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It had been a little over 20 years since Aziraphale had last seen Crowley. Ever since that fateful incident in Saint James Park, all the way back in 1867, Aziraphale had made a bit of a point of avoiding the demon. That proved to be about as easy as a heart attack, though, as everywhere she went she seemed to catch a glimpse of things that reminded her of the damned fool. Even the bloody ducks in the nearby lake made her think back to that day. Thus, she’d shut herself away in her newly settled bookshop to get away from it all. Perhaps her mind would find some peace among the shelves.
It felt like her shop had only just opened, but the doors remained shut and locked most days. After all, it would be a pity if someone were to come sauntering in and actually buy something. No, not saunter. Anything but saunter. Lord, even the verbs seemed to be out to get her. Aziraphale let out a frustrated huff as she stroked the worn page of the tome she’d been examining. Honestly, she ought to just forget all about Crowley after what she’d said. She remembered their argument as if it were yesterday.
I don’t need you.
The words bit into her heart as if it were a freshly plucked apple. They dug their greedy fangs into the deepest crevice of her soul (Did angels have souls? Right now, it certainly felt like it) and spared no mercy, leaving a gaping wound in their wake. She thought back to the reason they’d fought in the first place. Holy water, of all things! Crowley should have known that it was an absurd request; never in a million years would Aziraphale have handed over such a thing so willingly. Why on Earth, Heaven, Hell, or anything that could remain in between would she ever personally give Crowley the one substance known to wipe demons from existence? Just what did that old serpent take her for?
Her frustration quickly dissolved into worry. Why would Crowley want holy water in the first place, if not to…? No, she mustn’t dwell on that possibility. She tried to shake the thought from her brain. Something about that interaction, the way the demon’s face had twisted into something ferociously bitter at the mention of fraternization, made her entire being ache. The bitterness didn’t appear to be from disgust, rather, Crowley had looked hurt. And she had somehow caused it. Aziraphale’s frown deepened as did the ache in her chest. Something about seeing Crowley hurt, especially because of something she might’ve done, felt all too much to bear. Had she really been too harsh…?
At this, a certain prickly annoyance bubbled up inside her. What right did Crowley have to be upset over this? She’s the one who instigated it with that damned request in the first place! Aziraphale had every right to deny it! They weren’t meant to be working together. They were on opposing sides, destined to strike each other down once Armageddon inevitably signaled the start of the Great War To End All Wars. This whole Arrangement of theirs was nothing but trouble. It only served to put them in even more danger, and if their respective offices found out…
Thoughts of Crowley being ripped away from her to be endlessly tortured in the deepest circles of Hell, or worse…
She slammed her book shut. “We are not doing this today,” declared Aziraphale to no one in particular as she stood, smoothing her skirts back into place. It became evident that nothing, not even her beloved books, could stop her from dwelling on her peculiar emotional whirlwind. She murmured a soft apology to the tome (really, it didn’t deserve to be shut so brutishly) as she placed it back into its spot on the table, then marched over to the expanse of windows in front of the shop. Normally she made a point to keep the curtains thoroughly shut when the shop was closed to keep any prying eyes away, but she was suddenly feeling very stuffy alone in the foyer.
Pulling up the blinders, she looked out into the streets. It was getting to be a bit later in the evening, the setting sun glazing the buildings of Soho with warm pinks, reds and oranges as its citizens bustled about the local storefronts. Aziraphale’s gaze softened as she observed couples walking the streets, hand in hand, freely chatting and laughing with their partners. A gentleman produced a bouquet of lavish red tulips and salvias decorated with apple blossoms and daisies from behind his back, tied to the right with a ribbon to the delight of his object of affection. He uttered something that Aziraphale could not hear, causing a bout of laughter from his beloved as they accepted the bouquet with a look of pure adoration.
She felt the flashes of love from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, filling her with a warm, fuzzy, delightful feeling. It made her wiggle in place, bringing a hand up to rest over her heart as she felt it flutter in time with that of the lovers. Her other hand rested against the window pane as she observed, quiet and reverent and oh, there that feeling was again. Something that stirred deep within her whenever she caught glimpses of couples and friends alike who were able to love each other so openly, unabashedly able to express gratitude and fondness and want. Even in the current day and age, where such ministrations were deemed matters to be kept private in favor of reputation, humans still couldn’t help but to love. Aziraphale briefly wondered if it was something the Almighty intended for them to do, or if it’s something they learned on their own. Humans had a funny way of doing that, what with free will and all. Somewhere, in the core of her essence, Aziraphale found herself longing.
