It had all started innocuously enough – if anything in relation to that list could ever be considered innocuous in the first place.
But before the list had entered the scene, things had been rather innocuous. Crowley was nestled down on the sofa in the backroom while Aziraphale was fiddling about with some book. He had been on the verge of giving in to a short nap for a while but finally decided against it and pulled out his phone instead to scroll idly through the news. Maybe there was something diverting to be found…
After a while, when there was no hint at Aziraphale being done anytime soon, he considered opening a bottle of wine. Or some of that nice brandy the angel had stashed away. He glanced at the coffee table, wondering whether there was enough space for a decanter and two glasses – just in case Aziraphale would like to join him later – when his gaze fell on the piece of paper.
He smiled, got himself into a position somewhat approaching being upright and reached for the list. Reading through it, his smile widened at some of the items. Others still made him raise an eyebrow. Many of them brought a leering grin onto his face. More than half of the things on it had been ticked off by now and pleasurable that had certainly been – for the most part.
Oh, he remembered this one quite fondly. As well as that one….
With the warm sensation of content amusement enfolding him, he perused the list until he reached the end. Then he stopped - as was to be expected - and gaped – at something he had not expected.
He was not sure how long he had been staring at what was written there in an elaborate cursive that would make a master calligrapher weep with envy. At some point he forced himself to blink. And then stared some more.
"What's this?" he asked at last.
"What's what?" Aziraphale was still concentrated on the book in front of him. Technically intent on restoring it, practically Crowley was sure that it was much more a case of devouring every single word it carried.
"This," he said and waved the list at the angel.
Something in his voice made Aziraphale actually look up and turn his attention on him. As soon as he saw what Crowley was holding in his hand, his lips curled into a smile.
"I doubt you need reminding what that is."
"Yeah, no. I mean, what's this?" His thumb and index finger, which were holding the list, were pinched right beside the last item on it. Aziraphale merely raised his eyebrows at him.
"The last thing on it." Crowley said with increasing impatience, making absolutely clear what he thought should be obvious.
"Oh!" Aziraphale finally seemed to catch on. "Oh, that. Just something I thought of after our last outing."
"Not going to happen."
"What?" Aziraphale frowned. "Why not?"
"Because I'm not going to fuck you in the Bentley."
"You are not fucking me in the Bentley either."
"Honestly, Crowley. Out of all the things –"
"No. We're not fucking in the Bentley. Or on the Bentley. Or beside the Bentley. The Bentley is a no-fucking zone."
"You're being ridiculous."
"I'm the one being ridiculous?"
"I do know you love that car, but – "
"I mean it. Not going to happen. How'd you like it if we were going at it in the shop?"
"We've had more than one activity here."
"Yeah, in the backroom. Or upstairs. But not in the shop. I know some of the books you have out there. Nasty buggers."
"Never mind the books, I hardly think they would care," Aziraphale answered with an amused glint in his eyes. Amused and… something else. Crowley scowled at him.
"They might not, but the Bentley most definitely would. I'd never hear the end of it."
"Really, my dear. That's nonsense."
"The only nonsense here is this." He waved the list once again. "The last item, that is. Might as well erase it right off it."
Aziraphale only hummed, that speculative glimmer still lurking in the corners of his eyes.
It took almost two weeks until he had Aziraphale in the bookshop. Twelve and a half days exactly, if one was to be precise and paying attention to such things.
The first day after their conversation, he would not see Aziraphale at all. He was to drive out to the west, a bit outside of London. There was this local politician who had a good wiling coming. He had been spewing utterly ridiculous amounts of bigoted vitriol which in and of itself was not really Crowley's problem, but it made the guy just the right mark for a bit of fun. He did have to pick his cases now that both he and the angel were freelancing. Some harmless competition in the wiling and thwarting business was one thing, but whenever either of them decided on something serious, they were both considerate enough to take on cases the other did not mind staying away from. And it was not as if there was a shortage on humans who had it coming. This particular one was well on his way to hell anyway, he would just add a little flourish for fun's sake.
