in his chest.

“Did someone over-excite themselves?” he murmured to Aziraphale, matching in his stride.

Aziraphale shot him a bitchy look but it was a bit too wide-eyed to land. “Hush, you,” he grumbled. “You’re dangerously irresistible.”

Crowley couldn’t help the enormous smile that spread across his face.

Aziraphale reached the Bentley in record time and tucked himself into the passenger seat. Crowley wasn’t far behind, but Aziraphale still waved urgently to him, pointing insistently at the steering wheel.

“Where to now?” Crowley asked sweetly as he started the engine.

Aziraphale flushed red. “Actually…I do still have a stop I need to make.”

Crowley groaned and leaned against the wheel. “Can’t it wait?” he complained.

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “I told my friend I’d stop by,” he admitted.

Crowley sighed. “I suppose it will keep,” he grumbled. “Let’s make this the fastest social call ever, yes?”

At Aziraphale’s direction, he turned away from the high street and wound through a residential neighborhood for a time until the houses gave way to fields.

Unfortunately, Crowley wasn’t calming down. This was because Aziraphale’s tendrils were still draped over his shoulders and thighs, squirming distractedly.

“Aziraphale,” he gritted out.

Aziraphale flushed red. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I just – pull over, over there –”

Aziraphale was waving his arm past Crowley’s face. Crowley ducked his head so he could navigate onto the narrow track Aziraphale was indicating.

The sparse road ran down to the river, where it ended abruptly at a small overlook beneath a tree. Aziraphale was out of the car before Crowley had killed the engine.

“I – what –” Crowley said, craning his neck to watch him. Aziraphale immediately slipped into the backseat and began unbuttoning his waistcoat.

“Oh,” Crowley breathed. He quickly joined him, reaching for Aziraphale’s coat.

“Ah-ah,” Aziraphale chided, already a bit breathless. Tentacles wrapped around Crowley’s wrists and held him back. “Just hold still and watch, dear.”

Aziraphale finished his buttons and slipped out of his waistcoat. He kept his eyes fixed on Crowley’s, his gaze dark and intent. He kept trying to put on a smug expression, but it kept being ruined by the genuine delight that regularly flashed across his face.

For his part, Crowley was transfixed. His chest heaved beneath his thin black shirt as he gasped for air. A tentacle slipped his sunglasses from his face and his full yearning was revealed, his eyes roving helplessly over Aziraphale as he started to work on his shirt.

Crowley groaned with frustration when this revealed yet another layer of clothing: an undershirt. Aziraphale laughed at him.

“Patience, my dear,” he chided. Crowley met his eyes desperately.

“Been worked up for a while,” he protested weakly.

Aziraphale smirked and dropped his shirt to the floor. “Poor thing.”

He didn’t change his pace at all as his hands dropped to his trouser buttons. Crowley felt the heat crawling up his neck and cheeks as Aziraphale wiggled out of them. There wasn’t much room in the backseat and his calves brushed against Crowley as he worked. Crowley jerked involuntarily and closed his eyes, swallowing hard.

Aziraphale’s undershirt and pants were simple to slip off and then he was bare on the leather seat, round and flushed and beaming at Crowley. Crowley leaned helplessly against his bonds, craning towards him.

Aziraphale smiled happily and deigned to kiss him. Crowley tilted as far as he could into it, his shoulders straining as he tipped forward against the tentacles. Aziraphale kissed him indulgently, his mouth soft and warm. Crowley lost himself for a time.

He blinked a bit back into himself when Aziraphale tucked his lips beside Crowley’s ear. “May I make a suggestion?” he said softly.

Crowley shivered at the feeling of his breath over his ear. Eagerly, he nodded. “Yes.”

“Would you like to be inside me?”

It went through Crowley like lightning. He dropped his head to Aziraphale’s shoulder, needing the support. “Please,” he said, a bit strangled.

Aziraphale embraced him briefly and then leaned back again. The boot popped open by itself and a bottle floated through the window. Aziraphale plucked it from the air and slicked his fingers with lube.

“Give me a little room to work,” he said, and Crowley felt the tendrils begin to draw him back.

“Not too far,” he managed, a bit panicked.

The tendrils stopped. They settled him between Aziraphale’s spread legs. Crowley grasped his knees and felt the tentacles anchor his hands in place, securing him to Aziraphale. He stared down with astonished disbelief at the place where Aziraphale had brought his soft, manicured fingers and begun rubbing against his opening.

Aziraphale sighed and dropped his head back as he sank a finger inside himself. He closed his eyes and his face smoothed with bliss. A red flush crept down his chest toward his navel. Crowley felt almost painfully restless as he looked at him, shifting constantly as he was held back from flinging himself at him.

Aziraphale took his time, working one finger until it glided smoothly and deeply inside himself. He withdrew his hand, applied more lube, and tucked two fingers inside himself.

Crowley felt as though he was slowly going mad. Aziraphale still had his eyes closed and his head tilted away. He thought perhaps he could bear it if only he would look at him. Squirming frantically, he dropped his chin down over one of his hands bound to Aziraphale’s knee. Awkwardly hunched over, he stared beseechingly at his lover, mentally begging him to open his eyes.

Aziraphale felt the pressure of his chin on his knee and blinked open heavy eyes, meeting Crowley’s gaze. As their eyes met Crowley felt frantic energy run through him, shaking with delighted energy like a dog whose person has just returned home. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s knee. He held his eyes as he kissed up his thigh and down his calf: everywhere he could reach, immobilized as he was.  

Aziraphale’s eyes were warm as he watched him. He lifted his other hand and settled it heavily on the back of Crowley’s head. Crowley closed his eyes at the touch, dragging his mouth down Aziraphale’s leg.

“You are so good to me,” Aziraphale murmured. He arched his back as he added a third finger.

It was warm and humid inside the car now. Crowley’s temples were damp with sweat. Aziraphale’s brows were pinched and his mouth dropped open as he fucked himself on his fingers, and Crowley couldn’t look away.

Aziraphale fixed him with his dark gaze once again and managed a smile between gasps.

“I’m nearly ready for you, my dear,” he panted. “Let me help you get ready.”

Crowley felt his limbs being shifted and manipulated as the tentacles pulled his clothes from his body. He made himself go limp and let them move him as they wanted, eager to be rid of them. His shirt was gone in a moment. His trousers got stuck on one foot and the tendrils wrestled with it for a moment before they sprang free and dropped to the ground.

His pants clung to his wet cock. He whimpered as it was exposed to the open air. It felt like an exposed nerve, red and aching between his legs. In no time at all he was naked and deposited back in the circle of Aziraphale’s thighs.

Aziraphale gripped his hip in one hand and used the other to guide him to his opening. Crowley choked and had to restart his breathing as he pressed inside. The heat and pressure were overwhelming. He fell forward onto Aziraphale’s chest, burying his flushed face in his neck. Aziraphale shifted one leg wider and used his hand on his hip to pull him the rest of the way inside.

Crowley was shivering uncontrollably. Aziraphale clenched around him and he jumped like he had been shocked. Aziraphale settled a hand against the back of his head and Crowley immediately felt more grounded. He took a deep breath, pressing his forehead into Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“I know I’ve kept you waiting,” Aziraphale murmured to him, running his other hand lightly up and down his spine. “But you can hold on a bit longer for me, can’t you? You’re so good. And I intend to enjoy you.”

Crowley shuddered at his words. “Please,” he rasped. “I want that too.”

Aziraphale used his tentacles to rearrange Crowley’s thighs, spreading them and getting them beneath him for better leverage. The tendrils were a steadying presence against his waist and legs. Suddenly all of Crowley’s focus was fixed on a tentacle trailing up his thigh. It didn’t stop. It curved beneath the swell of his arse and came to rest expectantly against his hole.

“May I?” Aziraphale murmured in his ear. His scratched his fingers through his hair.

Crowley moaned, his entire body flushing with heat. He tried to get his knees wider. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “Okay. Okay. You’re going to kill me.”

Aziraphale laughed, jostling Crowley’s whole body as his chest and belly shook. “I’m afraid you inspire the most salacious ideas in me, darling,” he said fondly.

“Not complaining,” Crowley managed, and then groaned helplessly as the tentacle pressed inside him.

It was thin, only the width of a finger, but it rocked ceaselessly in an out and it grew as it moved until Crowley was forced wide around it. Aziraphale locked his arms around him and held him in place as he moved inside him. Crowley panted against his neck, cursing in every language he knew, which was all of them. He felt impossibly hot, like he may begin to literally melt at any moment. The movement of the tentacle in his arse jostled his cock inside Aziraphale and sent ecstatic waves of pleasure rolling through him.

When Aziraphale was satisfied Crowley had been prepped enough, he unlocked his arms from Crowley’s torso. He urged him up on shaking elbows and helped him begin a stuttering rhythm, pulling back just as the tentacle was driving into him and thrusting forward into Aziraphale as it withdrew.