But it was wrong, wasn’t it? Angels weren’t made to long. They weren’t supposed to feel their hearts swell at the sight of shared affection, or to enjoy decadent foods from fancy human restaurants, or take pride in their rare book collections. The minute an angel was created, they were instantaneously made aware of their sole purpose. Whether it be to act as the Voice of God or to assist in building vast star systems or simply watching over their assigned human charge until they inevitably passed away and their souls were guided to their destination (guardian angels really weren’t given enough credit, she thought, overworked and underrepresented as they were Upstairs), they were meant to do that and only that. Sure, they could be praised on a job well-done, but it was all rather superficial when you’re just doing what you were created to do.
So why, then, was Aziraphale able to do such things? As much as she tried not to question God’s will, the thought often troubled her. She knew that her peers disapproved of her activities on Earth; they weren’t exactly discrete about it, after all. She’d heard more than enough of Gabriel’s disdain for eating. She could practically feel the Archangels’ icy judgement through their stares whenever she got too sentimental during a report. They’d never understand, no matter what she did to try and explain. She was Aziraphale, Principality, Guardian of the Eastern Gate. She’d been born to oversee the Earth, to protect it, so why was she looked down upon for doing so? It seemed only natural for her to love it and its many indulgences as well. Surely if it was the Wrong thing for her to do, she would’ve been punished by now, either by her superiors or by The Almighty Herself. That must mean that the things she did, the feelings she felt, were in some capacity Right, right? She continued to stare out the window, brows knit together in thought. The hand resting on her bodice tightened. Perhaps a bit of company would be a good distraction.
Taking a breath, Aziraphale raised her hand and with a smooth gesture laced with a bit of divine magic she was wearing her best evening dress. The fabric was a rich cream brocade, patterned with shining golden embroidery and trimmed with a delicate floral lace. The skirt, lined with silk organza for a bit of structure, followed the A-line shape that seemed to be popular this decade with a touch of fullness in the back aided by her bustle. Her neckline swooped low, allowing for a hint of cleavage to peak out in a more daring move. A frill of lace made up the sleeves, lined delicately with pearls that matched the short necklace resting at her throat. An intricate opal brooch framed with gold was carefully pinned to the bodice and long, white gloves adorned her arms. Platinum curls found themselves pinned up close to her head in a delicate bun, dressed with a ribbon and a feathered hair ornament. The shoes matched nicely with her dress, sporting a very slight heel but still comfortable for dancing. With one last pause to make sure everything was in place, she exited the bookshop and headed toward her destination.
Aziraphale had been frequenting this particular discreet ladies’ club since the 1880s. It was a lovely way for her to socialize and unwind, not to mention the added perks of wine and good food. The ladies at the club proved to be splendid company as well, and always received her with delight. Tonight was no different, as when she stepped into the club she was greeted with chuffed voices and friendly embraces. Society nowadays placed rather strict regulations on the behaviors of women, ones Aziraphale would never understand, but clubs such as these allowed the ladies (and in her case, lady-shaped beings) of the day to relax their postures and have a bit of fun without having to worry so much about reputation. Cheerful music reverberated through the halls as women of all walks of life chatted and drank and danced. One of the women, Florence, met her at the doorway to the bar area. She had been attending these meetings for almost as long as Aziraphale had, and over the years they’d become acquainted.
“Miss Fell,” greeted Florence as she took Aziraphale’s hands in her own, “what a joy it is to see you here! You haven’t been attending lately, and I was beginning to worry.” Aziraphale smiled apologetically, squeezing her hands, “I assure you that there’s no reason to worry, my dear, I’ve just been feeling a tad… off-kilter lately, is all.”
“Oh, perhaps you ought to see a doctor then, dearie. Wouldn’t want you catchin’ your death now, would we?”
“That definitely won’t be necessary. My physical health is perfectly tip-top, honest.”
“Then whatever is the matter? Has someone been unkind to you? Oh, just you wait until I get hold of-”
“Miss Florence, I appreciate your concern for me, but I will be fine. I just seem to have… got the morbs, as of late. I thought a visit to the ladies’ club might do me some good. A bit of dancing always did help put the spring back in my step.”
At this, Florence grinned fondly and patted Aziraphale’s cheek, “Well then, cheer up chuckaboo! Dancin’s what we do best around here. Of course, I don’t have to tell you that, you’ve been the star of the show for as long as we’ve both been coming to this establishment! To think, all these years and you haven’t aged a minute. You’re as gorgeous as the day we met!” The angel’s cheeks pinked and she averted her eyes with a flustered smile. “Oh, you flatter me, dear, really,” she waved her hand dismissively. “It’s true,” Florence pressed, “at my dizzy age, it’d take a miracle for me to look half as stunning as you. Seems you’ve earned God’s favor, eh?” Well, that was one way to put it, though she wasn’t certain she was exactly in favor of the Almighty at the moment...
