“I do need a body… pity I can’t inhabit yours.”
Crowley grimaced before he’d fully processed that. Said body in question was drunk enough that it was mostly just going on autopilot. It was a good body — had it since the beginning and all — so Crowley figured it mostly knew by now what it was supposed to be doing in any given situation. By the time his mind caught up with the conversation, Aziraphale was already continuing.
“Angel? Demon? Probably explode.”
“… yeah,” Crowley’s body said, continuing with a head shake, before Crowley stopped it and took the steering wheel back, as it were. “Wait, what? Why?”
The incorporeal cloud of Aziraphale blinked at him. “What part do you mean?”
“The explodey part,” Crowley said. “What makes you think it would go all… explodey?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Aziraphale said, a bit quieter. “Just seems to make logical sense.”
“Why’s that then?” Crowley asked. “I mean, human bodies don’t normally go all explodey when demons go about possessing them. Least not as far as I’ve heard. I feel like someone’d’ve mentioned that, were it the case.”
“Yes, but you’re a demon,” Aziraphale said, with the tone of someone reminding a drunkard of the most plain observable facts.
Which, perhaps he was.
“Yes, and you’re an angel, Angel,” Crowley said in rebuff. “I don’t know what that all has to do with it. Same stock, right? I mean that’s why you’re supposing you can possess anyone in the first place, yeah?”
Crowley shrugged, and offered him a hand. “Then come on in. Water’s warm.” At Aziraphale’s non-reaction, Crowley plowed on. “That was a bit of a Hell joke for you.”
“Yes, I understood that.” Arziraphale squinted at his hand, then at him. “Would you mind sobering up first?”
“It would just make me feel better.”
Crowley shook his head, but forced all the alcohol out of his system anyway, trembling a little as it all drained away and his head cleared. “Waste of a lot of mediocre booze, that.” He looked back at Aziraphale, yellow eyes just darting barely visible over black glasses. “Feel better now, Angel?”
“Possibly,” he said, still squinting a little. “Now that you’re a bit more clear headed, are you sure you want me to…”
“Yes, of course,” Crowley said, darting his hand out impatiently. “Come on then, we don’t have all day. Quite literally in this case.”
Aziraphale raised an incorporeal hand, but stopped short of meeting Crowley.
“Come on, Angel,” he groused. “Something being impossible never stopped us so far.”
Aziraphale huffed. “Like I said once before… you always go too fast for me.”
Despite his protest, he finally met Crowley’s hand. Rather than feeling the contact of two hands, Crowley was treated to the strange sensation of trying to shake hands with a particularly humid puff of air. It was like a sauna trying to make a good first impression. It wasn’t entirely formless, nor was it unpleasant. It was warm and soft, and in a way completely beyond explanation, undeniably Aziraphale.
“Are you doing it?” Crowley asked, after a moment or two of nothing more than awkward cloud-groping going on.
“Yes,”Aziraphale said. “I mean, at least I think I am.”
“You think you are?”
“Well, I don’t know, I’ve never done it!”
Crowley was readying a biting remark in reply to that, but as slow a start as the process had gotten off to, it suddenly shifted a few gears, and Crowley felt the full force of Aziraphale flood into him all at once.
The first sensation that he could put a word to was just ‘white’. He felt like he’d been dumped into a frozen lake, and the shock had overloaded his vision and senses to a searing white. But soon that feeling ebbed, it was less unpleasant than a frozen lake. It was… well, it wasn’t burning, not really. That was Hell’s signature, not quite on brand for an angel possession. But there was something, some sensation that wasn’t quite clicking.
His body — his loyal, long-worn body, so used to all of his particular quirks — shuddered at the new impulse of something else — someone else — inside of it.
Crowley got the distinct mental impression of Aziraphale muttering “Oh, pardon me. Oh! Excuse me!” as the essence of their beings brushed and entwined in this new enclosed space. Crowley felt something like the brushing of wings, as if one of his had been thrust out of his body and pulled back, before getting tangled up against a different set of wings entirely.
Crowley gulped, and gripped the table top, only now vaguely remembering that he was at a table, and also that there was such a thing as a table, and indeed, a whole world of other objects outside of his trembling body trying to contain an angel and a demon within its confined metaphysical space.
The main difference between a human body and a body that Heaven or Hell might issue was that a human body innately knew how to transmit almost all sensations that a human might feel in a completely understandable, logical way to their brains, which always understood implicitly. The mind, body, and soul of a human all spoke the same language. However, an angel or demon body had the unenviable task of acting as a translator between a world of sensations to a being that had an entirely alien relationship to the universe at large. It was more akin to translating from French to Japanese by way of a running a sentence through an online translator, first going through several other unrelated languages in between.