Crowley was floating, his mind blank of anything but the overwhelming pleasure. He didn’t really feel like he was moving; it seemed to him that he was being tossed back and forth on a wave. He couldn’t tell if he was fucking or being fucked and everything mixed together into one delicious, desperate mounting pressure.

Aziraphale’s breath was loud in his ear. His body was so welcoming, cradling Crowley as he was rocked. Crowley struggled to maneuver to see his face, yearning to look at him, but also suddenly fearful he hadn’t accompanied him in the surge of arousal and emotion he was experiencing.

Aziraphale ducked his chin so he could meet his eyes and relief swept through Crowley as he saw how undone he was. His hair stood up in tousled tufts above his head, his chest was flushed red and heaved with panting breaths, and his eyes were enormous as they gazed at him.

Aziraphale twisted awkwardly to kiss him. “Hold on,” he gasped. “Just a little longer, you’ve done so well –” He slipped a hand between them and closed it around his own cock. He shuddered and his eyes fell shut as he began to stroke.

Crowley whimpered. “Aziraphale – I don’t think I can – I’m going to –” His peak rushed up on him, underlaid with the sudden sharp fear of not giving Aziraphale everything he wanted.

Aziraphale forced his eyes open and smiled at him. “Yes you can,” he urged him. He tangled a hand in Crowley hair, petting him gently. “You’re so good, good boy, just a little longer –”

Crowley’s hips burned as they rocked back and forth between the hot clasp of Aziraphale’s body and the thick tentacle buried deep inside him. He fought to take even, deep breaths, pressing the heat back as he watched Aziraphale’s face tense and finally go slack with bliss as he came over their stomachs. His body clenched around Crowley, drawing him deeper, and Crowley whined, hips jerking helplessly. But still he held back.

Aziraphale sighed and went boneless, sinking into the seat. Crowley settled himself over him, trembling. Delight made his heart thrum as he admired Aziraphale’s contented face, even as he watched him with desperation and hope.

Aziraphale’s hand swept gently through his hair and his breathing began to slow. Finally Crowley couldn’t take it anymore.

“Aziraphale,” he said, a bit strangled, and Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open at the tone of his voice. As soon as he looked at him Crowley lost all his composure.

“Please, please, please,” he begged. “You said I’d been good, please –”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in shock and he lurched up on his elbows. Crowley groaned at the shift, body burning.

“Oh, my dear, I thought – I assumed – of course, of course you can let go, go ahead darling –” Aziraphale said frantically.

Crowley whimpered and worked his hips feverishly, forehead dropped against Aziraphale’s sternum. One of the Aziraphale’s hands settled heavily between his shoulder blades. His tentacle twisted inside him and that was all it took. Crowley groaned gutturally as his orgasm swept through him, shaking him from head to toe. He trembled for a few moments in the aftermath and then collapsed against Aziraphale’s chest, utterly spent. 

Aziraphale’s arms wrapped tightly around him. His tentacles wound back and forth over his legs, forming a makeshift blanket. Crowley sank against him, loose and warm.

Aziraphale kissed along his hairline and down his temple. “Magnificent,” he murmured.

The rise and fall of Aziraphale’s chest rocked Crowley gently like a boat in the reeds along the shore. He drifted.

Aziraphale shifted one hand idly up and down his back into his hair. “I’m afraid I got a bit carried away,” he murmured, voice soft.

“Hm,” Crowley said, pressing his face up so he could tuck it more firmly into Aziraphale’s neck. “Should let go a little more often then.”

Aziraphale flicked him. “It was okay? Truly?”

“Okay?” Crowley squirmed, getting his arms more firmly around Aziraphale. “Aziraphale, I can’t feel my legs.”

“Maybe you want to be able to feel your legs –”

“Don’t,” Crowley said stubbornly.

Aziraphale snorted. “Very well.” There was a pause. “You are incomparably lovely, did you know?”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley complained, grateful his face was hidden.

Aziraphale shook a little with gentle laughter. “Very well. I just wanted to tell you.”

Crowley groped around and lay a hand over Aziraphale’s mouth. “Hush. I’m trying to bask.”

Aziraphale kissed his palm. He was such a bastard.

It wasn’t difficult to fall back into drowsy contentment. Crowley luxuriated in it, his mind calm, Aziraphale’s skin warm against his.

After a time they began to rouse and search for their clothes, gathering articles from under seats and over headrests. Crowley’s brain began to churn again.

He pulled his shirt over his head, smirking as Aziraphale fussed over the wrinkles in his own shirt. He tried to pull them flat and looked up at Crowley in consternation. Crowley laughed and tipped forward to kiss him.

“I like you a little disheveled,” he said.

Aziraphale glared at him with exasperation. “Yes, but my friend might notice,” he fretted.

“Oh, I see,” Crowley said with exaggerated drama, “you have no problem feeling me up in public in a bookshop, but if you have a hair out of place in front of your friends –”

Aziraphale threw a sock at him. He was suppressing a smile.

They eventually managed to dress and make themselves presentable. They settled back in the front seat, still a bit flushed and giddy.

Crowley turned the ignition and eased the Bentley back up the track to the main road.

From there it was another fifteen minutes to Aziraphale’s friend’s home, over the river and winding through more fields, low stone walls crowding against the Bentley’s fenders.

Aziraphale kept laying fleeting touches against his thighs and shoulders, a soft smile on his face like he wasn’t fully aware he was doing it. Crowley pretended to grumble, but he had a smile on his face the entire time.

Aziraphale’s friend lived in a ramshackle cottage with an enormous garden on the side. It burst with color and numerous butterflies could be seen hovering over the greenery. Crowley looked at it with interest despite himself.

He parked the Bentley in the dirt yard and declined Aziraphale’s invitation to join him at the front door. Instead he leaned against the Bentley and watched as Aziraphale knocked. A woman with dark hair in a long braid answered it and embraced Aziraphale happily. They chatted animatedly to each other, both using their hands liberally to gesture. Aziraphale motioned over his shoulder toward him and all of the sudden she was looking up and waving at him. Crowley blinked and raised a hand belatedly in return.

She nudged Aziraphale conspiratorially and he waved her off, blushing. She laughed.

She disappeared inside and returned with a box, which she handed to Aziraphale. She ducked away again and returned with a bunch of flowers wrapped in paper. Aziraphale shuffled a bit uncertainly and then nodded at the box. She lay them gently on top of its contents, waved to Aziraphale, waved to Crowley again, and shut the door.

Aziraphale walked back toward him, suddenly seeming hesitant. Crowley pushed away from the door and turned to face him as he approached.

“What have you got there?” he said, nodding at the box.

Aziraphale looked down at it. “There’s some honey, some soap…” he trailed off. Flushing red, he set the box against the hood of the Bentley so he could get a free hand to lift the flowers. He stared at them for second, then held them out to Crowley, his eyes hopeful.

“These are for you,” he said.

Surprised, Crowley’s eyes fell to the bouquet. Rich red tulips nestled alongside purple lilies so dark they were nearly black. Small white flowers like stars were scattered amongst the array.

“It seems a bit gauche now that we, um…” Aziraphale trailed off. He put a hand over his eyes. “I ordered them yesterday, I swear.”

Crowley’s eyes were still fixed on the flowers. He felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest. Breathing was light and easy.

He looked at Aziraphale. He could see reddened skin beneath his fingers. He could feel a grin curling his own mouth.

“Oh, really?” he said lightly. “This isn’t a thank you for fucking you in the back of my car –”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale groaned, flinching.

Crowley plucked the bouquet from him with one hand and used the other to tilt his chin up for a kiss.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale stirred his tea for the third time, hopelessly distracted as he tried to pretend he was focused on the task in front of him. Instead everything in him was drawn to what was occurring upstairs.

He couldn’t hear Crowley’s little mewls and whines, but he could feel the frantic puff of his breath against his tendrils. He’d heard him in such moments several times by now and could easily imagine the sounds that would accompany the twitches he could feel running through his body. He could feel how hot and flushed he was through all of the tentacles he had pressed against his skin.

Aziraphale realized that he was standing blank-eyed in his kitchen and turned, looking for something to occupy his hands. He turned a bit too fast and bumped into the counter. He had to press his hands down and physically push himself back to stop himself from rubbing himself against the counter. He was desperately hard and aching.

The ends of the tethers that could feel Crowley’s quick breaths were hot and wet from filling his mouth. He could feel Crowley’s tongue wiggling weakly against their undersides as they rolled inside him, forcing his jaw wide. Nearby other tentacles slid through the sweat at his temples as they stroked through his hair, tugging sharply at the strands and tilting his head so their fellows could get deeper.

Aziraphale took a sip of his tea and his hand was shaking so much it spilled. He put it down and ran his hand distractedly through his hair.

