(no subject)
Recipient: jensa_chan
Title: Being Alice
Rating: PG-13/R
Summary: Aziraphale makes a change. Crowley decides turnabout is fair play.
Author's Notes: Written for the "genderless" prompt. I'll say very little other than I think I did quite the opposite. Credit to lady_of_water for her prodding, and hjbender for the use of Alice. Queen's Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy shamelessly used.
”Do- d’you ever missss…”
They were both quite far in their cups, but Aziraphale looked up anyway, eyes glazed as he watched Crowley tried to articulate his question. There had been a point to this night, but Crowley wouldn’t tell him right away, only asked him over for drinks, and Aziraphale was content to wait. If something was bothering the dark-haired demon, then he would say it, sooner or later. They just needed to be drunk for that to happen.
And they were drunk.
He cleared his throat, when Crowley fell silent.
”Miss what, dear boy?” he prompted finally.
”Being Alice.”
***
The truth was, plain and simple, that angels weren’t created male or female. They were androgynous, beautiful and pure, and the bodies they were given were just as flexible. And when they went to Earth, and humanity, they chose.
”What are you?” Adam had asked, in the Garden, and he didn’t mean, Are you an angel?
Aziraphale simply chose a little sooner than all the rest.
***
”That’s why your last name ends with -el,” Crowley sniggered once. “Well, you changed yours a little. Very imaginative, that ‘-le.’” He laughed, and Aziraphale ignored him, pouring more wine instead. Crowley gazed, suddenly attentive, and then continued, filling an awkward silence.
”Gabriel started that thing with Gabrielle centuries ago after that other thing with the painter, and the number of Michelles running around… It’s funny, an angel so hyped on himself and his prowess and being all, what was the word you used, Davidian, could so often be caught appearing feminine that his pseudonym became popular…” He smirked. “Michelle indeed.
”Anyway,” he said, downing a glass. “I never saw you female. You’re a bit soft now, were you softer then?”
”I really don’t think-“
”Oh, Aziraphaelle…” Crowley grinned.
Aziraphale sighed. ”I prefer Alice. Besides, what about demons then? I’d hate to be female and named Crawly.”
”No, no, m’ name’s Tony. Amun-tey. Antonia. Tonya, now, I suppose. Remember? Second century, some Roman brute needed to get married, and-“
”I remember. He was very taken with you. You were quite pretty.”
Crowley’s slitted eyes met his thoughtfully. ”Thank you.”
***
They chose their gender, the way they’d appear to humans (which had been very amusing, really), and they could choose their sex, their “effort”, and Crowley once told him, drunk off his cute arse, that it made them the luckiest beings in the world.
***
Crowley rang the next morning and told him, swearing the while, that he had a bit of a mission to take care of, something to do with an education system* in the States, and he’d be away for a fortnight.
*They both disliked the theory of Intelligent Design.
”Sssso behave,” he said, laughing, and Aziraphale smiled indulgently into the phone.
Two weeks was plenty of time.
***
There was a note taped to the bookshop door. The demon, freshly arrived from the aeroport, read it aloud: “Out to lunch.”
Crowley blinked, certain he was, and reread it, and then glanced at his watch.
It was nine o’clock.
In the evening.
Right. He exhaled, taking off his sunglasses and rubbing his eyes.*
*Jet lag is a terrible thing no matter who you are.
Crowley put them back on and peered closely at the note again. There was a little arrow pointing to the corner of the sign, slightly frilly and definitely the angel’s drawing. He grasped it and flipped the sign over, frowning, and discovered a carefully written missive.
Crowley -
I’ve gone to the Ritz for supper. Care to join me?
- A.
Crowley glanced around the empty street, and shook his head.
”You are utterly and completely daft, angel,” he said to no one in particular, and then hopped off the top step and stalked back to his waiting Bentley.
***
Set my alarm, turn on my charm
That’s because I’m a good old fashioned lover boy
The Ritz was quiet this time of night - a dull chatter had settled over the rooms, the quiet glitter and shine darkened to a classy night time glow.
