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Summoned

Chapter Text

Two months after the world didn’t end

 

“What in the unholy fuck is going on?” Crowley shouted angrily. He’d been incomprehensibly snatched from Aziraphale’s cozy armchair and deposited gracelessly on a wooden floor.

 

His eyes acclimatised quickly to the darkness of the room. He stood up slowly, his curled, protective stance easing as no immediate danger threatened. As he straightened - and popped a hip out in casual comfort - his stomach calmed and his muscles relaxed from the violent tug that had pulled him through an unpleasant distance to be here. Had Hell pulled him back in for further questioning?

 

He noticed that the glass of wine he’d been drinking had come with him. He looked around, taking a sip of the remaining wine. The taste calmed him some, Aziraphale did pick a good vintage. He hoped vaguely that he wasn’t about to die.

 

He was in a reasonably large room, nothing impressive. There was a couch pushed up against the wall with a rug folded next to it. He looked down and saw the circle of chalk around him. This was not Hell, however this was still deeply inconvenient.

 

“It speaks English,” came a mutter from behind him. Crowley spun to see who was speaking. Some of the wine sloshed out and hit the ground, reminding him that he had no powers in a circle such as this.

 

A middle aged man nodded and responded to the young woman who’d spoken. “I heard it, yeah,” he whispered. 

 

“Is that a summoning circle?” Crowley yelled, pointing at what was definitely a summoning circle on the ground. He hadn’t been summoned for a few hundred years, he could forgive himself for not recognising it sooner. He tipped his head back in furious exasperation.“Oh, Jesu- how come every good swear word is religious, huh?” He asked the two humans who continued to stare dumbfounded at him. “Maybe that's why he doesn't swear,” he muttered to himself, ignoring them. He had another drink.

 

He walked around the circle once, checking the uniformity of the line. It was thick and clean. He reached out to touch the air above the chalk.

 

The woman spoke up, hurried. “I wouldn't do that if I were-”

 

“Fuck!” Crowley shouted. The air had sparked with an electricity that behaved like a wall of fire. It hurt, it ran through his body, singeing all of him, lingering in pain. He dropped the wine. “Fiddlesticks!” He experimented, then cocked his head to the side, trying to ignore the pain that still hadn’t faded. “Fuck is better,” he concluded.

 

He turned back to the pair who’d summoned him. “Alright, what d’you want?” He snapped.

 

“Well-” the woman hesitated, glancing at the older man. “We really just wanted to see if this would work,” she said apologetically.

 

Crowley threw his arms open and snarled sarcastically. “Well, mission complete, well done, you fucked up my evening.” He threw his arms back beside him and glared at her through his glasses. “Let me go, then.”

 

Her eyes were wide, and although she leaned towards her companion, she didn’t break eye contact with him. His demonic powers might not work while he in this trap, but he was still magnetic.

 

“Let me go,” Crowley repeated.

 

“Are we sure he's a demon?” She muttered. Good, she liked him.

 

Crowley took his glasses off, confirming his species by showing them his eyes. She leaned towards him now.

 

“Let me go,” Crowley hissed, swaying lightly from side to side. 

 

She lurched towards him, but her companion grabbed her arm and tugged her back in place in alarm. “It’ll hurt us,” he snapped.

 

Crowley rolled his eyes, letting the light hypnosis fade. “Ackh, I'm not going to hurt you!” He spat. “I was in the middle of a really nice night and I just want to get back to it!” 

 

“It's lying,” The man whispered.

 

Crowley threw his hands up and kicked the glass of wine. It shattered against the force field. “I'm not lying! Just rub a little gap in the sigils and I’m good to go, just let me go,” he entreated.

 

“Oh,” The woman moaned, looking between Crowley and the man in concern and indecision.

 

What was the classic demon script, again? He’d skimmed it when Raum had sent everyone a copy, but that had been a few millennia ago. All about deals and trades, wasn't it? “What if we make a deal, huh?” Crowley asked, trying to see if they were interested. “Hmm? Demon deal, blood contract, gotta follow through?”

 

“I don't think…” The man said uncertainly.

 

“I can tell,” Crowley interrupted smugly. He addressed the woman. “If you release me I pinky promise not to hurt you ever, good?”

 

“Don't do it,” The man said desperately.

 

“Oh, fuck it,” Crowley hissed, turning his back on them.

 

He fished his phone out of his back pocket and found the book shop’s number. Aziraphale answered abnormally quickly.

 

“Angel, don't say my name,” Crowley said as soon as the receiver clicked, before Aziraphale could address him.

 

There was a pause. “How will I be able to confirm who I’m talking to then?” Aziraphale asked slowly.

 

“Are you kidding? Who else would this be?”

 

“Fine, are you coming back? Your tea's still warm,” he said with no small amount of exasperation.

 

“Ibans’mmed,” Crowley mangled in embarrassment.

 

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale said with a pointed politeness.

 

“I've been summoned!” Crowley shouted.

 

“You've been summoned!” Aziraphale repeated.

 

Crowley nodded a few times. “Yes,” he said when he remembered nods couldn’t be heard.

 

There was another pause, then a weak, “Oh dear,” came from the phone.

 

“Don't laugh at me,” Crowley snapped.

 

“I'm not laughing, do you hear me laughing?” Aziraphale said tightly.

 

“I can taste you laughing,” Crowley spat.

 

“I wouldn't laugh at you in a- in a predicament like this,” Aziraphale said through his laughter.

 

Crowley dropped his arms to his side again, taking the phone away from his ear. “He's a bastard,” he said angrily to the couch at the far end of the room. He brought the phone back to his ear with reluctance. “Well?” He asked.

 

Aziraphale took a further moment to respond. “Oh, you're only in Plymouth dear, I'll be there in a jiffy,” he finally said, then promptly hung up. 

 

“Answer my question, demon!” The man yelled.

 

Crowley turned back around to them. They were both much closer to the edge of the circle. “Oh, I was not paying attention to you,” Crowley said smartly “What's your question?”

 

The man looked like he might explode with irritation. “Who was that on the phone?” He spat.

 

Crowley calmly wiped his lapel clean of spit. He smiled blandly at the two of them. “You'll find out,” he said in a sing song mockery.

 

“Maybe we should try the deal thing?” The woman suggested.

 

“Nah, I'm not interested,” Crowley said, “I'm getting rescued soon.” 

 

A few more seconds passed before a loud whooshing was heard, then the room shivered happily. The door in the corner opened, bringing light and an angel into the room. 

 

Aziraphale politely closed the door behind himself and nodded at the two strangers in greeting. He raised an eyebrow at the shattered wine glass at Crowley’s feet. “You have made quite a performance out of this, haven’t you, dear,” he said to Crowley.

 

“How is any of this my fault?” Crowley asked, more than a tad put out. “Help me out, would ya?” His heart stuttered a bit as he asked for help, he so rarely did, after all, he preferred to be the one helping. But things had been different, calmer, more vulnerable. What was this on that pile?

 

“Did they take your glasses?” Aziraphale asked as he walked around the circle, inspecting it.

 

“Nope, just showin’ off,” Crowley said, turning on the spot to keep facing him. 

 

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully, glancing from Crowley’s face to the chalk line. 

 

“Why have you kept him?” Aziraphale asked as he reached the two (now highly intimidated) humans.

 

“Ahh,” the man groaned.

 

“Tell me,” Aziraphale said seriously. Crowley felt the air twang as Aziraphale forced a fairly obvious persuasion on the pair.

 

“We didn't think it would work, we didn't plan this far,” the woman said.

 

“Why not release him?”

 

“He's a demon,” the man said harshly, like that explained it all. Maybe it did.

 

Aziraphale hummed in consideration again, then turned quickly and walked straight for Crowley.

 

“Don't you dare,” the man snarled. 

 

The next few things happened in very quick succession. The man started after Aziraphale, reaching out to him, his intention to get physical clear. Crowley moved instantly, mindlessly, hoping to reach Aziraphale first, to head the man off. 

 

The man laid his hand on Aziraphale’s arm at the same moment as Crowley hit the chalk edge with quite a bit of momentum. Crowley froze, pain ripping through his body, crushing his every thought and feeling under its metaphorical boot. Crowley croaked, desperately pulling in air, it was torment. Aziraphale spun to face the human, but at the sound of Crowley’s pained gasp he stopped and looked back.

 

The man grabbed Aziraphale’s shoulders, making to pull him away. Aziraphale shone a brilliant white, his skin lighting up with radiance, and the man yelled, backing of like he’d been burned. Crowley took half a step back from the chalk line, catching his breath as the pain began to hint at fading from his body.

 

“Are you- ?” Aziraphale whispered, looking at Crowley seriously, with pity and a pain of his own in his eyes. Crowley nodded, even though he wasn’t okay.

 

The young woman reached out for the man and he yelled at her touch, the sound turning quickly into a miserable whimper. 

