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1970s - New York City, New York
Crowley hates whorehouses. She does her best to avoid them. Unfortunately - or fortunately, according to Downstairs - Crowley is one of, if not the only, earthly demon. It’s her job to tempt those on the Main Floor.
So here she is, tight dress and high heels on, slouching in the doorway of Angel’s Landing . The air, cloudy with smoke, makes it hard to see anything in her glasses. Crowley takes a few steps forward, forcing herself to not cough. She feels herself being pushed back and forth as she slinks her way towards the neon sign hanging over a curtain in the back. Wings, of course.
Crowley nearly trips over her own feet as she pushes the curtain out of the way. The smoke is stronger back here. She’s searching for Cherry (real name Carol): a young woman who joined the house, but has never actually gone out and tempted men herself. Crowley was told to teach her, and seduce a few men downwards while she was at it. If only she could find her.
There .
Cherry is sitting in front of a mirror, chatting to a slightly older woman. Both have the big, blonde hair popular for the time and skimpy dresses, not unlike Crowley’s own. The two share a tube of lipstick and whisper to each other like school girls.
Crowley walks forward and places a hand on Cherry’s shoulder. “Miss Cherry-” She stops. Tilts her head. “You?”
Aziraphale looks up, surprise in her eyes. “Antonia! It’s been a while.”
“Zelda?” Cherry asks. “Do you know her?”
“I-”
“Oh, child,” drawls Crowley. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask questions?”
Cherry shrinks. She gives a quick nod to Aziraphale before muttering an apology to Crowley and moving to another mirror. She leaves her lipstick. Crowley picks it up as she sits in the now vacated seat.
“Angel. I feel like I should be surprised to see you here.”
Aziraphale crosses her arms. “I wish you hadn't sent her away. I was really getting somewhere! She’s going to go home soon.”
“No, she isn’t.” Crowley rebuts, legs laid out in front of her. “She was getting ready to go on the floor. I’m not sure why I’m even here.”
“Also, I’m here because I founded the place.”
“You what?” Crowley’s eyes widen almost impossibly.
Aziraphale taps her fingers on the table. “There are plenty of young women who run away and need a place to stay. I give them a home, a family. A chance to make money and get up on their feet without getting hurt.”
“You run a whorehouse.”
“I run a sanctuary.”
Crowley allows herself to actually look around. Despite the lit cigarettes and revealing clothing, every woman in this place seems happy. They're all chittering together, mirrors and make-up shared. Even Cherry is already laughing again as she pulls on stockings and heels of her own (maroon, of course, to match her dress.)
“I suppose.”
Aziraphale shakes her head. “I’m not going to change your mind, I never do, but I want you to know that there was no point in coming here. Cherry is very happy. She’s going on the floor tonight to give herself a taste before her mother comes collecting. She should be here around midnight.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“Then let me show you.”
Aziraphale stands and straightens her own dress. Baby blue, and much shorter than Crowley expected, it fits Aziraphale beautifully. Once straight and as put together as she can be, Aziraphale reaches out to Crowley and helps her stand. Hand in hand, the two walk around the room. Aziraphale occasionally stops and points out a girl or two, but otherwise they walk towards a hidden room in the back. How Crowley knows it’s there, she can’t remember.
“Anita ran from an abusive boyfriend a few months ago and has been here since. Margarita got pregnant and was kicked out of her home. Her child is upstairs with Virginia. Dorothy and Donna are together, but it’s a secret. Only a few other women and myself know.”
Aziraphale carries on, but Crowley tunes her out. She doesn’t care about these women, and can't allow herself to grow attached. Everybody ages so fast. These women will be gone the next time Aziraphale and Crowley see each other.
Aziraphale stops at a thin red curtain, which blends in with all the others lining the boudoir. “My rooms,” she explains. “The girls stay upstairs."
Crowley reaches out and slides the curtain to the side. ‘Rooms’ is a bit of an overstatement. There’s no wall, no door, just an open space.
“I want to be able to reach the girls fast in case they need me.”
Crowley nods. “If you say so, angel.”
As she steps in, she immediately notices the cigarette smell, or lack thereof. The room, draped in different cloths along the wall, smells fresh. More fresh than Crowley had smelled in a long time. She steps forward to take another whiff and trips over a stack of books. She hears Aziraphale giggle.
“In front of the door?”
Aziraphale reaches down and pulls the demon up. “I’m sorry! I don’t have much space, as you can tell.”
Crowley allows herself another look. There's a large something - she assumes a bed - along the back wall. It’s covered in even more cloths and blankets. Next to it sits a bar, stuffed full of dress. Her shoes on the floor escape their spots and mingle with stacks of books. The only thing put together in the whole room is the vanity, whose top is completely cleared off besides a small pen and her own tube of lipstick.
“It seems a bit cluttered, even for you. And lipstick? Can’t you imagine yourself with some, and it'll appear?”
Aziraphale pouts her pink lips looking larger than usual. “It’s Revlon. I enjoy the act of putting it on.”
Crowley nods and sits on the fluffy stool in front of the vanity, which seems to be the only piece of sitting furniture besides the bed. She pulls her heels off and throws them on the floor. They blend in almost flawlessly with everything else strewn about. Her coat follows, pooling around the stool. She starts messing with her short curls in the mirror, the red of her hair contrasting perfectly with her evergreen dress. The last thing she removes are her sunglasses.