“Enough flattery,” Aziraphale decided suddenly, “let us get to dancing, shall we? I do believe I see the start of the gavotte!”
-
It was a common assumption that angels didn’t dance. That would be true, if it happened to be directed towards any angel other than Aziraphale. She never understood why the others kicked up so much of a fuss over it, as dancing really was quite enjoyable once you got over the initial hesitation. The thought crossed her mind of something Crowley had once said about Heaven being ‘allergic to fun’, then the thought was quickly smothered with a blanket and the leftover embers were stamped out with a firm press of the heel. The tapping of shoes against the floor and the sweeping of elegant evening dresses served to distract her from any more demonically-centered thoughts as somewhere in the distance a jaunty piano tune reverberated through the hall. Delicate brushes of fingers against waist and hand against hand left her feeling light and breathless as the ladies of the club joined together in the jovial line dance, laughing and beaming at one another while ornate steps and galanteries harmonized. Dancing, the gavotte especially, never failed to put a bright smile across Aziraphale’s face. It made her heart race in the most pleasant of ways, second only to the rush she received from a mouthful of the finest French pastries. Her heart was alight with excitement as she joined elbows with Florence and the others for the finishing steps, chest heaving with breaths she didn’t need and cheeks flushed with a euphoric glow. Joyous applause erupted from the women on the sidelines who’d opted out of the dance last turn. Hugs and polite cheek kisses were exchanged as the floor cleared in preparation for the next set. “Drinks, Miss Fell?” offered Florence, whose arm was linked with a lady in a flattering jewel toned gown, “some wine, or perhaps a spot of Absinthe Terminus?”
Aziraphale opened her mouth to answer, but was interrupted as the main doors swung open and a hush fell over the room. In walked a figure who, at an instant, may have been mistaken for the grim reaper (although DEATH may take offense to that notion). The stranger’s face was obscured by a long, black veil that rested over her hat and fell neatly across her torso. Her dress was made from parramatta silks, trimmed with a harshly crimped crape that looked like it would be quite itchy in the angel’s opinion. A brooch of the deepest jet was barely visible on the woman’s chest through the fabric of her veil, and a pair of dark laced gloves completed the all-black outfit. In one hand she clutched a cane of deep, rich wood framed by a silvery handle in the shape of a serpent’s head. Murmurs fell across the crowd as she continued her stride inward, the noise of her cane punctuating each step with a harsh tap. “It’s her,” Aziraphale overheard Florence’s ladyfriend whisper, “The Viper.”
At her confused stare, the women around her began spilling rumors like a leaking tap:
“I hear she bewitches people with her seductive gaze.”
“I heard that she’s the Devil itself, tempting even the most God-fearing men and women into unimaginable sin.”
“My cousin swears he saw a wicked tail peak from under her skirts!”
“They say she turns men’s blood into wine, and drinks it to stay young.”
The festivities returned to somewhat-normal conditions, with the addition of sideways glances and hushed conversations in The Viper’s direction. The lithe, veiled figure made her way to the bar and sat, casting a glance in the bartender’s direction that caused them to shiver although her eyes were obscured. She spoke, voice low and smooth in tone, “A glass of Château Latour, if you will.”
Of course.
Of-bloody-course.
Aziraphale could recognize that voice from anywhere. With a disgruntled huff, she marched up to the bar and stood with her arms folded in front of her. “What are you doing here?!” She demanded quietly, nose scrunching up in a pout. Crowley turned to her, swirling the glass that was now in her hand. “You’re not the only one who likes a bit of fun ‘round here, angel,” sneered the demon, drawing up the veil that shrouded her head to reveal voluminous ruddy curls pinned up into a fashionable coiffure, as was trendy at the time. Her eyes were hidden by the sunglasses she always wore out in the open, and Aziraphale briefly pondered as to if she’d been wearing them under the veil or if they knew to appear once it had been lifted. She shook her head, bringing herself back to the conversation.
“Crowley, if you’re here to argue about-”
“I’m not here about that, for Satan’s sake. Well, kind of, but not- not how you think.”
“Then why, pray tell, are you here, serpent? Last time I checked you insisted upon these gatherings being too ‘fussy’ for your tastes. Rather, I assumed your idea of ‘fun’ was much more in line with devilish debauchery.”
“Ngk.”