Dining at the Ritz we’ll meet at nine precisely
(one two three four five six seven eight nine)
Crowley smiled at the familiar sight of one blond head, earnestly bent over the menu with a wineglass dangling in poofy, manicured hand.
Mouth curling up in only the way it could, Crowley made his way down to the table. He crept up behind the waiting angel, and then leaned down, bringing his mouth to Aziraphale’s ear, looking for all the world as though he was sharing a secret.
I learned my passion
In the good old fashioned school of lover boys.
“Hey, boy, where did you go?” Crowley whispered hotly into his ear, and the blond head turned.
Blue eyes looked back at him, startled at the reaction, hair curlier and slightly longer, framing his still pudgy face in what was surely an outdated hairstyle. Pearls, old-fashioned and dustier than Aziraphale acknowledged, peeked out under the soft chin.
Crowley felt faint.
”You’re a woman?”
***
”I didn’t expect you to take our little chat so seriously, angel,” Crowley muttered when he’d finally stopped laughing and decided on drinking heavily instead.
Aziraphale- sorry, Alice looked irritated. “Well, you know, my dear, you did bring it up.”
”You decided to give up your cock for-“
”I did nothing of the sort.”
There was a pause as Crowley figured that out, and then there was a socked foot in her lap, feeling her up. Aziraphale nearly dropped her glass.
”Yes, I think you did.”
Aziraphale gritted her teeth, her gaze murderous. “I was only joking, my dear, and if you do not stop that right now…”
Crowley grinned across the table and the foot disappeared. “So. All female then?”
Aziraphale glared and Crowley sipped his wine to cover his smirk. “Can I ask why, Alice?”
”Er. Well, I realized the other day that I couldn’t quite remember what it was like, er, being Alice, so I decided to… remind myself of the terrain, as it were.”
Crowley eyed her, a wicked look in his eyes. “Nice terrain.”
”You’re going to say something ridiculous…“
”How would you like me to mow your lawn, angel?” He leered.
”…Like that.” Aziraphale winced. “Thank you, Crowley, I had nearly forgotten your sense of humour over the past fortnight. Heavens, what is America teaching you?”
They moved onto other things, drinking steadily, and when they finally stood up to leave, the demon insisted on being all gentlemanly and helping her up, although he winced at the tweed skirt. Aziraphale stumbled.
”Still drunk, angel?”
”No, I’ve already…” she waved a hand at herself, and looked soberly at the confused Crowley. “It’s just… I might not… my balance is off. Different bone structure.”
Crowley didn’t say anything, looking at her intently. She glanced up. “Yes? Is there something the matter? Have I sauce on my skirt? Do tell, my dear,” and Crowley looked up suddenly at the sarcasm in the voice.
He blushed. ”Why, angel, you’re so suspicious. It is a very nice bone structure.” Crowley smirked behind his sunglasses. “We could, oh, go see how exactly ‘nice’ it is…” His eyes roamed appreciatively.
”Well, it has been two weeks since…”
”Your place or mine, angel?”
***
”You’ve never had sex as a female, have you?” His eyes were dark, golden and intent, and the angel spared a brief thought for her books as he pushed her back against the book stacks.*
*The store was closed, but the angel miracled the blinds shut earlier that day. She wasn’t to know until tomorrow that there were two wings spray-painted on them.
Aziraphale shivered with the suddenness of it as blouses were undone, undergarments appeared. Undergarments that made Crowley blink, startled, as he looked down at her.
”Where,” he began, “did you manage to find a whalebone corset? Aren’t they a little… outdated?”
There was a blush. “I tried to go to the stores and… take a look, but my dear, they were all very… very…”
”Different? Stylish?”
”Complicated.”
”This from the angel who decided to put herself in a whalebone corset instead.” Crowley chuckled and kissed her. “Now, I remember that being very uncomfortable…”
Hands slid down her back, undoing it with only a thought, and Crowley pulled it gently off, moving them to Aziraphale’s simple bedroom with only a blink. After all, as much as he had a penchant for exhibitionism, he rather doubted Aziraphale wanted any passing customers to see her, naked and snogging a man in sunglasses like no tomorrow.