So it was with a pleasant mood that he set out to fulfil his self-imposed task. And with an even more pleasant mood that he drove back once he had accomplished it, leaving a trail of smouldering speed cameras in his wake. Tragic, those spontaneous combustions of electronical devices. He smiled and gave the dashboard of the Bentley a fond pat while the speedometer danced merrily between 100 and 120 mph.
He even remembered to stop by a very specific bakery – the best one in all of Britain, according to a certain angel - to pick up some of their scones and a jar of the Clotted Cream Aziraphale liked so much. Once back in Mayfair, he considered dropping by at the bookshop for a nightcap and some conversation, maybe a bit of fun, but Aziraphale had mentioned something about a new shipment coming in so he figured he might as well call it a night. The delicacies would know better than to be anything less than excellent the following day.
Still in the splendid mood of a bad job very well accomplish and the little treat for Aziraphale in his hand he entered the bookshop the next day.
Which was to say, day two after the conversation.
Aziraphale was in the backroom but came out to the front when Crowley entered the shop – which was unusual. The angel could always tell when it was him and trusted him to find his way around his priceless possessions. So, when Aziraphale was approaching him with a particular spring in his steps and a distinctive air to the way he held himself, Crowley took a closer look.
Yes, there was that certain something about the angel. He had stopped after just a few steps and was now lingering along his till, making a nice show of absentmindedly leaving through a random notebook.
Crowley suppressed a grin.
"Got something for you."
"Oh?" Aziraphale looked up, eyes all wide and perfect innocence. He let his grin widen, then held up the bag in his hand, label clearly showing.
"Ohhh!" The angel's face lit up. "You really didn't have to!"
"Sure didn't. But it was right along the way." He smiled indulgently.
"In that case, let me put the kettle on." Aziraphale scuttle off towards the backroom again. "And I have some splendid jam that will pair perfectly with these. Did I ever tell you that they really are the best scones in all of recent Britain?"
"You might have mentioned it once or twice…"
The rest of day two was comfortably uneventful.
Having spent the night, Crowley was already at Aziraphale's in the morning of day three. They had a little bit of a lie in - Aziraphale keen on finishing one of his new books and Crowley rather content to be snoozing away most of the morning - then headed out for lunch. Once they came back, he was set on strolling towards the backroom, maybe he would have another lazy afternoon while Aziraphale got on with whatever he was intending to do for the rest of the day. The angel had flipped the shop sign to 'Open' and had started to follow Crowley, then suddenly stopped. It was not as if there was any specific reason for it, he just seemed to have drifted towards one of the bookshelves and then halted. Unexpectedly.
Crowley frowned. There was something in the room… He knew the current of it, had been feeling it for centuries now. Millenia, to be honest. Had sensed it ebbing and flowing from Aziraphale in all sorts of variations. It was usually a subtle, underlying thing, suppressed and controlled for far too long.
But, and that was the interesting bit, it was distinctive now. It was specific. In a way that he had come to recognise ever since they had started with the whole list thing.
He stopped as well and cast a glance over his shoulder.
Sure enough, Aziraphale was standing by a bookshelf. He had his back towards him and was slightly leaning towards the aged wooden frame. One of those soft, perfectly manicured hands was ever so gently brushing along the spines of the tattered tomes, now and then dipping inbetween gaps and playing along frayed leather.
"Anything the matter, angel?" He did is best to keep his voice cheerful and light. Sounding clueless but not hiding his smirk. Aziraphale drew his shoulders together.
"Oh no, just thought I saw something on the floor here."
The angel bent down. Slowly. And then, even more slowly, straightened back up again, glancing over his shoulder right at him.
Crowley morphed his grin into an approximation of a concerned smile and said with the sweetest voice he could wring from his vocal cords: "You really shouldn't bend like that. 's not kind to your back."
There was a glorious glower and a pout on Aziraphale's lips.
That was day three.
On day four, Crowley made a change of plans. He had originally intended to go on another little trip outside of London. They had tickets for the Royal Ballet the next day but no set arrangements until then and he had a hankering for causing some mischief. There was a rather promising publishing house up in the north – really, the drivel some humans would come up with. However, after what had happened the day before, he figured that visiting Aziraphale in the bookshop would be much more entertaining.
