Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“And a fourth glass with that.”  Crowley had arrived at the same moment as the sommelier, his voice slicing mercifully through the tension around the table.  Aziraphale barely managed to disguise a massive sigh of relief as a sigh of disgust.  

It might have been nice to be truly disgusted with Crowley.  But of course the demon was late, and, honestly, it was only by 17 minutes.  It was just that in those 17 minutes, he, Aziraphale, had already smoothed over a nasty disagreement between Razael and the maitre d’ about what it was to have reservations at a restaurant as opposed to reservations about a restaurant.  He had brought it to Krippin’s attention in very stern terms that ramming the salad fork under his own fingernails while muttering “Corporeal pain…fascinating…” would draw unwanted attention from the other diners.  

And those two together…  Razael, the only being Aziraphale had ever encountered who made the human expression about sticks in unmentionable places seem too accurate to be crude.  And Krippin, a definite Slinker.  Aziraphale privately believed that every single demonological treatises in history had missed the mark — demons should simply be divvied up as Lurkers, Slinkers, Thunderers…and Crowley.

Anyhow, those two together struck sparks.  Aziraphale had —somehow — also averted the War between Heaven and Hell erupting, in miniature, at this very table no less than four times already.  Really, what was the use of negotiating to leave your weapons at the door when you sent in emissaries capable of summoning them from the the farthest corners of the universe in an instant?  

“What is it, Fernand?  The Cerise a’Leve?  The ’09?  Ahh, the ’07 — very good.  No, no, I’ll pour for us, go on.”

Crowley was putting on his very breeziest and most worldly act, something he did beautifully for as long as he stayed sober enough to manage it.  Plus he’d just gotten one of their favorite staff members out of range of any immediate crossfire.  No, Aziraphale was absolutely not disgusted to see him.

“Crawly, you’re late,” slurred Krippin in a voice which left no doubt his true form was something wet, pointy, and hideous, like a hundred mouths with gingivitis.

Disapproving glower already in place – good.  “Fashionably late,” Aziraphale sneered, “according to a deplorable human convention, for which he is no doubt responsible.”

“You’re too kind, angel.  But then you would be.”

“I daresay anything less than smiting is too kind for the likes of you.”

“Hmm, then it must just burn you that you haven’t managed that in six millennia.”

“No?  I believe I’ve put you in your place time and again, you vile serpent.”

“But, here I am, in place right beside you in this lovely establishment  — not very smitten, it would seem.

“That’s how your forked tongue would tell it.”

“Oh, certainly, never trust my forked tongue.  I did say “too kind” when I should have said “too soft.”

“Enough!” Krippin snapped.

“Yes, quite,”  Razael huffed.  

Well, thank goodness.  It had merely been a bit of a relief talking nonsense with Crowley while putting on a show of loathing for their guests.  But if the two of them disagreeing could get the other two to agree, perhaps this whole ordeal could be finished without bloodshed after all.

“Now that we are all finally assembled,” Razael leveled a glare at a smirking Crowley, “perhaps we can finally get down to business.”

“Indeed.  I believe the waiter has been quite impatient to take our orders.”

“Further delay!?” Krippin gnashed his rather excessive teeth.

“No, no, this part is very important…for Gluttony,” Crowley assured him.

“Must we?” Razael sounded peevish.  Divinely peevish, but still.

“I would think it’s rather the point.  If Heaven and Hell have assigned you to gather information on humanity, then what better way begin to understand them than to experience some of their finer offerings…”

“Indulgences.”  Aziraphale scowled at Crowley. 

A flurry of ordering followed, during which two more bottles of wine were requested, and Aziraphale certainly did not take any impious pleasure in instructing that snotty Razael what he simply must have to start and had to take for the main.  

That done, the other angel and demon seemed somewhat bewildered but all the more irritated.  

“Now,” Krippin demanded in his bloody-sounding voice, “tell us what we need to know.”

“Right, so…”  Crowley began.

“That is not the format for this meeting.  We have a list.”

“Of course, there’s a list,” Krippin slurred at Razael, “but there are protocols to be observed.  Shortcuts must be sought; cheating must be attempted.  Besides, wouldn’t you prefer to have this whole blessed travesty over with sooner?”

“That would be entirely…improper. Insubordinate demon!”