Aziraphale faintly remembered her train of thought, grasping for sanity as a hot mouth fastened to her neck, her own manicured hands making Crowley moan as they brushed just there…
”No, I’ve never had… Oh, heavens… like this, but…” Crowley’s hands were immediately on the new skin, cupping the pleasantly full breasts, and Aziraphale moaned when fingers slid over the hardened nipples, making her shiver with the tingling sensation.
”But what?” The yellow, slitted gaze looked up at him. ”Something the matter?”
“I don’t know how it works, it’s not… not quite like the other, and I was hoping you could, ah…”
”Could what, angel?” Crowley smirked, clearly enjoying this.
The angel’s eyes fastened on his, deep dark blue and wide, needing. It took Crowley’s breath away, wiping the smirk off. ”Teach me,” she told him, shifting with her back brushing against the books, naked to the waist and putting a name to the hot, sharp feeling growing in her stomach. “Fuck me.”
Crowley tried to force a laugh, because this was Aziraphale swearing at him, Aziraphale female through and through and still the same angel, pleading with him to…
Oh.
***
It was some weeks after Alice’s arrival when Crowley walked into the shop, hips swaying and black fabric clinging.
Aziraphale stared, and the customer she was with turned as well and dropped the book he was holding. Crowley nodded to him, slinking up to Aziraphale.
The angel looked scandalized. “My dear, what on earth do you think you’re doing?”
”Why, angel,” and her voice was low and deep and smiling, lipstick-red mouth curling at the corners. “I thought you’d be able to guess.”
”Y-yes, but-“
“Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t expect it.”
”My dear,” she broke in, at somewhat of a loss, and Crowley only stretched, catlike, and winked.
”What’s the matter, angel? All’s fair in love and war, after all, and they do say I have the best arse below fourteenth street. Is it true?”
”What?”
”You’re staring again, angel.”
”Oh no. I mean you do- have a nice- Er. Crowley, I didn’t think you’d meant this to be war…”
Aziraphale’s voice trailed off as Crowley leaned down, breathtaking close to her ear, and smiled. “What makes you think, angel, that it can’t be both?”
The angel squeaked, and Crowley glanced out of the corner of his eyes at the customer, who was still staring open-mouthed. He started at the look, flustered, and Crowley hissed gently at him, tongue flickering out.
”Er, ah, good-day, Ms. Fe- Cheerio!” He disappeared through the door in flash, and Crowley laughed.
“Predictable, him. Now, you…” she trailed fingertips along Aziraphale’s face, which was trying to glare at him, “and I…” She drew the angel’s own gaze to hers, letting her see the ever-so-slightly changed eye shapes, lashes, a different look and different mouth smiling at the angel.
”We what?” Aziraphale asked slowly, licking her own lips, deep in thought.
Crowley kissed her. ”We’re hardly predictable.”
***
It was five months of tempting and taking, trying and testing the new forms, before Crowley drove up to the front of the store, black hair flying in the speed she used solely in London*. She stepped out, nearly snapping a stiletto in the process, and leaned against the Bentley, looking into the wide open windows of the bookshop.
*The only reason she went that fast was to raise her Envy quota. Although, lately, she was spreading quite enough Envy around.
And frowned as a familiar, poufy figure rung up a purchase dejectedly*, bidding a more pleasant goodbye to the poor soul who had the luck to be witness to Antonia’s first arrival there.
*On some level, the angel would never realize that the bookshop was still a shop. Where one sells things. Repeatedly.
The angel looked up, and, by passing fancy, out of the windows, looking to where Crowley was standing, tall slim leather boots and skirt with one leg bent. Crowley idly met the gaze, and then they both started in surprise.
“Oh fuck,” Aziraphale mouthed, knowing Crowley saw, and Crowley straightened, going into the shop immediately.
