Somewhere south of Toulouse, 1223
“Well, well, angel, haven't you got wings to fly?”
The voice came out of the darkness beyond her fire, sibilant, soft, and menacing, but Aziraphale barely raised her head, instead waving at the shadows with irritated familiarity.
“Oh stop with your lurking and come by the fire, you sorry old thing,” she said. “And of course I have wings to fly, but one doesn't fly on pilgrimage, does one? It rather defeats the purpose of marching one's rear all the way from London to Rome.”
A great black snake as thick around as her thigh slithered out of the night, nosing inquisitively at the fire before coming to nudge at Aziraphale's ankle.
“Who'd you piss off this time? Things being as they are, I figured you would have just winked yourself to Outremer with that bloody halberd of yours to do some damage.”
Aziraphale's fingers twitched, and obligingly, Crowley lowered her chin to receive some gentle scratching, her tongue flickering against Aziraphale's palm ticklishly.
“Don't I wish that were the case,” Aziraphale sighed. “I'm afraid Gabriel took some exception to that business over in Lourdes.”
Crowley turned her head to make her way up Aziraphale's side, confident with familiarity and weaving comfortably left and right until most of her weight rested on Aziraphale's belly, just below her breasts.
“Ah, I'm sorry about that one. Got a bit carried away, didn't I?”
“People were fed, and one rather nasty bit of business was smote with extreme prejudice, so I shan't complain. And get off, you're heavy.”
She turned to her side to dump Crowley off in the dirt, growling a little at the pain that shot from below her knee up to her thigh.
Crowley sat up woman-shaped, shaking out her loose red hair as she glanced down the length of Aziraphale's body.
“Same old trouble, huh?” she asked sympathetically.
“Angels weren't made for walking,” Aziraphale grumbled.
“Not meant to retain old wounds in new corporations either,” Crowley said blithely. “Haven't you spoken to someone about that yet?”
“I would rather not,” Aziraphale said firmly. “And if you are only here to chide-”
“Oh, I'm not one for chiding, angel,” Crowley said. “Just here to sow discord, foment dissatisfaction, and tempt the righteous, that's me.”
“Well, I am incorruptible, so your efforts are quite wasted.”
Aziraphale shifted to her back again, stifling a hiss as the low throb just below her knee flared up and then dimmed again when she settled into position. She had shoved a wadded-up tunic under the bend of her leg to bring a little bit of relief to the joint, but it had flopped out of position. With a rather unangelic curse, she reached for it only to find Crowley folding it up again and sliding it into place. She might have left it then, but instead she flipped up the hem of Aziraphale's shift, bringing it up to her thighs.
“Ah, I was right, it is the old trouble. This is swollen up already.”
“I know,” Aziraphale said peevishly. “You may do something about it or you may kindly cover me up again, please.”
“Oh, angel, you really only had to ask,” Crowley said with a laugh.
“You know I can't.”
“Ah, of course not. Consider yourself forced, if that's what you like.”
One long hand cupped warmly around Aziraphale's thick ankle, gentle and far below the real damage, ruffling the pale hair on her shin before stroking firmly and slowly up.
“Oh,” Aziraphale sighed, tilting her head back on the ground. “Oh no. Heaven deliver me. That doesn't feel good at all.”
“You keep telling yourself that, angel.
Crowley's hands on her leg were firm and knowing. She knew exactly where to be gentle and where she could dig her fingers in, precisely where she should go after the knots and where she should simply set her palm, letting just the barest flicker of infernal heat loosen the flesh and muscle.
“Worst it's been in a while, I should say,” Crowley said judiciously. “Stiff as an oak tree, you.”
“I was doing just fine until Gabriel put me on the road to Jerusalem,” Aziraphale said, not opening her eyes. “Oh, yes, right there, please.”
She melted into her sleeping pallet, letting her shoulders drop down down and her head tilt slightly to one side. Really, it was unseemly to be sprawled like a rag doll in front of Crowley, but she couldn't help it and wasn't particularly interested in helping it either. Right now, the only thing that interested her was Crowley raking her fingertips from just below her hip down to her knee, repeating the motion over and over again until something in her leg loosened and she could stretch it almost entirely straight without pain.
“Ah, there you are,” Crowley said softly. “Poor thing, that must have hurt quite a bit.'
“As you said, it's an old difficulty. I am quite used to it now, anyway. Wouldn't know myself without it.”
It was true, the same way she wouldn't know Crowley without the yellow eyes and the faint dry scent of crackling tinder. They were as they were, and it wasn't worth even Crowley's momentary look of consternation.
“If you wish to build up the fire- oh, Crowley, what are you doing?”
Crowley's hand had slid higher, up to the small roll of flesh above her hip and tracing it to the soft place under her belly.
“Oh, just this thing I learned,” Crowley said breezily. “Works a treat for all kinds of ailments. Distracting as the dickens, anyway. Want to give it a try?”
Aziraphale laughed, stretching out on the ground, marveling at how good it felt to lie even rather than rucked up.
“Is this anything like that internal massage you introduced me to a few years back?”