 

“I would apologise, dear boy, but I'm afraid that was your own doing,” Aziraphale said condescendingly over his shoulder without taking his eyes off Crowley’s bent form.

 

“Are you okay?” Crowley gasped. The fire had passed now, he didn’t feel like he was alight anymore. He did still feel like he’d stuck his finger in a toaster and things had gone badly, but it wasn’t unbearable.

 

“Of course,” Aziraphale said quietly. “Are you badly hurt?”

 

Crowley shook his head. “It’s easing off,” he said. He stood, able to stand straight again. 

 

They stood directly before each other, closer than they likely would have if the chalk wall wasn’t between them, offering them a distance in this closeness. Aziraphale’s eyes flickered all over Crowley’s face, lingering on his eyes, his mouth, his throat. Crowley had no idea what expression was on his face, pain or longing. He hoped it was neutral.

 

“I’m sorry, I should've dealt with this mys-’ Crowley started to say.

 

“Don't be ridiculous, Cr- dear,” Aziraphale said, catching himself before he let slip Crowley’s name. “If you’re sure you’re okay I’ll just find myself a rag to wipe this chalk away, unfortunately I didn't think to bring one.” 

 

Crowley nodded and waved him off. Aziraphale left and began poking around the room.

 

Crowley took a few deep breaths. It had been stupid, foolhardy to run at the edge of the circle. He couldn’t help Aziraphale no matter what he did here, he’d been lucky that Aziraphale had taken care of himself so well, Crowley wouldn’t have forgiven himself if it had gone poorly.

 

The pain passed, he calmed as the sparks of sharp electricity waned. The pair in the corner seemed taken up by the sunburn covering the man’s skin and didn’t seem like they were going to get involved again. Aziraphale strolled about the room, occasionally looking behind tables and chairs for a cloth, but he kept pausing and glancing back at Crowley, more often than he ought to, more often than he usually would. After a minute Crowley began to suspect that it was interfering with his search he was looking at Crowley so much.

 

“What’re you looking at?” Crowley eventually asked.

 

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said quickly, his cheeks turning a quick red.

 

Crowley scratched the back of his neck self consciously. He didn’t feel skin. His scales were out, that was what Aziraphale had noticed. He groaned and turned away from the angel, popping his jacket collar up to hide his demonic traits. 

 

It occurred to him that if his scales were rising unbidden, his eyes were likely full yellow, as opposed to just his irises. He picked his sunglasses up off the ground and looked at himself in the reflection. Yep. He put them on.

 

“Ah, this'll do!” Aziraphale exclaimed, pulling a doily off the couch’s arm.

 

“We're sorry!” The woman cried out as Aziraphale returned to the chalk edge.

 

“You should be,” Crowley hissed. “I'm gonna curse the bejeezus out of- is that a religious one too?” He said, interrupting himself to ask Aziraphale.

 

“What?” Aziraphale asked mildly. 

 

“Bejeezus?” Crowley asked. 

 

Aziraphale knelt on the edge of the chalk and began wiping it away. “I’m sure I don't know,” he said.

 

“Anyway,” Crowley said, tearing his eyes from Aziraphale’s kneeling form. Not something he saw often, and more than a little entrapping. “Ya gonna be cursed,” he said to the woman and her near unconscious companion.

 

“Come now, they didn't mean any harm,” Aziraphale said.

 

Crowley turned back to him, happy to latch onto any feeling that wasn’t overwhelming gratitude and desire. “But they- !” He said, outraged, stepping closer to Aziraphale.

 

They were close again, closer than they would’ve been if the line of chalk weren’t still there. Aziraphale looked up and frowned, his eyebrows coming together to plead. Crowley felt dizzy. Aziraphale on his knees at Crowley’s feet, gazing up, pleading. Well, that’d do something to the strongest of men and Crowley was not strong.

 

“The- the tea'll be cold by now,” Crowley pointed out weakly, as if something as small as that would invoke Aziraphale’s wrath.

 

Aziraphale finished wiping the chalk line and looked up at Crowley fondly. The barrier shone for a beat, then fell, taking Crowley’s breath with it. They were so close. Aziraphale stood up, the air from his movement brushing Crowley’s skin. “I'll brew a fresh batch,” he said.

 

Crowley shook his head. “I'll brew it, this is my fault,” he said breathlessly.

 

Aziraphale put his hand on Crowley’s upper arm, leading him out of the circle. “It's not, dear,” he said softly. Crowley gazed at him, silent and in love.

 

A few seconds passed before Aziraphale rubbed his arm fondly with his thumb. Crowley snapped out of his reverie and cleared his throat, stepping away from Aziraphale. He didn’t feel like cursing them anymore, but he really ought to.

 

Crowley waved his hand vaguely at the pair in the corner. “May all your children be left handed,” he cursed. Not a bad thing in today’s society, but they’d have trouble avoiding smudging an essay.

 

“Oh,” Aziraphale sighed, rolling his eyes. He leaned around Crowley to face the pair. “I apologise. Um, aloe vera will help ease his burn.”

 

Crowley threw his wings out. “C'mon,” he snapped at Aziraphale.

 

Aziraphale smiled at him and did the same, taking off first.

Chapter Text

Five months after the apocalyptic balls up

 

It was a softer landing this time, onto a nice shag rug. The room was small and dimly lit with candles, two of which were electric and one of which was actually a night light smiley face. Crowley glanced around trying to take everything in quickly, his faculties returning to him as his stomach settled from its complaints of unpleasant methods of travel. 

 

This was a bathroom. With the square shag sitting in the middle of a tight summoning circle. Before him sat a child, a young girl of perhaps ten years of age, who wore a large witches hat and was gazing at him with wide eyes and a wider mouth.

 

Crowley sat down to match her. “Nice hat,” he said. 

 

She closed her mouth, swallowed, and spoke. “Do you have snacks?”

 

Crowley squinted at her. “What,” he asked, deadpan.

 

She frowned. “I googled this, you’re meant to have snacks.” She sounded disappointed.

 

“I don’t have snacks,” Crowley said. He felt oddly like he’d let her down. He tried to drudge up some resentment, she had interrupted his evening very rudely, but the annoyance didn’t want to come. He hadn’t been doing anything important (he’d been squirting expanding foam into the ticket machines around Aziraphale’s street) and she was so young. And he did like the hat.

 

“You don’t smell like egg farts either,” she complained.

 

“What?” Crowley repeated. “Where did you find this drivel?” Oh, sulfur, he realised too late. 

 

“On a website,” she said. 

 

“Your parents just let you... summon a demon?” Crowley asked. Would parental lock cover occult sites? Hopefully. “How old are you?”

 

She ignored both his questions. “I have presents so that you like me,” she said.

 

“Do you?” Crowley invited.

 

“Wait here,” she said, leaping up and dashing out of the room. Crowley decided not to point out that as she had trapped him there, he had no choice but to wait.

 

She returned quickly, closing the door with a careful quiet. “Here, it’s cookies - they’re choc chip, don’t worry, and I have breakfast juice and some of my gran’s sherry so you can make punch,” she said as she placed a tray with all those things on it at her feet. Crowley looked at her silently. “I wasn’t sure how much alcohol you’ve gotta put in to make it punch,” she continued nervously. “So I thought you should mix it yourself, is that okay?”

 

Cowley blinked a few times before deciding how to respond. “Perfect,” he finally said.

 

“So you like me?”

 

“I’m a demon, I don’t like anyone,” Crowley said. “But pass me the sherry.”

 

“Oh.” She seemed dejected, but did so. Technically she had briefly broken the power of the circle by reaching through it, but Crowley let the moment pass and just took the sherry from her.

 

“We can talk,” he encouraged as he worked the lid off the bottle.

 

“Okay,” she said with a waver in her voice that Crowley recognised as burgeoning tears.

 

“What d’you want, kid?” He asked softly.

 

“I wrote a contract,” she said. She picked up a piece of paper off the tray and passed it through the chalk line. Crowley used the moment of broken power to miracle the sherry into a good shiraz.

 

He took the paper and read it. It was a simply worded contract, in exchange for granting his freedom she wanted to be guaranteed a meal every day for the rest of her life. She’d drawn some roses with big thorns around the edges of the paper. 

 

Crowley looked up at her again. She was thin. She was too short to have started her growth spurt so she was plainly too thin. “You want to eat?” He confirmed.

 

She hummed in agreement, staring at her feet.

 

“Your parents don’t feed you,” Crowley said.

 

She shrugged. “They try.”

 

Crowley spent a dedicated moment not getting too upset. He nodded, his torso swaying delicately with the movement. “Where’d you get the cookies, then?” He asked. Maybe he could sign her up for one of those meal delivery things? Lite ‘n’ Breezy or whatever it was called. 

 

“Stole ‘em.”

 

“I like you, kid.”.

 

She nodded. “I like you too.”

 

“You won’t go hungry,” he said, his throat thick. 