Aziraphale vigorously avoided sharing a glance with Crowley over how clearly Razael desperately wanted to agree with Krippin.  It would be extremely dangerous to forget that this luncheon was, well, dangerous.  Even if the official line about needing to understand Humanity and its extraordinary talent for buggering up Apocalypses was true; even if, as it seemed, whatever Adam had done after the Last Day had given everyone the impression there was nothing funny going on here really; even if this wasn’t all just an elaborate ruse for Heaven and Hell to check up on their field agents, giving off the slightest whiff of fraternization would be just as damning.  Or whatever came after damning, in Crowley’s case.

“Insubordinate, really?  To whom?  Hell?  They approve entirely.  Heaven?  Old news…” 

“To the Cause!  If you would just behave!”

“Behave like what?  Like a demon?”

“Well, I’m sure we all know how demons behave (and this time he did cast a wry glance at Crowley, although he disguised it as a sneer), but it seems to me this bickering will take even longer than the list.  If we could begin?”

Razael gave Aziraphale an approving nod, and Crowley drawled, “Nicssssely done, angel.”

“Yes, rather.”

Their appetizers began to arrive at the table at just that moment, and, once more a bit off-balanced as small, artful plates invaded his space, Razael gritted out, “So, firstly, what is the purpose of this sort of exercise for humans?  This dining thing?”

Chapter Text

It had been a briefly amusing, quickly tedious couple of hours already, covering absolute nonsense, as far a Crowley could see.  

“And there’s tortoises.  The small ones are all right, the large ones are usually illegal…”

Aziraphale was valiantly trying to bore the investigators into giving up on the meeting, and Crowley could appreciate the effort, but Razael and Krippin were a match made in a transcendental school of chartered accountancy, and at best they could be bored off one topic at a time.

“But the whole reptile genre, not nearly as popular as the fluffy ones…”

“Enough with the blessed pets already! Krippin gritted out. The next item on the list is sex.”

  “Fine, yes, moving on, Razael concurred.  “What can you tell us about that?”

Aziraphale was brought up short. “Oh, really not my area.”

“Crawly?”

Blast, well, Aziraphale had been doing a lovely job.  Crowley supposed he’d have to field this one.  “Sex?  Well, it’s terrific for tempting people.”

Krippin perked up considerably.  “Oh, really?  Why’s that?”

“Ha, no incubus you, eh?" Crowley chuckled.   " ' s OK.  See, it’s actually really good.  It’s not the sex itself — nothing wrong with that…”

“Unless it’s out of wedlock.”

“Oh.  Well, if you’re taking that angle, then the war’s over.  We’ve got more than enough souls from that alone.  We win.”  Razael hmmphed testily.  “But no, what makes it really work, is what they’ll do for sex, since they want it so badly.  Turns their higher mental functions right into pudding.”

“So how’s it work?”

“Well, for example, you take a married couple, lure the one into sex with someone else, and voila, broken vows.  Or you find a girl, one with a certain type of boyfriend — humans have a thing, flirting, for before sex, for maybe sex — just let him see that and you’ve got instant Wrath.  Or, the best one, the easiest one — and your side gave us this on a platter, being so gung ho with the judgement — the men.  The ones who like it with other men, but they’re so guilty, terrified.  Give them the chance to have it, and they’ll jump for it, but the lies they’ll tell to hide it.”

The finer subtleties of temptation was one of Crowley’s favorite topics, but Aziraphale was giving him a more than usually authentic disapproving frown.  Crowley typically only talked specifics to the angel if he meant to ruffle him. “Of course, it’s all rather traditional.  I haven’t gone in for this sort of thing as much since they came up with more efficient methods, you know…mass advertising, installing updates…much wider reach…

“But you have personal experience?” 

“Of course, kind of part of the job description.”  Well, this was suddenly awkward.  The investigators were regarding him beadily, and Aziraphale had put down his fork — a sure sign of too much attentiveness.  He should have passed himself off as pure as the angel from the start.

“Good, good; this sounds promising.  So they do imprudent things in pursuit of this sex?”

“Imprudent, that’s nice. Bloody bonkers, sometimes.”

“Good.  Why?”

“Why?  I don’t know; they think it feels good.”

Razael and Krippin’s faces fell.  “Hmmm.  You have both — both! they both scoffed as outragedly as possible, while Razael referred to his little notebook of gold-inked notes — previously reported that humans think spring weather, sunbathing, massages, cozy sweaters, and pet chinchillas feel good.  So it’s like that?”

