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Crowley listened with great patience to the salesman standing before him. He didn't much like the man's suit, and the smell of his hair oil was just a little too strong. Not only that but for the last forty minutes the man had been acting as if Crowley were an idiot, or a child. Or possibly an idiot child. Crowley smiled pleasantly and let his imagination run free on the topic of having the fellow sent on a guided tour of some of the more unpleasant locations in Dis. He hadn't understood the last several minutes of the salesman's little speech, and he certainly wasn't going to ask for clarification and give the fellow satisfaction. He just smiled and nodded and imagined the man scuttling down burning iron pavements. Finally the voice stopped and Crowley gave the fellow a thin-lipped smile that made him quail inside as if he were a mouse suddenly realising that he was being held by the tail over a glass case with a very hungry-looking scaly occupant.
'Sounds good,' Crowley said. 'But do you have one in black?'
The man swallowed, apparently unable to look away from Crowley's gaze. 'Yes,' he said. 'We have one. Green is the more usual colour though.'
'Black,' Crowley said gently. 'Now.'
'Yes,' the man said, 'yes . . . sir. If you would care to come with me?'
Crowley followed him away from the gleaming green ton of metal they'd been inspecting, over to the impressive garage. At one side he saw what he wanted, and barely managed to keep up his show of cool disinterest. He took in the gleaming black body, the brightly shining metal, the leather interior, and the fascinating and mysterious glass dials. It looked better in black, he thought. Everything looked better in black. The man was talking again, but Crowley paid no attention, being occupied in running a possessive hand over the enormous bonnet and stroking the steering wheel with one delicate finger. His heart was beating faster, and he felt his skin was flushed and warm. The clean, new smell of the leather was intoxicating, and he felt a terrible urge to giggle. It was remarkably like the way he'd felt when he'd tried sex out for the first time.
'I'll take it,' he said.
The man blinked and then gave him a very warm and honest smile. Crowley narrowed his eyes suspiciously and decided he'd read the fine print very carefully.
'If you'd be so kind to step in to the office, sir?' the man said.
In the office Crowley looked at the paperwork on the car, and skimmed through the legal documents. Nothing out of the ordinary. He produced a pen and signed his name with a flourish.
'Don't you want more time to finish reading?' the salesman said.
'No, I've finished,' Crowley said cheerfully. 'I'm good with contracts.'
'Do you need to ring your bank to authorise the cheque?' the salesman asked.
'No,' Crowley said, reaching into his pocket. 'I thought I'd pay cash. There won't be a problem with that?'
'No,' the salesman breathed, looking at the roll of banknotes Crowley had produced. 'No problem at all, Mr --,' he glanced down at the signature, 'Mr Crowley.'
'Right,' Crowley said, counting out a fortune in crisp new banknotes. 'Can I have the keys?'
He found his palms sweating a little as the keys were dropped into his eager hand, and could barely keep himself from sprinting back out to his lovely new possession. He had his pride though. Crowley made himself walk slowly and lazily to the car, and slip gracefully into the driver's seat. He tossed his hat on the seat beside him, put his hands on the wheel and squashed the little-boy smile out of existence. He put the key in the ignition and turned it. A low, powerful noise filled his ears. It sounded better than music.
'Will you be using our mechanics, Mr Crowley?' the salesman asked.
Crowley looked up in surprise. 'Why?' he said, 'What's wrong with it?'
'Nothing,' the salesman said, taken aback, 'but for its maintenance and servicing --'
'Well, if there's nothing wrong with it, I won't need mechanics, will I?' Crowley said, feeling glad that his logical faculties didn't seem to be entirely overwhelmed. He looked down at his feet and an important question occurred. 'Which one of these is the accelerator, again?' he asked.
The salesman pointed wordlessly and Crowley grinned, let off the handbrake and stamped down on the pedal, hard. The car roared into motion and Crowley shot off, barely avoiding two mechanics, the garage door and the building housing the main office as he screeched away, out of view. The salesman watched, feelings of delight over his commission and relief at no longer having to meet his customer's alarmingly direct gaze surging over him.
'How'd he do that?' a mechanic asked, coming up behind him.
'Huh? Do what?' the salesman said.
'There's no petrol in that car,' the mechanic said. 'I was just about to fill her up when the two of you came back out.'
They looked at the space where the new Bentley no longer was.
'Oh,' the salesman said.
* * *
Crowley came to a halt four miles away. He was grinning insanely, the wind had completely disarranged his neat hair, his heart was hammering and he was gasping for breath. It really did feel like sex, only better. He thought he remembered almost ploughing into a crowd of pedestrians, but that was excusable, it had been the fault of the horse-and-cart making deliveries. Horse-drawn carts! They were a quarter of the way through the 20th century! People should move with the times. Look at him; he wasn't letting himself live in the past. He was a modern demon, an example to other demons with his forward thinking, an example to humans - a bad example, but an example nonetheless - and, he grinned, an example to angels. He looked around him. He was completely lost; he had no idea where he was. Still, his lovely new car went very fast, and he was sure he'd be back on more familiar streets quickly. He could hardly wait to see Aziraphale's face. With only a minimum of the nasty grinding noise, Crowley put the car in gear and shot off in the direction he thought Soho probably was.
It took him a lot longer than he had thought to find his way to Aziraphale's shop, but he didn't mind the time at all. He parked in the middle of the road and leaned on the horn. It made a really good noise, so he started varying the rhythm. People from up and down the whole road came out to look at him and complain, but the shop door stayed obstinately shut. Eventually Crowley sprang from the car and rattled the shop-door in annoyance.