Crowley’s trembling vibrated against his tentacles as they wrapped around his thighs and forced them apart. Aziraphale sent a tether to snake down his spine, caressing each knob, before sliding into the cleft of his arse, the end seeking gently until found the divot of his hole and wormed its way inside. He felt a vibration from Crowley’s throat as he did so.

The tendril repeatedly swelled and thinned as it delved deeper inside, stretching his rim. Biting his lip, his own breathing coming fast, Aziraphale sent another tendril, and then another, to crowd up alongside their fellow and wriggle inside Crowley’s body.

He was so hot and smooth inside, his rim clenching delightfully as the tentacles filled him. Greedily, Aziraphale sent another and another, cramming him full of him. He could feel each tendril inside him distinctly, surrounded by warmth and wet and rubbing gently against his walls. One of them found the little nub of Crowley’s prostate and latched onto it, pressing and retreating constantly.

His other tentacles felt Crowley’s entire body roil and shudder, his limbs flailing. They caught them up and held them gently, pinning him to the bedspread. Crowley trembled.

Aziraphale rubbed his face and paced around the kitchen. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. His cock strained against his pants, precome leaving a wet spot on the inside of his trousers.

With a thought the tentacles in Crowley’s arse all swelled and thickened, stretching him wide. Crowley’s trembling increased, his breath harsh against the tendrils. Aziraphale furrowed his brows and the tentacles all moved in tandem, nearly withdrawing in a breathless rush and then surging forward, over and over. Crowley quivered around them.

Suddenly Crowley’s walls collapsed and clenched around the tendrils, crushing them together. His arsehole tightened reflexively, drawing them deeper in. Aziraphale groaned and broke for the stairs.

He raced up the steps and dashed down the hallway, arriving at the door to his bedroom in record time. He took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

He had to clutch the doorway to keep himself upright at the sight before him.

Crowley lay on his belly in the crumpled sheets, all his long loose limbs in disarray. His golden eyes were slightly glazed with pleasure, his mouth still hanging open as one of Aziraphale’s tentacles continued to gently fuck it. There was a sheen of sweat all down torso. His cock was limp and spent beneath him, a damp spot of come emerging from under his hip. His arsehole gaped open from the tendrils still stuffed inside.

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale breathed reverently, slowly approaching. Crowley whined a little at the sound of his voice. “It seems you’ve made a mess of yourself.”

Aziraphale began removing his clothing as he walked, dropping each item into the empty air and letting his tentacles catch them and put them away. He moaned deeply with relief as his trousers were removed and his cock was freed.

He ran a hand down Crowley’s spine and Crowley shivered at his touch. “You are irresistible,” he told him. 

He knelt between Crowley’s splayed legs, the tentacles pulling his knees wider as though to show him off. He admired Crowley’s arse and gently brushed his hand over Crowley’s stretched rim where his tendrils were holding him open. A few of them withdrew but several remained to keep him open as Aziraphale held his cock steady and pressed it inside Crowley’s spent body.

Crowley groaned as Aziraphale pressed his considerable girth inside, his body opening before him. Aziraphale’s hands were tight on Crowley’s hips as he slid home, his breath harsh as he struggled to go slow. When his hips were wedged up against Crowley’s arse he paused for a moment, taking deep, steadying breaths. Crowley’s rim twitched around him distractingly.

Leaning forward, Aziraphale slid his arms beneath Crowley’s chest and hauled him upright on his lap. Crowley whimpered but went willingly, collapsing limply against Aziraphale’s chest. The tentacles helped spread his thighs over Aziraphale’s lap and kept him upright, looping over his chest and shoulders.

“There we are,” Aziraphale murmured softly, greedily groping Crowley’s thighs. “Well done. Don’t worry darling, I’ll take care of everything.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Aziraphale closed his eyes and grew a little, giving Crowley a broader chest to rest against. Crowley’s thighs spread further as Aziraphale’s legs expanded between them. His cock swelled in Crowley’s arse, molding to his walls and forcing his hole wider. Crowley whined, tossing his head against Aziraphale’s hairy chest.

Aziraphale kissed the top of his head. “There, there. I’ve got you,” he cooed.

He wrapped his hands around Crowley’s hips, his fingers nearly meeting in the middle, and lifted him bodily. Crowley groaned as he slid on Aziraphale’s cock, his head dropping back. Aziraphale swiftly brought him back down, moaning as heat rolled down his chest and spine as his cock finally got the friction it was craving.

“There we go,” he panted, moving Crowley on his cock. “That’s perfect, perfect little toy for me, you don’t have to do anything –”

He shifted Crowley back and forth and to the side, experimenting with the clasp of his body on his cock. He found an angle that made him groan and hammer his hips up into Crowley’s arse, one arm crushing him against his chest. Crowley was limp against him, his limbs draping. His head lolled, Aziraphale’s tendrils helping to keep the hair out of his face.

Aziraphale groaned and forced himself to sit back, slowing the roll of his hips. He didn’t want this to be over so soon. The perfect hot clasp of Crowley’s body around him crowded out everything else in his brain. He panted into the sudden stillness, hands flexing around Crowley’s waist. Crowley whined high in his throat.

Gripping tightly, Aziraphale lifted Crowley again and slid him back down. He quickly increased his speed, hammering Crowley up and down on his cock. Crowley’s hair brushed against his neck and chest and clung to him with sweat. Crowley’s knees dragged and his arms dangled, his entire body loose and unresisting as Aziraphale manhandled him exactly as he wanted.

Aziraphale ducked his head to watch his cock disappear into Crowley’s body. His cock was red and swollen, plunging hungrily into Crowley’s pitifully stretched hole. He moaned ferally at the sight, Crowley’s body forced open around an engorged cock nearly the size of a fist.

“Perfect little fleshlight,” he growled, slamming Crowley’s hips harder down into his lap. “Nice tight little hole for me to fuck. Out of all the other toys in my drawer I’ll always choose you.”

Crowley was whining continuously high in his throat, twitching all over with overstimulation. A faint sliver of gold could be seen flashing beneath his half-lidded eyes. Aziraphale shoved him down hard on his cock and ground upward against his sparse arse as he came, warm come flooding into Crowley’s stuffed hole and engulfing his cock.

He bore Crowley down onto the bed, flopping him onto his stomach and dropping his enormous body over him as he continued to grind roughly against his arse, desperately chasing those last shivery jolts of pleasure. He shoved his cock repeatedly through his own mess, Crowley’s hole irresistibly warm and wet. He shuddered violently again and finally collapsed on his partner, crushing him to the bed. 

Aziraphale sighed long and low, sinking happily against his prone lover. He felt boneless. He shifted a little as he softened, helping to extract himself from Crowley’s body. Crowley roused a little, head jerking up in panic.

“Don’t go,” he said quickly.

Aziraphale smiled a little, pushing his head back to the pillow. “I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured him. “I know about your need to be smooshed by now.”

Crowley sighed, relaxing contentedly against the sheets. Slowly, their breathing synchronized. Aziraphale pressed his face into Crowley’s hair, inhaling him.

“You are very flexible, my dear,” he teased idly, tilting his chest to press Crowley even more firmly against the mattress.

Crowley groaned blissfully. “Mm. I am a snake, you know.”

Aziraphale opened his eyes, his vision filled by coppery strands. “Are you?” he said with genuine interest.

“Mm.” Crowley undulated beneath him, struggling to move beneath Aziraphale’s weight. “In fact,” he said, warming to his topic, “I’m The Snake. The serpent. The original tempter in Eden.” His golden eyes glowed with amusement.

Aziraphale jerked his head up with astonishment. “You were in Eden?”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “Yes?” he said warily.

Aziraphale shifted so they could be eye-to-eye. “I was in Eden!”

Crowley’s enormous eyes searched his but found no sign of deceit. “What?” he croaked.

“Yes!” Aziraphale said excitedly. “I was a guard. I spent most of my time on the wall.” He settled his head back on the pillow, beaming. “I can’t believe we were so close to each other!”

Crowley couldn’t either. It was making his chest do funny things, like echo like an empty room and ache like a badly healed wound. “You’re an angel?” he realized.

Some of Aziraphale’s excitement faded. “Was,” he corrected quietly. “I’m not anymore.” He studied Crowley’s face. “I’m still a guardian, though.”

Crowley stared at him. Aziraphale’s face was soft and open, his hair glowing faintly against the sheets. If he had been an angel, what could Crowley be if he was out from under Hell’s thumb?

Aziraphale kissed him softly and then encouraged him to turn until Aziraphale was spooning him, Crowley swaddled in his enormous arms. They started to shrink and Crowley clutched at them.

“Stay big?” he asked. “Just for a while longer?”

The forearms under his hands went still and then reversed, growing again.

“Of course, my dear,” Aziraphale said. He tucked his arms even more firmly around Crowley, swaddling him, and nudged a leg between Crowley’s, wrapping himself thoroughly in him. Crowley held his arms tightly to his chest. It took him a long time to fall asleep.