“No, different from that.”

“How?”  Krippin pressed, and Crowley was truly at a loss.

“I don't know - it's more.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?  You said you’ve done this.”  He’d done something clearly to get them so fixated on this, and he was quite regretting it.

“Yeah, exactly — it’s different when you’re doing it.  It's just silly, though, when you're not in mood.”

“Well, think!”

Crowley was deeply grieved to know that technically a field operative with six millennia worth of commendations must outrank any scribbling fact-finder, and he ought to be able to tell Krippin to bugger off with his impertinent  questions.  But Krippin undoubtedly had more favor in Hell and would be scuttling down Below with his full report immediately after this cursed luncheon.   

Any sort of explanation felt terribly distant.  He struggled to get his mind around something and felt a flicker of excitement, uncomfortable under Razael and Krippin’s gaze, but what could you do?  He gritted his teeth.  

“All right, all right.  So that’s part of it, actually.   It’s not a normal way of thinking — wanting it in the first place, the anticipation, is part of the experience.  Then if they get to have it, it’s a big thing; they get carried away with it, kind of wild, while they’re doing it.  They like the change, think it’s exciting.”

“Hmm, go on.”

“So, something else…it’s with two people, mostly.  But not just any two people.  They only like to do it with the ones they find attractive.” The thought crossed his mind that Aziraphale was rather attractive, actually.  Surprised, he glanced at the angel, and it only seemed to confirm the thought.  It shouldn't have — Aziraphale didn't look striking in any way, but he looked nice, in a way that gave Crowley the sort of thrill that usually took quite an effort to muster.  Disconcerted, he glanced away and tried to regain his train of thought.  

“And...  Right.  And they like for other humans to find them attractive too…”  It would be quite nice for Aziraphale to find him attractive.  What the hell?!  Aziraphale found Regency snuffboxes and first editions attractive, and Crowley knew that.  “So, so… if they have sex, it's like someone they think is attractive telling them they think they're attractive too, and they like that.”  He'd just had the urge to lace his fingers through Aziraphale's and say he could explain this much better if they were alone.  This had to stop.  It should be easy enough.  Somehow he'd gotten over excited, but it was always an easy thing to stop.

“But can't they just tell each other they're attractive?”

“Not as good.  It's a stupid word, the worst word.  I mean...desirable.  Wanting someone.  It's...SO attractive, you can't just say it, you have to do something about it, something kind of crazy.”

“So how would you begin one of these sexual temptations?”  

Any other time Crowley had thought about seduction in connection with Aziraphale, and he had thought about it, he had immediately veered to thinking what a funny joke it would be.  Aziraphale would be so flustered.  But now Aziraphale was right there, across the table, and Crowley couldn't find the humor.  He wondered if he could make it work.  No.  Even if there was the slightest chance Aziraphale would be interested, which was impossible, he would probably get another commendation for it, while Aziraphale would be Cast Out.  To hell.  To me.  NO!  Very alarming:  this was getting worse the more he tried to stop it.

“You have to start by getting them interested in you,” he croaked.  Serpents did not croak!  Get it together, Crowley. 

“How do you do that?”

“A lot of ways — you could say something clever.”  Aziraphale was always saying the stupid things he had to say, and not saying things Crowley agreed with completely.  “Or wear good clothes.”  It occurred to him that Aziraphale had dressed much better in the old days.  The clothes then had suited him, when they used to have flair and dignity.  Considering the modern styles, actually, it was clear he was doing the best he could.  “You could dance well…” The gavotte had been adorable.  Crowley wondered wildly if Aziraphale had been seducing him all these years.

Why wasn’t it stopping?  Perhaps if he just ignored it and soldiered on.  

“But the most important thing is you have to show them you're interested in them — or not, hard to get can work too, but that's a different thing.  You compliment them, not on anything obvious —  something small, hard to notice, so they know it's personal.”  What complete rubbish; it was easy to notice the little things about Aziraphale, even while he was trying not to look — the attentive crease between his brows, his lips slightly parted in consternation at the turn in the conversation, his hand on his wineglass, his nails always so exquisitely kept — and each feature was assailing him with an astonishing urge to kiss it.