 

She looked at him, her eyes shining but not overflowing. Crowley was sure he would look similar behind his glasses. “What do you want?” She asked.

 

“I- ?” Crowley didn’t understand.

 

“It’s a trade, right? The contract?”

 

“Oh, right,” he agreed. “Okay.”

 

She gave him a few seconds. “So…?” She said pointedly.

 

Crowley frowned. What could he ask of this kid that she’d believe. That she could give, without trouble, but that would be convincing. “Ah, can I have some advice?”

 

She nodded.

 

Crowley frowned more, not at all pleased with what he’d thought of. He’d had some frank conversations with children before, more than he’d had with adults, but not for some time. He had been sleepy poorly lately, and he knew why, and a chat would help but he kind of didn’t want to. However, nothing else mattered to him so nothing else came to mind and after a few tense seconds he simply had to respond.  “What d’you think of love?”

 

She thought for a minute, her expression ranging through distaste, consideration, and warmth. “I think it’s pretty,” she eventually said.

 

Crowley nodded slowly. He trusted her, she was young and honest. “So you think it should be known?”

 

“Don’t keep it a secret, it’s happy, it should be shared.”

 

“Even if they don’t love me back?”

 

She shrugged. “My brother doesn’t love me, but I love him. It’s happier than us both hating each other.”

 

Crowley blinked again, trying to stop his sadness. Kids were remarkable, this girl particularly so. “I’m sure your brother loves you.”

 

She shook her head, but didn’t bother fighting him.. 

 

Crowley’s phone rang, the annoying chime inappropriately loud in the small room. Crowley muted it quickly, letting it continue to ring. It was Aziraphale.

 

“Sorry, I should get this,” he said.

 

“You’re an adult,” she said like it was all the permission someone could need to take a phone call.

 

Crowley hesitated, but answered his phone. “Aziraphale, how are you?” He asked.

 

“I- how did you know it was me?” Aziraphale asked in surprise.

 

“Bzzt- ai-” He stuttered, not really wanting to take on the challenge of explaining caller ID. “Lucky guess.”

 

“Well, regardless, it is me,’ Aziraphale said. He sounded impressed, which infuriated Crowley some.

 

“Yes,” Crowley said impatiently, “why are you calling?”

 

“Oh yes, that Italian place we went to a few days ago has a-”

 

“We haven’t had Italian for weeks,” Crowley interrupted.

 

“A few weeks ago, then,” Aziraphale corrected.

 

“With the stale bread on the table?”

 

“Yes. I think that was a decoration, dear boy.”

 

“That was a full month ago, angel.”

 

Aziraphale sighed in annoyance. “Well anyway, they’ve got a new menu release tonight, would you like to go?”

 

“Ah, sure,” Crowley said absently as he glanced around. “I’m a little held up right now. Not sure when I’ll be free.”

 

“Oh,” Aziraphale sounded more confused than offended. Crowley hadn’t said no to him since long before Armageddon. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, just been summoned again.”

 

Aziraphale’s tone changed entirely. He spoke quickly, his concern tangible. “Do you need me to come get you? Crowley, are you hurt, are you okay?”

 

Crowley waved his hand absently even though that wouldn’t translate down the phone. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I got this,” he said happily.

 

“I still have that location thing, I can come find you,” Aziraphale offered tensely.

 

“You mean your smartphone? It does more than just location, Aziraphale,” Crowley pointed out.

 

“Oh my dear, you’re in America,” Aziraphale said in surprise.

 

Crowley glanced at the girl warmly. “American accent, couldn’t place it,” he said, pointing at her.

 

She leaned towards him and whispered loudly, “Do you want to leave?”

 

“Nah, I can hang out,” Crowley said. He pointed the phone more towards his mouth again. “I’m really fine Aziraphale, it’s some kid who’s got me, she’s cool- what are you doing?” He interrupted himself as the girl began moving the chalk line around. Within a moment she’d formally broken it, releasing him. 

 

“Your friend doesn’t want you to be trapped,” she explained.

 

“Crowley, I’m really not sure. Are you okay? I can be there,” Aziraphale’s distant, worried voice filled the room as Crowley stared at the broken line, utterly floored.

 

“I-” He tried, but his throat was too tight.

 

“Crowley, dear, if you don’t talk I’m coming to you right away.”

 

Crowley shook his head. “She- she’s broken the edge of the sigil,” he muttered thickly into the phone. “I can leave whenever I like.”

 

“Prove it,” Aziraphale demanded. 

 

Crowley didn’t think, he just miracled Aziraphale a bouquet of primroses with a few large narcissus daffodils sitting amongst them. Once he did, he blushed, realising how romantic that would seem, and quickly miracled a card to sit around the stem of one of the daffodils that said, told ya so with a little sketch of a demon poking his tongue out.

 

Aziraphale hummed fondly down the line. “Well, these are nice flowers, thank you,” he said happily. 

 

“I’ll try and make dinner, okay?” Crowley said softly.

 

“Very good, dear.”

 

Crowley hung up and looked at the girl. What had they been discussing? “So…” he said vaguely.

 

She grinned and leaned towards him. “I think he knows you like him,” she said, enunciating clearly.

 

Crowley froze. “Eh,” he garbled. “Wuh- nyek?”

Chapter Text

Seven months after Armageddon't

 

Sadly, Crowley was getting used to it. His stomach settled quickly as he glared around the room. This one was more professional, all dark stone and candles in sconces and the like. “Fuck,” he spat.

 

A voice rang through the room. “Are you the demon Crawly?”

 

Crowley turned to face the speaker. They were wearing a bandanna to hide their face and stood quite a distance away. Well, at least he could mess with this asshole for a bit. He went to say Beelzebub’s name. “Crowley.” 

 

That was disconcerting. He tried to introduce himself as Beelzebub again. “I’m Crowley.” The invisible wall of force from the chalk lit up as he tried to lie. Crowley cringed, feeling something like occult acid reflux.

 

The figure nodded. “Crowley, then. Will you obey by the agreements of a contract?”

 

“Fuck you,” Crowley said, already pulling his phone out.

 

“Will you obey a contract?” The person asked again.

 

Crowley opened his mouth to tell them to fuck off again, but instead he felt a swell of heartburn and as he was distracted he told the truth. “Not really, that’s all poppycock.” He froze and looked at his phone, Aziraphale’s name and number were there, ready for him to call. Something in his gut told him to wait, this was wrong. “What’s going on?” He asked slowly.

 

“How can we ensure your commitment to obey us?”

 

Crowley felt a welling up of desire to answer honestly, a compulsion so strong he had to actively fight it. He swallowed it down and scoffed at the figure, his lip curling in disdain. 

 

“Is there a way?” The figure repeated.

 

Crowley tried to layer on the sarcasm, but it came out honest because it was. “Ask nicely,” he said softly. 

 

The figure nodded. “I see,” they said, then turned on their heel and left.

 

Crowley put his phone away and knelt by the edge of the sigil, careful to avoid the painful barrier. The markings were complicated. They were for him, though, the first one that had been truly meant for him. There was his name, over and over and repeated and complicated. And mixed in were other words in ancient Hebrew, truth and honesty. Crowley tried to speak a lie. “I prefer a sauvignon blanc, but red suits my aesthetic more,” he said. 

 

So he couldn't lie.

 

He lay down on the stone floor, glaring at the ceiling and thinking hard. Could he call Aziraphale for help? The angel would come, but then Crowley wouldn’t be able to lie. He could probably omit things. He tried to think of a half truth. 

 

“I love him- fuck! ” His eyes flew open in a panic as he heard himself. He barely thought that, he’d never said it aloud before, not in private, not alone, never. He’d meant to just say he was fond of the angel. If he couldn’t dodge, there was no way he’d invite Aziraphale to join him. He shut his eyes and despaired.

 

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but eventually his misery was interrupted by the door.

 

“Hello sir,” rang a young female voice.

 

Crowley snarled, still laying sprawled on his back with his eyes shut.

 

She hummed sympathetically. “I apologise for your treatment, can we get you anything to make you more comfortable?”

 

“Get rid of this damned truth thing,” Crowley said through gritted teeth. 

 

“I can only imagine how frustrating it must be.”

 

Crowley sat up in one fluid motion and glared at her. She didn’t have her face covered, in fact she had her hair pulled back to show a kind, plump face. It would have been disarming if Crowley hadn’t seen many varied and horrible people throughout his existence.

 

“If I could,” she said, unaffected by his furious stare. “We have a request. Perhaps we can negotiate the terms?”

 

“Fuck you,” he spat. Then, because he was, he said, “I’m listening.”

 

She sat down on a simple chair, still quite a distance from him. Her voice was easy to hear through the silence of the room. “We’re a small order, but we’re looking to make an impact,” she said matter of factly. “We’re hoping you might kill all the gay people, would you do that?”