And it was entertaining. More than that, it was interesting. The little glances. The deliberate brushes of fingertips. The way Aziraphale twisted his neck as if to loosen tension the way he must have seen humans do it. The movement exposed the sliver of skin above his undone collar so very nicely…
Crowley smiled and behaved perfectly pleasant, sipping at the delicious traces of frustration that glittered along the edges of desire. Desire which was an insistent presence now, settling across his skin in heavy layers and tickling at the back of his throat.
Sometimes - when he breathed in a mouthful of it, filled his lungs with it, sucked it down into his core – he smiled. He smiled as around noon, when the sun was filtering through the dusty window which he had settled by, he stretched out on his armchair. Unfolding his limbs, he let the warmth and light wash over his body and arched his back. Made his joints pop, a sharp noise that would catch Aziraphale's attention.
He sensed the heat of eyes on him and the taste of burnt honey thick on his tongue. Aziraphale's arousal always stung like honey…
A part of him was wondering what it would take to make the angel close the shop and vanish both their clothing right then and there - but he knew what Aziraphale wanted. What he really wanted. One did not spend six millennia tempting people without learning to see past the obvious. To dig deeper. Oh yes, they would play this out just the way Aziraphale really wanted it.
On day five, Aziraphale was getting frustrated. Crowley could feel it. He had to suppress a snort several times during the morning. Aziraphale's attempts at spurring him into action ranged from endearing to entertaining to… difficult.
Building a relationship on six thousand years of shared history and a profound knowledge of each other meant that usually - if both parties were equally cunning - the parties involved knew exactly which buttons to tease and gently… slowly… ever so insistently… press.
They both could be very cunning when they actually set their minds to it.
Aziraphale's teasing and barely contained lust started to grate at whatever little patience he had. He was tempted to just pull the angel behind the nearest bookshelf and have at him.
Which was why when somewhen during the afternoon, as Aziraphale was not only bending over his desk but was practically lying on it, arse neatly directed his way, Crowley huffed out a laugh that sounded way too strangled to convey amusement. Aziraphale was looking at him, his face placid and full of serene divinity.
"You know," Crowley said, smirk back on his lips and hip cocked against a bookshelf, "if you really want me to bend you over that table and fuck you senseless, all you have to do is ask nicely."
The silence in the room became tangible. Aziraphale straightened up and pinched his lips. The two humans that were in the shop had gone still.
Oh, right, there had been customers present. Ah well…
He chuckled at the air of mild forbearance the older woman exuded as she went towards the door. Something along the lines of the youth of today, no decorum at all going through her head. The younger one however… He cast a glance at her. Took in the way she was clutching the book in her hands and how her cheeks were flushed. He winked at her and the blush spread all over her face while she fumbled to return the book to its place and then beat a hasty retreat.
Oh, she had liked that mental image. Had liked it very much indeed. Would probably have some fun with that.
With a grin he turned back towards Aziraphale who was looking at him with pursed lips and stern eyes.
They went to the Ballet that evening and later, much later, he took the angel to his flat where he worked very hard to make up for his "transgressions" towards A. Z. Fell And Co.'s most esteemed customers.
They both enjoyed the night after day five rather nicely.
Early in the morning of day six, Crowley woke up in bed alone. He yawned and stretched luxuriantly, relishing the phantom pain of fingernails leaving seeping trails down his back. He cast out a tendril of power, sensed the spaces of his flat, but Aziraphale was nowhere to be found.
Must have gone back to the bookshop already. He would go and meet him later.
With a content sigh and a small smirk he turned over, wrapped the cover around his naked body and dozed off again.
When he finally went to see Aziraphale, he noticed a difference in the angel. Things seemed to have gone back to normal - as normal as they ever were with them. He entered the backroom where Aziraphale was working on some mess of leather and parchment and took in the angel's pleased smile, saw the delighted twinkle in his eyes, but the edge that had been present during the last few days seemed to have vanished. He wondered if Aziraphale had given up on the idea, whether he honestly thought Crowley was not interested.
