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Sex with an angel was addictive.


Crowley had known this ever since his first sexual encounter with Aziraphale, and by their subsequent liaisons had encouraged it to the point where a few days spent apart would reduce him to knocking down telephone poles and changing subway maps out of pure spite.


So he spent a lot of time at Aziraphale’s bookstore, a lot of time on the angel’s dusty old mattress.


It was where they were now, Aziraphale gasping beneath him, making little choking noises and twisting his hips just so. It was enough to make Crowley’s thrusts erratic, enough to make him want to claw the perfect length of Aziraphale’s back.


Or, not so perfect. There were moles scattered here and there, and lately the angel had been putting on some weight.


It wasn’t Aziraphale’s appearance that was attractive to him, though over the many years since Aziraphale had acquired this body Crowley had grown fond of it. As an angel Aziraphale had an uncorruptable innocence that Crowley was drawn to.


To corrupt a human was pleasurable, but always tempered by the knowledge that humans were liable to fall, that it was inevitable. Angels were different. Every time Crowley fucked Aziraphale he felt as though he was doing something impossible, as though he were falling again, terrified and breathless and more free than he’d ever been. And with Aziraphale it would happen again and again, because the connection between an angel’s mind and body was much more tenuous than that of a human’s. Therefore the defilement of Aziraphale’s body would be unlikely to defile his mind.


As a demon, Crowley hadn’t quite understood this, but Aziraphale had told him that it was all a matter of intention, and not something that he should worry about.


Crowley might have worried about that at one time, but certainly not while the angel was doing this.


This was another reason why sex with an angel was superior to that with a human.


Muscle control.


In creatures whose mind power could manifest kittens, spare keys, genitals and any other convenient thing, muscle control was easy. Angels had the ability to control even the most minute muscles in their borrowed bodies. Crowley could feel Aziraphale taking advantage of that ability, clenching around Crowley’s length as though to trap him. He growled and nipped lightly at Aziraphale’s neck, savoring the way the angel arched to meet him on each thrust, curving his head to make his neck more accessible.


When it was over, Crowley pulled out and pushed at Aziraphale to move over and make room so they could cuddle.


Aziraphale didn’t move.


"Come on, angel. Move your lazy arse." He pushed at Aziraphale’s arm more firmly and was surprised when he met no resistance at all.


Even after orgasm, it was hardly possible for an angel to be so completely relaxed around a demon. There was always an extra awareness in play controlling Aziraphale’s reactions. Crowley both loved and hated this. He loved it because it was a constant reminder of just what he was getting away with when he seduced Aziraphale; he hated it because it was a barrier between them that he would never be able to breach.


And then he noticed the familiar silvery swirl above him.


He stared.


He’d seen Aziraphale discorporated many times. In the old days he was often the one responsible for said discorporations, before he’d discovered just how much more satisfying it was to fuck the angel than to discorporate him.


Now, it seemed, he was getting both in one go, and though it should have made him happy, it didn’t.


If the swirl had had eyes they would have been looking at him accusingly.


"Don’t look at me like that," he said, "I’ve been warning you to lay off those sweets for decades."


There was an indignant sniff in his mind and the silvery swirl vanished.


Crowley sighed, flopped over onto his back and addressed the corpse next to him: "Well, I guess I’ll have to settle for humans for the next couple years."



It turned out to be three years, and by that time Crowley was so starved for angel-sex that he had almost considered nipping upstairs to ask Raphael for a quickie. The only thing that deterred him was the certainty that all he’d get for his troubles would be a flaming sword through his gut.


Spending an additional three years in hell as Lucifer’s lapdog was not on his agenda, so Crowley tried to satisfy himself with humans. Lots and lots of humans. In fact, he seduced so many of London’s young men that the less prestigious newspapers began printing articles about London’s gay revolution. He was certain to get a commendation from hell, though that hadn’t been his intent.


And then Aziraphale got back.