 

Crowley stared, his appearance unchanging beyond a slight twitch in his eye. But within, oh, within he fumed. He boiled. His blood rushed and he went deaf for a second with fury, then forced it away as he tried to conjure a way to damage her. It didn’t work.

 

“Is that something you can do?” She asked politely.

 

Crowley can’t do that, not at all. “Yes,” he hissed. Okay, so, physically he could do it, of course, it would be a lot of work but it’s doable. But. “I won’t,” he said, happy to be honest in this. “Fuck you, that’s disgusting, I would never. You’re despicable.” His words blended together as he hissed and cursed her. The curses didn’t travel through the chalk barrier, but the edges came alight and Crowley was given a brief hint of satisfaction as she noticed his efforts to break out, to hurt her.

 

She smiled warily and stood up. “I'll let you think about it for a bit, see if you change your mind,” she said calmly, then trotted out as quickly as she could manage.

 

“I won't, you can kill me for it, I won't,” Crowley shouted after her, rolling and crawling inhumanly within his cage to frighten her. One of his legs curled up to his shoulder, his hands positioned absurdly, his arms contorted. She didn’t look back to notice, unfortunately.

 

The door shut without a response. Crowley unraveled himself.

 

He needed to call Aziraphale. 

 

He looked at his phone. It was well into the evening now, hours had passed. He thought seriously for some time, trying to prepare an idea of what to say that should be honest enough for the damn runes. 

 

As he was thinking and muttering test phrases, his phone lit up and sang at him. Aziraphale was calling. Of course.

 

Crowley’s hand shook as he answered. “Hi,” he said shortly.

 

Aziraphale’s warm voice tumbled into the cold room. “Crowley, it’s no trouble, but ought I expect you tonight? I thought we had plans.”

 

Crowley needed to tell him, he wanted to tell him. “I- spen- sud- mmmm,” he said instead. 

 

Aziraphale paused. “Are you okay?”

 

“No- fuck,” Crowley spat.

 

Aziraphale’s voice sounded louder, more muffled, like he’d pulled the receiver closer to him. “What’s wrong?”

 

Crowley filled with adoration. He threw his head back in his effort to keep his secrets to himself. “Been summoned again,” he muttered.


“I didn’t hear that, dear.”

 

Crowley realised he’d thrown his arms wide, the phone now too far from him to let him be audible. He covered the microphone with his thumb. “I love you,” he whispered, desperately quietly. Aziraphale didn’t respond and Crowley relaxed. He brought the phone back to his ear. “I’ve been summoned again,” he said.

 

“Oh my, would you like me to come get you?”

 

“Yes,” Crowley spat.

 

“I’ll be along shortly, stay safe.”

 

Crowley hung up quickly, fumbling in his speed. He rolled onto his stomach and yelled into the ground. “I love you, I love you, I love you- fuck!” 

 

He turned around again and saw a pair of feet before him. He was filled with a cold, sobering dread. Had Aziraphale heard? He couldn’t come back from this, he couldn’t explain it, not without lying, and he couldn’t fucking lie. He wasn’t ready for a final no from his angel. 

 

Crowley craned his neck slowly, horribly. It wasn’t Aziraphale. It was the figure from before. “I’m going to make you pay for this,” Crowley whispered, pleased for a moment that the truth circle meant he was believed. 

 

The figure shifted uncomfortably. “Sir, I really don’t think we’re asking for-” They was interrupted by a jarringly sweet ding dong as someone rang the doorbell. Crowley remembered all at once how flamboyantly Aziraphale presented himself, he likely wouldn’t be safe here. Crowley nearly sobbed as regret and self hatred flooded him.

 

“Oh my G-” Crowley barely avoided the blasphemy. He sat up, more desperate and crawling than graceful. “Oh no,” he moaned. He hit the ground, getting the figure’s attention. “Listen,” he demanded. “Don't hurt him, please, he’s good. He’s good, I swear it, he is,” Crowley begged, still on his knees, not minding prostrating himself for Aziraphale’s sake.

 

A distant door slammed as the figure looked at Crowley curiously. Then another, closer. Then another. Shouts were heard, but not made intelligible. Then the door to the room opened with a bang and there was Aziraphale.

 

“Hello, dear,” he said mildly.

 

Crowley scrambled to sit normally, his one leg curling under him as he leaned towards Aziraphale. “You’re not safe here,” he said.

 

Aziraphale looked at the figure with a guarded expression. “I’m not sure you are either,” he said, glancing at Crowley.

 

Crowley would be fine, always. “I’m not,” he admitted. Shit. Fuck. Honestly be damned for eternity.

 

Aziraphale smiled at the figure. “Shall we discuss this like gentlemen, or-”

 

“No,” Crowley spat. “Don’t bother, please, just get us out,” he said, beginning to hyperventilate. He was full of need to tell Aziraphale what he was to Crowley, what he meant.

 

The figure fell to the ground, fast asleep. “Of course,” Aziraphale agreed without question. He approached the edge of the circle. The chalk wall was thick and full of complicated markings, as close as he could get he was still standing nearly two meters away. “Are you okay?” He asked, his eyebrows pinching in in a deep worry.

 

“No,” Crowley sighed. 

 

Crowley heard Aziraphale swallow heavily. “Did they hurt you?”

 

“Yes,” Crowley said. “Not physically,” he corrected, lest Aziraphale misunderstand. “Hurry,” he moaned. 

 

Aziraphale looked at the marking and sighed. “This is a complicated one,” he admitted.

 

Crowley groaned and lay down, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore that Aziraphale was the one he was talking to. He couldn’t convince himself, apparently the markings wouldn’t let him lie to himself either.

 

“It’s specific for me,” Crowley said, struggling and failing to stop himself. The cramps in his abdomen eased when he told the truth, the sigils rewarding him for it as they promised to punish if he tried to lie. Crowley needed to find a way to ignore the warm wash that filled him when he was honest, no matter how nice it was. If he told Aziraphale his affliction Aziraphale would ask him things and he would answer and then where would they be. “And it makes me tell the truth.” Well, fuck the friendship, then. Six thousand and some years wasn’t a bad go at it for a demon and an angel. Crowley’s eyes began to well up.

 

Crowley covered his face with his hands, shaking with effort or fear or both.

 

“Oh,” Aziraphale said quietly.

 

“Don’t ask me anything, please, I’m terrified,” Crowley groaned.

 

“Of course.” Aziraphale’s voice came from a different side, he was moving, he was working. 

 

“Thank you,” Crowley sighed. “You’re wonderful, you’re- argh-” He stopped himself, too late.

 

“Oh, well,” Aziraphale said awkwardly. “Thank you.”

 

The problem was the desire to tell the truth was also tenfold. Not only could he not lie, not only was he hurt if he tried, and rewarded with a kind rush of endorphins when he was honest, he also wanted to admit to everything in a way that he never had before. He sat up again and looked at Aziraphale. He was moving quickly around the circle, rubbing out certain parts in order, making sure to not set off any of clever traps that had certainly been set. He was so smart, how Crowley admired him.

 

“That’s not the half of it, angel,” Crowley whispered. Aziraphale’s shoulders tensed nervously when he spoke. “You amaze me, you’re every good th-”

 

“I’m not sure you want to tell me, Crowley, perhaps you should wait,” Aziraphale interrupted loudly, not letting him continue.

 

Crowley was failing. He shook his head. “I want to tell you, so much of the time, Aziraphale, I really-”

 

“Shush, please,” Aziraphale interrupted sternly. He wasn’t slowing in his work, he was nearly running around the circle, making sure to destroy it evenly at its weakest points, to make it pliable enough to break without shattering. “Don’t say anything like this, this isn’t-”

 

“You’re so good to me,’ Crowley sighed. His lips quivered with effort to hold back the words that were too much. He wanted to say them, why hold them back?

 

Aziraphale looked at the circle and put his hand to his head in panic. “Oh, dear,” he said.

 

Crowley smiled at the sight. “You’ll get it,” he said. He believed it. “I trust you, Aziraphale. I -” He caught it. He’d nearly said it. His throat burned and he felt mildly like he was being stabbed with a burning hot knife. The edge of the chalk glowed, punishing him for holding back a truth. He swallowed. “I trust you,” he repeated more quietly.

 

Aziraphale looked at him, his eyes wide and full of unfallen tears. “Lie down,” he demanded, his tone brooking no argument. “Be quiet.”

 

Crowley nodded and did so, covering his face again. “Thank you,” he said in a quiet, nearly broken voice. He could vaguely hear Aziraphale moving again, scuffing out areas of chalk.

 

Suddenly the pressure lifted off Crowley’s chest, then within the moment Aziraphale was on him. He was touching Crowley’s arm, then his chest, then his hand, then his thigh, then his arm again. He pulled him up into sitting, his hands running and flitting across him, as if making sure he was truly unharmed. 