Crowley wiped his fingers on his apron and moved on to the next watering can. He riffled through the bottles, boxes, and pellets scattered on the table until he located the powder he was looking for and eyeballed the measurement. He bopped his head along with the music as he added the water. This mixture was for his tropical plants; he added a little anti-fungal liquid in as well.

His speakers crackled ominously and the music cut off. Crowley went still.

There was the sound of an indrawn breath taken too close to a microphone. “Crowley,” came Beelzebub’s voice. They sounded irritated. But then, they always sounded a little irritated.

 “Yes, lord?” Crowley said.

“We havvve concluded yourrr auditt. Thezze are the rezzzults.” There was the sound of shuffling paper and something wet falling to the floor. Crowley held his breath.

“It hazz been determminnned that the demon Crowley syssstematicallyy failled to complete his azzigned work in nearlyy all casezz,” Beelzebub recited, like they were reading from a card. Crowley took one moment to indulge the feeling of his heart falling through empty space. Then he began to move.

“It hazz been determminnned that the demon Crowley alssso took meazzures to disguizze his failurez, including claiminggg credit for the work of otherzz and falsifyinggg documentzz,” Beelzebub continued.

Crowley reached his wall safe and quickly entered the combination, cursing softly under his breath.

“Finallyy and most egregiousssly, there is evidenzze that the demon Crowley engagedd in actions that were Good, and activelyy assizzted the Other Side,” Beelzebub said, their dry voice echoing in the room. Crowley wrinkled his nose at this characterization but wasted no time in seizing the steel container, gloves, and gun in the safe.

“The demon Crowley is a traitorrr to Hell,” Beelzebub concluded. “He is hereby ssstripped of his pozzition on Earth and sssummoned back to the Head Office for dizzciplinary measurezz.” The speakers crackled again and fell silent. 

Gloves on, Crowley positioned himself behind the table and unscrewed the container.

A thunderous banging began rattling his door. It shook violently on its hinges.

Crowley braced himself, gun held low but at the ready.

The door burst inward and broke, hanging forlornly from one hinge. Three figures rushed into the room.

Two of the figures were oozing pustules, one of which sported a giant toad on his head. Hastur and Ligur. But Crowley only had eyes for the figure in the center.

That figure only had eyes for him as well. Furfur rushed forward, a manic grin on his face. His eyes gleamed with triumph. He opened his mouth, no doubt to gloat or mock or whatever he was always going on about.

Crowley shot him square in the chest.

A clean arc of water soared from the end of his Stream Machine and splattered against Furfur’s sternum. His eyes bulged in surprise. Then he began screaming.

Crowley calmly dipped the end of his gun back into the container of holy water to reload as Furfur’s body twisted and collapsed, folding over into a burning ember that became only ash, sending Furfur out of existence entirely.

Crowley hefted the gun again.

Hastur and Ligur were staring at the spot that Furfur had disappeared. They both looked up at Crowley in fear. He raised his eyebrows at them.

There was a charged pause.

Crowley swung toward Hastur and they both scuttled in panic, racing towards opposite sides of the room. Crowley’s next arc of water sailed past Hastur’s head as he lunged away. He fell to the ground and scrambled backward away from the water splashing harmlessly to the concrete floor, screaming the whole while.

Crowley cursed and checked his container of holy water. There hadn’t been that much to begin with. Now only a thin film coated the bottom of the jug.

He still lifted the gun menacingly, but Ligur tackled him out of nowhere. They both tumbled to the ground, Ligur kicking the container frantically away from them. Crowley yelped as a few droplets flew out of the mouth of the jug as it tipped and rolled away, but they missed both of them.

Ligur scrambled around on top of him, his knees pummeling Crowley’s spine as he grabbed handfuls of Crowley’s hair. “I’ve got him!” he shrieked.

Hastur scrambled to his feet and hurried toward them. He unclipped the roll strapped to his back and flung it wide. A thick round rug unfurled itself on the floor. A summoning circle was inscribed on it in thick black lines.

Crowley spotted it and snarled, struggling to wriggle away. Ligur rolled around on top of him, shrieking. Hastur hastened over and assisted his companion. Together the hapless pair managed to drag Crowley over to the rug, Crowley kicking and squirming the entire way.

They wrangled him into the center of the circle. Crowley gave another howl of protest, but it was too late – there was a whoosh and his stomach was yanked out of him as they were sucked down to Hell.

They landed in a tangled heap on the slimy floor of Beelzebub’s office. Hastur’s knee landed in Crowley’s kidneys. All the air in his lungs expelled at once. He writhed on the ground, gasping.

Beelzebub glanced up from their paperwork. “Weren’ttt therrre three of youu?” they said disinterestedly.

“F-F-Furfur,” Ligur stammered. “He melted!”

Beelzebub set aside their pen. “Wellll, that wazz carelesss of him.” They folded their hands and looked down at Crowley. “Demon Crowley.”

Crowley hauled himself upright, forcing himself to his feet. He sniffed and tugged his shirt down, striving to look calm and collected.

Beelzebub’s black eyes bored into him. “Youu are herebyy ssstripped of all titlezz, privilegezz, and powerzz. Youu are no longger the reprezzentative of Hell on Earth. You are jusst a maggottt in Hell, until sssuch time as I sssee fit to end yourr existenze entirelyy. Get outt of my ssight.”

They turned back to their paperwork and lifted their pen again.

Crowley reeled, a bit stunned. Slowly, jerkily, he turned toward the door, swinging his legs in an attempt to approximate his usual swagger. Hastur and Ligur, finally silent, stared up at him from where they were still crouched on the floor.

The door opened into a stinking and damp hall. The door swung shut, the window in it rattling. Two hulking demons stood an either side of the door, evidently waiting.

“Hello, boys,” Crowley said, attempting nonchalance. That was as far as he got before one of them punched him unceremoniously in the stomach.

He bent double, gasping, and the other seized him by the hair. He began dragging him down the hall, not pausing or looking around to see if he was keeping up. Crowley struggled to keep his feet under him, his scalp burning. The fear was starting to set in, making his limbs stiff.

They wound their way through seemingly identical hallways, Crowley trying to stifle his little cries of pain as his head was wretched forward. Eventually the constant, echoing sound of a crowd could be heard ahead of them.

They emerged into an enormous hall, walls and ceiling so distant they weren’t visible through the darkness. Icy dread froze Crowley’s veins.

There was a squat demon at the entrance with a clipboard and a bored expression. Crowley’s escort held him up to her for inspection like someone holding up a dead animal.

The monitor demon squinted at him and made some notes on her clipboard. Then she nodded to the escort demon. He wrenched hard on Crowley’s head so he was bent over. Crowley’s heart was hammering wildly, his eyes wide as he struggled to take in what was happening to him. The monitor demon lifted an enormous stamp and brought it down with force on Crowley’s back. He felt the lines and curves of numbers bruising his back. The escort wrenched him upright again.

“Next!” the monitor demon shouted, not looking up.

The escort shoved him toward a pair of stanchions strung with ragged, grimy rope. Numbly, Crowley stepped between them and joined the Queue.

The Queue stretched for miles, millions of souls trapped in a torturous combination of boredom and dread. Periodically throughout the Queue you would reach one of Hell’s rather blunt and routine torture rooms, where instead of staring at unchanging, moldy walls and ignoring your gently weeping neighbors, you were briefly overcome by fear and pain as you were melted by acid, eaten by a hellhound, beaten with flaming clubs, etc. – you get the picture. And then you were reconstituted, rather the worse for wear, and ejected back into the Queue to catatonically wait for the next torture room.

Crowley had the rather unpleasant privilege of being familiar with all of the various tortures available in the Queue and got to spend his time wondering which would be next. He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than not knowing and imagining darker and darker horrors as you waited.

The miserable souls around him didn’t even look up as he joined them, staring blankly into space around them. He hunched his shoulders and jammed his hands into his pockets. The bleakness of the Queue stretched before him. It would only be this now, forever. No escape. Nothing to look forward to. Just waiting punctuated by a bright spot of pain and then more waiting. For eternity.

The Queue moved forward.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale dragged his eyes away from the clock for the umpteenth time and tried to focus on his book. It wasn’t like Crowley to be late. The way he drove his car practically ensured he never would be. A little thread of worry tugged at Aziraphale’s heart.

He was being ridiculous. He’d probably been temporarily waylaid by something – traffic, probably. He was only a few minutes late. That was entirely normal behavior from anyone occasionally. Aziraphale wiggled himself deeper into his armchair and frowned at his book as though that would help him concentrate on it.

At thirty minutes past their agreed-upon time, he called Crowley.

“Don’t bother, don’t wanna hear it,” drawled his answering message. Aziraphale worried a hangnail on his thumb.

“Hello dear,” he said, far too chipper. “I just wanted to double-check – I thought we were meeting today. I hope you are well. Give me a call back.”