He almost hoped so. It would be all the better.
He gave things three days to settle. For Aziraphale to assume nothing would come of it. Three days during which his presence in the shop was nothing but easy companionship and he did not allow himself to even think about anything further. Aziraphale could not sense desire the way he did. Could not taste it in the air, feel it tingling on his skin, had it flaring at the edges of his vision…
But the angel was observant, much more observant than people gave him credit for, and he knew Crowley better than anyone ever had.
No, there would be three days of not even thinking about it.
Three days later, during day nine after their conversation, he began to contemplate. How to best set things up… How to facilitate the balance between privacy and the possibility of getting caught… How to make it so Aziraphale would not expect it, for it to be a surprise.
How to get it just right.
He could wait, he thought. He would wait for the right moment. They could always have their fun in other ways, if the mood struck them.
He could wait. It was not the first time and would not be the last. Some of these schemes of theirs necessitated a waiting period. It was always worth it.
A suitable opportunity would come and he would be waiting for it.
The opportunity came on the afternoon of day twelve, during the short time frame when it was the most likely for stray customers to randomly stumble into the shop – providing the shop was actually open.
It was open that day.
It was not even Crowley who initiated it, which made it all the better. No, it was Aziraphale, who had been grousing about the ridiculous feats some late medieval scholars attributed to demons. It was very inconspicuous that Crowley would contradict him. Crowley was contradictive by nature, Aziraphale probably expected as much of him. It took some swallowing of his pride when claiming an ostentatiously wrong quote from a book Crowley knew Aziraphale had squirreled away somewhere. Had it stacked in one of those shelves in the back. Those that were always a bit darker. A bit even more unwelcoming. Those that would never attract the attention of any ingenuous human browsing the shop. Those, if found and been taken an interest in by mortals, would have them both keep a very, very close eye on the person in question.
It was perfect.
Aziraphale, with a sanctimoniously kind smile and a posture of triumph, got up and marched towards the bookshelf to retrieve the tome in question and prove to him just how wrong he really was.
Crowley gave him exactly one minute and 43 seconds of a head start, then followed him into the narrow aisle.
It was all worth it, he thought as he herded Aziraphale towards a table placed in front of the wall. A table that had not existed a few minutes ago. It had just the right height, he noticed with amusement when Aziraphale bumped into it. He crowded in on him until the angel lifted himself up to sit on the polished top.
His hands came to rest on shapely thighs, already spreading for him to step inbetween. Aziraphale's breath was fast and ragged against him as he traced one of the angel's cheekbones with parted lips. He pressed his palms against meticulously tailored trousers and then, with a flicker of ethereal energy that tickled the back of his neck, the silly earthly fabric vanished and his fingers were digging into smooth skin.
"Eager, are we?" He murmured against Aziraphale's temple.
"How do you want me?" His voice sounded gravelly, grating through the stillness surrounding them. He drew back a bit to look at Aziraphale. See if his suspicion would be confirmed. "Like you?" he asked. "Me the same as you?" He let his hands slide up the naked legs. Savoured their slight tremble. Splayed his fingers on the bare skin to bring his point across.
"No…" Aziraphale answered, his voice just as raspy. "Like this. Just as you are."
Impatient, greedy hands were reaching for the waistband of his trousers. They gave a forceful tug, a demand for him to get closer, then hurried to undo the button and yank down the zipper. He grinned and stepped in. He so loved being right…
He stifled a groan when Aziraphale's hand closed around him. Took him out of his pants and gave him an agonisingly faint stroke. He leaned in, pressed himself into that warm, soft hand. Looked at Aziraphale. Drank in the sight of slightly parted lips and flushed cheeks. The angel's gaze was hungrily focused on where his fingers were loosely curled around Crowley, barely holding him, a whisper of touch when he started to spread a familiar viscous substance along him.
