This chapter was unexpected. I had not outlined it, and truly did not think it was going to turn into a heart-to-heart between Anathema and Aziraphale! But, somewhere, it took a turn and got out of control, in a good way! It goes a bit further in explaining/exploring my personal interpretation of Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship. The story touched on it before when they were dealing with the issue at the barbershop but... well, let's just say, Anathema speaks for me in this chapter.

Also, I did some rudimentary research, and the motor show in Chichester is held earlier in the summer than this story takes place (in fact, the story probably should be into late October or November, at this point, which I hadn't been considering). I'm also not sure if automobiles are for sale there… we're going to say they are!

Aziraphale and Crowley put their lust on the back burner (well, sort of) and join Anathema and Newt at the motor show. Crowley flexes his motorhead muscles, Anathema flexes her psychic muscles, and it all leads Aziraphale into exploring truths he had never honestly contemplated before.

No smut, and no creature comforts... just Aziraphale being human.

RED AND THROBBING

The lusty interlude had to come to an end, alas. They had something of a schedule to keep.

Aziraphale actually bothered to put his bowtie back on as they were pulling out of Claygate Common, and only then began to fret over the droplet on his trousers.

"No-one will notice, angel."

"How can you be sure?"

"I can't," Crowley shrugged. "But if anyone does notice, it's because they're looking a little too closely at your groin, and who exactly do you reckon should be more embarrassed in that situation?"

"I suppose you're right," Aziraphale conceded. "Oh, I almost wish we had offered to give our friends a lift to the motor show."

"They're getting an Über, they're fine, and they're visiting Newt's mum. Besides, what would we have done, sent them on a hike while we canoodled in the car?"

"No, of course not! We'd never have…" Aziraphale began, before glancing at Crowley, realising that his companion was joking. "Oh. I see. Silly me."

By the time they arrived at the agreed-upon rendezvous point within the grounds of the motor show in Chichester, they had pulled themselves together. They were back in their jackets, with trousers in order, hair restyled (for whatever that was worth).

"Hey, you two," Anathema said with a smirk. "Nice drive?"

"Yes, splendid," Aziraphale said, uncomfortably. "Thanks for asking."

"Splendid. Hm." She winked at Crowley then, which made him frown at her as if to ask, 'seriously?'

The Chichester Motor Show was a veritable campus of automotive excellence. There were several buildings, each more or less themed, and expansive grassy areas where one could admire the glint of sunlight off a lovingly waxed bonnet.

Crowley walked with Newt through a couple of the buildings showing vintage cars and the two of them discussed, while Anathema and Aziraphale tagged along, watching and listening. What they had seen so far were international luxury brands - Aston Martin, Benz, Cadillac, Ferrari…

"Well, I've got to say," Newt lamented shyly, pushing his glasses up, looking about at the cars in the vicinity. "These all seem a bit much for the likes of me. I'm just a nerdy sort of bloke from Dorking – what would I do with a Ferrari?"

"Make the neighbours green with envy," Crowley answered absently, bent at the waist to inspect the vehicle's hubcaps.

"Anathema, what do you think?" Newt wondered, turning toward his partner.

"I think you should pick whichever…"

Suddenly everyone was distracted because Crowley's hands made a supplicating gesture, and he bent his knees and whined, "Oh, where have you been all my life?" His gaze veered off to his diagonal right at a graphite-coloured, shiny metallic, almost oval-shaped automobile. He began walking toward it, as though it held the secrets of the universe. "I mean apart from the fact that cars haven't existed for the vast majority of it?"

The sign said, 'Porsche 356 Speedster Convertible, 1959.'

"I must admit, it is a striking vehicle," Aziraphale commented.

"Striking?" Crowley asked. "Are you messing with me, are you just being angelic and British?"

"Well… neither of those. It's a striking vehicle, Crowley, what do you want from me?"

"It's bloody gorgeous!" Crowley exclaimed, correcting his companion. "James Bond would've done well to learn a thing or two from this car."