”Angel? What’s this about?” she demanded, loudly, upon entering. “How dare you…”
Aziraphale looked hunted, but his words were defensive enough. ”How dare I what?” he asked calmly. “What happened to ‘All’s fair in love and war’, dear?”
”You should have told me before you went back!”
Aziraphale blinked, bewildered.
Crowley hissed in frustration, and turned right around, walking out.
Aziraphale sighed guiltily and followed her out, trailing after the demon. “I didn’t want…”
”What, angel?”
”I was tired of people looking at me, all right? I like my bookshop and my customers treating me the way they did. Actually looking at my face instead of my -“
”Arse when you bend over? Angel, they did that before,” Crowley snapped out bitterly.
Aziraphale sighed. ”I’m sorry, my dear, I should have told you. Can I make it up to you instead?”
He found the demon’s hand, bright red nails glaring up at him, and kissed it, patting the fingers gently. “Any way… you want?” he tried, and Crowley finally turned to look at him.
”Any way?” she said, red mouth curving, and Aziraphale swallowed a brief thought of fear. He nodded once.
”Very well. My place this time,” Aziraphale shot her a look, and Crowley glanced at him with her too-familiar smirk and explained further, “Your bed isn’t nearly big enough for what I want to do to you.”
Aziraphale couldn’t decide whether that was really a good answer or not as they sped off to Crowley’s flat.
***
It was always the bookshop.
Aziraphale was always there; it was steady and unchanging, Crowley reflected. It was one of the very few things he liked to stay the same. He pretended he was forward-thinking, he pretended he was progressive and causing change and chaos where he went.
The truth was, he loved the steadiness of the bookshop’s presence; of the Ritz; of the Bentley; and of Aziraphale (recent changes included).
“Well, here we are again,” Crowley smirked. “I guess it must be fate, angel.”
Aziraphale glanced up, and took in the slim, wide-shouldered body. “Or ineffability,” he replied automatically, then blinked at him. “Is it back to our usual then?”
Crowley smirked, taking him in hand and leading him upstairs.
“You have so little faith in me, angel.”
Title: Being Alice
Rating: PG-13/R
Summary: Aziraphale makes a change. Crowley decides turnabout is fair play.
Author's Notes: Written for the "genderless" prompt. I'll say very little other than I think I did quite the opposite. Credit to lady_of_water for her prodding, and hjbender for the use of Alice. Queen's Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy shamelessly used.
”Do- d’you ever missss…”
They were both quite far in their cups, but Aziraphale looked up anyway, eyes glazed as he watched Crowley tried to articulate his question. There had been a point to this night, but Crowley wouldn’t tell him right away, only asked him over for drinks, and Aziraphale was content to wait. If something was bothering the dark-haired demon, then he would say it, sooner or later. They just needed to be drunk for that to happen.
And they were drunk.
He cleared his throat, when Crowley fell silent.
”Miss what, dear boy?” he prompted finally.
”Being Alice.”
***
The truth was, plain and simple, that angels weren’t created male or female. They were androgynous, beautiful and pure, and the bodies they were given were just as flexible. And when they went to Earth, and humanity, they chose.
”What are you?” Adam had asked, in the Garden, and he didn’t mean, Are you an angel?
Aziraphale simply chose a little sooner than all the rest.
***
”That’s why your last name ends with -el,” Crowley sniggered once. “Well, you changed yours a little. Very imaginative, that ‘-le.’” He laughed, and Aziraphale ignored him, pouring more wine instead. Crowley gazed, suddenly attentive, and then continued, filling an awkward silence.
”Gabriel started that thing with Gabrielle centuries ago after that other thing with the painter, and the number of Michelles running around… It’s funny, an angel so hyped on himself and his prowess and being all, what was the word you used, Davidian, could so often be caught appearing feminine that his pseudonym became popular…” He smirked. “Michelle indeed.
”Anyway,” he said, downing a glass. “I never saw you female. You’re a bit soft now, were you softer then?”
”I really don’t think-“
”Oh, Aziraphaelle…” Crowley grinned.