He bit his lips. Kept his eyes on Aziraphale's face as he slid his own hands up those enticing thighs, felt muscles twitch and jump against his palms. He let his thumps brush over the sensitive line where leg becomes groin, close, so close to where he knew, he knew, Aziraphale was hard already. He moved his hands to the small of the angel's back. Let one rest there in support while the other was trailing on, following the delectable swell of a buttock…
There was another angelic miracle. Sharper this time. Focused. The power of it chimed like shattered crystals. He smirked. He had a rather good idea what that had been about.
He let his fingers wander. Down and down, tracing in between – and, yes. There Aziraphale was. All slick and loose and ready…
"Cheater," he huffed his amusement against the angel's neck, skin growing heated and damp under his mouth.
"Takes one." Aziraphale's answer came in that voice he sometimes got when they were doing this. A heavy, breathy, urging cadence that always tore right at him. Always threatened to break his control. Took hold of the net of nerves traversing his corporeal form and pulled, had them flaring up in exquisite sparks. Made this body feel too tight. Restricted. Made him crave to sink fangs and claws into Aziraphale until he moaned. Made him want to tear at him, pound into him until they both were sobbing…
"Oh really, does it now…" He pushed the words against a corner of Aziraphale's mouth. Would not let him kiss him. Moved his lips across his cheek, past the ear to the hairline at his neck. Mouthed a kiss at it, then bit down, hard, and moved his hand.
He dipped one finger in, let it glide past the miraculously relaxed muscle. Only two knuckles deep. Just enough to probe, to make sure…
Aziraphale sucked in a sharp breath and was bucking against him. Canting his hips and drawing his legs up. Spreading them even wider as his body mindlessly seemed to search for friction. For touch.
He tensed his jaws, sunk his teeth into that lovely neck. Aziraphale was grinding against him now, rubbing his already leaking erection against where he himself was painfully hard. It was getting difficult… The heady mixture of their combined arousal and desire and need. Dancing on his tongue. Filling his nose. Trickling along his spine and pooling deep down in his pelvis.
He let go of Aziraphale's abused neck. Lapped at the bite, savouring the tang of salt and iron, then took a step back. He withdrew his finger from where it had been stroking, spreading the lubricant inside of Aziraphale. Shook it dry. Lifted his hand to grasp at silky hair while keeping the other on the broad back in steady support. He finally looked at Aziraphale's face again. Took in the slightly parted lips and the heavy-lidded eyes, gaze both fierce and covetous.
Crowley smirked and felt one of Aziraphale's legs come up. Wrapping itself around him, heel digging into him with a harsh demand.
"So eager," he rasped.
"Crowley. I swear to all the powers I possess. If you're not ge – Ahh… "
He pushed in with one smooth, long-drawn glide. Swallowed a low, decadent moan as he covered Aziraphale's mouth with his. Did not know whose moan it was. Did not care. Did not care about anything past the tight, velvety, perfect heat surrounding him. The languid, wet strokes of Aziraphale's tongue against his own. Aziraphale's greedy hands tearing at the back of his jacket. Solid legs around him, drawing him in. That shared craving for more, always more. For closer and closer and closer.
He let go of Aziraphale's mouth. Huffed a hissing laugh.
"Move," Aziraphale said in what from anyone else would have been a plea. It sounded rough and pained and a little fractured. Crowley sucked it in. Devoured it. Drank it down. Let it sate him with a relish no worldly sustenance would ever be able to provide.
"Move," Aziraphale was commanding now and Crowley grinned. Pressed his mouth, his tongue against the flushed skin above the bowtie, then licked a bold line along the angel's carotid up to his jaw. Nipped at his ear.
It was almost a growl this time and fuck… He wanted them both naked now. Wanted them to feel each other without these stupid human clothes in the way. Leave his marks on that perfect, angelic skin. But this was not the time for that. There were enough opportunities for that. This was something different. Something else.
Still, he needed to feel more.
He untangled his hand from the angel's hair. Brushed it hastily along the worn waistcoat, buttons opening it its wake. It was enough. Enough room for pushing his hand under the soft shirt. Moving up until his arm was square over Aziraphale's back. Aziraphale sighed and leaned against it, allowing him to take his full weight. The shift in angle dragged a hiss from the depth of his throat, focused both their attention back to where they were joined. Where he was sheathed inside Aziraphale who started to make small, rocking movements.