“And then — bodies have certain reactions when they're interested in another body that way.”  They certainly did.  And they also had the opposite reaction to two obtuse but quite dangerous supernatural entities intimately cross-examining you in an elegant restaurant.  Having both at once was so supremely uncomfortable Crowley thought he might manage to do something unheard of, like die a mortal death.  “Look, can't we just leave off here?  You get the idea, right?”  

“I’m afraid not.”  Razael peered sternly over the rim of his notebook, pen hovering.

“It's not important.” 

“We'll be judges of that.  Go on.”  Aziraphale's eyebrow quirked, inviting him to share a moment over the "we," but Crowley was too miserable to acknowledge it.  He saw the angel's brow furrow deeper in concern.  He closed his eyes, thankful at least for his sunglasses, and forced himself onward.

“You have to hint, very gently, that they're having that effect on you,” — No, you must not, under any circumstances! — “but you can't be direct about it until later, when you're pretty certain it's going to happen, or else it's rude.”

“And how do you complete one of these sessions?”

So many ways, that he absolutely must not think about, and couldn’t begin to stop from whirling around in his head with vivid clarity.  He swallowed.  He was sure he must already seem to be acting strangely, but he was afraid of what he might say when he started talking.  Nothing, nothing specific!  No I, no him.  

“You have to make sure they have a good time.  Humans have a lot of expectations and desires for sex, but it's easy for it not to be good. You have to make sure it’s not like that — that it's something they would sin to have again.”

“So after the first time you start demanding payments, blood offerings and such?”

“What? No!”  Fuck, he should have said yes.  “You disappear, and they keep looking for it, with other humans.”

“So ho…”

“Yes, I know!  How do you make it good?”  He spoke slowly, his voice flat and ragged, checking that each statement was less than he was picturing.  “You have to do it, really, with them.  You have to be there with them.  It's a crazy thing and you have to put yourself into into it. You have to touch them and let them touch you.  To enjoy giving them pleasure.  You have to look out for anything they're afraid to admit they enjoy, and give it to them, and love it with them.  You have to help them to let themselves go and let them feel that all of it’s all right.”

“But what do you do?  What is it?”  

Under normal circumstances, Crowley would have laughed right in Razael and Krippin’s faces.  He would have replayed the moment to Aziraphale when they were alone later and laughed even harder while the angel feigned disapproval and stifled a smile.  As it was, he still felt the urge to laugh hysterically and to be sick at the same time.  There would never be that sort of moment again.  This bizarre, impossible desire of the last 20 minutes felt as eternal as the universe now.  It would never stop, and he could foresee ever after this, sharing a word or a stroll, a meal or a drink with the angel; he would be hiding a desperate passion to touch him the whole time.  Everything ruined.  Worse than Hell itself.  

So many new presumably human feelings today; he couldn’t imagine how they dealt with this nausea thing.  And Razael and Krippin were still staring at him insistently.

“It’s people touching each other in ways that feel good.  Sort of a madness that gets hold of them, that they can’t get rid of properly except by going along with it until there’s a, uh, climax.”  He could not not imagine Aziraphale’s face if that happened…  And they were still staring!  It would have been better if the world had ended.  “Some people think there’s only one way to do it, but really it’s anything that…”

“Nonsense, there’s only one way that makes children.”  The interrogators’ gazes swiveled away, and Crowley sagged like a prisoner unstrapped from the rack.  (Thank you, Aziraphale.)

“What have children got to do with this?”  Krippin demanded.

“I’m afraid my old enemy,” and Aziraphale was peering at him with thinly disguised concern; he must seem a wreck, “has been rather overcomplicating it.  Sex is simply the way female humans and male humans conceive a child together.”

“Oh, a mating impulse.  Like with the Almighty’s other beasts.”

Aziraphale grimaced faintly.  “Yes, exactly.”

“Oh,” sniffed Razael dismissively, “in that case…”  (You’re so good, angel.)

“Wait a minute,” Krippin cut in, turning back to Crowley.  “That makes sense, but he said there are all sorts of other ways they do it. And that doesn’t make sense.”

“Hmm…”  Razael looked back to him too, and Crowley thought he avoided physically flinching.

“That is not the point at all,” Aziraphale declared insistently.  “This serpent would have you believe it’s all about lust, when what’s really important is love.” 

“Do you have experience?”

“Of course not!”  (All mine!  STOP it!) 

“Perhaps you should?”