Aziraphale is still standing in the doorway, hands behind her back. “So, it seems like there’s nothing for you to do here.”
“No,” Crowley disagrees. “It seems like you want me to do nothing here. There is plenty for me to do. All I need to do is step back out to the bar and talk to a few men. Men that your women are tempting right now.”
“I can’t save everyone. You taught me that.” Aziraphale walks forward. “May I?” She says, gesturing to her own bed. She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Of course I want to help those men, but I need to help these women. Can you tell the difference?”
“I s’pose.” Crowley glances at her through the looking glass. Aziraphale has taken her own shoes off and is lounging on her bed. Her dress rides up, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care. Her eyes are glued to Crowley’s open back.
“Well, I guess there’s no reason for me to stay,” Crowley says, allowing a strap of her dress to slide down. “I’ll report that Cherry went out seducing tonight, and you can report that she returned to her mother in the end. No harm, no foul.”
“Or you could stay. I have a wine or two under the bed that requires multiple drinkers.”
Crowley turns, a sharp smile on her face. “If you insist.”
Aziraphale slides off the bed and reaches underneath, bottom almost exposed by that short sensual dress. She pulls out a bottle of wine and two glasses.
“I have to hide these from the girls. Some things are too expensive for a woman to own considering where she is in life.”
Crowley helps her up and grabs the bottle. “1860? You naughty girl.”
Aziraphale sniffs. “Well, I deserve some luxuries. I am, afterall, saving lives here.”
The two beings sit on the bed. Crowley holds both glasses as Aziraphale pours, before stopping the bottle and placing it on the ground. She then snaps, locking out the world behind her curtain. Crowley hands her a glass and the two recline on the bed together.
They drink and talk and drink and talk until the bottle is empty and the talking is lulling. Crowley has since turned and allowed her head to rest on Aziraphale’s bosom. The angel, on the other hand, is petting Crowley’s curls.
“I often wonder,” Crowley says, “If there’s a world for the two of us. One without miracles and jobs.”
Aziraphale shrugs, moving Crowley up as she does so. “Does it matter? I like the world we have now.”
“Then let’s stay! You and I, locked in this room forever. It’ll be just us.”
Aziraphale turns onto her side. Her breasts are nearly spilling out of the baby blue satin. “Crowley, you know we can’t.”
Crowley starts to object, but Aziraphale raises a finger to her lips. “I can, however, give you tonight.”
Crowley scrambles up, both arms framing Aziraphale’s face. “Are you sure?”
Aziraphale nods, hand reaching up as her red ringlets waterfall down.
Crowley takes a deep breath. “You’d be my first,” she whispers.
“You’re my only,” Aziraphale replies. She grabs Crowley’s chin and pulls their mouths together.
–
Aziraphale looks down, a small smile on her face. Crowley had fallen asleep soon after they both finished for the second (third?) time. She leans down, kisses Crowley’s forehead, and stands up. She needs to check on her girls.
Snapping her fingers once to put her clothes back on, twice to open her curtain, and three times to lock it again behind her are a few too many miracles at once. She hopes that they’re small enough to not warrant any check ups. She’ll be doing a large one tonight, and has to cross her fingers that one big miracle would cover all the small ones.
Making her way around, Aziraphale nods and waves at her girls. She stops regularly to talk to the women about the night. Cherry’s mother is on her way, and Aziraphale needs to find Margarita so that she and Virginia can switch each other out on baby duty.
“Zelda!” Donna cries as Azirphale arrives at her mirror. Dorothy is sitting on her lap, reapplying Donna’s lipstick for her. “You didn’t tell us you had a friend as well!”
She says friend in a way that causes Aziraphale to pause. Yes, her and Crowley are friends, and yes, friends in that way. But she’d never called them friends before.
“We’re simply old acquaintances.” Aziraphale replies.
Dorothy snorts. “Then she wants to be more than friends. The look she gave you when she spotted you? It made me horny and it wasn't even directed towards me.”
Azirphale rolls her eyes, though her smile doesn’t leave her face. “Don’t you two have some older gentlemen to be bothering instead of me?”
Donna and Dorothy flip her off in tandem. Aziraphale turns away, giving the two a small wave back. She sees Margarita run upstairs, heels in her hands and watch beeping. Aziraphale glances at the clock on the wall. 11:45. She has time. She turns back to her room and ducks in, clearing the lock as she does.
Crowley is in the same spot she had left her, naked and stretched out. Aziraphale allows herself one last long look before waving her hand and redressing the demon in her bed. Shoes, coat, and dress disappear from the floor and reappear on Crowley. She then walks forward until she’s directly next to the bed.
“I’m so sorry, my dear. Please forgive me, eventually.”
Aziraphale kisses her on the lips and snaps. Crowley disappears and reappears in the back of her Bentley, which she had parked a few streets away from the club. When Crowley wakes up, her mind will be wiped. She’ll remember coming to the club, the two’s discussion of their reports, and drinking. Anything after that will be gone, though Aziraphale is at least nice enough to get rid of her hangover in the process.
Aziraphale sighs and sinks into her bed. She has done this over and over again throughout the years, but it never gets any easier. She’s worried that one day something will happen and Crowley will regain every memory Aziraphale has wiped over the years. Luckily, it hasn’t happened yet.
“I think I love you,” she says quietly to the room. She then gives herself a good shake and walks out the door.
Aziraphale still has work to do.