Disclaimer: Good Omens and its characters are NOT MINE. *Bitter*
Author's Note: Decided to add and subtract a few things from the first version I published. I'm still not entirely happy with it, but at least, I feel a bit better about this fic. *sigh*
A BLESSING IN DISGUISE
The phone had been ringing for the past two hours but Aziraphale paid no heed to it. He was too busy sorting out his new 'acquisitions' thanks to Adam - and if he was to be perfectly honest with himself - he was too busy enjoying the very fact that he was still able to sort out anything in his beloved bookshop at all.
It was the second Sunday after the first day of the rest of their lives. Aziraphale had fretted over possible sanctions the first week, then, after a rather long conversation from his superiors about bereaucracy and ineffability, found that he could start breathing easy once again. Aziraphale didn't whistle much, or at all for that matter, but he felt like it. Getting nothing more than a slap on the wrist for conversing - okay, scheming - with a demon about the Armageddon is, so to speak, the best scenario that could have ever happened to him.
So all in all, Aziraphale felt no particular compulsion or obligation to pick up the phone with the prospect of someone inquiring to buy a book from his collection when he could be busy doing things he actually enjoyed.
So, no. The phone rang on and off insistently for the next 3 hours, until, when the angel noticed it was getting dark out, came out of the backroom to switch his shop sign to 'Closed'. Aziraphale glanced at the phone on the counter, noticed there were a few dozen messages, and finally picked up the reciever with a sigh.
"I'm sorry, we're closed for the day. You --"
"Aziraphale! It's about sodding time you picked up."
The angel cocked his head to one side, wondering what was wrong with Crowley's voice, "Crowley? Did you stub your toe or something?"
There was an exasperated groan, "No. No, I don't think I have. I... er -"
Aziraphale picked up his ledger, noticed a few numbers were off and began updating his shop accounting, disinterested. "Well, out with it dear boy. I'm afraid I'm a tad busy." At the edge of his mind, he wondered why the demon simply didn't drive over to shop the way he usually did if something was the matter.
"Uh, I was hoping you could come over."
"Now? Its almost 8. And, what is wrong with your voice?" Aziraphale nonchalantly erased a number and replaced it neatly with his pencil.
There was another groan on the line, and even the angel felt the growing sense of desperation. "I... I can't explain it on the phone. My place now." Crowley almost growled the last word.
"Alright, alright. If I hurry, I should be able to catch the last bus out." Aziraphale huffed, but nonetheless felt a pang of worry. It wasn't often that the demon asked him over, actually come to think of it, Crowley had only asked him once and it was only because he wanted to show off his new furniture. "This better be good, or you better have some good wine when I get there."
"Sure. Whatever. Just - " Aziraphale listened hard and he thought the demon was about to say 'please', "Just get here as quickly as possible."
Aziraphale replaced the reciever with a furrowed brow. Now that was quite a bit odd, but he shrugged it off. No reason to think anything was wrong now was it? If Crowley was going to get into trouble about the almost-Armageddon business then it was too late now wasn't it? Hell was usually swift on the punishments and its been two weeks. Of course, granted two weeks wasn't really a long time when compared to the number of millenia theyve been around. Still, Aziraphale didn't think they'd be so late on their sanctions.
So the angel shrugged, reached for his coat and scarf without any hurry, and tidied up a bit before locking the door behind him and stepping off into the night.
The door wasn't locked when he arrived at Crowley's flat and Aziraphale let himself in. What greeted him was a most surprising sight; the demon's once pristine living room had been reduced to a dump. Furniture was strewn everywhere, plants have been uprooted, pots smashed, glass and splintered wood littered the floor.
"C- crowley?" Aziraphale kicked aside an empty bottle of wine and walked tentatively down a hall he's never been to before. There was a crunch of glass under his feet and he looked down to find the remains of a mirror. He began to walk quickly down the hall to a door slightly ajar. "Crowley?" The angel peeked in to find a bedroom in similar disarray as the rest of the flat. There was a figure whose back was facing him, and Aziraphale assumed it was his demonic friend despite this immediate register in his mind that the frame was too small, too thin and too curved, the hair too long... He swallowed hard as he stepped in, remembering the voice on the phone, too silky and deep to be Crowley's... to much like a -
The figure turned with wide golden eyes bright with tears, and trembling lips forced into a miserable smile. "Hey Aziraphale."