“Really?!  I mean, how…?  If I did…  But it’s not necessary.  You only have to observe the humans — their lives, their art…”  That had seemed close, but Aziraphale had recovered beautifully, forging imperiously ahead.  Incredible, the only angel who would fight to save a demon.

“Ah, art…and literature. That’s on the list, isn’t it?”

“Yes, between entertainment and sports and leisure.”

“All right, Aziraphale, what is your impression of this sex and love issue?”

“Well, you see,” Aziraphale paused and sipped his wine, apparently gathering himself up for something rather involved.  “Love — of a certain kind — between humans contains sex as a small part of a far greater whole.  Of course, humans in love may enjoy sex as a type of intimacy, but love inspires them to so much more.  Not these lust-driven sins the demon was chattering about — great acts of virtue.”  

It was good just to hear his voice, so stuffy and sincere at once, and so dear.  Crowley wanted to spend the minutes free of the investigator’s scrutiny just letting the sound sooth him; it did nothing to lessen his problem, but it altered it in a way that was warm and pleasant.  And yet, the angel’s words began to reach him too.  

“With love, humans can know and accept and trust each other, even despite their flaws and differences, and so they lift each other up.  They give comfort; they inspire one another to be better.  Love fills them with compassion, with the ability to truly care for their beloved’s well-being even beyond their own.  They will fight and sacrifice, shelter and protect all for another’s good.  Love gives them hope and purpose and courage.  It gives them loyalty, faithfulness, and security.  Love moves them to form unions, partnerships, families.  It forges bonds that far outlast any carnal impulse.” 

Ohhh…that’s why.  Crowley thought there should have been some celestial radiance or a fanfare of trumpets. It was so glorious, he thought, because Aziraphale was smart enough to know that it hardly ever happened the way he said, but his joy for the times it did and his faith in the times it would was so real.  And as for himself, he’d never believed a shred of this stuff.  He’d thought his damnation counted for something at least, that it was inherently impossible for him to believe it.  But every word had rung true like a bell shaking his very being.  He really was lost.

“Well!  This sounds quite blasphemous.”  

“Blasphemous?  My word!” Aziraphale sputtered.

“Yes, yes, a definite threat to divine authority.”  

His poor angel was truly appalled.  “But love is the very basis of the divine plan!  It is the divine plan!” 

“As planned, yes.  But these humans have let it get out of hand.  I believe you’re onto more than you realize here, Aziraphale.  Very well observed, but you’ve missed the big picture.”

“Seriously, now!”

“You’re saying that love inspires the humans?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Faith should do that.”

Krippin’s beady eyes were gleaming.  “And that it helps them endure hardship and trials and fear?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing should do that.”

“And that it causes them to form intense bonds of loyalty to other mortals?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then.”  Razael stated with satisfaction.  “Love…yes, duly noted, and I think we can move on.”

“Goodness,” Aziraphale murmured weakly.

“Item 16…”

Crowley drew in a shaky breath as quietly as he could, trying to steady himself for the next onslaught.  Aziraphale’s glance darted quickly to him and away. 

“Excuse me, how many items are there?”

“Thirty-one.”

“Oh, dear, I’m afraid we really don’t have time to cover that many now.”

Two preternaturally dumbfounded gazes fell on the angel.  “Of course, we do.  We have all the time in the world.”

“Yes, quite.  But humans don’t.  We’ve already been occupying this table for four hours, and a convention of the dining practice is that one must eventually allow the restaurant to “turn over” the table for other guests.”

“Manners?  Hell isn’t concerned for such things.”

“Well, if that’s how it’s done, we can simply turn back time…”

“We could, but it wouldn’t give the proper experience.  Humans are constantly running out of time — it’s a crucial aspect of their condition.”

“Follow-up meetings,” Crowley croaked, “they’re a thing.”  

Chapter Text

Somehow they got out of the restaurant and committed to meeting again next Tuesday and saw Razael and Krippin on their way (Aziraphale explaining currency, tipping, planners, and diaries as they went).  They watched until the mirage shimmer and the puff of smoke that masked the brief manifestations of, respectively, the Up and Down escalators faded completely from the alleyway.

“Well, thank goodness.”  Aziraphale unnecessarily let out a breath that he’d unnecessarily been holding.  He turned to Crowley.  “Now, my dear, whatever is the matter?”

“I…I have to go, angel.  I’ll…see you next Tuesday.”