He paced a bit, doing some light tidying to distract himself. He checked the plant he had ready by the front door – one of his pileas had made a baby, an adorable tiny green thing with round leaves. Delighted, Aziraphale had carefully transferred it to its own pot. He’d planned to give it to Crowley today. He pressed a finger into the soil. Still damp, just like when he’d checked it an hour ago.

An hour past the time he called again.

“Hello, dear,” he said. “I’m sure you’re just caught up in some important business. I know it’s silly, but I’m a bit worried. Please do call as soon as you’re able.”

The sky grew dark. It took Aziraphale too long to turn on the lamps, the cozy rooms of his house turning to still blue tableaus as night fell. He flicked on the light in the entryway and peered miserably into the blackness outside.

“Well, old boy,” he murmured to himself. “It seems you’ve been stood up.”

He knew Crowley wouldn’t have deliberately abandoned him. There must have been some emergency, some urgent piece of business that demanded his attention. That didn’t mean it didn’t sting.

He’d give it until the morning, he decided. Hopefully Crowley would have been able to find a spare moment to let him know what was going on by then.

He turned off all of the lights he had just turned on and went to bed early.

The next morning he fumbled eagerly for his phone, before he’d even fixed his tousled hair or brushed his teeth. His heart sank. No missed calls.

He painstakingly hunted through his phone, looking for the place where the texts were. Maybe Crowley had wanted to send him something quick, even though he liked to tease Aziraphale about his hopelessness with texting. But when he found it, all that was in there were texts in all caps telling him his package had been late and to urgently call a number.

He checked his email. No luck.

His anxiety had turned to genuine fear now. It was still likely that this was all just a misunderstanding, but Aziraphale couldn’t shake the sense that something was wrong. In many ways, Crowley wasn’t his own person. He was owned by Hell. Aziraphale shuddered to think what that could mean.

Mind made up, he made himself presentable in record time and left the house, the baby pilea under one arm.

He walked a couple of blocks over and approached the drive just as Angie was pulling her car into the street. He flagged her down and they chatted for a moment about her standing medical appointment before he asked regretfully if she might be prevailed upon to drive him into the city. She agreed happily.

She dropped him off in the right neighborhood with a wave and some of his tendrils continued to watch over her car as she continued on her way. He consulted the notebook in his hand. Crowley’s billing address was in his records from when he booked his cuddle sessions. Aziraphale thought that was as good a place to start as any.

As he walked his tentacles searched within the parameter for his missing demon – they would have recognized the shape of him instantly. Maybe he was here in his neighborhood, getting a coffee, buying groceries. Aziraphale couldn’t stifle a fierce hope that he was about to discover everything was absolutely normal. But all his tethers found was heat from car exhaust and the crush of bodies.

He sensed the Bentley parked not too far from Crowley’s building and his tentacles patted it happily, glad to see it. Its presence confused him. Either he was about to discover that Crowley was here after all, or he would be faced with the disturbing fact that Crowley was gone and he hadn’t taken the Bentley with him.

He entered Crowley’s building just behind one of the other tenants, who smiled at him as they held the door open for him. The lift ride was interminable. He tapped his foot anxiously as he watched each floor slowly count up.

Finally he stood before the door of the apartment that matched Crowley’s bill. Somewhat foolishly, he knocked. His tentacles had already swept the place. There was no one inside. Dread began to curdle in his stomach.

When his only response was unsurprising silence, he had one of his tendrils flip the deadbolt and he stepped inside.

He surveyed the interior with both caution and interest. The apartment was spotless, each marble and steel surface gleaming. Plants drooped on their stands, looking forlorn. This was about all Aziraphale could take in before his attention was arrested by something else.

Something in the apartment was screaming.

Not audibly. The apartment remained eerily silent. It only made the intense anguish Aziraphale could sense even more disturbing, crying out so desperately while utterly ignored by the physical world. A draft passed over his neck and his hair stood up.

Setting the pilea on the counter, he rushed through the apartment, frantic to find the source. The screaming vibrated his bones, horrible and all-encompassing. It was impossible to think. He felt sweat break out on his skin.

He pushed through a door in the hallway and found himself in Crowley’s bedroom. The screaming pitched louder.

He stumbled forward, ears ringing, and fell to his knees beside the bed. His skull felt like it was collapsing in on itself. He groped blindly beneath the bed and the bones in his arm juddered unpleasantly from an intense vibration.

His hands closed on something small and square. He pulled it out, settling back on his heels.

He was holding a nondescript square box, the kind that usually contained jewelry. It looked completely ordinary, if a bit worn. Waves of abject misery and pain rolled off it.

Heart pounding, temples damp with sweat, Aziraphale carefully opened the box.

Inside was a round pin. It looked to be silver, though it was tarnished with age. It appeared to be a few centuries old. Two plump nightingales perched on a thin branch, heads close and mouths wide with song, against a lacy background of leaves.   

The anguished wail that was splitting his head was emitting from this innocuous little pin.

Aziraphale stared at it. He had no idea what this was, but dread was curling in his gut. Hesitantly, he extended one finger and gently touched the pin.

A profound and crushing loneliness immediately flooded his body. He found himself abruptly flat on the floor, struggling for breath like a man drowning. Every bone in his body ached with an echoing hollowness. Intense yearning filled his chest and flooded his throat until he choked on it. He opened his mouth to scream but all that came out was a pathetic mewl.

He yanked his hand back, the pin tumbling from its box to the ground.

He scrambled away from it, dragging himself along the floor, undignified and desperate. His cheeks were wet with tears. He lay for a time staring at it, waiting for the beating of his heart to stop ringing in his ears.

His finger smarted from where he had touched it. He looked down and found it blistered and burned.

He hauled himself into a sitting position but immediately curled over himself, horror and grief over what this must mean for Crowley temporarily paralyzing him. His face twisted painfully as fresh tears slipped down his face.

He shook himself angrily, forcing himself to his feet. None of this helped Crowley. He had to find him as soon as possible. He needed him in his arms.

Leaving the pin crying on the ground, he explored the rest of the flat. In the study he found a circle of ash and a few plants with burnt leaves. The nauseating smell of brimstone filled his nostrils.

He gently pet the wounded leaves, encouraging them to grow green and full, as he glared at the telltale residue. He had been called down to Hell then. Forcibly, it seemed. Well. That wouldn’t do. Aziraphale would simply have to fetch him.

Aziraphale swiftly left the flat, his shoulders set. He stabbed the button for the lift. As it descended, guilty relief stole over him as that awful screaming gradually faded from his senses.

Aziraphale knew where Heaven’s and Hell’s offices were in the city. The building was lit up with power like a beacon. He generally steered clear of it, but today he marched right up to it.

He stormed through the revolving doors, his coat spreading in the draft like the wings he no longer had. He strode directly to the down escalator.

The air shimmered as he approached and a yellow canvas barricade appeared around the top of the escalator. “Out of Order” read a sign in the center.

Aziraphale’s mouth thinned. He kicked his way through the barricade and stepped onto the top of the escalator. He began to descend.

After mere moments it squirmed like a living thing beneath him, like a beast trying to swat a fly. It shuddered and ground to a halt.

Construction cones appeared on the steps ahead of him. A sign dropped down from the air over his head. “Out of Order,” it read. “Take alternate route.”

Aziraphale snarled and kicked the cones into the darkness around him. He began the long journey walking down.

After an unknowable number of steps and an interminable amount of time, he saw a little circle of light and the end of the escalator.

He stepped off at the bottom and straightened his waistcoat. Ahead of him was a dingy desk crammed into claustrophobic hallway. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. The walls were suspiciously damp.

A round imp with oozing pustules was seated at the desk. It straightened up as he approached and squeaked with fright at the sight of him.

Aziraphale stopped at the edge of the desk. “If you fetch your supervisor immediately,” he said lowly, “you won’t have to talk to me at all.”

The imp swallowed. It hopped down from its chair and ran down the hallway, its tail flapping behind it as it fled.

Aziraphale straightened his cuffs and clasped his hands behind his back. He stared with blazing eyes down the hallway, his jaw set.

After a surprisingly short amount of time, he could see a short figure approaching down the hall. A loud buzzing filled the air. A few flies flew haphazardly down the hall and brushed against his face. Aziraphale didn’t blink.

The figure stopped on the other side of the desk. They were flanked on either side by two hulking demons who looked ready to soil themselves. Aziraphale barely registered them. He fastened his eyes on the Lord of Flies.

“What iz your businezz?” Beelzebub asked him suspiciously. They looked him up and down warily.

“The demon Crowley,” Aziraphale said without preamble. “Return him to me.”

Beelzebub surreptitiously clutched the desk. Aziraphale’s eyes never left their face.

“Thiz iz not your jurizdiction,” they said. “You havve no right to him.”

Aziraphale smiled. There was no mirth in it whatsoever. “I claim him,” he said. “He is under my protection.”

Beelzebub’s eyes widened slightly. “Hell haz prior claim,” they said. “There is no prezcedent for tranzferring affiliation.”

