The bookshop's back room. Crowley and Aziraphale are sitting side by side, on the restored Persian carpet (now as plush and thick as it was when new, thank you, Antichrist Adam) propped up by big pillows against the base of Aziraphale's armchair. Crowley isn't wearing a stitch, Aziraphale is in his ratty old cut velvet dressing gown. The decanter of scotch is within reach on the floor, and they each have a cut crystal glassful in hand. Their free hands are resting upon each other's thigh.

Crowley, have you ever considered what Divine Ecstasy might be like if we were female? We could be, of course. You were a woman back in Canaanite days, weren't you?

Checking me out, were you?

You were dressed as a female, Crowley. What was I supposed to think?

You know perfectly well that humans are pretty fluid in gender roles. Who knows what I was hiding under my robes?

Well, were you? Female?

You're not going to believe this.

Waiting.

You will perhaps recall that back in that day Beelzebub was Beelzebul, the Prince of the Palace. Fancied me.

Oh for Heaven's sake, Crowley! You're pulling my wings.

No. I'm not. She was male back then.

Aziraphale digests this for some moments.

I'm not sure I want to continue this conversation any further.

Well, being a woman wasn't my idea. Remember what I told you about Hell being all for disobedience and rebellion generally, but not individually? Nobody disobeys Beelzebub. Ever. I wasn't merely in a panic about the end of good times on Earth when Armageddon was imminent, you know. Beelzebub wasn't specific about what my future held if I failed in my Antichrist mission. She just gave me some strong hints and let my imagination do the rest. (Crowley takes a long swig of scotch) And it did, let me tell you. Can you pour me a refill?

Certainly.

Let's just say my life as a Philistine concubine was made pretty exciting.

Crowley is silent as he works his way through more of his scotch.

With that little history of mine, I'm just not sure I could deal with you as stallion to my mare, Aziraphale. (Holds up a hand to stop Aziraphale from replying.) Nor could I do the reverse to you. Would seem sacrilegious or something. Even though, as a demon, I'm supposed to be into that sort of thing. Just not sure I could do a Beelzebul act.

Aziraphale notices that Crowley is starting to breathe a bit too rapidly.

Crowley! Stop breathing!

Crowley does so, shudders, and gets himself back under control. Finishes his scotch, holds out his glass.

More, please?

Aziraphale obliges, but continues to watch the demon closely.

So, Angel, if you were hoping for some hot vajayjay action, I don't think I can help you.

Shut it, Crowley, for Heaven's sake! Really, my dear.

Crowley smiles sinfully.

Nor could I bear to stick it to you, either, considering the "nice" memories I'm packing around. So forget about swinging like Michael.

Crowley, if you persist in this, I'm getting dressed and going for a bike ride. A long ride. You can sit here all by yourself.

No! I'll be good. Especially if you kiss me.

Aziraphale's anxiety and exasperation drain away and he obliges Crowley with a loving smooch. They both put down their scotch and continue, with increasing passion. Crowley breaks away, regards Aziraphale.

I never experienced Divine Ecstasy with Beelzebub. Just so you know. You were the first.