 

“Okay now,” Aziraphale said in a tight, worried voice. “You’re free now, you’re free. Oh, Crowley, are you okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Crowley muttered. Then he heard that he’d successfully lied and relaxed, leaning dramatically into Aziraphale’s chest.

 

Aziraphale’s hands stopped on his shoulders, clenching tightly, holding him for a beat. “Strangely enough, I don’t quite believe you,” Aziraphale said. Crowley chuckled scratchily and didn’t disagree.

 

Aziraphale stood first, reaching out to help Crowley to standing. Crowley was weak, exhausted. He was shaking.

 

“Thank you for not asking,” Crowley said quietly, his voice nearly broken.

 

Aziraphale nodded. “I would love to know sometime. But when you’re willing,” he said quietly. He glanced at the unconscious figure. “Let’s leave,” he suggested.

 

“Yeah. Just let me give them some nightmares, yeah?”

 

“If you wish.”

 

Crowley closed his eyes and conjured a rather miraculous wish, far stronger than normal, far stronger than he rightly had the energy for right now. He cursed them with nightmares until they changed their ways. Every night would be horrible, every day made worse from anxiety and exhaustion. Until they repented and found love, they would suffer.

 

He also quickly found all their money and holdings and gave it to himself. He would explain it all to Aziraphale later and he could make a show of telling him off and pass the money onto some charities, but donating directly to a charity was too virtuous for Crowley even now. His angel could handle that. Now Crowley just wanted to sleep.

 

Aziraphale led them home to the bookshop, taking charge of the flight as Crowley staggered his way through his exhaustion.

Chapter Text

Eight months after Adam figured out who his dad is

 

Crowley popped into being, hidden comfortable in a dark corner of the room. He wondered briefly that Aziraphale needed a tracker, Crowley could always just find him without issue. Ah well, it wasn’t the only difference between their powers. 

 

The dark stone room was full of very spooky chanting. Presumably Latin, but Crowley didn’t know the language well enough to really say. He used to know it but he’d decided a few hundred years ago that he didn’t need to any more, so he didn’t now.

 

“So that’s how it feels,” Aziraphale muttered quietly. He stood with his back to Crowley, inside a chalk circle. It was the only lit area in the room and Crowley found himself amused by how holy it made the book hoarder look.

 

“Um, hello? Hello, robed figures, I see that you’ve summoned me,” Aziraphale called out politely. Crowley followed his attention and saw the line of dark robed people, still chanting. 

 

Aziraphale nodded despite not having received a response. “Well done on that, but I was in the middle of something so I’d like to be freed and… Are you listening to me?”

 

Aziraphale huffed in annoyance. Crowley stayed quiet, curious to see how Aziraphale chose to handle this. 

 

Aziraphale, apparently, wasn’t in a rush to return to their game of mahjong. He simply stood patiently and waited, all virtue. 

 

Finally the chanting drew to a finish. “Ah, you’re done,” Aziraphale said happily. “Hello. Can I, ah, be of any assistance?”

 

One robed man stepped forward and said, “Benedicite hæc mulier.”

 

Aziraphale shimmied uncomfortably. “Oh dear, that’s also Latin. My apologies, I’ve been doing some reading in Hebrew lately, my Latin is a tad rusty. Would you repeat that?”

 

The voice sounded more annoyed. “Benedicite hæc mulier.”

 

“Oh,  benedicite , that’s bless , right?” Aziraphale asked politely. He paused but received no confirmation, so simply soldiered on. “Yes, I can do a blessing. Ah, would you free me, maybe?”

 

“Don’t bless them, angel!” Crowley cried out.

 

Aziraphale spun to face him as the congregation of spooky robed people shifted in surprise. 

 

“You’re here!” Aziraphale explained.

 

“‘Course,” Crowley said.

 

“How long have you been here?”

 

Crowley shrugged. “Whole time.”

 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Well, you might have spoken up.”

 

“Didn’t think I needed to, of course I followed you.” He threw his arm out towards the group of people who were all swapping places and whispering to each other. “Don’t reward them for kidnapping you! Tell them off or something, you’re great at scolding.”

 

“Ad sanctum aqua,” someone said loudly.

 

Aziraphale spun and shouted at them. “Subsisto!”

 

A few of the congregation hurried out of the room.

 

“Huh?” Crowley asked. 

 

“I think you’d best leave, dear,” Aziraphale said without looking away from the collection of people.

 

Crowley rolled his eyes and hurried to Aziraphale’s side, quickly trying to scrub the chalk away with his toes. “Hang on,” he said.

 

The door opened again and the few people who’d left returned with small jugs. 

 

Aziraphale turned to his for a second and snapped, “It’s holy water, love!”

 

“What?” Crowley asked, instantly terrified. He glanced beyond Aziraphale at the people who were walking with slow ceremony towards him. He had a moment. Then what Aziraphale had said settled in his mind. “What?” He repeated, somehow more scared, but not. “You just called me- what was that?”

 

Since the truth fiasco a month ago Aziraphale had been curious, asking the odd leading question, but Crowley hadn't found the courage to say it yet. He'd been more romantic, bringing Aziraphale presents, opening doors for him, the kind of courtship that Aziraphale might recognise. Trying to pave the way for an easier confession. Aziraphale had been lovely, all warmth and acceptance. 

 

He hadn't expected Aziraphale to reciprocate first.

 

Was it reciprocating if Aziraphale did it first? Or was it just… what it was.

 

Aziraphale turned and stalked towards him furiously. “Would you-” He stopped, yelling as he hit the edge of the circle. The wall lit up, hurting him. 

 

“Angel!” Crowley cried out. He forgot all about the love business, overwhelmed with panic instead. He couldn’t enter, it was blessed in there, it would choke him. Same as Aziraphale couldn’t enter the cursed land of his summoning sigils. He wanted to enter, he wanted to take the punishment for him. 

 

“Leave,” Aziraphale spat, clutching his stomach in pathetic pain. “Take care of yourself,” he pleaded.

 

Crowley fell to his knees and began scrubbing at the chalk lines desperately. “Fuck, this is some industrial-”

 

“Please go,” Aziraphale interrupted furiously. 

 

Crowley scrubbed harder. The palm of his hand began to bleed, his blood staining the remaining chalk. What was this stuff made of?

 

Aziraphale was kneeling in front of him now, looking at him desperately. “They’re nearly here, go,” he pleaded. “What can I do to make you go?” He looked close to crying. Sure enough the people with the pitchers were barely a few feet away.

 

Crowley didn’t remove all the chalk, but luckily his blood changed the colour enough to wreck the cast. As the barrier fell, Crowley unfurled his wings and flapped immediately, retreating from his place as quickly as his form physically could.

 

He shifted in the air, spinning to avoid the arc of holy water thrown at him. As he flew away he felt the air change, it grew thick and horrible with judgement and fury as Aziraphale summoned a smiting so holy none could withstand. 

 

Crowley decided to meet him back at the bookshop rather than hang around. 

Chapter Text

One year after we cha cha slid away from the end of all things

 

“Hey!” Crowley said before his form finished corporating. He was getting very good at being unwillingly summoned. “What the fuck, man?” He asked the young adult kneeling before him.

 

He was in a living room. It was warm. And instead of a chalk circle, he was standing in a hula hoop that had a few touches of duct tape along it. There were pieces of paper under the hula hoop with various sigils written in marker.

 

“I apologise for the inconvenience,” said the man in a thick accent.

 

“Oh, well,” Crowley said, trying not to laugh at the set up. Fucking genius, filling a hula hoop with chalk. “I wasn’t really doing anything, I guess.”

 

“I have a favour to ask of you,” the man said, still not looking up from his awkwardly close genuflect.

 

Crowley shrugged. “Shoot.”

 

“I entreat you-”

 

“These sigils aren’t for me,” Crowley interrupted, realising he recognised the name written all over them. 

 

The guy finally looked at him. “What?”

 

Crowley pointed at the sigils cheerfully. “These are for Asmodeus,” he said.

 

“You aren’t Asmodeus?”

 

“No.” Then Crowley figured it out, all at once. Why he’d been summoned so much lately. “Oh, those bastards,’ he hissed.

 

“I- I apologise for the mistake,” the man said, desperately terrified.

 

Crowley grabbed his phone out, scrambling to connect the call. “Those fucking bastards, hang on, I gotta make a call.”

 

“Fell book shop, how can I help?” Aziraphale said like he didn’t want to help.

 

“I need you to come pick me up- oh, wait, hey!” He turned back to the guy.

 

He bowed his head again, avoiding his eyes. “Yes?”

 

“Will you let me go?” Crowley asked.

 

The man hesitated. “Can you help me?” He asked tentatively.

 

“Crowley, what’s going on?” Aziraphale snarked.

 

“Hang on, angel,” Crowley said towards the phone. He turned back to the man. “What d’you want?”

 

The guy took a few breathes, then said, “Make me sexy. Please.”

 

“Who’s saying you’re sexy?” Aziraphale said, affronted.