The wet stone beneath Aziraphale’s feet had started to turn to warm polished wood. The wall behind him began to blush a sunny yellow. The sickly smell of illness began to be overpowered by the dry smell of old parchment and books. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.

“Isn’t there?” he said lightly. His expression hardened. “Furthermore, do you think I give a fuck about your laws? They do not apply to me or mine. I say again: return him to me.”

The demons behind Beelzebub were slowly backing away, their eyes wide. Beelzebub themself took a small step backward as the wood inched closer to their feet.

“If I aggree, you’ll leave?” they said.

Aziraphale bared his teeth. “Immediately.”

Beelzebub leveled their gaze at him. “Verry well. Follow me.”

They turned on their heel. Aziraphale surged to catch up with them.

They lead him through a maze of hallways and chambers, each and dank and foul as the last. Demons scrambled out of their way as they passed, staring at Aziraphale with huge eyes. Aziraphale paid no attention to any of it.

Eventually they began to hear faint screams. Aziraphale sped up, forcing Beelzebub to trot faster.

They rounded a corner and entered an enormous chamber. Thousands of stanchions with gummy ropes strung between them zigzagged throughout the hall, disappearing far into the distance. Between them millions of souls shuffled in one continuous line, waiting for their next bout of torture.

Nearby stood a demon with too many horns and a clipboard. Beelzebub approached and whispered in her ear. She cast Aziraphale a frightened glance and consulted her paperwork. Aziraphale’s gaze bored into her impatiently.

“Ah, here we are!” she said in a squeaky voice, and led them into the hall.

Aziraphale almost didn’t recognize him, but he caught a flash of red hair and his heart leaped.

Crowley looked ragged and beaten down, his shoulders hunched. His clothes were filthy and torn. A large gash extended from his collarbone to his navel, and he was bent forward protectively over it. His glasses were gone, his wide, frightened eyes exposed for all to see. He was missing a shoe, his toes looking oddly vulnerable and delicate against the slimy stone floor.

Aziraphale strode straight for him, his hand already outstretched.   

Crowley noticed the commotion as they pushed through the crowd and his eyes flicked furtively over the room. He spotted Aziraphale and went still.

Aziraphale reached him and clasped his arm, his heart misbehaving in his chest. He barely stopped himself from pulling him into his arms. Instead he searched him with his gaze, cataloging each injury and indignity with mounting rage.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley’s raspy voice brought his gaze back to his face.

Aziraphale forced a smile. “Hello, my dear,” he said softly.

Crowley looked at him like he wasn’t sure he was real. It made Aziraphale’s heart clench. “What are you doing here?”

Aziraphale held his eyes. “You missed our date.”

Crowley blinked. He managed a wry laugh. “Sorry,” he said. “Had a bad day at work.”

Aziraphale reached to cup his face and forced his hand back down. Not yet. Not here. He turned back to Beelzebub. “We’ll be going now.”

“You’ll need to zzign for him,” Beelzebub said flatly.

Aziraphale glared. “Hurry.”

Beelzebub turned to the monitor and they consulted in low voices for a few minutes. Aziraphale watched them, his ire mounting. He was anxious to get Crowley away from here, to tend to him. Every moment in here was intolerable, and he had been here for so long already. Aziraphale cursed his hesitation the previous evening. He should have come for him immediately.

“Aziraphale?” He turned back and smiled reassuringly at Crowley’s worried expression.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Crowley whispered to him.

Aziraphale squeezed his arm. “It’s all right,” he told him. “We’ll be going soon.”

Instead of relief, fear bloomed over Crowley’s face. “Can’t,” he whispered, the barest breath. “Can’t escape them.”

Aziraphale’s mouth twisted as he fought back tears. He leaned toward Crowley, holding his eyes. “They don’t have any power over me,” he said clearly. “Soon, they won’t have any power over you.”

Crowley stared at him uncomprehendingly. “How?” he whispered. “You’re either with them or against them. It’s all the same, really.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “We’re outside of that,” he told him. “We’re not on either side. We’re on our own side.”

As they stood there, the concrete beneath their feet had turned to wood. The air smelled of bergamot. Aziraphale pulled Crowley a little closer, trying to place him within his orbit.  

“Zzign here,” came Beelzebub’s voice. Aziraphale turned to find them holding the monitor’s clipboard up to him.

Aziraphale skimmed the contract, one hand still tight on Crowley’s arm. He curled his lip at the insufferable legalese, but found nothing amiss. Perhaps they were eager to be rid of both of them. He signed with the offered pen and thrust the clipboard back at Beelzebub.

The monitor lifted the rope and pulled Crowley out of line. Crowley stumbled forward, a look of utter disbelief still fixed on his face. Aziraphale took his hand and guided him along as Beelzebub lead them back to exit.

“Pleazure doing businezz,” Beelzebub said as they stepped on the now-functioning escalator.

“Go fuck yourself,” Aziraphale said pleasantly, and then Hell disappeared behind the wall.

The journey to the surface was considerably quicker than the trip down. Aziraphale clung to Crowley’s hand the whole time.

He didn’t let go as they stepped off at the top, and he wasted no time in ushering him through the revolving doors and out onto the street.

Once they were on the sidewalk and firmly in the mundane world, Aziraphale turned and pulled Crowley into his arms.

He stank of blood and fear and trembled slightly in Aziraphale’s grip, but he clutched him back just as hard. Aziraphale buried his face in his shoulder, fighting back tears. Relief made his knees weak.

“How on earth did you do that?” Crowley murmured. “You’re incredible.”

Aziraphale laughed wetly. “I’d very much like to take you home,” he said.

“Please,” Crowley breathed.

They stumbled down the street, ignoring the side-eye they were getting from passers-by, and were soon met by the Bentley, being pushed and steered by Aziraphale’s tentacles. Aziraphale pulled open the passenger door and deposited Crowley on the seat.

“I can drive,” Crowley protested, attempting to stand back up.

“I don’t think so,” Aziraphale said, keeping him in place with a hand on his shoulder. “You’re hurt. I’m perfectly capable of driving us.”

“I’ll be in even more pain if I have to watch you drive,” Crowley argued petulantly.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him. “I could blindfold you,” he said sweetly.

Crowley spluttered, his face reddening. “You’re a menace,” he complained.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, and shut the door.

Aziraphale drove as quickly as he felt he reasonably could, which was still about half as fast as Crowley would have. Despite his initial complaining, Crowley was largely silent on the drive. His face was white and he was breathing shallowly. He winced at every bump in the road.

“Perhaps we should go to a hospital,” Aziraphale said worriedly, glancing over at him.

Crowley stiffly laid a hand on Aziraphale’s wrist, just below where he was clutching the steering wheel. “Not sure we’d be able to explain this to them,” he said tightly.

Aziraphale worried at his lip, but kept driving.

Finally, finally they pulled onto Aziraphale’s quiet street. Aziraphale shut off the engine and raced around the car to help Crowley out. Crowley straightened up with a groan but smiled down into Aziraphale’s worried face as he took his arm.

“Come along, let’s get you cleaned up,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley allowed himself to be towed by the hand as Aziraphale resolutely steered him into the house. As he moved through the front door the sound of the outside world fell away and he was ensconced in a familiar and welcoming quiet. He looked around at the cluttered desk and shelves, the cozy, colorful kitchen, the squashy sofas to one side. The door to the sunroom was open and through it he could see warm sunlight and happy green leaves. With dawning amazement, he realized how familiar and comforting it all was to him. Far more so than his flat – which he realized with a jolt was probably no longer his, seeing as how it belonged to Hell.

He looked up at the straight lines of Aziraphale’s shoulders, the twist of his arm as he reached back to keep hold of Crowley. The brief flash of his eye that could be seen was steely with protectiveness and concern.

“Can I move in here with you?” Crowley blurted.

His heart rate spiked with anxiety the moment it was out of his mouth.

With no hesitation whatsoever, Aziraphale turned on his heel and clutched Crowley’s face in his hands so he could kiss him fiercely.

Crowley leaned on him heavily, something like hope fluttering to life in his chest for the first time.

“Yes,” Aziraphale told him, burning eyes staring directly into his own.

Crowley exhaled heavily, clutching Aziraphale’s coat as he stared back.

“Now,” Aziraphale said, turning away and taking his hand again, “you need tending to. Come along.”

He drew Crowley up the stairs and crowded into the tiny bathroom with him. He matter-of-factly began removing Crowley’s clothes, tugging off his stained and torn jeans and gently peeling his grimy shirt away from the wound on his chest. Initially Crowley moved to help, but he quickly dropped his arms and just let Aziraphale work on him. His head ached.

Aziraphale dumped his clothes in a hamper to get them out of the way and retrieved a few items from a drawer below the sink. He turned toward Crowley with a damp cotton ball extended.

“I’m sorry dear, this is going to sting,” he said, “but we need to disinfect this.”