Aziraphale smiled, unable to hold in his delight at the passion Crowley was showing. "I'll take your word for that!"

Crowley was now running a finger over the tablet containing the car's stats. "And look at this: fully restored, by Edwin Avery and his crew – now, there's a man I'd like to have a drink with."

"Who?" Aziraphale asked, even now looking at Anathema and Newt for help. They both shrugged, and watched with fascination and confusion.

To be specific, Newt watched Crowley, as the former demon had become his role model for "cool," and he had internally begun a secret plan to phase in his own take on Crowley's look and manner over the next few months… not that he would admit that in a million years.

But Anathema watched Aziraphale, with a great deal of amusement.

Crowley was now in his own world, though he continued talking to Aziraphale… or Newt, or whoever would listen. He circled around it, the way he sometimes circled around his angelic partner, mostly in the old days: sizing-up, coveting, knowing. "Replicas of this car have become ridiculously popular the last twenty years or so, but this… this is the real thing. You can tell by the grille – wish I could touch it."

Aziraphale looked at the grille of the car, but had no idea how one would know a replica from an original by looking at it. "I'll take your word for that, too," he said, with a little chuckle.

"It takes curves like it's on rails – or so I'm told. Erwin Komenda was an artist and a genius. Because this… this big silver gem is not just sexy, but it's a marvel of physics, as well!"

"Komenda, he's the designer?"

"Yep. And, the history of this model is fascinating – have you ever heard the phrase Karmann Notchback?"

"Of course," Aziraphale said lightly. "I've done loads of reading about sports cars over the years. I'm practically an expert. Also rugby, and the iPhone."

"Shut up, you," Crowley scolded, more playfully than not, then launched into a story/explanation of the Karmann Notchback, and Aziraphale, while not caring a whit about the story, delighted in hearing Crowley's effusive description.

The four of them drifted away from the Speedster, and Crowley led. Anathema leaned over and said to Newt, "They are freaking adorable, aren't they?"

"Erm, yeah. I suppose."

Crowley was just finishing up his Notchback discourse as the four of them wandered into the next building, which Crowley had chosen because it was exhibiting vintage models of classic American cars, of more common makes. Ford, Chevrolet, Chrysler and the like.

"Well, Newt, if you don't want a Ferrari or a Porsche…" he said, gesturing around, admiring.

"Now, this is more my speed!" Newt exclaimed, rushing toward a pale blue1969 Chevrolet Camaro, with two wide black stripes on the bonnet. "I mean, it's still a muscle car, but at least it's common like me."

Crowley smiled broadly and admitted, "Yeah, I could see you in that."

And while the two of them began to spiral into the world of Chevrolet, Anathema sidled up close to Aziraphale.

"It turns you on when Crowley talks about cars," she said, discreetly.

It took Aziraphale completely off-guard and his head snapped to the side, to look at her with shock. Then, he smiled nervously, then stuttered, "T-turns me, erm…what?"

"Turns you on. Makes you feel aroused. Randy. Like you want to…"

"Wh-what? That's absurd! Why ever would you say a thing like that, Anathema? I mean, what w-would make you think…"

She began to laugh. "Auras don't lie, my friend," she whispered leaning in even closer. She took his arm, and pointed at a woman across the room. "See her? Her aura is completely grey. Of course, it doesn't take a psychic to see that she's bored out of her mind. Her husband, or whoever that guy is with her, his is a bright yellow, which means he's happy - obviously completely oblivious to her. And that guy on the other side, circling around the bright red car? I'm guessing he's planning to write about the car, or paint it, or something, because his aura is purple, which means he's immersed in a soup of creativity! Crowley's aura is something similar to the guy with the bored wife – he feels in his element here, happy and fascinated. Newt, he's got a man-crush on Crowley, so he's oscillating between yellow, green, and teal. Insecurity is in there somewhere."

"A man-crush?"