"Getting impatient, are we?" He smirked and withdrew his hips. Pulled almost fully out. He brought the hand not supporting the angel's back down to the leg slung around his waist. Took hold of it. Let his fingers dance over the tender skin at the inside of it.
"Well," Aziraphale sounded ever so fastidious despite the breathiness of his voice, "it didn't seem like you were getting a move o – oh…"
He slid in again. Buried himself deeper and deeper. Held on to that leg and positioned them both, then started rolling his hips in just that way. The way that had carved itself into his bones and muscles. The way that had him brushing over the tangle of nerves hidden inside Aziraphale with every thrust. Had Aziraphale squirming with a feverish hunger to take even more of him. Had Aziraphale moving against him, with him, in a rhythm that would draw out stifled gasps and choked moans from both of them.
Aziraphale was leaning his full weight against his arm now. One of his own around Crowley's neck, the other stretched out, fingers scrabbling across the tabletop.
They were getting close already. Crowley could feel it. Sensed it. Tasted the heaviness of it in the air and heard its singing in their short staccatos of breath. He wanted to chase it, capture it, pin it down. Thrust into that welcoming, slick heat. Get at that glorious spot that would have Aziraphale biting down whimpers. Get in deeper and harder, again and again until they both were undone.
Close, so close. They were getting so close. Too close for possibly interruptions…
With an absent-minded thought, he sent out a fraction of power. Enough to alert them in case anyone would enter the shop. A sound close to a delighted purr escaped Aziraphale and Crowley realised he must have felt the rush of demonic essence brushing past him. It had the angel throwing back his head and arching his spine.
Something coiled inside of him. He felt liquid fire flooding his veins. Felt it coalesce into a dizzying cloud of want.
He wanted more. More than this.
His fingers tensed against Aziraphale's back and twitched. Through the haze in his mind he realised they were at the angel's shoulder. Right at the place where in another sphere a wing would unfurl.
He strengthened his hold on Aziraphale's leg. Drew it up. Opened him up even more, hefted him closer. Felt Aziraphale's arousal, full and heavy and desperate between them, droplets seeping into the silk of his shirt. It had him sucking in a sharp gasp of air. Aziraphale was rocking against him, down onto him. Plush lips parted, hot mouth panting wet huffs saturated with pleasure against Crowley's throat.
"Angel…" he whispered. Tried to tear himself away from that ridiculous, sublime, earthly frenzy. Just for a moment. Just enough to concentrate on the thin veil that hid their wings. He fumbled along Aziraphale's back until he could feel it. A wisp of feathers. His fingers carded through them, followed their gentle tickle to where they would connect to a scapula. He allowed his nails to shift into claws. Pulled almost completely out of Aziraphale again with one slow, slow drag… Kept Aziraphale firmly in place when he tried to move along with him, insistent on not letting him go.
"Angel," he panted, brushing one fingertip along the ghost of a wing. Then he sunk his claws into the flesh covering Aziraphale's shoulder blade, piercing skin, while thrusting back into him. Deep and hard and hitting right there.
Aziraphale came with a choked, whimpering sound - a broken, surprised gasp - and Crowley felt all of it. The smooth heat spasming around him. Aziraphale tight around him, holding on to him, hands clutching at him as they were drawing out his orgasm. He could feel blood and a trace of divine essence coating his claws, etching sharp lines into them.
So good… It felt so good… Burning shivers ran down his spine, to his groin, all the way to where he was buried fully inside Aziraphale. He felt the sliver of occult energy he had sent out rushing back to him, wrapping itself around them. Felt it straining against the power bleeding out from the angel…
And Aziraphale still felt so maddeningly good around him.