Crowley braced himself but he still couldn’t stop himself from hissing as the liquid made contact with his torn flesh. The gash was shallow but jagged and Aziraphale was thorough, making sure every crevice and edge was coated. Crowley grit his teeth and tried to hold still.

“What happened?” Aziraphale murmured, eyes fixed on his task.

Crowley attempted a smirk. “Just barely wasn’t fast enough,” he rasped.

Aziraphale frowned but didn’t push.

When Aziraphale was satisfied with the cleanliness of the gash, he set aside his tools and laid his palms flat on Crowley’s chest. Crowley blinked, a bit affected despite himself, swaying into Aziraphale’s hands.

Aziraphale’s brows pinched with concentration. After a few moments Crowley’s wound slowly began to knit back together, growing fainter and shallower. It took a few minutes and Aziraphale stayed stock-still for the entire process. Crowley tried to hold still as well, breathing shallowly to try not to disturb his hands.

Finally Aziraphale’s face smoothed and he dropped his hands, moving back to examine his work. The gash wasn’t entirely healed, but the process had certainly been accelerated. It hurt much less already. Crowley took a deep breath, tentatively experimenting with letting his chest expand fully. It tugged a little on the tight skin, but it wasn’t painful.

“It will likely scar,” Aziraphale said apologetically. “My healing abilities are a bit limited. But hopefully that’s a bit more comfortable for you.”

Crowley ducked his head and kissed him, unable to think of anything to say. Aziraphale smiled into the kiss, hands a bit too tight on his arms.

“Thank you,” Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale smiled tightly. “It’s nothing,” he said.   

Crowley shook his head. “I don’t just mean –” he started. He closed his eyes and kissed Aziraphale again.

Aziraphale wrapped him up tight in his arms; pressed him hard against his chest. Crowley pulled in a deep breath, relishing the pressure against his ribs.

Aziraphale pulled back and quickly blinked mist out of his eyes. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

It took Aziraphale a few moments of fiddling with the knobs before he was satisfied with the temperature of the water. He turned and handed Crowley into the shower, Crowley shuddering a little as the water hit his skin. For a moment the sensation was overwhelming, and he shook himself to try to settle into it.

Aziraphale quickly removed his own clothing, his tendrils assisting and carrying his clothes away. He stepped out of his pants and directly into the shower, hands quickly landing on Crowley again. Crowley smiled at him, eyes a bit too large.

Aziraphale searched his face, pushing sodden hair off his forehead. “Okay?” he murmured to him.

“Yeah,” Crowley breathed. “It’s all just – a bit –” his throat closed up.

Aziraphale’s face collapsed a little. He tugged Crowley against him. Crowley tucked his face into his neck. It helped to have Aziraphale’s solid body against him; he dared to lean a little harder on him, let him take some of his weight.

“We’ll be quick,” Aziraphale told him. “Just get the grime off, and then we’ll go to bed.”

A bar of soap levitated beside them and Aziraphale plucked it up and quickly worked up a lather. Crowley closed his eyes as he swept his hands over his back and shoulders. It stung where acid had splashed him but was immediately soothing as the acrid liquid was washed away and the constant burning subsided.

Aziraphale slipped his hands between them and washed Crowley’s chest and stomach. Crowley didn’t bother to move or try to help at all and refused to let himself feel bad about it. He kept his eyes closed and limbs loose, letting himself be tended to. Aziraphale pressed a wet kiss to his cheek.

Aziraphale handed the soap back to the empty air and let his tentacles lather his legs and feet while his arms settled steadily around Crowley. The gentle touches and glide of soap over his skin helped to span the gap and Crowley started to feel more real and present, his body no longer slightly foreign to him.

The water shut off, the last spray dribbling loudly against the porcelain and disappearing down the drain. A towel settled over Crowley’s shoulders.

Aziraphale patted them both dry, gentle touches lingering on Crowley’s shoulders and sides. Crowley soaked it up like a sponge, his eyelids heavy. It was quiet, but not oppressive. Crowley listened to the steady rhythm of Aziraphale breathing.

They headed toward the bedroom, and Crowley slipped ahead of Aziraphale, eager to spread out on the bed. He closed his eyes as he settled against the mattress, relaxing against the welcoming surface.

He felt the bed dip as Aziraphale settled beside him and frowned with confusion. Opening his eyes, he turned to him and pulled insistently on his shoulders.

“On me,” he demanded.

Aziraphale blinked, hesitant. “You’re hurt, darling,” he protested weakly.

“’Zactly,” Crowley said stubbornly. “Need my blanket.”

Aziraphale looked out into the room. “I can get you a weighted blanket –”

“No,” Crowley said, aware he was being petulant and not caring. “Need you.”

Aziraphale slowly let himself be guided over Crowley, gingerly settling his weight on him. Crowley sighed and went boneless as Aziraphale pressed him down. The dark fog in his brain lightened and started to dissipate.

Aziraphale tucked his chin over his arm across Crowley’s collarbone and fondly brushed hair off of Crowley’s forehead. He traced Crowley’s features with gentle fingers, his eyes a little shiny.

“Tomorrow we can get your things from your flat,” he said.

Crowley exhaled, his eyes closed. “Not much to take,” he said. “Most of it is Hell’s.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, his brows furrowed with worry. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can help you replace it.”

Crowley shook his head against the pillow. “Don’t want it,” he said. “I’ll just take my clothes and my plants. Good riddance to everything else.”

Aziraphale attempted a smile. “Your plants will probably be happy in the sunroom,” he said. “All the plants will be happier with you around.”

“They better not be,” Crowley murmured. He was starting to drift off.

 Aziraphale still seemed concerned. “I – went your flat. When I couldn’t find you.” His voice was heavy with meaning.

Crowley blinked his eyes open. “You did?” he said guardedly, wary of Aziraphale’s tone.

Aziraphale nodded, not meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry; I let myself in. I was worried something had happened to you.”

“Something did happen to me,” Crowley said, watching him.

Aziraphale hesitated, nervously brushing his fingers over Crowley’s shoulders. “I – found a box. Under your bed.” He finally met Crowley’s eyes.

Crowley frowned and opened his mouth, a thread of fear starting to twine its way up through his gut. “How –”

“It was screaming, darling,” Aziraphale said seriously. He tilted his head questioningly. “Does it not scream for you?”

Crowley stared into the middle distance, brows lowered. “No, it does,” he said finally, only just realizing it as he said it. It had been a constant for so long. “I just didn’t think – others could hear it.”

Aziraphale played with Crowley’s hair, not meeting his eyes. “I’m not asking for anything,” he said awkwardly. “I just wanted you to know – it seemed wrong not to tell you I had found it.” He swept his hand brusquely over the top of Crowley head, as though to dismiss the topic.

Crowley didn’t find it so easy to move on. He felt suddenly exposed, like a rabbit caught out in an empty field. “You – looked at it?” he tried. “You know…what it’s…”

Aziraphale nodded, his eyes downcast.

Crowley suddenly found it difficult to breathe. Aziraphale was so close; he couldn’t escape his eyes. He wished he could burrow underneath him and hide away. He put a hand over his eyes instead. It didn’t help much.

“I had to do something with it,” he tried to explain, feeling like a child making excuses to his teacher. “It was making me stupid. It was dangerous.”

“Darling.” Aziraphale’s voice was thick.

Crowley’s chest felt uncomfortably tight, and it kept juddering painfully. “I won’t bring it in here,” he promised. “I’ll figure out something else to do with it.”

“I’m not asking for that, sweetheart.”

Crowley fought to breathe normally, taking deep breaths that kept hitching in the middle.

Aziraphale tucked his head down against Crowley’s shoulder, pressing in close. “I love you,” he murmured.

It landed like a blow and Crowley cracked all around the impact. He began to shiver, and then to shudder. His face collapsed. He flung his arms around Aziraphale’s neck and buried his head in his shoulder.

Warm tears smeared against Aziraphale’s shoulder and slid down his chest. Crowley did his best to keep quiet, but a few strangled sounds emerged.

Aziraphale cupped the back of his head and pressed as close as he could, his heart breaking.

Chapter Text

Crowley slowly blinked awake, lazily surveying the yellow room around him until he grew more alert. His chest ached dully. He raised a hand to it absently and felt the long furrow down its center. He paused, remembering.

Aziraphale was asleep beside him, an arm and a leg flung over him protectively. Crowley looked at his peaceful face for a long time. Gently, he shifted out from under Aziraphale’s limbs and slipped off the bed.

He shivered a little in the cool air and snapped his fingers to summon his clothes. Nothing happened.

Realization made his stomach twist nauseatingly. He stumbled quickly to the bathroom to give himself a private place to panic. The door clicked softly shut behind him and he sank down onto his haunches, hands buried in his hair, and took several, sharp, rapid breaths. Fear kept rising in him like a tide and he kept pressing it down furiously.