Crowley averted her gaze, brows knitted together. She took a sip from her wine and, with her free hand, produced a silky black handkerchief. She set the glass down, met Aziraphale’s eyes, and drew the handkerchief across her cheek.
Aziraphale’s breath hitched.
The Victorians had a real knack for subtle, secret languages to display hidden messages, things that couldn’t be said out loud. Handkerchief manipulation was among them. As Crowley had said back in 1867, walls had ears. And what she had just implied was...“Honestly, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed and fished a lace handkerchief from her pocket. She rested it on her eyes. You are cruel.
Crowley folded hers, keeping it in her hand. I want to speak with you.
A swipe across the forehead from the angel. We are watched.
From the demon, a toss over the shoulder as she stood, fixing the veil back over her face. Follow me.
“Oh, for Heaven’s-” Aziraphale shouldn’t have followed her. She really shouldn’t have. She should’ve just shut down whatever this was and went back to her bookshop to pout in private. However, she was never very good at doing things she should be doing. This led to her following Crowley into an empty store room, near the back of the building, away from any prying eyes. The door shut behind them and, with a thought, locked. Another thought was dedicated to soundproofing, though neither knew whose thought it was.
They stood for a moment in silence as Crowley fiddled with her cane, leaning much of her weight onto it. Aziraphale, beginning to get rather fed up with whatever the demon was trying to pull, fixed her gaze on where she approximated Crowley’s eyes to be. “What is this all about,” She demanded, “first you try and wrangle holy water out of me, then get angry when I refuse to take you up on your offer, and now after over twenty years you show up to my ladies’ club demanding a word with me in some dusty spare room after- after implying that with your handkerchief? Just what exactly are you playing at?”
There was a pause as the demon seemed to consider her next move.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley started slowly, voice uncharacteristically soft, “listen, please. I just...wanted to apologize, I ‘spose. Didn’t know it was such a big deal to you.” To which Aziraphale scoffed, “Didn’t know? Crowley, it’s holy water, not some frivolous temptation you requested me to cover as per our Arrangement. Did you really think I would ever just hand over something like that to you? Of course it upset me! I refuse to allow you to- to destroy yourself!”
“I told you, that’s not what I needed it for,” groaned Crowley, pacing a frustrated circle, “I wanted- you know what, nevermind, forget it, forget the holy water thing. Satan, I- please- I’ll do anything you like, buy you more of those fancy chocolates you liked from the chocolatier down the street or whatever, I-” the demon growled, gripping her skirts, “-sod it. Bloody rubbish at words, I am. Just… let these speak for me.”
“Crowley, what-?”
The moment Crowley extended her hand, a lavish bouquet of carefully selected flowers appeared in her grasp. A soft gasp escaped from the angel’s lips as she stared open-mouthed at the message before her. Purple hyacinths, a smattering of columbines, geraniums, and red carnations along with a single red rose resting in the middle made up the arrangement. I’m sorry. I want to resolve this. I’m a fool. My heart aches. I love you.
Shakily, Aziraphale reached out and took the bouquet, holding it close to her chest as she examined the flowers. “My dear,” she breathed, any remaining anger dissolving as a small grin found its way to her features, “these are...wonderful. I’m...truly grateful for the apology, Crowley, both the verbal and metaphorical one, and… Oh, I l-”
“Don’t,” interrupted Crowley in a hushed tone. Don’t say it. Not out loud. Not yet. She knew that they couldn’t risk saying it aloud, not while Heaven and Hell still had strongholds on them. Not while They still had the power to take Aziraphale away from her at the slightest slip. Possibly not ever. The grin fell ever so slightly from Aziraphale’s face, and she nodded. “Of course,” she said, sobered. She clutched the bouquet closer, eyes raking over Crowley’s form. Something still appeared to be off about her body language, something unresolved hanging in the air. “Something appears to still be bothering you,” she started carefully, “as long as we’re talking, it would be productive to tell me, wouldn’t it? If- if you’d like to, of course, you’re under no pressure to-”
“ ‘s alright, angel,” Crowley sighed and gripped the head of her cane, “I said- well, the flowers said- that I wanted to resolve this, so best do it while I’m ahead. It’s stupid, really, the thing that’s bothering me. The whole bit about...fraternizing. Dunno why it even got to me. Guess at the time it made me think, ‘was that all this was to her? Thousands of years of...being there for one another, helping each other out, being the only one who understood it all, was it nothing more than casual everyday fraternization and all this time I was the one reading too much into it? Did I mean nothing to her?’. Made me feel all... nyegh.” She waved a dismissive hand at the last statement.
Oh.
Oh.