 

“Been summoned, come grab me?” Crowley asked.

 

“Oh, of course!” Aziraphale agreed chirpily. “See you shortly.”

 

Crowley hung up and put his phone away, then returned his focus to the man. “You wanna be sexy,” he said, mildly dumbfounded.

 

He nodded, still on his knees, looking down. “Yes, I want to be desirable,” he whispered.

 

Crowley considered this. “Sexy and desirable are different things,” he pointed out.

 

“Can you do either?” He asked.

 

“Hello, dear,” Aziraphale said as he walked in, his breathing heightened. He’d hurried here. Crowley blushed at the thought.

 

“Angel, hey,” Crowley waved casually. He looked at the guy again. “Well, sexy is like, you know, body and…” he ran a hand briefly down his abdomen and twirled his hips a little, then thought of a better example of sexy and indicated Aziraphale. “Like that,’ he said, waving his hand generally at Aziraphale.

 

Aziraphale gave him a tight, grateful smile.

 

The guy shook his head. “Sir, I meant no disrespect with my action, I’m desperate,” he said.

 

Aziraphale wandered off. Crowley could hear him going through the kitchen drawers.

 

“Whereas desirable,” Crowley continued, ignoring him. “Well, you can do that with enough money or confidence or shit like that. Look however you want.” He shrugged. 

 

The man sighed and looked up at him pleadingly. “Can you make me sexy?” He asked.

 

“Nah,” Crowley lied. The guy’s shoulders slumped. “You need Asmodeus for that- Sweetheart,” Crowley called out. Aziraphale returned to the doorway holding a very large knife. “Look at this, this is an Asmodeus circle.”

 

“Right,’ Aziraphale agreed. He knelt by the hula hoop and swung the knife confidently, cutting the plastic hoop cleanly. Chalk spilled out from the cut, maintaining the circle.

 

“He’s done it right, see?” Crowley continued. “Shoulda caught Asmodeus. But it got me.”

 

Aziraphale stabbed again, then pulled the chunk he’d cut out, breaking the enchantment. Crowley smiled as his demonic powers rushed back into him.

 

“Yes, that is odd,” Aziraphale agreed as he stood back up. 

 

Crowley kissed him lightly on the cheek in thanks. Aziraphale glanced at him happily a few times, a deep blush quickly forming across his face. 

 

“I think they’re rerouting all summonings to me to fuck with me,” Crowley said.

 

Aziraphale nodded. “I’d been wondering about that. Heaven usually nips an angel summoning in the bud before it grabs any-”

 

“You’re angels?” The guy interrupted, watching them with wide, open terror.

 

Crowley pointed his thumb towards Aziraphale. “Just him,” he said.

 

“But it picked me up instead,” Aziraphale continued, “Which strikes me as somewhat intentional, you see?”

 

“You didn’t mention that,” Crowley said.

 

Aziraphale shrugged. “We’ve been discussing more interesting things lately,” he said like that wasn’t a wonderful flirt.

 

Crowley hummed in agreement, smiling and swaying happily at the thought of their recent discussions. Aziraphale smiled back at him, then tipped his head pointedly towards the man who was still kneeling by his couch.

 

Crowley waved at the guy vaguely. “Hey, ah, invest in, I dunno, what’s doing well? Roombas seem popular. Invest in roombas, make some money, you’ll get laid, don’t worry!” He finished cheerfully.

 

“Ah, thank you,” the guy said doubtfully.

 

“Where are we?” Crowley asked Aziraphale.

 

Aziraphale grimaced. “Australia.”

 

“Oh, that’s so tiresome,” Crowley sighed.

 

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and kissed the back of his knuckles lightly before unfurling his wings and taking off.

 

Crowley grinned and threw the kneeling man a pair of thumbs up. “You’ll be okay,” he said, then flew away.

 

Chapter Text

A year and three months since the ineffable cock up

 

Crowley landed on his hands and knees, as he’d been before. The first thing he felt was entirely cold and empty, why had Aziraphale stopped? The stark change in sensation choked the moan he’d been halfway through. Had he done something wrong? This didn’t feel like Aziraphale’s style of punishment.

 

He slowly recognised the sensation in his stomach, not arousal building more and more under the expert touch of his angel, but the horrible tug of summoning. He punched the thin carpet beneath him. “Oh, you are kidding !” He shouted.

 

There were some varied gasps and a giggle from nearby. He looked up furiously. He was still out of breath, still sweating, he could still feel the residual sting of Aziraphale’s teeth on his shoulder. There were three young women on a couch before him, all holding each other and a glass of wine. 

 

“Is this-” Crowley sputtered as he gingerly moved from his slightly too vulnerable position. His muscles were against it, they wanted Aziraphale’s soft touch to help and massage him into his different positions. “Are you-” He sat back, leaning against his hand and glaring at the collection of women. “A girls night? Is that a ouija board! Are you fucking serious?

 

“This isn’t how I thought that would go,” one of the women muttered to her friends.

 

Crowley shut his eyes and took a breath, trying to smother the rush of disappointment and slight abandonment. He’d been enjoying that. Aziraphale had taken to biting him this month and it fucking worked, Crowley had been slipping into a very vulnerable, very pliant shape and to be pulled out of it, unceremoniously, cruelly. Well. He was beginning to properly appreciate how Aziraphale held him and kissed him after they fucked.

 

He opened his eyes and looked down at himself. His hair was long and messed and he was sure a few hickeys were starting to obviously form on his skin. He was still hard, that was going to take it’s time calming down, when he moved he felt the empty awareness of not having Aziraphale’s dick in him and it was keeping him more turned on than anything else. His scales were out, running from the nape of his neck and down his spine to his lower back. He could only glimpse the slight presence of them along his collarbone and inner thighs, but he knew where they sat. His eyes would be their full yellow, then. And his feet, they were his preferred snakeskin boot, but the edge he usually falsified was gone, they simply blended perfectly, inhumanly with his calf.

 

“I don’t even have my fucking phone on me,” Crowley groaned.

 

“He’s very human,” one of them women said. Crowley’s head snapped up to glare at her.

 

“No, look at the scales,” another responded.

 

“And the eyes,” said the third.

 

“And the dick,” the second said with a smirk.

 

The first grinned and giggled. “That’s not a dick, that’s a cock,” she said lasciviously.

 

Crowley stood up in a full motion, grunting slightly at how tender he felt. He threw his arm out towards the women, standing tall and, he was willing to say, beautifully. “Give me your phone,” he demanded of them.

 

“What?” The middle one asked.

 

“Phone,” he repeated, focusing on her.

 

She hesitated, but Crowley could tell he’d already won. He was fit and being naked in front of slightly tipsy women worked to his advantage. 

 

“Helen- !” One of the women admonished as the woman, Helen presumably, threw her phone at Crowley.

 

“He’s cute,” she said with a defensive twang.

 

Crowley caught the phone and hummed sarcastically at her, then turned his back on them and dialed his own mobile number. 

 

It took a few rings, then Aziraphale’s voice came through at a distance. “Oh dear, have I answered?” he said quietly.

 

“Angel,” Crowley growled.

 

The phone clattered slightly, then Aziraphale’s voice was clear in his ear. “Oh, I’m so glad it’s you, are you okay?” He asked.

 

“I’m furious,” Crowley hissed. He put Aziraphale on speaker and pulled up Google Maps to get his address.

 

“I’m not fantastically pleased with this development myself,” Aziraphale said, his pout almost tangible.

 

“I’m texting you my location, come get me,” Crowley said as he hit send.

 

“I'm not sure that-” Aziraphale paused as the phone buzzed loudly through the speaker. “Oh, oh I see, yes, I’ll be right there,” he said and promptly hung up.

 

One of the girls spoke up. “Um, sorry, are we- ?”

 

Crowley spun and interrupted her. “Get out,” he demanded.

 

The girl on the right frowned. “This is my house,” she said, affronted.

 

Crowley snarled.

 

The creak of a door filled the silence, followed by comforting and familiar footsteps.

 

“Casey, there’s someone here,” Helen muttered, but too late.

 

The living room door opened and Aziraphale poked his head in, checking he had the right room. His eyes scanned the room then stopped on Crowley, who threw his arms open to show his exasperation and helplessness.

 

“Oh my,” Aziraphale sighed, his eyebrows flying up. He quickly stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He glanced at the three women on the couch, decided they weren’t much of a threat, and went back to trailing his gaze comfortably over Crowley. “Yes,” he muttered, with a large smile.

 

Crowley sighed and tipped his head to the side. He could pretend Aziraphale’s hungry look wasn’t doing anything to him, except he was naked so his chest flushed obviously and he felt his dick returning to full attention. The room began to feel a whole lot warmer. “Make it snappy, angel,” he said, putting on his annoyance a bit.

 

Aziraphale’s eyes moved slowly down Crowley’s body, lingering everywhere. He cleared his throat and glanced to the women again. “Ladies, would you leave us?” He asked.