Aziraphale sighed. ”I prefer Alice. Besides, what about demons then? I’d hate to be female and named Crawly.”
”No, no, m’ name’s Tony. Amun-tey. Antonia. Tonya, now, I suppose. Remember? Second century, some Roman brute needed to get married, and-“
”I remember. He was very taken with you. You were quite pretty.”
Crowley’s slitted eyes met his thoughtfully. ”Thank you.”
***
They chose their gender, the way they’d appear to humans (which had been very amusing, really), and they could choose their sex, their “effort”, and Crowley once told him, drunk off his cute arse, that it made them the luckiest beings in the world.
***
Crowley rang the next morning and told him, swearing the while, that he had a bit of a mission to take care of, something to do with an education system* in the States, and he’d be away for a fortnight.
*They both disliked the theory of Intelligent Design.
”Sssso behave,” he said, laughing, and Aziraphale smiled indulgently into the phone.
Two weeks was plenty of time.
***
There was a note taped to the bookshop door. The demon, freshly arrived from the aeroport, read it aloud: “Out to lunch.”
Crowley blinked, certain he was, and reread it, and then glanced at his watch.
It was nine o’clock.
In the evening.
Right. He exhaled, taking off his sunglasses and rubbing his eyes.*
*Jet lag is a terrible thing no matter who you are.
Crowley put them back on and peered closely at the note again. There was a little arrow pointing to the corner of the sign, slightly frilly and definitely the angel’s drawing. He grasped it and flipped the sign over, frowning, and discovered a carefully written missive.
Crowley -
I’ve gone to the Ritz for supper. Care to join me?
- A.
Crowley glanced around the empty street, and shook his head.
”You are utterly and completely daft, angel,” he said to no one in particular, and then hopped off the top step and stalked back to his waiting Bentley.
***
Set my alarm, turn on my charm
That’s because I’m a good old fashioned lover boy
The Ritz was quiet this time of night - a dull chatter had settled over the rooms, the quiet glitter and shine darkened to a classy night time glow.
Dining at the Ritz we’ll meet at nine precisely
(one two three four five six seven eight nine)
Crowley smiled at the familiar sight of one blond head, earnestly bent over the menu with a wineglass dangling in poofy, manicured hand.
Mouth curling up in only the way it could, Crowley made his way down to the table. He crept up behind the waiting angel, and then leaned down, bringing his mouth to Aziraphale’s ear, looking for all the world as though he was sharing a secret.
I learned my passion
In the good old fashioned school of lover boys.
“Hey, boy, where did you go?” Crowley whispered hotly into his ear, and the blond head turned.
Blue eyes looked back at him, startled at the reaction, hair curlier and slightly longer, framing his still pudgy face in what was surely an outdated hairstyle. Pearls, old-fashioned and dustier than Aziraphale acknowledged, peeked out under the soft chin.
Crowley felt faint.
”You’re a woman?”
***
”I didn’t expect you to take our little chat so seriously, angel,” Crowley muttered when he’d finally stopped laughing and decided on drinking heavily instead.
Aziraphale- sorry, Alice looked irritated. “Well, you know, my dear, you did bring it up.”
”You decided to give up your cock for-“
”I did nothing of the sort.”
There was a pause as Crowley figured that out, and then there was a socked foot in her lap, feeling her up. Aziraphale nearly dropped her glass.
”Yes, I think you did.”
Aziraphale gritted her teeth, her gaze murderous. “I was only joking, my dear, and if you do not stop that right now…”
Crowley grinned across the table and the foot disappeared. “So. All female then?”
Aziraphale glared and Crowley sipped his wine to cover his smirk. “Can I ask why, Alice?”
”Er. Well, I realized the other day that I couldn’t quite remember what it was like, er, being Alice, so I decided to… remind myself of the terrain, as it were.”
Crowley eyed her, a wicked look in his eyes. “Nice terrain.”
”You’re going to say something ridiculous…“
”How would you like me to mow your lawn, angel?” He leered.