"Yeah," she said. "It's when a straight guy really admires another guy. Or is captivated by him in some way. Is eager to spend time with him, and maybe even wants to be him. No real sexual interest, just… you know…"

"Interesting," Aziraphale said with a slight smile, looking Newt over, and studying the way he was reacting to Crowley's discourse over the car. "Well, I can't say that I'm exactly an objective party, but I must say, I cannot blame Newt one bit."

"Indeed, not. Because your aura has been burning red since we arrived here, and it throbs when Crowley talks about cars."

"Throbs?"

"Yes, throbs. Like a…"

"I know what 'throbs' means, thanks."

"Which means your engine is revving high today, since you two must've had sex on the way down here."

Aziraphale gasped and stepped away from her. "Anathema!"

Crowley and Newt looked up from what they were doing, which was something to do with the plaque, explaining the car's stats.

Aziraphale smiled at them, and said, "Sorry. She told a funny joke. Funny funny!" When they went back to their task, he turned to Anathema and scolded, in a whisper, "Really! How vulgar!"

"Okay, sorry," she whispered back. "But tell me I'm wrong."

"We most definitely did not have sex on the way down here!" He mouthed the words 'have sex', refusing even to whisper them.

She smiled. "You're lying. Your aura is darkening."

"I'm not lying!"

"Then you're omitting the truth, or speaking on a technicality, or something like that. Whatever. It's none of my business," she said lightly. "Sorry I brought it up."

"That's all right," he said, and the two of them went back to observing their partners. After about thirty seconds, he whispered, "As a matter purely of curiosity, how did you… I mean, what made you think… you know?"

"Red on someone's aura usually – though not always – means sexual arousal or anger. As both of those things abate, they tend to fade into pink. But sex brings with it a literal afterglow, a buzzing corona of sparkling gold that starts to form after orgasm, and ebbs away over the next couple of hours."

"And we were both pink and gold when we got out of the car," he assumed, reluctantly.

"Yep."

"Very clever. How do you know it wasn't this morning, before leaving the flat?"

"The strength of the glow. It would have had to have been in the previous hour. London's too far away."

"I see."

"So where was it? Claygate Common?"

"Yes. And technically, we didn't… we just… Now, hold on a moment! What do you know about Claygate Common, young lady?"

Anathema shrugged. "When we passed it on the motorway, Newt told me about it as a dogging site. He grew up in that area. Of course, before me, he had never… never, erm… you know what? I should probably just stop talking."

Aziraphale smiled sympathetically. "I understand. It wasn't until after the Apocalypse that I… well…"

"Really?"

"Really. And I'm a right sight older than your Newt."

"Sweetie?" Anathema called out to Newt. "We're going to go over to that seating area there, okay?"

"Yeah, all right," Newt called back.

"We'll come get you when we've decided," Crowley said.

"When WE have decided," Anathema muttered. "Okay, whatever."

She took Aziraphale's arm again, and they walked over to a round patch of carpet where there was a crescent-shaped settee, and two armchairs facing it. They both sat down on the sofa, now out of earshot of their two car-enthusiasts (even if one of them had only very recently become one).

"Oh, that's much better," Aziraphale said, settling into the sofa.

"Although, your throb has gone, and the red is fading to orange," Anathema pointed out.

"Well, I can't very well carry on standing there being all… red and throbbing, whilst you watch."

"Speaking of throbbing, six thousand years is a long bout of abstinence. Is it easier for an angel, than for a human?"

"No," he confessed. "The only advantage I had back then, that I don't have now, was excellent motivation to avoid temptation. Well, as Crowley might say, I bollocksed that up nineteen ways from Sunday, in the form of food and alcohol and overall snobbery."

"You gotta live, man."

"But, with the pleasures of the flesh, I managed to keep it all under a lid of sorts. Mostly because my strongest desire was to try it on with someone who was literally meant to be the enemy. I lived in a state of dense denial. Because, dear girl, the consequences for consorting with a demon…" Aziraphale shuddered.

"What would they have done to you?"

"They tried (and obviously failed) to execute us after the Apocalypse, and I don't think it was just for thwarting a plan that God could put back into motion any time She so chose."