The doorbell rang, waking Crowley from the sound sleep that he’d fallen into after fucking the delivery boy (who really hadn’t had any idea what he was getting into). It was possible that this was another delivery boy, though Crowley really didn’t remember ordering one. No matter. Whoever was on the other side of the door would do.


He opened the door.


He barely had time to register the fact that it was a woman before she shrieked and bashed him over the head with her rather large handbag. He stumbled backwards out of the harridan’s range and looked up to survey her cautiously.


Being hit over the head by strange women wasn’t an experience that he was unfamiliar with, but he honestly couldn’t remember the last time that he’d been around a woman long enough to incite this kind of reaction. She could be the girlfriend of the delivery boy, or the waiter at the Ritz, the salesman at the department store, yesterday morning’s jogger…the list was endless.


The question that needed answering was how she had gotten the location of---


Crowley blinked.


There was a faint silvery sheen about the woman that looked decidedly familiar. As a matter of fact—


"Aziraphale!" he cried delightedly, and threw himself at the feminized angel, who promptly whacked him over the head again, and kicked him for good measure.


Crowley watched warily from outside of kicking range, rubbing his head.


"Angel," he said, "I know that you’re upset about being discorporated, but I really had nothing to do with it." He refrained from pointing out that it was the blessed angel’s own fault that it had happened. Silly creature not taking care of itself properly, depriving Crowley of three years of wonderful angel-sex—but that was a path that his mind would be wiser not to travel, given that said angel was both temptingly close and disappointingly too angry for reunion sex. Though perhaps he, er, she, only needed some persuasion. Crowley could do persuasion. Crowley was the fucking king of persuasion.


He edged closer.


Aziraphale glared at him, booted feet twitching menacingly. "That’s not why I’m upset."


Crowley thought about this.


"Is it the men? I couldn’t help myself, Aziraphale, honestly."


He cautiously moved forward, stopping when Aziraphale gave a rather demonic hiss.


"Er, Aziraphale, you’re not acting quite like yourself. Did they change you in some way up there? I mean other than the obvious," he hastened to add.


Aziraphale gave a choked sort of noise and ducked down the stairwell. By the time Crowley had rushed over he was gone.


Excitement thrummed in Crowley’s veins. True, Aziraphale hadn’t seemed all that excited to see him, but then he had come to Crowley’s apartment, let Crowley know that he was back, and that was surely an invitation of sorts.


He hastily manifested his best suit and the leather coat that the angel so liked the feel of. If Aziraphale was going to run out on him then he’d just have to run after.


He took the Bentley, savoring the anticipation that built as he drove at natural human speed. For the first time in three years he ignored all the tantalizing potential sexual conquests he passed. He only needed one partner, who was finally available again.


The door of the shop was locked, which nonplussed Crowley for a second. Yes, the angel often discouraged visitors, but he’d never discouraged Crowley. Still, it took only a wave of his hand to unlock it, and there he was stepping into a darkened and dusty shop. Perhaps Aziraphale really wasn’t here, though Crowley had no idea when else he would be. After all, what did Aziraphale love better than his demon and his books?


He was turning to look around when something heavy hit his head and he blacked out.


Crowley had never experienced the singular pleasure of a hangover, and so waking with an aching head was a new and disturbing experience. True, he could immediately do away with it, but it still left him feeling rather too human.


He moved to sit up and discovered that he was tied down, tied down to a bed, more precisely. Crowley had no objections to a little bondage here and there, but the fact that someone had actually hit him over the head in order to get him in this position made him annoyed.


He was about to free himself when a figure looming over him, blue-eyes wide, fingers twitching madly over a pair of rather nice breasts. Not that Crowley often noticed such things, as he was really more of a boys demon than a girls demon, but it was difficult to avoid noticing them when they were within groping distance, or would be if he wasn’t tied down. Crowley looked at them appreciatively. He could become a girls demon for his angel, and certainly if said angel took up a penchant for bondage games. It was strange. Aziraphale had never shown any inclination towards such a thing before.