”…Like that.” Aziraphale winced. “Thank you, Crowley, I had nearly forgotten your sense of humour over the past fortnight. Heavens, what is America teaching you?”
They moved onto other things, drinking steadily, and when they finally stood up to leave, the demon insisted on being all gentlemanly and helping her up, although he winced at the tweed skirt. Aziraphale stumbled.
”Still drunk, angel?”
”No, I’ve already…” she waved a hand at herself, and looked soberly at the confused Crowley. “It’s just… I might not… my balance is off. Different bone structure.”
Crowley didn’t say anything, looking at her intently. She glanced up. “Yes? Is there something the matter? Have I sauce on my skirt? Do tell, my dear,” and Crowley looked up suddenly at the sarcasm in the voice.
He blushed. ”Why, angel, you’re so suspicious. It is a very nice bone structure.” Crowley smirked behind his sunglasses. “We could, oh, go see how exactly ‘nice’ it is…” His eyes roamed appreciatively.
”Well, it has been two weeks since…”
”Your place or mine, angel?”
***
”You’ve never had sex as a female, have you?” His eyes were dark, golden and intent, and the angel spared a brief thought for her books as he pushed her back against the book stacks.*
*The store was closed, but the angel miracled the blinds shut earlier that day. She wasn’t to know until tomorrow that there were two wings spray-painted on them.
Aziraphale shivered with the suddenness of it as blouses were undone, undergarments appeared. Undergarments that made Crowley blink, startled, as he looked down at her.
”Where,” he began, “did you manage to find a whalebone corset? Aren’t they a little… outdated?”
There was a blush. “I tried to go to the stores and… take a look, but my dear, they were all very… very…”
”Different? Stylish?”
”Complicated.”
”This from the angel who decided to put herself in a whalebone corset instead.” Crowley chuckled and kissed her. “Now, I remember that being very uncomfortable…”
Hands slid down her back, undoing it with only a thought, and Crowley pulled it gently off, moving them to Aziraphale’s simple bedroom with only a blink. After all, as much as he had a penchant for exhibitionism, he rather doubted Aziraphale wanted any passing customers to see her, naked and snogging a man in sunglasses like no tomorrow.
Aziraphale faintly remembered her train of thought, grasping for sanity as a hot mouth fastened to her neck, her own manicured hands making Crowley moan as they brushed just there…
”No, I’ve never had… Oh, heavens… like this, but…” Crowley’s hands were immediately on the new skin, cupping the pleasantly full breasts, and Aziraphale moaned when fingers slid over the hardened nipples, making her shiver with the tingling sensation.
”But what?” The yellow, slitted gaze looked up at him. ”Something the matter?”
“I don’t know how it works, it’s not… not quite like the other, and I was hoping you could, ah…”
”Could what, angel?” Crowley smirked, clearly enjoying this.
The angel’s eyes fastened on his, deep dark blue and wide, needing. It took Crowley’s breath away, wiping the smirk off. ”Teach me,” she told him, shifting with her back brushing against the books, naked to the waist and putting a name to the hot, sharp feeling growing in her stomach. “Fuck me.”
Crowley tried to force a laugh, because this was Aziraphale swearing at him, Aziraphale female through and through and still the same angel, pleading with him to…
Oh.
***
It was some weeks after Alice’s arrival when Crowley walked into the shop, hips swaying and black fabric clinging.
Aziraphale stared, and the customer she was with turned as well and dropped the book he was holding. Crowley nodded to him, slinking up to Aziraphale.
The angel looked scandalized. “My dear, what on earth do you think you’re doing?”
”Why, angel,” and her voice was low and deep and smiling, lipstick-red mouth curling at the corners. “I thought you’d be able to guess.”
”Y-yes, but-“
“Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t expect it.”
”My dear,” she broke in, at somewhat of a loss, and Crowley only stretched, catlike, and winked.
”What’s the matter, angel? All’s fair in love and war, after all, and they do say I have the best arse below fourteenth street. Is it true?”
”What?”
”You’re staring again, angel.”