"You think they tried to destroy you over your relationship with Crowley? And Crowley for his relationship with you?"

"The more I think about it, yes."

"Well, you pulled the wool over their eyes for how long? They were bound to be pissed off."

"And they were."

"So, segueing from persecution for loving Crowley, let me ask you something," Anathema said. "How are you finding life in the twenty-first century, as not just human, but a gay man?"

He was surprised by the question. Then his body language closed off and he frowned. "Anathema, I…"

"Come on, now. I've talked to you guys plenty about being human. I've answered some embarrassing questions, about mysterious stains, olive oil, untold body aches, et cetera, et cetera."

"The olive oil was…"

"I can guess why it got all over your clothes," she interrupted. "And I don't think it was your fabulous Tuscan cooking. And for the record, I think you guys would do well to find yourselves a good dermatologist."

"Oh dear…"

"See? You've had me to talk about my experience as a human. So, you can talk to me about your particular humanity. Or, lack thereof. Obviously, through Newt's eyes, and even through mine, which are a bit broader than his, you, Aziraphale, or whatever your human name is, appear to be a gay man."

"Yes," Aziraphale gave a nod.

"So? Is that not what you are?"

He thought about it with wide-eyes for a moment, then said, "Well, I certainly have all the trappings, don't I?"

"More or less," she agreed.

"People have assumed it about me for the past, oh, two or three hundred years. And I have never corrected them. Never saw the need."

"And you've loved Crowley, desired him, for how long?

He sighed. "I really couldn't say. I became aware of it, in a way I couldn't suppress, nigh on eighty years ago. But there were hints of it all the way back in Ancient Rome. Probably before. Crowley has more of an accurate chronicle of his feelings, as he was never in denial about them."

"Wow. Two thousand years or more. That's hard to even get my puny human mind around."

"Your human mind is anything but puny, my dear."

"I guess I've wondered about this ever since I met you and Crowley. Were you a male angel, and was he a male demon? Or did you both just sort of exist beyond labels like that? Beyond classification? Maybe you were shapeless at some point. Or, you walked around in humanoid forms, but with no gender, only fleshy bodies that could feel love and lust, and you both happened to be male-shaped creatures?"

"I suppose that's about the size of it," he agreed. "I was sent to Earth to guard the Eastern Gates of Eden, and I was given corporeal form, as it is the only way to navigate this plane of existence efficiently. The Almighty made me atoms, molecules, flesh, bones, hair, nerves and blood. Then, the humans came along and I suppose at some point I noticed that I had more in common with Adam than Eve. Anatomically of course – flatter chest, genitalia, narrower hips, larger stature. But also a deeper voice, and a level of physical strength that was much more similar to his than hers. I suppose that's all it was, to my way of thinking back then – more like Adam, less like Eve, and that was it. It wasn't until much later that I began to think of myself in terms of gender."

"And Crowley?"

"Well, I can't speak for him, but I would imagine the process was similar. He was an angel at first, then things happened, and he…"

"Fell?"

"He sauntered vaguely downwards, yes, and became a demon. All demons have an animal familiar, except Crowley became an animal familiar – his own familiar. So, he could change form at will – serpentine, or humanoid."

"Oh! Is that why he had the yellow eyes before?"

"Yes. And he was sent to Eden as well, as a foil to the Almighty's work. He was the snake who tempted Eve to eat the apple, and he was tempting people for six thousand years thereafter. Well, people and angels."

"He was the Serpent of Eden? You mean he's responsible for thousands of years of institutionalized misogyny?"

"Er… erm… yes. But he's always felt really badly about it. He didn't mean for things to go that way, and he certainly didn't see what would happen after the story got written down. As a demon, he was definitely an equal-opportunity havoc-wreaker, never preferring to muck about, for better or worse, with one sex over the other. He's always said that Adam could've just as easily been tempted, it's just that he was asleep when Crowley got there."

"Well, that's good to know," Anathema said, flatly.