'Aziraphale! Open up!' he yelled.
After what seemed like an age, he heard the bolt being pulled back, and Aziraphale peered out in bemusement.
'Hello,' he said. 'Have you been here long? I was reading --,' he gestured vaguely behind him. 'Would you like a cup of tea?'
Crowley grabbed his arm and pulled him into the daylight, pausing only to snigger at the angel's carpet slippers.
'Look!' he cried, 'look!'
'It's a car,' Aziraphale said, his tone expressing some annoyance that the modern world should have manifested itself right outside his shop.
'It's my car,' Crowley said. 'It's a new model Bentley six-litre engine, with a top speed of --,' he tried to remember what the salesman had told him, but could only come up with a mental image of the fellow screeching in Hell. 'Well, I haven't tried it at its top speed yet,' he went on, 'I want a nice open road for that. Come on.'
'What? Where?' Aziraphale said, but he was already being pushed into the passenger seat, where he looked round in surprised worry.
Crowley hopped back into the driver's seat and shot forward, scattering Aziraphale's neighbours. Then he successfully put the car in reverse and shot backwards, scattering them again.
The drive through the centre of London was uneventful and amusing. Aziraphale gibbered, wept and in one wonderful moment, screamed like a little girl. Crowley felt very satisfied, and hoped the angel would appreciate it when they managed to really see what the car could do.
'Isn't it great?' he yelled over the noise of the wind and the hysterical angel, 'it feels like flying, sort of, and it's so efficient, I'll be able to get around so much more quickly. This is what the modern world's all about, Aziraphale, speed and invention, and no, we're not going to die, trust me.'
Finally they were heading out of the city, and they had a long, straight road with no bloody perambulators and bloody kiddies out with their bloody nannies for Aziraphale to screech about. Crowley slowed down and gave the angel a shakily eager smile.
'You know what sex feels like, right?' he asked.
'Letmeout, letmeout, letmeout, what?' Aziraphale said.
Crowley flung the car into gear and floored the accelerator.
* * *
'I must say your technique leaves a lot to be desired,' Aziraphale said sarcastically. 'You should take things slowly and gently until you know what you're doing. That's always been your problem, Crowley.'
'Oh, stop talking about sex just for a moment and give me a hand,' Crowley said irritably as he tried to see what the wheels were catching on in the ditch. He'd never hear the end of this, which was annoying. And he was horribly worried for his car, all turned over like that. He hoped the ditch wasn't muddy - he didn't fancy cleaning off the seats. He looked up and down the road. They seemed to be alone.
'Here, keep a look-out,' he said to Aziraphale, ignoring the angel's embarrassed protests that he'd been talking about driving. He gestured at the car and lifted his hand slowly up. With a protest, the car began to right itself, and he guided it back onto the road, settling it beside him.
'You nearly got my foot!' Aziraphale said in shock.
'I didn't, though, did I? Oh, poor baby, are you all right?' Crowley murmured lovingly.
'I'm fine, no thanks to y-- are you talking to your car?'
'Don't be a complete idiot,' Crowley said, patting the bonnet. He wished away the mud on the bodywork, glad to see that the interior was still spotless. 'It looks all right, don't you think?'
'I suppose,' Aziraphale said dubiously. 'I don't know anything about cars.'
'I'm going to teach you,' Crowley said. 'Get in, it's all right.'
'Absolutely not,' Aziraphale said firmly. 'That thing's dangerous.'
'I'm dangerous,' Crowley grinned. 'After six thousand years I'd have thought you'd be used to it.'
'You're about as dangerous as a kitten,' Aziraphale muttered. 'I'm not getting in that, that deathtrap.'
'So walk,' Crowley said, shrugging. 'I'll drop by tomorrow and see if you've managed to get home by then. Do you think your slippers will be up to the trek?'
Aziraphale scowled and sulkily clambered back into the passenger seat. Crowley laughed and jumped back in, turning the key. The engine started immediately, just as he had assumed it would. Wonderful piece of engineering, he thought, as proud as if he had designed it himself. He drove slowly and sedately down the road.
'Is this more to your liking?' he said.
'Much better,' Aziraphale said, not relaxing his death grip on the door handle.
'Getting into the swing of things?' Crowley asked slyly. 'Feeling more relaxed? Let me know when I can start going full on; trust me, you'll enjoy it when you get used to the motion.'
'You're so childish,' Aziraphale muttered.
'I'm talking about driving,' Crowley said with a dignity only slightly dented by the sly grin, 'what are you talking about? Dear me, Aziraphale, you angels are all the same.' He sniggered at the look Aziraphale sent his way and sped up, just a little. It still felt good, really, really good, all the way through him. He felt a silly little smile creep its way onto his face, and was suddenly aware of every last square inch of his body. He was also aware that the angel was looking at him oddly.
'What are you -- Crowley! Stop that!' Aziraphale said in outrage, looking him up and down.
Crowley swallowed hard. 'You should give it a go,' he said. 'It's quite something.'
'I will not.'
'Too late,' Crowley said dementedly, and slammed his foot back down on the accelerator.
The car shot off again, Crowley shrieking with joy and Aziraphale moaning with fear beside him. He'd get better at driving, or the angel would get used to it all - but whichever happened, Crowley was suddenly sure neither of them would be doing much walking in the future.