”Oh no. I mean you do- have a nice- Er. Crowley, I didn’t think you’d meant this to be war…”
Aziraphale’s voice trailed off as Crowley leaned down, breathtaking close to her ear, and smiled. “What makes you think, angel, that it can’t be both?”
The angel squeaked, and Crowley glanced out of the corner of his eyes at the customer, who was still staring open-mouthed. He started at the look, flustered, and Crowley hissed gently at him, tongue flickering out.
”Er, ah, good-day, Ms. Fe- Cheerio!” He disappeared through the door in flash, and Crowley laughed.
“Predictable, him. Now, you…” she trailed fingertips along Aziraphale’s face, which was trying to glare at him, “and I…” She drew the angel’s own gaze to hers, letting her see the ever-so-slightly changed eye shapes, lashes, a different look and different mouth smiling at the angel.
”We what?” Aziraphale asked slowly, licking her own lips, deep in thought.
Crowley kissed her. ”We’re hardly predictable.”
***
It was five months of tempting and taking, trying and testing the new forms, before Crowley drove up to the front of the store, black hair flying in the speed she used solely in London*. She stepped out, nearly snapping a stiletto in the process, and leaned against the Bentley, looking into the wide open windows of the bookshop.
*The only reason she went that fast was to raise her Envy quota. Although, lately, she was spreading quite enough Envy around.
And frowned as a familiar, poufy figure rung up a purchase dejectedly*, bidding a more pleasant goodbye to the poor soul who had the luck to be witness to Antonia’s first arrival there.
*On some level, the angel would never realize that the bookshop was still a shop. Where one sells things. Repeatedly.
The angel looked up, and, by passing fancy, out of the windows, looking to where Crowley was standing, tall slim leather boots and skirt with one leg bent. Crowley idly met the gaze, and then they both started in surprise.
“Oh fuck,” Aziraphale mouthed, knowing Crowley saw, and Crowley straightened, going into the shop immediately.
”Angel? What’s this about?” she demanded, loudly, upon entering. “How dare you…”
Aziraphale looked hunted, but his words were defensive enough. ”How dare I what?” he asked calmly. “What happened to ‘All’s fair in love and war’, dear?”
”You should have told me before you went back!”
Aziraphale blinked, bewildered.
Crowley hissed in frustration, and turned right around, walking out.
Aziraphale sighed guiltily and followed her out, trailing after the demon. “I didn’t want…”
”What, angel?”
”I was tired of people looking at me, all right? I like my bookshop and my customers treating me the way they did. Actually looking at my face instead of my -“
”Arse when you bend over? Angel, they did that before,” Crowley snapped out bitterly.
Aziraphale sighed. ”I’m sorry, my dear, I should have told you. Can I make it up to you instead?”
He found the demon’s hand, bright red nails glaring up at him, and kissed it, patting the fingers gently. “Any way… you want?” he tried, and Crowley finally turned to look at him.
”Any way?” she said, red mouth curving, and Aziraphale swallowed a brief thought of fear. He nodded once.
”Very well. My place this time,” Aziraphale shot her a look, and Crowley glanced at him with her too-familiar smirk and explained further, “Your bed isn’t nearly big enough for what I want to do to you.”
Aziraphale couldn’t decide whether that was really a good answer or not as they sped off to Crowley’s flat.
***
It was always the bookshop.
Aziraphale was always there; it was steady and unchanging, Crowley reflected. It was one of the very few things he liked to stay the same. He pretended he was forward-thinking, he pretended he was progressive and causing change and chaos where he went.
The truth was, he loved the steadiness of the bookshop’s presence; of the Ritz; of the Bentley; and of Aziraphale (recent changes included).
“Well, here we are again,” Crowley smirked. “I guess it must be fate, angel.”
Aziraphale glanced up, and took in the slim, wide-shouldered body. “Or ineffability,” he replied automatically, then blinked at him. “Is it back to our usual then?”
Crowley smirked, taking him in hand and leading him upstairs.
“You have so little faith in me, angel.”