"But I suppose, when he took corporeal form, his thoughts might have been something similar," he said. Then, he adopted an accent and cadence that resembled Crowley's. "'Well, I'm taller than Eve, less curvy, my voice is deeper, and my naughty bits are more embarrassing.' And then as years pass, he begins to think of himself as male. But honestly, you'd have to ask him."

"Huh. Wow. This is all fascinating."

Aziraphale took a deep breath. "We're both clearly men now. We're humans, registered with the council as adult male subjects of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. And, as it happens, Crowley and I had a discussion about a week and a half ago, concerning whether we both prefer men over women."

"And?"

"My conclusion was that... well, I don't actually know. But if I had to make a statement on the topic, I'd say it's not about masculine or feminine, it's about Crowley. If the demon had been wrought as female, or hermaphrodite, or as half-snake-half-sheep, or a talking plant, and wandered the Earth for six thousand years as my friend, adversary, and everything else Crowley has been to me, I would have fallen in love with her-slash-them-slash-it," Aziraphale said, with unevenly squinted eyes, suggesting deep thought, and startling revelations. "So, in that sense, I don't consider myself to be a homosexual."

"You're a… Crowleysexual."

He smiled whimsically. "I suppose so!"

"That's beautiful."

"I would agree," Aziraphale said, contentedly.

"And the fact that he happens to be gorgeous..."

"Well, I suppose I just got lucky, in that respect," Aziraphale commented, timidly, blushing a bit.

"Mm-hm," she said, a bit sardonically, suppressing a giggle.

Aziraphale sighed, and contemplated again. "But given that I'm a man, and he's a man, and we're in a loving, carnal relationship with one another, society sees me as a gay man. And I live in this society now, don't I?"

"You do. But don't let it label you."

"I don't mind the label," he shrugged. "It's a label that I like. It's one that fits. One that comes to me through love, and that I choose to embrace. Unlike the label of Principality, or Servant of God, both of which were foisted upon me."

"What was Crowley's conclusion in that conversation?"

"At first he wasn't sure, because, as I've said, he was an equal-opportunity havoc-wreaker. He notices both men and women, and claimed to enjoy them both. But as we talked, he seemed to realise that he does prefer men, if only because they are stronger. And…"

"And?" she asked, as Aziraphale trailed off.

"And… rougher," Aziraphale said, sheepishly. "Not that I'm exactly a beast, mind you."

"But you're strong – I've seen it first-hand," she said. She looked about, then said, "Don't tell Newt, but I've been with my share of both sexes as well, and in the end, I prefer men, for similar reasons."

"Your secret is safe with me," Aziraphale said, then he chuckled naughtily.

"It's too bad you could never tell your story," Anathema commented. "Your love story that spans millennia, and exists in spite of some gender-transcendentalism, could be inspiring to the LGBTQ community, and to its allies. Even to its opponents."

"Oh, I have no desire to get political."

"So, I have another question."

"Yes?"

"What is it about Crowley's professor-of-the-motor-show thing that gets you all hot and bothered?"

Aziraphale tried his best to explain to Anathema how and why his aura appeared red and throbbing whenever Crowley talked motor-show-ese, and how it had nothing to do with cars. He felt he didn't do a very good job of explaining, though at the same time, wondered why he cared. What was it about Anathema that made him want to divulge? Was it simply because she had helped them so much in learning about their humanity? Or perhaps the fact that she seemed to be able to see the truth eventually, anyway?

Sometime after that, Crowley and Newt found them, and announced that they had notified a sales associate of an intention to buy the light-blue Camaro, and that he'd be back with the paperwork momentarily.

"Okay, cool," Anathema said, standing up. She walked up to Crowley, took his hand, stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek and said, "Thank you for helping Newt choose the right thing. You're a gem. I mean that. Both of you are."

I have been hearing CRICKETS when I post a chapter lately!

Let me know you're out there! Reviews are soooooo appreciated, and motivate me to no end! Thanks for reading!