Aziraphale bustles into the bookshop's back room, fresh from shooing out the dratted customers and locking up the shop for the day. He's looking forward to a glass of wine with Crowley. Stops dead in his tracks. Crowley is stretched out against the big pillows propped on an arm of the settee, doing his Manet's Olympia pose. Only now he actually looks very much like Olympia. She looks like Olympia.

Aziraphale is speechless, taking in the view. A pearly-skinned female with flaming hair the equal of War's mane. Rosy pink nipples on pert breasts. But despite the pink nipples, these aren't the young breasts of Manet's Parisian prostitute. This is a dangerous woman. Who would either give human males the erection of a lifetime or make their giblets want to retract right back safely inside where they came from, depending upon where they set the dial on kinks and death wishes. The long pointed talon-like nails lacquered the shade of dried blood and gold are disturbing enough. But it's the desert viper eyes under pointed brow ridges that probably contribute most to the overall effect. Zuul, were she peeping from around a corner, would likely be nodding approval.

Aziraphale holds up his hands, palms outward, as he slowly approaches. While the demon is radiating lust like a hot stove, the angel detects a subharmonic of rage. This is a serpent about to strike. Aziraphale stops, just outside of arm's reach.

He hurt me, Aziraphale. Every time.

The angel continues to gaze, dry-mouthed, at what his beloved demon has become. Then, softly as one might speak to a nervous wild animal:

I have something that I bought in London last weekend. This might be just the time for it.

Never taking his eyes off Crowley, he carefully circles the room until reaching the small refrigerator where they keep their champagne. Reaches into the little freezer compartment and pulls out what appears to be a green ice cream container. Magics a long-handled silver spoon from the cutlery cabinet. Opens the container and drops the lid aside. Magics his clothing off to the valet. Still moving carefully, using a foot he pushes the hassock close to the settee. Scoops a small spoonful of some icy-looking green dessert and holds it in front of the demon's lips while he carefully sits down on the hassock.

It's cannabis sorbet. Lime. Thought you might prefer something icier than ice cream.

Crowley opens her lips and lets the angel feed her.

Do you like it?

A short nod. Aziraphale continues to slowly feed dainty spoonfuls until the container is empty. He can sense that the demon has relaxed.

Another container? I bought a half dozen.

Crowley shakes her head and smiles snakily.

No. Feeling mellow. I see you're not, though. Like what you see?

I always love whatever I see about you, Crowley. You're always wonderful.

Kiss me.

He does. Shivers. The demon continues to let one arm dangle, but puts the other along the top of the settee. Aziraphale places his cool hands on her shoulders, nuzzles and kisses her neck in all the spots she likes. The demon arches her back and gasps as his hands gently massage her breasts. Her nipples quickly become hard as cherry pits. He strokes her flanks, nuzzles and licks her navel. The demon opens her thighs, letting his icy lips and tongue tickle her already erect clitoris. Aziraphale breathes in her scent . . . frankincense? That's ironic. Crowley starts to moan.

Aziraphale. Get inside me. Now.

The angel perches on his knees between her outstretched legs. He's never done this before, but it seems a pretty straightforward procedure. Literally. Supporting himself with his hands on opposite sides of her waist, he eases himself inside. Slippery, but tight. He fits, just. Crowley rotates her hips while moving them rapidly back and forth.

Unnnnnhhhhhhhhhhh!

The demon is now arched as if electrocuted, long legs aloft, eyes wide but unseeing. Aziraphale feels wave after pulsing wave of muscle against his erection. He collapses atop Crowley, ecstatic face buried against her neck, hands slipped under her shoulder blades as he clutches her body tightly to his. Crowley keeps her arms outstretched. A good thing, because she has ripped holes in the upholstery and one of the pillows.

They appear as if frozen in time while this bout of Divine Ecstasy consumes them for hours.