Aziraphale’s eyes widened. Recalled the pained, angry look on Crowley’s face. Slowly, the realization dawned on her. That’s what had caused Crowley to lash out initially, not the holy water. She hadn’t even thought of the impact her choice of words might’ve had at the time, but now it had become very clear. Her chest tightened. “I… I’d never even considered-” her voice caught in her throat, and her lip quivered as she felt her eyes well up with tears, “-No wonder you were so upset, you thought I didn’t- oh, blast it, I was horrible to you!”
Crowley was by her side at an instant, cane long forgotten on the floor as she used both hands to lift her shadowy veil to reveal deep concern in serpentine eyes. “Angel- Aziraphale- no, no no no, don’t cry, shit, please, I know you didn’t mean for it to hurt, I just wanted to be mad about- about something, I promise I’m alright, I was just being an idiot-”
“You’re not an idiot, Crowley!” sobbed Aziraphale, causing the demon to abruptly silence her panicked rambling. With a sniffle, she continued, “Your feelings aren’t stupid, or irrelevant, or silly, as much as Hell or anyone else might like you to believe. It doesn’t matter if I didn’t mean to hurt you, I still did! The last thing I’d ever want to do is- is make you think that I didn’t l- that I didn’t feel just as strongly for you as you do for me.” The bouquet fell from her hands as she trembled, grasping at the fabric of her skirts in an attempt to ground herself. The flowers hit the ground, though their condition had been miraculously preserved. Crowley’s gaze softened, and she lifted a hand to brush away the blobby tears that slipped down the angel’s plump cheeks, which were reddened and blotchy. “Angel, it’s okay,” she soothed, softness returning to her voice, “I know. I know you do. It’s okay.”
“I’m truly sorry, my dear.”
“I know. It’s alright. We’re alright. No more tears, yeah? Making you blush is fun, but not like this.”
“Oh, you-!”
Aziraphale pushed at Crowley’s chest as the demon snickered, and she couldn’t help but let a wobbly smile stretch from ear to ear. “There’s that smile,” Crowley looked at her with an almost palpable fondness as she hooked an arm around Aziraphale’s waist and pulled her in. Plush arms found themselves wrapped around the demon’s neck as Aziraphale buried her face into the crook of her shoulder. They stood like that for a while, silently holding each other, allowing the embrace to convey a million unsayable affections as Crowley lightly swayed them to and fro. The motions were eventually able to calm Aziraphale’s sniffling, and she pulled away slightly to smile up at her dearest, the lines of her crow’s feet crinkling delightfully. A thought crossed her mind, and she quirked an eyebrow.
“The Viper, really?”
“The Demon Barber of Fleet Street was already taken.”
“I didn’t think Hell dabbled in tonsorial matters.”
“It’s- you know what, forget it. C’mere, won’t you?”
They met each other halfway, laughing quietly when their noses bumped together before they tilted their heads for a sweet kiss. Aziraphale’s soft lips brushed against Crowley’s, which were rougher in texture, but the familiarity of it warmed her heart in the most comforting of ways. The angel found herself melting into her demon’s embrace, gloved hands making their way from the nape of a freckled neck to rest in carefully styled curls. A shiver ran up her spine as she felt Crowley’s lithe digits trail down her back, dancing across her sides and coming to rest at her hips. Thumbs drew loving circles against her bodice, and she gasped as Crowley dipped her head to kiss at her neck.
Neither knew at what point they’d backed up to the wall, but it didn’t matter. All that was on Aziraphale’s mind was Crowley’s lips, her tongue, her teeth, as the demon kissed and nipped and licked at every bit of exposed skin she could get at. One of Aziraphale’s hands busied itself with pressing against the wall behind her for support, and the other made itself useful gripping Crowley’s hair, which had started to come undone. Little whimpers and moans perforated the silence, which she instinctively attempted to muffle. Crowley spoke, accenting each phrase with a brush of her lips. “Lovely angel.” A kiss to the dip of her throat. “Perfect, pretty thing.” Another kiss, this time on her soft jaw. “More tempting than I’ll ever be.” Yet another, meeting her lips. She knelt down and took Aziraphale’s hands, kissing her knuckles and staring up at her with want, “Let me take care of you.”
Aziraphale’s heart stuttered. It always did when Crowley looked at her that way, as if she’d personally hung the moon and with it all the stars. However factually inaccurate that was, it was a look that she’d cherish for eternity if she was able. If. A brief hesitance took over, and she glanced away with a frown. “I don’t think our sides would...would like this. What if they-” Aziraphale’s worries were interrupted by Crowley squeezing her hands, guiding her out of her thoughts and back to her lover’s gaze. “Forget our sides,” said the demon, a hint of desperation in her tone, “just for this one night. Please. I...I want to pretend. I want to pretend that we could.”