Pads of soft, strong fingers were grasping at his thighs, pressing the fabric of his trousers into his skin as Aziraphale silently invited him to continue. To lose himself inside of him. Crowley changed the angle, then moved. Fucking into Aziraphale again and again with a frantic, fraying rhythm. Not long now… It would not take long…
Aziraphale breathed out a sigh soaked with bliss, so full of satisfied indulgence that it yanked Crowley over the edge. He came with one last, violent thrust, pushing Aziraphale backwards with its strength, clutching at the angel, holding on as the blaze in his veins finally, finally got too much. He felt a delighted, huffed laugh against his ear and a movement which suggested that Aziraphale was flailing, suddenly brought out of balance.
Somewhere, way beyond the rushing, intoxicating feeling of Aziraphale clenching around him, keeping him deep inside of him, he thought there might have been the clatter of things tumbling to the ground.
Then… there was something new. A sort of tension in the air. A strange tug on their combined power, their mingled essence…
"Oh no –" Aziraphale sounded startled.
And then, everything went black.
There were many ways to enjoy post-coital bliss, Crowley presumed. Being dropped naked-ass first onto a cold stone floor in who-knows-where would not make it to his favourites.
He grimaced and scrambled to get up, tucking himself back into his trousers and waving the leftover mess away.
"Oh deary me…"
He turned around to look at Aziraphale who, flushed cheeks and tousled hair left aside, looked completely composed. No the slightest hint at having Crowley's cock up that lovely arse of his just a few minutes ago. He rolled his eyes at the angel, then willed a pair of sunglasses onto his face and scanned their surroundings.
Dim light. Dusty air. Rows and rows and rows of books. And a presence of power. A power that felt foreign and familiar at the same time. Something he knew but which was vastly different from the one they wielded.
"What the –"
"We got to go." Aziraphale sounded somewhat harried now. He looked back at him, took in the angel's tense frame and fidgeting hands.
"Hurry. Before it's too late."
There was a noise behind him. A weird scraping, whooshing sound, like something heavy and massive had got set into motion.
" – the hell?" Crowley hissed and glanced over his shoulder.
"Hurry!" Aziraphale said again and grabbed his elbow, clearly intent on dragging him along if necessary. "If I remember right, it should be just two rows over…"
The angel pulled and he staggered a few steps forward, still trying to decipher the sensation of power surrounding them. He knew this place…
The sound behind them sped up. Came closer. There was no way they would outrun it. He tore his arm free from Aziraphale's grip and turned around. He would not be caught unawares by whatever was after them.
Then something hit him in the head.
"Ouch," said Crowley – because he felt it needed to be pointed out – and bent down to pick up whatever it was that had just bounced off his brow. He stared at the yellow, curved, mushy object.
"Banana?" He looked up and was greeted by two rows of sharp, gleaming teeth.
"Ack!" He jumped back, colliding with Aziraphale who was still standing behind him.
"Oh dear…" the angel said again, this time most definitely sounding harried.
"Yes, yes. We are well aware."
"Of course not. No books were harmed –"
"Really now, my dear sir." Aziraphale puffed himself up and a chatter could be heard. It sounded suspiciously like a cackle.
Crowley turned towards the orang-utan in front of them and raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, yes," said the angel behind him, "we will be on our way now. Small mishap. Shall not be repeated."
Another volley of chatters cut through the silent room and Crowley grinned. He felt his arm being grabbed and tugged at insistently.
"Off we go."
This time the chattering cackle was accompanied by Crowley's snort.
"Really now, if the two of you are quite done."
"Yes. Second corner to the left. I quite remember, many thanks."
He finally allowed Aziraphale to manoeuvre him along the rows of dusty tomes.
"But of course. You may confirm my upcoming appointment with the Archchancellor."
Crowley looked down at where his fingers were still wrapped around a banana. He glanced over his shoulder and tossed it back at the Librarian.
"Here, won't be needing that." He smirked as cackling once again filled the aisle. "Oh, and tell that tyrant of yours I'm bringing the boardgame next time. 'm tired of that excuse for Monopoly of his."
Aziraphale tugged at his sleeve again and they rounded a shelf, approaching a corner where shadows took incomprehensible forms and little sparks set out to nip at their hidden feathers. The sheer amount of octarine made his eyes water and ears pop.
"This," Aziraphale said primly while marching towards the portal, "would not have happened had you just fucked me in the Bentley."