 

“This is my house!” Casey repeated, somehow more annoyed than frightened.

 

Aziraphale turned to them properly. “It’s such a shame the summoning didn’t work, isn’t it?” He commiserated.

 

“Oh,” Helen said, nodding in agreement.

 

“Perhaps a night out on the town will ease the sting of disappointment,” Aziraphale suggested. 

 

The third woman stood up and smiled. “I’ll just get my purse,” she said. The two remaining women began cheerfully discussing a nearby bar they could visit as they pulled their shoes on.

 

“What are you doing?” Crowley asked.

 

Aziraphale walked around the circle, eyeing it closely. “This looks simple, there’s no funny business with it?” He asked.

 

Crowley turned, facing him as he walked. He’d gotten fully dressed, every button done up, but left his coat behind. Crowley sighed, it took so long to undo those buttons, all his good work dashed. He did appreciate the cut of that vest, though. “Yeah,” Crowley confirmed. “Just kick any bit and we can get back to it.”

 

Aziraphale stilled, standing by the edge of the circle and smiling at Crowley warmly. There was a hint of steel in his eyes and Crowley remembered that Aziraphale had also been interrupted without warning a few short minutes ago. Crowley lowered his gaze and, yes, Aziraphale’s pants were still a touch tight at his crotch. Crowley flushed with warmth at the thought.

 

The third woman poked her head back in and beckoned her friends out at last. Aziraphale smiled blandly at them as they left and said, “Have a blessed night, ladies,” without a touch of irony.

 

The door shut and the room went quiet. “Any time, angel,” Crowley encouraged, although he wouldn’t complain too much if Aziraphale preferred to stay and keep looking at him like that. There was something magnetic in this distance.

 

Aziraphale stared at him for another second, mulling, then quickly kicked the line of chalk, breaking the cast immediately. Crowley smiled with sarcastic thanks and stepped forward.

 

“Ah, ah,” Aziraphale said, raising a hand to stop him. He was still a full meter away, but Crowley obeyed.

 

"What?” Crowley snapped.

 

Aziraphale smiled at him. “Stay,” he said mildly.

 

Crowley would stay, then. “Angel,” he said reproachfully, questioning. He stepped back, returning to the center of the circle.

 

Aziraphale returned to walking slowly around the edge of the broken circle, looking at him. Crowley was a proud man, he liked his body, it did what he wanted, but this observation made him blush regardless. It was too matter of fact. Too much a mix of personal and impersonal. Aziraphale could easily be a rich man eyeing a nice car but for the touch of knowing between them that promised it was deeply meant.

 

“Aziraphale,” he said quietly, not sure what he was asking for.

 

“Does it force your demon aspects, or are you doing it for show?” Aziraphale asked. 

 

“Forces it,” Crowley admitted. “I could cover them up now.”

 

“Do not,” Aziraphale said certainly.

 

Crowley would not, then.

 

Aziraphale stopped walking. Crowley could feel himself swaying slightly, this constant gaze was growing to be too much for him. He wanted to be touched .

 

Aziraphale raised his hand and spun a finger around slowly, clearly instructing Crowley to turn on the spot. 

 

Crowley swallowed, then obeyed. He turned slowly, coiling and uncoiling as he went. He knew how he looked, he’d tempted enough people into lust to know. He moved his hair aside, giving Aziraphale a better view. He swung his hips, curled his spine, stood well, and glanced at Aziraphale in a manner too competent to be called coy. 

 

Aziraphale leant against the wall and began absentmindedly unbuttoning his vest. “You are beautiful, Crowley,’ he muttered.

 

Crowley stopped turning once he was facing Aziraphale again. “I think I’d like to negotiate for my release,” he said hoarsely. 

 

“What do you have to offer?” He asked. 

 

Crowley glanced down at Aziraphale’s tight crotch. “I’ll help deal with that,” he said.

 

Aziraphale followed his gaze and smiled. He dropped his hand to his crotch and ran his thumb up his length. Crowley looked away for a second, then realised that was absurd and looked back. Aziraphale’s smile grew at Crowley’s reaction. “You’re helping a’plenty from there, my dear demon,” he said simply. 

 

“What do you want?” Crowley asked, his quiet desperation leaking through.

 

“Touch yourself,” Aziraphale instructed. 

 

Crowley nearly moaned at the thought. He reached for himself slowly, fluttering his fingers down his abdomen to help prepare himself for the contact. It made no difference, when he finally gripped himself he groaned quietly in surprise, his eyes fluttering shut. He stroked himself once, gently, and gasped. He was much too far gone for such a simple touch.

 

“Let me see your eyes, love,” Aziraphale said softly. 

 

Crowley opened his eyes and was glad he had. Aziraphale had unbuttoned his pants and slipped his hand in. Crowley couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, but there was very little left to his imagination as Aziraphale’s hand moved quietly up and down. “I do so adore that colour,” Aziraphale said. 

 

Crowley stumbled forward, wanting to be closer, wanting to touch him. Aziraphale’s hand stilled as he watched him approach, his expression unreadable. Crowley stopped at the edge of the circle, not wanting to step beyond without permission.

 

“Good,” Aziraphale murmured. “What do you want, dear?” 

 

Crowley swallowed a moan, it manifested as a quiet whine instead. Aziraphale glanced at his dick and Crowley remember the instruction he was operating under and began stroking himself again. It felt too good, he couldn’t keep this up.

 

“Tell me,” Aziraphale said oh so gently.

 

Crowley had been honest with Aziraphale since they’d discussed their desires. Crowley had laid more love and adoration Aziraphale’s feet than he could have handled in return and Aziraphale hadn’t turned tail and run. In the past five months or so Crowley had been forced to trust him absolutely. “Touch me,” Crowley finally gasped.

 

Aziraphale seemed surprised at his request. But after a heavy moment he nodded, smiling at Crowley softly. “Kneel, dear one,” he instructed tenderly.

 

Crowley caught himself before his instinct to fall to the ground took its chance. He instead lowered himself to one knee, then brought his other leg in. He shuffled close to the chalk edge, looking at Aziraphale all the while.

 

“Would you beg?” Aziraphale asked him.

 

Crowley’s breath left him like he’d been slapped. “You know I would.”

 

Aziraphale smiled, he looked simply delighted. “Do so,” he ordered with contradicting mildness.

 

Crowley’s head tipped up, the one touch of rebellion at odds with the rest of him. He was too aroused, too clouded with lust to bother with pride. Regardless, Aziraphale could ask him to beg any time and he likely would. “Please,” he said fervently. “Touch me, angel, please.”

 

Aziraphale’s fingertips were on his chin, holding his head in position. Crowley’s chest heaved but his breaths were short. His hand still slid slowly over his dick, filling with stronger and stronger want, but all he felt now was Aziraphale’s touch. Then Aziraphale’s dick was at his lips, then in his mouth and Crowley nearly sobbed at the contact. He leaned in, taking him quickly, pressing his nose against Aziraphale’s shirt as hard as his throat would let him. 

 

Aziraphale’s hand found the back of his head and tightened in his hair, holding him in place and close. Crowley moaned at the touch, the tug, the pain. 

 

Aziraphale pulled him back, giving him a second to breath in hastily, then pushed his dick back down his throat. Crowley bucked at the speed, but held it and sucked. His hands flew to the back of Aziraphale’s thighs, wanting to hold him there, wanting to stay as full of him as he could. 

 

Aziraphale pulled his hair and pinched his arm. “Keep behind the line, dear, we wouldn’t want you getting hurt,” he said shakily. 

 

Crowley moaned again, but obeyed, although he didn’t want to. He pulled his hands back, letting them drop where they would. Aziraphale’s hands wrapped around the back of his head and his jaw, holding him, controlling where he went. 

 

Between Aziraphale’s thrusts and controlling hold, Crowley found there was very little for him to do but breathe and try to do the occasional clever thing with his tongue. So he knelt there and let Aziraphale fuck his mouth and loved every second of it. 

 

He began to feel disconnected from himself, like he was smothered or floating. He could hear himself moaning, the sounds coming unbidden, unfiltered. Aziraphale’s breathing changed, tightened, and Crowley leaned forwards, wanting to do a good job for him, knowing he was succeeding. As he did his hand fell against his dick and the sensation that shot through him was so intense and surprising that it broke entirely through the fog that had formed around him. 

 

Crowley’s eyes flew open and he moaned, desperately hard, desperately keen. He ran a few fingers up his dick as Aziraphale began to fuck him harder. Crowley looked up and found Aziraphale staring down at him lovingly, reverently, faithfully. 

 

Crowley swallowed, watching Aziraphale closely. Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he gasped, his hand tugging at Crowley’s hair restlessly. Crowley could identify an unspoken request, and swallowed again, then again, then again. He needed to breath, but not badly, and Aziraphale had begun to moan, so he swallowed again.