“Pretend,” whispered Aziraphale, a familiar feeling pooling in her stomach, “why yes, I suppose we could...pretend.” Pretend that they weren’t an angel and a demon, that they had the same free will humans did, that they didn’t have to worry about divine retribution or an impending Armageddon meant to wipe the surface of the Earth clean in the coming future. That they had nothing to fear. That tonight they were Miss Fell and The Viper, two regular human ladies of status who found themselves entwined in one another’s embrace after a long night of dancing and drinking. She tugged Crowley to her feet and into a feverish kiss, parting her lips for that sinful tongue to slip in.
Crowley groaned, low and deep in her throat, grasping at Aziraphale’s sides and pressing close to her, feeling those delightfully plush breasts squish against her chest as she ravished the angel with kisses. Every touch felt like little sparks of electricity zipping their way up Aziraphale’s corporation, engulfing her in a fuzzy warmth that was likened to the sensations she experienced when a particularly strong bout of love was in the area, only this time it felt much more intense. Much more personal, something coming directly from the core of her being rather than sensed through a filter. This was her’s, and she intended to hold onto it in what little ways she could, even if it was only for tonight, even if it meant pretending.
“Miss C- ah, Viper,” gasped Aziraphale, “forgive me if I’m acting in a manner that is untoward, but I could not help but be captivated by your intensity as your eyes met mine on the dance floor. The minute your veil lifted I found myself positively...enraptured.” Crowley slid into her role with ease and she caught Aziraphale’s chin between gloved fingers, tilting her head up to face her. The delicate feel of lace against skin sent shivers down Aziraphale’s spine. “Quite the opposite of untoward, Miss Fell,” Crowley spoke in the same cool tone she’d adopted at the bar, “rather, I’m quite taken by it. It was almost unbearable to see a pretty thing like you all on your lonesome. I consider myself lucky to have successfully captured your attention.”
“You’ve been quite the topic of conversation, dear. The ladies have been speaking of your devilish reputation, and I simply had to find out for myself if the rumors were true.”
“And? Were they?”
“It seems they were correct about that seductive gaze of yours, although I’m inclined to believe it may be all bark and no bite.”
“I think I’ve already proven my willingness to bite, Miss Fell.”
As if to emphasize her statement, Crowley ducked her head to nip at Aziraphale’s ear, pulling a soft squeak out of her. A lace-clad finger made its way up to trace the angel’s bottom lip, dipping it slightly inward. “Would you mind helping me out of these gloves, darling? I’d so like to feel you,” cooed the redhead. Aziraphale nodded slowly, gently closing her teeth around the edge of the fabric and tugging. The glove knew better than to put up a fuss and slid smoothly off, revealing sun kissed skin and slender fingers. She allowed the glove to fall from her mouth, eyes flickering down to Crowley’s other hand. Crowley followed her glance and shook her head, “Patience, my sweet. One will be just fine for now.”
The newly freed hand trailed across a chubby cheek and along down the soft curve of a pale throat. Aziraphale relished in the tingles it left in its wake, breath hitching when it came to a halt at the low neckline of her bodice, fingertips toying at the edge. Crowley fixed her with a questioning stare, “Yes?” Aziraphale bit her lip, pushing into her touch, “Yes.” With the go-ahead confirmed, Crowley’s hand slipped past the frill to palm at an ample breast. “Such a gorgeous thing,” breathed the demon, “been waiting to get my hands on these all- ghk?!”
Demonic eyes widened and with a sudden snap from her free hand, the fussy evening gown popped out of existence, leaving the angel in only her chemise, drawers and stockings. Aziraphale gasped as the neckline of her chemise was grabbed and tugged roughly down, and she was certain she heard a rip as her breasts were exposed to the cool air of the empty room. Plush and heavy, golden stretch marks danced along the swell of them like the finest kintsugi. But that was not what had Crowley staring agape, the expression of shock looking rather silly on her handsome face. Rather, the demon was fixated on her nipples. Namely, the jewelry that resided there. Golden rings pierced through the pert rosy buds, shining serpentine ouroboroi that glinted in the light from the nearby window. Slit pupils dilated at the sight of them, and Aziraphale couldn’t help a mischievous grin:
“Do you like them?”
“I- guh- y- hhhhwhen??”
“I am not as behind on the times as one might think, my dear.”
“Hgh.”