"Crowley?!" The angel, shocked, took an involuntary step back as his mind raced to comprehend the situation before him. Crowley has, has been replaced? Or his body was -
"Yes. I know. I look different don't I."
"You're a woman!"
Crowley slumped back, burying his - her - face in her hands. "Genius, angel. How could you tell?"
Aziraphale took a few tentative steps towards the hunched figure, drinking in with wide horrified eyes Crowley's new body. It was definitely female, thin just as the demon had been, with a head of long black hair flowing down to its waist. She was wearing a rumpled Armani shirt a few sizes too big for her and boxers which had been the demon's no doubt. "What happened? Don't tell me you got yourself killed."
"Do I look like an idiot?" Crowley looked up with an exasperated sigh and tugged at her hair, "Okay, yes. I must look like an idiot right now."
"You don't look like an idiot Crowley. Maybe a little, uh, dishevelled but not idiotic - I'd say you actually look quite fetching." the angel said quietly trying to make some light of the situation.
The demon gave a mirthless laugh, and it sounded to Aziraphale that his friend was nearing that fine line between sanity and lunacy. "Great. Why did I think that calling you here could have possibly made things better?"
"Oh shush dear boy - er girl - er, anyway. It can't be all that bad." the angel sat next to Crowley on the bed and placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's just a body. Maybe you can get another er... replacement?"
Crowley sank into herself, "No such luck. They said its payback for what I did to Ligur - not that the bastard never deserved it. I'm stuck with this body for the next few centuries at least." The demon curled her fists in anger; "This is the single most horrible thing they can do to me! I've cultivated Anthony J. Crowley for the last 4 thousand years, and its all suddenly reduced to nothing!"
She looked full into Aziraphale's pale eyes, "And the hormones Aziraphale! I think I'm going mad. I feel squeaky and girly and whiny and I have the strongest sodding compulsion right now to go shopping."
A fresh sob escaped her lips, which Aziraphale's mind insisted to his shocked self, were so full and red and beautiful. The angel tore his gaze away wanting to curse himself. This was certainly not the time and place to be thinking these things.
"And I'm crying for Go -- someone's sake! Damn it! Damn it all to hell." Crowley grabbed at Aziraphale and threw herself into his chest, heaving with sobs. The angel could only wrap an arm over the unfamiliarly small shoulders in some attempt to comfort his friend. Aziraphale knit brows together, concentrating very hard not to notice the soft breasts pushing up undeterred by Crowley's thin white shirt against his chest - he was failing miserably.
He looked away as a deep blush crept up his face. Why on Earth are you so distracted suddenly Aziraphale? He asked himself. This is Crowley, whom you've known since the very Beginning. It's still him... right? Except that he's now in possession of a young, very attractive, very enticing body. The angel halted his train of thought once more, and allowed himself to loop back to the first question; Why are you so distracted Aziraphale? Is it because suddenly, he's - she's - so vulnerable, so near and oh so dependent on your attentions now? Or was it because deep down inside, you've always wanted the demon for yourself and now, he's basically thrown himself into your lap - practically begging to be taken.
Aziraphale cleared his throat suddenly, and grabbed the crying demon's shoulders as his mind carefully recognized the fact that it really wasn't the demon's body - okay so maybe a tiny bit of it was - that piqued his interest so-to-speak. It was Crowley's sudden and completely undisguised vulnerability that the angel couldn't deny.
"Er, Crowley, dear," he stared down into the hopeless eyes, "I'm sure theres an upside to it. It could be a blessing in disguise." he said with a little smile.
The demon sulked and crossed her arms, "Yeah? Like what?"
"Like, uh, you can wear even more fashionable things now?"
Crowley shrugged.
"Be the only lady on the planet driving a vintage Bentley?1"
The demon gave him an unimpressed glare.
Aziraphale cringed feeling completely uncreative, "Free drinks on Ladies nights?"
The returning stare was saying; 'Are you kidding me?!'