 

“Oh,” Aziraphale gasped. He leaned over Crowley, his hands scrambling for purchase in his hair. He was as far into Crowley as he could be, but he thrust a few times more regardless. Crowley nearly came from being so fucked, but he held it, and instead swallowed again, ignoring the sparking stars behind his eyelids as his body screamed at him to breathe. 

 

Aziraphale came, holding Crowley to him, moaning into the quiet room. Crowley swallowed his load and Aziraphale groaned, his knees beginning to buckle. 

 

In one moment, Aziraphale pulled out of his mouth and fell to his knees before Crowley. Crowley began to gasp for air immediately, the sound loud and harsh to his ears. “Oh, dear, oh, my dear,” Aziraphale muttered, more than a little breathless himself. He reached for Crowley and pulled him into his lap, past the edge of the chalk circle. Crowley clambered onto Aziraphale hastily, wrapping himself around his angel, still catching his breath. He luxuriated in the contrasting sensations of cloth and fabric against his bare skin as he sat in his still fully clothed lover’s lap.

 

“Oh,” Aziraphale sighed again as Crowley shivered in his arms. He found a lock of Crowley’s hair and tugged it, pulling Crowley towards him until their lips met and they could kiss at last. Crowley kissed him hard, crawling constantly up his body and slipping down again like a desperate snake.

 

Two of Aziraphale’s fingers slipped into his ass without warning and Crowley yelled quietly into Aziraphale’s mouth. They found their path easily, Crowley still relaxed from being fucked by Aziraphale on the bookshop floor earlier. Aziraphale kissed him tenderly while he fingered him roughly and Crowley shivered in his lap, taking everything Aziraphale gave him. 

 

Aziraphale’s other hand trailed from his cheek down Crowley’s chest to his dick and gently, so lightly, began to stroke him. Crowley sobbed tearlessly, trying to kiss Aziraphale through his overwhelmed emotions. 

 

“I’ll mess your clothes,” Crowley gasped. 

 

He felt Aziraphale’s chest shake in silent laughter. “Oh, do, love,” Aziraphale muttered into his ear. At that Aziraphale’s ministrations changed. He sat up, his fingers fully in Crowley and curling perfectly as he stroked his dick harshly, with intention.

 

All Crowley could do was hold on, not slip too far off his angel’s body, and moan. His orgasm was already there, it needed no building, but the intensity of Aziraphale’s actions shocked him into not coming for a full five second before suddenly it hit him like an unexpected freight train in the night and he came, shouting loudly, wordlessly into the room. 

 

Aziraphale eased off quickly, his arms wrapping warmly around Crowley and pulling him into a welcome hug as he shook and gasped.

 

Crowley calmed quickly. Aziraphale’s thumb stroked along the line behind his ear fondly, helping to ground him. Aziraphale’s other thumb found his hip bone and began gently pressing small circles into the dip in his hip. 

 

“Don’t slip too far, dear,” Aziraphale said, pulling Crowley out of his softly building drowsiness. “We were interrupted earlier, and I mean to finish what I started.”

 

Crowley groaned, burying his head into Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale’s finger pressed harder, scraping behind his ear and down his neck. Crowley felt his abdomen stirring at the contact, he could take more, he wanted to. And this time it promised to be full of contact, Aziraphale had been working on biting him to bruising along his wing line when he’d been summoned. 

 

“Let’s get home, love,” Aziraphale suggested quietly. Crowley didn’t respond but to turn his head and kiss Aziraphale’s neck, leaving small and not so small kisses up his neck to his jaw and mouth, where Aziraphale reciprocated with a smile. 

 

Aziraphale kissed him for a few long seconds, all generosity and warmth. Then his fingernails dug into Crowley’s hip and he used Crowley’s gasp to move him off his lap and onto the ground. 

 

Crowley leaned back languidly, comfortably rearranging himself to rest on his elbows behind him. He looked up at Aziraphale with a smirk. “Not here?” He asked. He shifted his legs so that one knee fell open obscenely as he tapped up Aziraphale’s thigh with his other foot. 

 

Aziraphale looked openly at him, taking his time to drag his gaze shamelessly from one point of interest to the next. Then he sat up straighter, kneeling before Crowley proudly. He rested a hand on Crowley’s snakeskin ankle, holding on slightly harder than strictly necessary. “I’m not quite as Babylonian as you, dear heart, I shan’t get undressed in a stranger’s house,” he said primly.

 

“Ah,” Crowley agreed, raising his eyebrows. Had Aziraphale just implied Crowley was whorish? Crowley hoped so, his blood was starting to return to his dick at the thought. 

 

Aziraphale began moving his hand slowly up Crowley’s leg, feeling every sinew and muscle that complicated itself in his natural shoed form. “Although,” Aziraphale muttered, more to himself than Crowley as he closely watched his own exploration of Crowley’s leg. “If you should choose to dress like this more often that would be most welcome.”

 

“I’m naked plenty,” Crowley pointed out casually. His calm tone was contradicted by his now entirely erect dick. Aziraphale lifted his leg, rubbing small circles into the tender boney buckle as he did, and rested the heel of Crowley’s foot on his shoulder. Crowley began to shiver, but didn’t move, he didn’t want to miss a second of this.

 

Aziraphale left a light kiss on Crowley’s inner ankle, where a faux stitch lay, as he ran his hand further up Crowley’s leg. “Not like this you aren’t,” Aziraphale disagreed breathlessly. 

 

Aziraphale leaned forward, his fingers trailing past Crowley’s knee. Crowley’s leg slipped naturally further past Aziraphale’s shoulder as he came closer. Aziraphale stilled on all fours above Crowley, his hand absentmindedly continuing it’s study of the scales peppering Crolwey’s inner thigh. 

 

“Changed your mind about heading home, then?” Crowley asked breathlessly. He wanted Aziraphale to fuck him here, like this, but he didn’t want Aziraphale to regret it afterwards.

 

Aziraphale hummed, long and low, closing his eyes. “No,” he sighed apologetically as his hand slipped up inside Crowley’s thigh, along his crotch, and pressed on his leg. Crowley’s leg fell off Aziraphale’s shoulder quickly and hit the ground at quite an angle. Crowley lay beneath him, held down and open and totally vulnerable. Crowley chuckled, his arousal clouding but not completely shrouding his amusement at Aziraphale’s contradicting actions. 

 

Aziraphale’s hand on his thigh crawled to his groin, moving inexorably slowly towards his dick. Crowley felt his resolve weaken completely, then swell. He reached out and caught Aziraphale’s wrist before he touched him. “Do that and I won’t be able to balance enough to fly,” Crowley gasped.

 

“I’ll carry you,” Aziraphale offered immediately. 

 

Crowley’s heart leapt a few feet at that. Aziraphale had made something of a point in the past year or so since the apocalypse to prove his loyalty to Crowley. It was sometimes tiresome, but mostly it was like this, touching and far too soft for Crowley to handle. Crowley’s eyes fluttered shut as his heart returned erratically to his chest. “Don’t- no need, angel,” he muttered. 

 

He felt Aziraphale nod above him, then the hand on his groin pressed in, making him groan quietly, as Aziraphale used the leverage to help him sit back. Crowley opened his eyes to see Aziraphale kneeling between his legs, his eyes bright and face flushed. 

 

Aziraphale’s chest was heaving to match Crowley’s, they both sat in a moment of quiet trying to catch their breath and regain some composure. Aziraphale’s hand fluttered down the front of his shirt, trying to piece himself together, but along the way he encountered the residue of Crowley’s earlier release.

 

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, the disgust clear in his voice. He looked down at his sticky hand. “Oh,” he repeated, more sadly, studying the ruined shirt. Crowley started to laugh and sat up, leaning forward over his legs to blow on the stain, clearing it away. 

 

He was better at the cleaning miracles than Aziraphale because Aziraphale’s method of removing the substance worked, but it had been stained. Crowley fiddled with time slightly, returning the item to how it had been before the damage took place and sending any residue into the ether. Aziraphale didn’t need to know how tiring a miracle it was to cast, Crowley would always be happy to spend energy on him.

 

Aziraphale looked at him with admiration and joy. Crowley smiled back warmly, filling with contentment. 

 

“Home,” Aziraphale said shortly. 

 

Crowley nodded and stood, holding out a hand to help Aziraphale up. Aziraphale took it and brushed himself off once he was standing, then released his wings. 

 

“Oh, keep your scales on,” he requested with a sly smile, then took off without waiting for a response. 

 

Crowley’s eyebrows flew up. Aziraphale had been obvious in his admiration, but Crowley had assumed it was something of an act, to suit the scene they’d found themselves in, not a sincere attraction. He had never loved his scales, he didn’t hate them but they were just how he was and he didn’t care much. He liked the idea of Aziraphale liking them, and Aziraphale had asked, so Crowley would keep his scales on for the night at least. Maybe more.

 

He spread his wings and followed eagerly.