It wasn’t a lie. The socialite ladies of the day had taken a shine to ornate nipple piercings, and Aziraphale was no different. A rather hedonistic move on her part, as she simply couldn’t resist the temptation of the pretty jewelry in Parisian specialty shops. Turning Crowley into a puddle of serpent soup was just an added bonus. The demon stared a moment longer before pulling herself together, falling back into her role and surging forth with a voracious hunger. A pleased “Oh!” left Aziraphale’s lips as Crowley latched onto her right nipple. Crowley’s bare hand kneaded and teased at her left breast. A snakelike tongue laved against her large areola, teasing at the metal. Clever fingers gave the left ring a small tug, drawing a shriek out of the angel.
“Horrible little tease,” hissed Crowley, pressing a wet kiss to the curve of her breast, “unbelievably so. Trying to discorporate me, you are.” Aziraphale moaned as Crowley switched her attention to the other breast, loving her thoroughly with her tongue. Crowley yanked her other glove off, discarding it on the floor with the other. She pushed Aziraphale’s plush, delectable tits together and licked a stripe up the resulting cleavage, dipping back down to suck hard at both nipples before popping off and lowering herself to her knees. At her attempt to pull Aziraphale down with her, the angel remained upright. “Dearest,” she tutted, “if you intend to have me, I’d rather do so on a less...dusty surface, if you please.” Crowley rolled her eyes with a grin, “Fussy angel. Perfect, fussy angel.”
One invocation of infernal power later, Aziraphale was being pushed down onto a cushy chaise lounge that was decidedly dust-free. “Better?” Crowley teased, leaning over her. “Much,” Aziraphale responded primly, pulling the demon into an open-mouthed kiss. Crowley helped her the rest of the way out of her chemise, eyes raking across the newly exposed flesh. “Gorgeous,” she muttered, running her hands across the expanse of a divinely soft belly, grasping at round hips and pillowy thighs dimpled with cellulite, “what a lucky bastard I am to have you all for myself.” Aziraphale felt herself blush, turning her head away, “It seems that the other rumors are true, Miss Viper, you are a master temptress indeed.”
“I should hope so, Miss Fell, I do hate not living up to my reputation.”
“Oh, you devilish thing!”
It was almost palpable the way Crowley puffed up with pride. It was no secret that Aziraphale thought of the demon as much more kind than evil, but every now and then she enjoyed indulging her dearest in wicked validation. “Oh yes,” Aziraphale continued, “what a positively sinful, irrefutably dreadful, wily, cunning, brilliant devil you are to tempt an innocent lady like this! The wiliest aristocrat in all of London, surely!” Crowley drank in the praise with an insatiable avidity, a crooked grin settling on her features. She spoke, voice husky with lust, “Keep that up, Miss Fell, and I won’t be able to keep from devouring you.”
“Well then, I suppose I ought to continue on, now won’t I?”
They shared a laugh and a kiss before Crowley continued to worship Aziraphale’s body, trailing reverent kisses down her belly. A hand slipped past the opening in her drawers, running a teasing finger along the length of her slit and causing her to whimper. The demon brought her hand up, proudly examining the wetness that had gathered on the tip before wrapping her long tongue around it, licking it off. “Hnn, who’s the tease now?” whined the angel. Crowley chuckled darkly, “Eye for an eye, my dove. Lift up for a moment, would you?” Aziraphale obeyed eagerly, shifting her hips upward so Crowley could get her out of her drawers. Once they’d been discarded, Crowley ran her nails lightly up one thick thigh, causing her to tremble delightfully. Her legs parted to allow Crowley to settle between them. Crowley drew one of her knees up, pressing a tender kiss to the inner part of it and continuing her affections downward. Sharp canines grazed the meat of her thigh, eliciting a cry from the angel as Crowley bit down, marking her. A soothing tongue followed the bite, and she continued to kiss and nip her way down before pausing at her mound. Hot breath tickled the silken curls that rested there, thin lips achingly close to their destination. “Satan,” she hissed, “can’t wait to get my face in that lovely cunt of yours.” She looked up, meeting Aziraphale’s desperate gaze, “May I?”
“Please.”
That was all the confirmation Crowley needed to dive in, closing her lips around her clit. Aziraphale’s hands flew to Crowley’s hair as she keened, arching into her skilled mouth. Crowley gave a hard suck, releasing her clit and flattening her tongue against her folds, tasting all of her, intoxicated by her sweetness. She continued delivering long, slow licks to her quim, lightly increasing the pressure the closer she got to her clit. “Oh you naughty, wicked- fuck, yes!!” Aziraphale gasped, tugging on auburn curls, attempting to press her even closer. “Needy darling,” chided Crowley in a teasing manner. She pressed a light kiss to her labia minora before licking into her, putting that spellbinding tongue to work.