Aziraphale gaped at him.  “Don’t be ridiculous!  They’re gone.  What is it?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing.”  The demon was practically shrinking away toward the mouth of the alley.

“It clearly is not!  Crowley, you’re a wreck.”

That brought him to a quick stop.  “Do you think they noticed?”

“No, I think you did rather well, considering.”

“Considering what?”  A spike of panic in his voice.

“That you’re clearly very upset!  Of course I noticed!”

“I said it’s nothing.”

“Nothing wouldn’t have you in this state! I’ve seen you ready to stare down Satan himself without a tremor.”  There was no good explanation for this, and so a thousand bad ones raced through Aziraphale’s head.  “Tell me, did they do something to you?  Did I do something?” “No!  No.  I can’t tell you.”

“What could you possibly not be able to tell me?”

“You’re making it so much worse, angel!”

“What?!  Then tell me how to make it better.”

“Don’t ask.  Don’t care!”  Crowley was slinking backwards again, but Aziraphale matched him, inching along gently.

“That’s absolutely impossible.  You’re making me extremely worried!”  He raised a hand, meaning to take Crowley’s arm. 

“Angel, you can’t imagine… I have to go.”  And he vanished.

*****

“Crowley!  Crowley!  Are you in there?  Look, I’m sorry to insist, but I do not believe you’re all right.  So I’m coming in, and if you’re not there, I’ll find you.  And if you are there, I’m not going away…unless you run off again, in which case I’m coming after you.  So…anyhow, I hope that’s all clear.”  

And he miracled his way through the door to find a darkened flat with Crowley leaping off the sofa at him.  The demon’s hair showed signs of having been rumpled and tugged on too many times, and he didn’t appear to have been drinking, which was far more alarming than if he had.

“This is the worst thing you could do, angel!  Coming here like this.  Alone.  Go.  Go!”

“Why?  Do they suspect?  Have they found out?"

“God…someone.  I hope not.”  

“Then, why?”

“I told you I can't tell you!”  Crowley whirled away as quickly as he’d advanced on Aziraphale a moment ago.  

This didn’t make sense in the world as Aziraphale understood it.  When the gears of the Apocalypse had ground into motion and the Antichrist landed on Earth, Crowley had come to him.  Before that they’d sketched out the Arrangement.  And when the song of the spheres was still harsh with echoes of the War in Heaven, they had spoken on the wall of the Garden.  This was baffling and wrong and had to be fixed.

“Crowley!  If they did something, somehow to make you think you can’t trust me, it’s rubbish.  You know that; you’ve known me since the Beginning and the End…”

“And you’ve never been this awful!  You have to listen to me, stop being so good, and go!  You’re making this impossible!”

“You’re impossible!  Tell me one thing to make me stop worrying about you, and I’ll go.”

“Just…something’s changed.  I need some time to get used to it.”

“If there's trouble, you certainly have to tell me!”  He seized Crowley’s shoulders and tried to look him in the face.

“Don’t touch me!”  The demon jerked away, upsetting his sunglasses in the process and not even noticing.  “It’s my problem.”

“You’re acting crazy.  Crowley, please.”

Crowley ran his hands through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut.  “Angel, stop.  I’m trying to do the best thing here.  I want to tell you… but it’s so, so much better you don’t know.” 

“You can’t be trying to protect me.  That would be an extremely nice thing to do.  And there’s no need.” 

“It’s not like that.  It’s personal.”  Crowley hunched down to sit on the sofa.  Aziraphale sat beside him. 

“Personal?  Listen to me, I’m your friend.  Not to say…but you’re my only friend.  Who else could you tell?”  He knew he was being insufferably insistent, but on the one hand, he’d never seen such alarming behavior from Crowley in more than 6,000 years, and on the other… A flat, even the flat of a demon, ought to feel a rather ordinary place, but here, now, in the dark, with a secret hanging between them as there’d never been before, the room felt filled with strangeness, a tense and intriguing energy.

Crowley leaned back into the sofa, keeping his face averted and eyes tightly shut.  He reached out and squeezed Aziraphales’s hand, but quickly pulled his own away again.  

“Why did they have to do it?” he muttered.

“Do what?”

“Those soulless, stupid bastards.  Prying into everything.  No idea what it means…”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?  Razael and Krippin have no idea at all…”

“No one does!  I’m not supposed to!  Why do I have to be the only one?”