And right now, Crowley was asking a lot of his body, to translate a completely non-physical, non-human, nonsensical situation into something tangible. The sensations involved were too much, and his body seemed to be struggling to find some way, any way at all, to try to translate that to some physical sensation. It seemed to have been getting on board with the idea that pain wasn’t quite the right approximation.
Crowley was fairly certain he cried out as his body tried a new tactic. His eyes were swimming too much to check if anyone in the pub was looking at him. Which would have required him to think to do such a check in the first place, and his thinking power was at an all time low given that he was distracted by the building sense of inexplicable pleasure coursing through him.
In his head, he heard the approximation of Aziraphale’s voice struggling out a breathy “oh my” and that didn’t help the kind of ideas that Crowley’s body was getting up to.
“Oh,” came Aziraphale’s voice again, even more breathy now. “Is this what this is like? I’d always… well, there didn’t seem much point, but I wondered.”
“You what?” Crowley shouted, though he was unsure if he said it out loud or merely thought it.
“Wait, can you hear me?” Aziraphale asked. “I’m… fairly certain I only thought that.”
“Of course I can bloody well hear you, you’re in my head,” Crowley said. Or thought. It was hard to say, especially as he was trying to convince his body that there was no need to buck his hips like that. Though, maybe if he could just… rub against the table just a little… maybe it would take the edge off.
“You sound as if you’ve done this before,” came Aziraphale’s thought, and Crowley gulped, because he knew he hadn’t consciously communicated that embarrassing thought process about rubbing.
“Of course not,” Crowley said. “Like you said, no real point, right? Not like we’re… like we’re proper humans or anything.”
“And yet, somehow I know you’re lying,” Aziraphale said. “My, this is a messy business, isn’t it?”
Crowley was unclear as to whether Aziraphale was referring to the possession itself or his body’s inappropriate reaction to said possession.
He tried to move, either physically or metaphysically, but no matter how he moved, Aziraphale was there, pressed against him.
“You have done this before,” Aziraphale said, voice heated and labored, clearly not unaffected by their current state.
Unwillingly, Crowley felt memories stir in his mind of exactly that. Of the times he had in fact done this before, his own hand sliding over fleshy bits. His movements growing sloppy, his breath going ragged in that way that humans tended to, his mind wandering, wandering to…
“Me,” Aziraphale said, voice just as ragged as Crowley’s had been in the memory. “Dear Heaven, you were thinking of…”
“Shut up,” Crowley bit out, as a new wave of heat rose within him, and he realized that these feelings were more amplified than he had ever felt before. As hard as it was to wrack his brain in this state, a thought occurred to him. Or maybe it occurred to Aziraphale. Which was entirely the point. He wasn’t simply feeling his own arousal…
He was feeling Aziraphale’s as well.
At that point, a moan wormed its way out of his throat, and this time he was absolutely certain it was in his throat. And ironically he took note of it because the noise wasn’t his own. It was undeniably Aziraphale’s wrecked, breathy moan coming out of his throat. Which only served to quicken the feedback loop of arousal happening within their now-shared body.
Crowley felt a familiar building sensation from his nether region, and found it building at a surprisingly rapid rate, considering neither of them had taken the initiative to physically give any stimulation to that region. Aziraphale seemed particularly caught off guard by this, never having felt the sensation before, and as a result, Crowley was pulled into the undertow of excitement and pleasure.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted out from his mouth as his body released.
It took a few moments before Crowley blinked, coming back to Earth so to speak, to the awkward realization that he was still in the pub. He was still sitting at a table. And there were still people in the pub.
They weren’t talking amongst themselves as they had been previously. Crowley was very intensely aware every single eye in the bar looking directly at him.
Crowley sniffed, stood up (with some stumbling difficulty from the aftershocks of his episode), and pulled out a few bills from his wallet to leave on the table to cover his tab.
Aziraphale’s voice sounded meekly in his head. “You don’t think they noticed, do you?”
Crowley didn’t answer as he reached over to the napkin dispenser on the bar, grabbing a handful before stumbling towards the door.
The ride in the bentley had passed without a single word exchanged between them. Even having access to each others’ thoughts and emotions, not a single thought had even popped up.
“Should we…” Aziraphale began thinking. “I mean, we should… discuss.”
“No,” Crowley said aloud.
“Well we can’t just ignore it…”
“Would you like to place a wager on that?” Crowley looked up to his rearview mirror, where Aziraphale’s face met him with a sheepish glance.
“How long do you think we can honestly go without discussing it?” Aziraphale’s reflection asked.
Crowley looked ahead at the upcoming traffic jam and shrugged. “If we play our cards right? At least ‘til the end of the world.”