“So what if it is? That was a very reputable technique taught to me by a midwife in Antioch. This one's even better. What do you say?”
Aziraphale let out a long breath. What a fine line it was sometimes. It made her think of dancing, which she intended to try someday very soon. She liked the idea of dancing.
“I say that I am interested in any techniques that reduce pain in the world,” she said primly, and Crowley hissed softly with pleasure.
“To do this properly, I'll have to be a bit closer. Can you open up a bit, angel?”
Aziraphale obligingly spread her legs, letting Crowley come between them before stretching out luxuriantly to prop herself against Aziraphale's good thigh.
“Oh, do make yourself comfortable, my dear,” Aziraphale said wryly, and Crowley made a sound that was almost prim.
“Don't know what you're talking about, angel, I'm merely finding a good working position. Nothing but diligence in this bad demon.”
Aziraphale dragged her pack over to pillow her head, watching as Crowley uncorked a vial of what smelled like good olive oil. She dribbled a bit on her fingers so they shone, and with her clean hand, she tugged Aziraphale's shift up to her waist. She was every inch the professional as she inspected the place between Aziraphale's thighs, the pale fluff of hair, the plump lips now slightly open from her position and damp at the demon's inspection. Crowley nodded to herself.
“I see, I see, yes, I think I know exactly what this calls for.”
“Oh, do you- oh!”
Aziraphale drew a slight stuttered breath as Crowley slid her oiled fingers over the flesh above her slit, firm and pulling downwards through the hair there with a touch that was after all not so different from what she had done below. There was a world of difference between one spot and the other, however, and Aziraphale's hips bucked up before she governed herself.
“Good?” asked Crowley solicitously.
“Yes,” Aziraphale sighed. “Lovely.”
She lay back, her eyes drifting shut as Crowley's dragged two slick fingers down either side of her slit, working up and down again with a light but firm motion that was almost dreamy. She was so soft there, and under Crowley's touch she felt softer still, as if the demon was changing something elemental about her. Once or perhaps twice, a sly fingertip traced a little closer to the center, just enough to press her lips open without entering, but each time, Crowley drew back, going back to simply petting her and sending a soft and completely sweet wave of pleasure through her body.
Aziraphale was almost asleep when Crowley's hand slid up to palm the apex of her slit, leaving the wet lips to cover the soft area above with the heel of her hand.
“Tell me if it hurts,” Crowley said easily. “It's not meant to.”
It was rather the opposite, and Crowley's hand pressed up against her flesh rhythmically, the sensations rocking her deeper now. Aziraphale's hips pushed up a little harder, nothing more, she could say, then her body rising to Crowley's touch.
She could feel herself open further under the pressure as she rode up against Crowley's hand. When Crowley pushed down more firmly, Aziraphale covered her mouth to stifle a groan. Her clit was suddenly more exposed than it had been before, and she pressed up harder, hungry for more.
Crowley laughed softly.
“Ready for more already, angel?”
“Yes, please,” Aziraphale said, and she cracked an eyelid just in time to see Crowley's cheeks flush red. Poor darling, always so gone for a polite angel.
Still Crowley didn't touch her clit, not with her fingers or even her clever fanged mouth. Instead she caressed the area around that sensitive spot, small strokes, fast and feather-light at first before sliding more insistently along either side of her clit.
“Oh, oh Crowley-”
“Oh that's very good, isn't it, angel” Crowley murmured. “Take your time. It's all right. Take all the time you need, I'm here for the long haul.”
Crowley's fingers moved in languid circles over and around Aziraphale's clit, sometimes more firmly, sometimes less. Aziraphale was stretched to the very limits of her skin, shivering and rolling her hips slowly up to Crowley's touch.
There was no urgency to anything, no break in Crowley's rhythm, nothing more than the crackle of the fire and the night sky that turned overhead. It was only slowly that a familiar tension started to draw tight in her belly, making her motions grow short and more desperate.
Blindly, Aziraphale reached down, and Crowley's free hand claimed hers. Yes, that was right.
When she came, it wasn't like the pop of wood exploding in the fire or the boom of a cannon. Instead it was as if she had grown so full with pleasure that she had no choice to but to tip and pour it out, a long and lovely exhale that still left her breathless, no shouts but a wondering gasp that seemed to take just as much from her.
Aziraphale threw her arm over her eyes as Crowley carefully pulled her hand away. She wasn't looking, so she couldn't be confirm for anyone if Crowley leaned in to kiss her gently below the curve of her belly or to nuzzle the wet flesh below.
When she finally opened her eyes, Crowley was settling down at the fire across from her, wiping her hands fastidiously before spreading a bedroll on the ground.
“How very wicked of me,” Crowley commented. “Found a sleeping angel, so I'll just sit myself down and take advantage of her fire while she's snoring away.”
Aziraphale laughed softly, obligingly closing her eyes again and stretching out with limbs that felt marvelously loose and warm. She was too canny an old campaigner to think they would stay that way, that the old trouble wouldn't come back and leave her crabbed and pale sooner or later. Right now, however, her body buzzed with a low pleasure, and the rest was a thousand miles away.