Aziraphale’s toes curled and her thighs clamped around Crowley’s head as she felt the pleasure build deep in her core. Blissful sighs and moans echoed throughout the store room. Crowley sensed her reach her edge and redoubled her efforts, slowing her tongue to draw out the buildup and rubbing gentle circles on her clit with her thumb. “Yes,” the angel panted, “yes, yes my dear, my heart, I’m-!” With a scream, Aziraphale spilled over Crowley’s mouth, wetting her chin. Crowley withdrew her tongue, blowing a puff of cool air onto the Aziraphale’s vulva that made her squirm deliciously.
“So good to me, starlight,” cooed the demon, peppering kisses along her thighs, bringing a hand up to massage a sensitive breast. Aziraphale hummed, breathless, staring down at Crowley with a wanting look. Crowley, who could read her better than any book, understood the message and leaned up to kiss her. She smiled into it, parting her lips and tasting herself on Crowley’s tongue. Crowley ghosted her fingers near her sensitive vulva, “Mmm, think you can give me another one, dove?”
“Oh, but what about you? You haven’t gotten the chance yet.”
“I’ll be fine, angel. Getting you off’s pleasure enough. Besides, I do believe I’m meant to be the one doing the debauching tonight.”
“Of course you are, foul fiend,” Aziraphale said fondly, “I suppose that’s alright then. Get on with- hnnnngh,” She was cut off by a moan when a miraculously lubricated finger slipped between her folds, pushing in. Once she was comfortable, a second finger joined the fun, knuckles crooking for more pleasure. This orgasm came quicker than the first, helped by her lingering sensitivity. “Yesss, that’s it,” Crowley groaned, fingers quickening their pace, “I’ve got you, angel. Come for me, my star.” Aziraphale cried out and arched off the lounge, thighs quaking from the intensity as she came undone. I love you, she thought, like a prayer to her heart, I love you, I love you.
“That’s it,” soothed Crowley, slowly withdrawing her fingers, “so good, so very fucking good.” She stroked Aziraphale’s sweat-soaked hair, brushing it out of her face as they basked in the afterglow. Aziraphale sighed, content. Yes, this was her’s. Even if they couldn’t say it out loud, they would always have their methods of declaring their love. She sat up, cupping Crowley’s face and kissing her nose, her cheeks, her forehead. Crowley gathered her into her arms, discreetly miracling away the mess they’d made. “It must be rather late out,” remarked the demon, “I believe a proper lady would offer to walk you home after a night of engagement.”
“Strange, I don’t recall sharing an evening with a proper lady. Do let me know if you come across one.”
“You- bastard!”
Aziraphale giggled at Crowley’s scowl, taking her hands, “Help me re-dress?” Well, Crowley couldn’t say no to that. Together they stood, and Crowley gathered her chemise and drawers from where they hung on the arm of the chaise. She allowed Aziraphale to step into her knickers, pulling them up and fastening the button at the back of them. Then, when her chemise was on (and with a pouty look from Aziraphale), Crowley ran a hand along the seams she’d ripped in her haste, willing them to sew themselves shut. Good as new. Aziraphale took the liberty of snapping her gown and gloves back on, bringing them back from whatever void the poor things had been banished to while Crowley set their hair to rights.
Once everything was back in its proper place, Crowley picked up her hat from where it had been discarded at some point during their activities, placing it back onto her head. The veil fell neatly over her face once more, shadowing it from view. “I don’t see why you wear that,” Aziraphale commented, “it isn’t as if you’ve anyone to mourn.” Crowley tch’d from under the veil, “It isn’t about mourning, angel. It’s about aesthetics.”
“Right, yes, my mistake. Do what you must, then.”
Aziraphale held out her hand and the forgotten cane floated dutifully into it. She handed it off to Crowley, who took it gratefully. With another snap, the black gloves returned to their previous place on her hands. The demon seemed to ponder something for a moment before turning to face Aziraphale. She brought her hand up, and in it manifested a delicate gardenia bloom. She placed it in the angel’s hair with care, up near the feathery ornament she wore. “There we are,” she hummed, proud of her work, “Perfect.”
Aziraphale felt familiar tingles of love work their way into her heart, and she smiled wide and bright, “Shall we head back to the bookshop, then?”
“Yeah. Wouldn’t want to keep the customers waiting.”
“Crowley, I can assure you that my shop is quite definitely closed, especially at this hour.”
“Joking, angel.”
“Ah! Then yes, let’s.”
With newfound warmth in every part of her being, she took Crowley’s elbow, and they strolled into the night.