"Crowley," said the angel, well-manicured fingers twisting nervously.


Crowley resisted the urge to reassure them. After all, best let a dom set her own pace.


"Yes, Aziraphale?"


"Crowley," repeated Aziraphale, "I feel the irresistible urge to hit you, and I have ever since I first saw you after I descended in this form."


Well, this was certainly promising, or should be. Crowley had a sudden nasty thought. What if this wasn’t about sex after all?


"I thought that we’d been over this, what do you want me to do? Cause world peace? Stop reruns of 70’s television? Destroy all cellular phones? Recover the library of Alexandria?"


Aziraphale licked his lips.


"Give up the Bentley?" Crowley’s voice cracked at that one.


"No," said the angel, "I’d certainly like it if you did all those things, but I think that I’d still want to hit you."


"But why?" Crowley was bewildered. Maybe this was about sex after all? One could only hope.


"Crowley, do you remember the last time management punished you?"


"I thought we agreed not to talk about that," he snapped. Then something occurred to him. "Wait a minute, heaven hasn’t punished you, have they?" How would that even work? What would the heavenly equivalent of an incubus be?


"No, I haven’t been punished, and this isn’t about me," said Aziraphale stiffly, "this is about you."


Crowley frowned. "I don’t see how my previous occupations are relevant. I’m not being punished."


"No," said Aziraphale, "but when you were you made a pathetic incubus."


Crowley growled.


"Face it, Crowley, you failed, and do you know why?"


Crowley knew why, but it wasn’t a memory that he enjoyed revisiting. He had protested his assignment. He appreciated sex as much as the next demon, but he generally enjoyed it with males. Nevertheless he was sent up to earth with the injunction that he visit the dreams of women and tempt them with lust. It should have been fairly easy; he might not like the act, but demons were creatures of lust.


Except that apparently Crowley wasn’t.


At least, not with these women. They unfailingly reacted negatively to his presence in their dreams. Some few ignored him, some woke up immediately with the effect of shoving him out, and some even tried to attack him.


He’d spent an unpleasant few years in hell for his failure, and it annoyed him that Aziraphale was so bent on bringing it up now. He considered snapping the ropes that held him, but the unpleasant gleam in Aziraphale’s eyes made him hesitate.


"It was because of the curse."


Curse? He was under a curse? And Aziraphale knew about it?


"When we were still in the garden," Aziraphale explained. "Don’t you remember? "’And I will put enmity between you and the woman.’"


"Don’t say that," hissed Crowley. He did remember that, though it wasn’t pleasant and—


Wait a minute.


"Angel," he said carefully, "let me get this straight. You think that you have the urge to hit me because of a six thousand year old curse?" He laughed. He couldn’t help it. And then he wasn’t laughing anymore because Aziraphale had just hit him over the head. Again.


Aziraphale was scowling again. "It’s not funny, Crowley. Do you think I like doing this?" He did it again.


Well, if this wasn’t going to be fun….






"You’re certain about this."




"Certain enough to want to test your hypothesis?"


"Yes—wait, what do you—"


But it was too late. Crowley was out of the ropes and on the angel in a second. In the next moment he was standing over the body of a dead woman while a silvery swirl buzzed angrily above his head.


"Look at it this way," said Crowley into the air, "if you’re right, then when you come back in a male form you won’t feel the urge to hit me."


The flashing colors of the swirl seemed to indicate otherwise.



Luckily for the world, it didn’t take Aziraphale quite as long this time to get a new body. The one that he got however….


Crowley looked disbelievingly at the angel sitting on the bench, lollypop in his mouth.


"Can’t we—"






"I said no."


"But angel—"


"No, Crowley. There will be no discorporation, and no sex. You’re just going to have to wait until this body grows up."


Crowley looked at the pint-sized angel in front of him and whimpered.