Wiping his eyes angrily, he searched through the hamper. He pulled out his grimy pants and trousers, but couldn’t bring himself to put his shirt with the gash in it back on.

Creeping quietly, he snuck back into the bedroom and rifled through Aziraphale’s things. He picked out one of the sweaters that Aziraphale liked to wear for his cuddle sessions. It was a rich blue and clashed horribly with his hair, but he didn’t care. It smelled like him. It was warm and soft against his skin as he pulled it over his head.

He tried one of Aziraphale’s loafers, but his feet were just a tad too long. He shoved them aside, cursing under his breath. Aziraphale shifted a little in his sleep and sighed.

At the back of a wardrobe Crowley found a pair of plastic slip-on shoes. He damned both Aziraphale and himself as he slipped into the crocs, wincing like they were poisoning him.

Completely if not respectably attired, he slipped silently down the stairs. He gathered some of the bags Aziraphale used for shopping and left the house.

There was a faint mist lingering just above the ground and everything was grey with early morning. The sun was an orange ball just above the horizon, valiantly fighting to warm the world.

The Bentley started readily under his hand and the turmoil in his chest settled somewhat. He pulled away from the curb and set off towards London.

The sun was fully in the sky by the time he pulled up in front of his building. His former building. He gathered the bags and shoved through the front door.

He stood in the center of the lift, staring at the numbers turning over like that could make them move faster. One of his neighbors – former neighbors – stood crammed into one of the corners, eyeing him skeptically. Crowley turned to grin ferally at them as he exited the lift.

He let the door to his flat slowly swing back and clank against the wall. It looked like a tornado had gone through it. His fertilizers and treatments had been flung from the table and scattered across the floor. The pot for one of his trees had broken, soil spilled across the ground. The tree leaned a little, valiantly clinging on with its roots.

The holy water had dried by now, but Crowley still stepped gingerly across the floor, redoubling his curses on the crocs.

He went to the bedroom first. A jewelry box was tumbled open on the carpet. A little silver pin lay innocuously nearby.

Crowley set the bags aside and knelt to examine it. He could hear the screaming now, a ceaseless, anguished wail. It must have really frightened Aziraphale. It a little bit frightened him.

Gently, he lifted it from the carpet. He held it in his palm until his body heat had warmed the metal. He laid it carefully in its nest in the jewelry box and closed the lid over it. He put it in his pocket.

He filled the bags with clothes and toiletries and then moved on to his plants. He wrapped a sheet around the broken pot to hold it together and hauled it down to the Bentley. His trees just fit with the passenger seat shoved all the way forward. He was settled back in the front seat of the Bentley with everything he cared to own in the world crowded around him when his phone buzzed with a message. It was from Aziraphale.

A bit guiltily, he responded immediately, telling him he was on his way home.

When he pulled up in front of the house, Aziraphale stepped onto the porch in a bathrobe. He held up a coffee mug inquiringly. Crowley nodded and slumped as Aziraphale disappeared into the house again.

He felt for the box in his pocket. He took it out and turned it over, watching the light play over it. Finally he opened the glove compartment and placed it inside. The door clicked shut behind it.

He stepped out of the car and carried his first plant toward the house.

2016: Somewhere in Surrey

Crowley recklessly swung the Bentley into his usual spot in the gravel lot between the bookstore and the pub and hit the brakes mere moments before collision with the wall. A monster with a gaping mouth and chunky arms leered at him from the wall just over the Bentley’s hood. The tag Adam had been experimenting with graced the bottom corner in shaky yellow spray paint.

“Damn,” Crowley said out loud despite himself. “The little shit’s improving.”

Stepping out of the Bentley, he shook out his hand as he approached the wall. Taking a deep breath, he extended his index finger and concentrated until a stream of paint erupted from the pad of his finger.

He added shading to the monster as well as some gnarly claws and spikes. Lastly he gleefully painted over Adam’s tag with his own in a garish red. The yellow of Adam’s efforts peeked through pathetically. He shook his hand to flick away the excess paint.

“Your move, brat,” he said.

He ducked into the grocery store and mumbled something in response when the grocer greeted him enthusiastically. He lost himself in the snack aisle, considering the various options.

Suddenly a box of crackers landed on his head. Cursing and rubbing his scalp, he looked up.

His archnemesis, the store cat Mr. Tumnus, curled lazily on the top shelf, not looking at him. His tail flicked with self-satisfaction.

“Bastard,” Crowley hissed at him. “I’m going to hide your favorite toy in the freezer.”

Mr. Tumnus ignored him.

He approached the counter with his arms bursting with boxes of biscuits and tea, having forgot to grab a basket yet again.

“How’s Aziraphale?” the grocer asked cheerfully as he expertly packed Crowley’s pickings into bags.

“Good,” Crowley grunted. He was examining the display of chocolates nearby. On impulse, he grabbed a little box of truffles and slid it across the counter. The grocer beamed at him.

Crowley wrestled the shopping into the Bentley and sped towards home. Once he was parked in front of the house, he turned to gather the groceries and paused, hesitating. Making up his mind, he opened the glove compartment.

The little blue jewelry box nestled inside, seemingly innocuous and harmless.

He held it in his palm and gently removed the lid. The little nightingale pin gleamed up at him. It wasn’t screaming anymore. If he listened very carefully he thought he could hear faint sounds emanating from it, like someone pulling a blanket over their head or letting the blinds down long after night had fallen.

Gently, he brushed a finger over it. It stung a little, and a familiar hollow space opened up behind his ribcage as something was siphoned out of it back into him. It didn’t feel overwhelming though. A familiar ache, but dulled.

He examined it once again. He couldn’t hear anything from it at all this time. When he swiped his thumb over it, it didn’t burn. It just felt like ordinary metal.

A tension he didn’t know he’d been carrying melted out of him. Carefully, he fixed the pin to his tie and gathered up the shopping.  

Once everything was safely packed away, he set the kettle to boil and knocked gently on the sunroom door before poking his head in.

Aziraphale beamed at him. He still lit up like a flare at the sight of him, which made Crowley’s heart feel warm and shy.

“Supplies restocked, boss,” he said.

“Thank you, my dear.” He bent to address the person whose head was currently in his lap, continuing his slow sifting through their hair. “Nish, do you want anything? I recommend something to drink.”

Nish blinked open his eyes. “Do you have lemonade?”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows at Crowley. “One lemonade, coming right up,” Crowley said.

He steeped Aziraphale’s tea while he poured a glass of lemonade and, after a moment’s consideration, added a straw. He carried both drinks into the sunroom.

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale said with surprise and pleasure when Crowley handed him the tea, even though he did it every time.

“Thanks, Crowley,” Nish echoed when he set the glass near his hand. Crowley bobbed his head, feeling awkward, and retreated to the kitchen.

Half an hour later Crowley saw Nish passing the front windows as he left. Aziraphale slipped through the sunroom door and pecked Crowley on the lips as he brought the two cups to the sink and rinsed them out.

“How’s he doing?” Crowley asked, jerking his head toward the door.

Nish’s youngest had recently gone off to college and he’d booked a session with Aziraphale every week for the last month. Aziraphale looked out the window at their garden as he answered.

“He’s adjusting. Emily called him herself the other day, which helped. I’m glad he was an established client before so I could help support him for this.” He turned a shrewd smile on Crowley. “He noticed that you remembered that he likes pink lemonade.”

“Ngk,” Crowley said.

“He was very touched,” Aziraphale said, drying his hands and turning to Crowley. He slid his arms around him.

“He’d just ask me if we had it otherwise,” Crowley grumbled. “Saved myself a question.”

“Right,” Aziraphale said, eyes sparkling. He leaned up and kissed Crowley.

Crowley deepened the kiss, the tension immediately bleeding out of him. He turned Aziraphale and pressed him against the counter. He got his arms beneath his thighs and lifted him up onto the counter, crowding between his spread legs. Aziraphale pulled him forward eagerly. A few tendrils slipped beneath Crowley’s shirt and stroked his back and hips.

Aziraphale pulled back and - with immense bravery given that it had burned him the last time - gently tapped the pin on his tie inquiringly. “I noticed this earlier,” he said softly.

“Erm, yeah,” Crowley said, not sure how to explain. He wondered if he could get away with just kissing him again and going from there.

Aziraphale searched his face. “Not as painful anymore?”

“Not as much,” Crowley demurred.

Aziraphale smiled at him and it was like the sun had come out from behind a cloud. “I can’t wait to see what you become,” he told him. “And everything in between.”

Crowley flushed. “This is way more talking than I was hoping for,” he complained.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and leaned back on his hands. “Pardon me,” he sniped. “Why don’t you take the lead?”

Crowley leaned forward but Aziraphale tilted his head out of reach, his eyes dancing.

“Come here,” Crowley growled, seizing his hips and dragging him forward. Aziraphale was laughing when his mouth landed on his, but soon he was sighing instead.