The angel tried one last time, "Temptress extraordinaire?"
That meritted a raised brow from the demon and a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Think so?"
"Sure. You look very pretty, your new body's very well... endowed." the blush returned to Aziraphale's cheeks. He gestured distractedly with his hands trying to hide his growing discomfort. "Quite a gorgeous, er, shape."
A mischievous smile spread upon the face Aziraphale was quickly learning to be wary of. If anything, Crowley suddenly looked so much more dangerous now than ever before.
"You like what you see." came the gleeful observation. "Naughty, naughty angel." Crowley grinned, her mind instantly seeing the possibilities with this new body. She wasn't so keen on this punishment of hers, but then again, that was before she saw the internal turmoil in the angel's eyes just from a smile from her new lips. One has to make best of what you've been dealt with, right? Crowley licked her lips, now then, she thought, its about time she get a taste of her long-time colleague; the need to be hugged and held right now was quite overwhelming. Her mind blanched at that last thought but it quickly turned into wicked anticipation. It certainly wouldn't hurt to give the new corpus a whirl around the block, and the angel looked so vulnerable right now, so easy to tempt...
Aziraphale quickly stood up, and backed away. "Well, its good to see you're in better spirits now, my dear." He stepped slowly back as Crowley approached matching him step for step. The angel swallowed hard, forcing his eyes not to stray from the woman's face in front of him, desperately trying to ignore how seductively the white shirt, wet from tears, clung to certain parts of Crowley's new anatomy; legs so smooth and long, creamy white... Aziraphale's throat clamped shut. "I, I guess I should get going then. Seeing that you're feeling much better."
The demon's advancing steps would hardly be described as brimming of feminine grace, it was in fact very masculine and gruff, but Aziraphale found this most unnerving. Crowley sauntered forward with the catlike fluidity of thousands of years of practice. It didn't matter really if he was a she right now, although seeing a woman approach wearing close to nothing approach you in that furtive predatory manner was quite enough to root the angel to the spot.
Crowley reached the flustered angel, and twined her arms around his neck. She looked up, noting with interest how gazing at Aziraphale from this perspective had its definite appeal. She felt the angel's hands find her waist and tried to carefully pry her off him.
"Crowley... stop tempting you old snake."
The demon arched a brow and made sure to press herself as close as possible. "Who's saying that I am?" She looked up with the feigned innocence of a cat eyeing goldfish, "Comfort me, angel. I can't deal with this alone." Crowley traced Aziraphale's jaw with a finger then buried a hand in the golden hair.
"I don't th--"
The protest was lost as Crowley tugged hard, pulling the angel's face down towards hers and crushed her lips against his. She felt Aziraphale's shoulders stiffen with the sudden contact, but soon relaxed as he began to return the kiss in equal fervor. Strong arms encircled her waist and back pulling her even closer, and one dying part of Crowley's masculinity admitted how good it felt to be held by a stronger individual.
Being a woman certainly has its advantages, Crowley thought as her eyes fluttered close, feeling the angel explore her palate in a most delicious way possible. So, this was all it took to get the uptight angel practically tearing her clothes off, she mused - though Crowley's mind knew better. It was just a matter of time really, the new body just... accelerated the eventuality. Crowley smiled devilishly into the angel's mouth as she felt a hand fighting its way up the back of her shirt. She trailed a hand down the angel's buttons, releasing them with just a thought. She would have to get herself some women's lingerie probably, Crowley realized, and decided slyly that Aziraphale would have to take her shopping one of these days. Visions of a flustered angel sitting uncomfortably outside a dressing room surrounded by brassieres and panties filled the demon's very amused mind.
As Aziraphale pushed them both - or rather half carried Crowley's now lighter body - into bed and the angel's eyes half-lidded with lust gazed down upon the demon; Crowley suddenly couldn't help but wonder suddenly, was this really a punishment from Hell?
Or a reward for disposing of Ligur?
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
1 Of course, this was entirely untrue though Aziraphale could hardly be blamed for not knowing that the Bentley Drivers Club existed. It was based in several regions, and whose female members numbered in the hundreds. Crowley was, of course, a member.