Aziraphale was entirely brought up short.  “Do you mean…when they started asking you about sex?”

“They had no right.”

Personal.  That had been true.  And here he’d been, imagining tortures and inquisitions, bouts of insanity, and renewed Armageddon all at the same time.   Now would really be the moment to stammer an apology and creep away with his cheeks burning — and yet, he didn’t feel so inclined.

“That’s why?  My dear, it’s quite all right, you needn’t be embarrassed — I confess I never would have thought it of you…  They don’t understand anything, and I don’t mind.”

“You don’t understand!”

“Well, really, I’ve seen a few films.”

“It’s more than films!”  Crowley made a sound like a sob in the back of his throat.  “Angel, I swear, if you don’t go, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“But it's over now; you can calm down.”

“It's not over!  It can't just be undone.”

“You mean,” he said slowly.  “They were making you really feel it.”

“You can't just talk about it.”

“Oh.  Oh, I see; that’s what you meant.  About the excitement, and the need to, ah…I’m terribly sorry.  You were probably going to…  Of course, you wouldn’t want me here then.”  He was babbling, but slowly, regarding Crowley with a new sense of wonder at the same time.  They’d both been brushing against the edges of humanity for millennia, but this, apparently, was mortal desire, real need.  He was out of his depth here, and he felt a flicker of envy.  “I've just been getting in the way.”  

“Yeah,” Crowley muttered rather miserably.Aziraphale rose in a fluster from the couch.  “Yes, yes, I’ll go.  I do apologize.  I’ll let you…ah…but Crowley?”  He leaned down and clasped the demon’s hands.  It was absolutely none of his business, but still.  “You could have just said so, from the beginning.  I would have understood.”

“Not this.”

“Yes, this.  I know you’re not an angel.”  

“Crowley finally looked up, intense and imploring, yellow eyes bare with his sunglasses forgotten.  His hands shook in Aziraphale’s and his voice too.  

“You can’t stay…”

Aziraphale gasped in a sharp breath.  If  I did have experience…  He had said he was leaving, and of course he had to.  He lifted a hand to the side of Crowley’s face.  “I just wanted you to know that.”

Crowley lunged up from the sofa, seized his head, and kissed him.It was ferocious and clutching and desperate, and they stumbled back against the wall.  It was shocking and yet, somehow, entirely comfortable.  Aziraphale was surprised how perfectly fine it felt to be pinned against the wall by a demon, and how natural to wrap an arm around his back and the other behind the back of his head and open his mouth.  There seemed no reason they shouldn’t stay like this for quite a long time.  Crowley was grinding his hips very fervently into his and it seemed right to go along with this too.  In fact, Aziraphale was becoming more (or less) aware, that he wanted this to continue very much.  He couldn’t hold Crowley any closer, as it was, but he held him tighter.  Crowley struggled with the hem of the angel’s shirt and pulled it free of his trousers.  He ran his hands, hot and dry with nails that hinted the slightest bit at claws, over Aziraphale’s belly and sides, wrapped them around his lower back and pulled him deeper into the thrusting motion of their hips.  Aziraphale groaned in the back of his throat and met him gladly. 

The demon’s hands slid tightly up Aziraphale’s back, fine, sharp fingers stroking up between his shoulder blades, over the roots of his wings in his true form.  Aziraphale shivered, trying to sink further into Crowley’s touch, and even as he did, his eyes flew open and he reached to push him away.  He’d felt such a surge of intimacy from the touch there, at the secret place his physical and celestial bodies joined.  Of course, Crowley knew about that.  He was the only other being on Earth who did.  But he didn’t know like that, Aziraphale thought.  The sensation was utterly powerful and jarring. 

“Crowley, Crowley!  Stop!  You’ve got to…”

Crowley half separated from the angel his expression hazy and uncomprehending, hands still clutching.  Aziraphale pushed him the rest of the way away.

“No, angel, please…”

“No, Crowley, you were right.  This is that blind lust thing.  We have to…  You have to get it out of your system.   We can’t…  You have to find, to tempt some human to burn it off, and it will be all right again.”

“That’s what you think?”  Crowley looked small and crushed.  “That’s what you think?!” he cried, suddenly furious.  “You, the good one?  You can’t just lead me on like that, thinking…”

“No!  No, my dear, I would help.  I want to help, really I do, but it can’t be me to fix this.”  He didn’t want Crowley to be angry.  In fact, he badly wanted to be back in his arms, but he’d just sensed viscerally how much bigger that would be than almost any taboo they’d broken before.

“It can’t…?!  There is no fixing this, angel!  You were right!  Love doesn’t just go away.  It is you.  It’s all you.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, and he took two quick steps to Crowley, grabbing his shoulders.  

“This is love?”

“It’s not all roses,” the demon muttered, gaze dropping away.  

Aziraphale lifted his chin and met Crowley’s eyes, which glared back at him with a stubborn, hopeless, devoted passion.  The knowledge of love, blazing and specific, for the first time for himself individually out of all creation, was dazzling.  He felt himself standing there, swaying stupidly with his touch against Crowley’s cheek and shoulder his only foundation.  

Sensations and revelations crashed through his mind.   Every emotion that had been stifled for years? centuries? longer? under the cover of sterile angelic existence and made to seem small unfolded in its true immensity.  He felt his delight in Crowley’s wit and wiliness, his fearful admiration for his cursed inquisitiveness, his fondness for his absurdity, his sheer need for the impossible combination of familiar and forbidden that was Crowley in his life.  He cringed at the desperate terror that was the thought of ever losing him.  He sensed, perilously, the things he must not admit he would do, but most certainly, absolutely would, if he were ever forced to choose between this demon and the Divine.  And he knew, just as Crowley said, that it would never just go away.

His hands clasped either side of Crowley’s face and bumped them together, forehead to forehead, nose to nose.  His gaze leveled on the demon’s like a flaming sword  “I…I…,” he whispered.  Crowley’s eyes widened, and he hissed.  Then he began to smile, a tongue like a snake’s peeking through.

And then they were wrapped around each other, mouths open to each other, hands everywhere, trying to reach everything, touch and own and cherish every part, body and soul.  It was not the time for miracles; clothes came off in torn, uneven bursts.  It was a time to embrace every aspect of humanity, except the need to breath…

*****

Later, much later, they lay tangled nakedly together in Crowley’s bed.  Aziraphale could see that it was time to talk about the very serious and wonderful nature of what they’d discovered between them or about the very terrifying things this could mean and the practical things they ought to do about it, but he was finding himself continually surprised to have his focus broken by the urge to nuzzle Crowley’s chest.  He’d been under the impression that the physical business was supposed to occur in occasional flashes, not present an ongoing distraction.  It was supremely pleasant but, he fuzzily sensed, not right that he couldn’t muster any real worry for their situation, that lazy urges to giggle or nip at Crowley’s nipples drifted through his mind, that he felt they could lie like this forever or slide back into that spectacular delirium at nothing more than the trace of Crowley’s breath against his cheek.  

“Is is always like this?”

“No, angel, it’s never like this.”  Crowley’s fingers and lips were buried in Aziraphale’s hair.

“It doesn’t make sense, bodies,” Aziraphale said after a moment, rolling onto his elbows and looking up at Crowley.  “Your body’s completely unnecessary to you.  I love you.  I wouldn’t love you a bit less without it.  So why am I so drawn to it?” 

“You have one too,” Crowley smiled.

“Well, yes…” 

“It doesn’t have to be me to be part of me.  I want everything about you.”

Aziraphale ducked his head to hide a foolishly wide grin and planted a kiss on Crowley’s belly.  Then he looked up again seriously.  “It’s just, you’re so beautiful.  And since that’s true, how did I never notice before?”  

Crowley blinked like someone who would be saved before he would admit there was anything in his eye.  “It takes an effort for us.”

“I thought so, but no.  If it were such an effort it would be easy to stop.  But everything’s different now.  Not from trying; it just is.” 

“It takes an effort to start.  Like it does to push a boulder to the top of a mountain, but once it’s over the edge, there’s no stopping it…”

“Until it reaches the bottom,” Aziraphale finished with a frown.

“Yes,” Crowley agreed roughly, fisting a hand in Aziraphale’s hair.  “That’s why it’s never like this.  It’s always…just a hill really.  This…the mountain at the end of the universe, with the bird flying back and forth, you remember…that’s the start of how high this mountain is.”

“Ohhhh,” Aziraphale raised himself up to meet Crowley’s lips, and it was a very long time before either of them said anything — coherent, that is — again.