[From Chapter 7 of The Big One:
Uriel and I visited the church. St. Cecil's. She said it was cold as a tomb inside. But it wasn't to me, Crowley. I felt as if I was in a sauna or something. She said the tile floor was cold as stone. But it felt hot when I touched it. Crowley, it was consecrated ground. Why does it feel hot to me? Am I becoming unholy?
Aziraphale is struggling not to cry.
That's unlikely, Aziraphale. There must be another explanation.
I'm not a fallen angel?
I can't see how that could possibly be.
What nonetheless goes through Crowley's mind is how little it apparently takes to fall from grace. Asking questions. Hanging around with the wrong people. Next thing you know, you're doing a million-light-year freestyle dive into a pool of boiling sulfur.
Crowley embraces him in a tight hug. The angel's shoulders are shaking.
Didn't feel like walking barefoot across a hot beach, did it?
N-n- not yet.
Sauntering vaguely downward, are you?
No!
Hanging out with the wrong person, perhaps?
Never! . . . And if I am, I don't care!
Angel, do you still have your sword?
They break apart. Aziraphale holds out his arm, and his sword appears, flaming as intense a blue as ever. Maybe even brighter. The flame centers are white.
Looks as if you're still in the Almighty's good graces. We demons can't touch those things.
Aziraphale sends his sword back into storage. Crowley caresses the angel's cheek and plants gentle kisses upon his face. Runs his fingers through the angel's lambswool hair.
You don't suppose it's an after-effect of that little body swap we did?
Aziraphale nearly collapses with relief.
Oh! I do hope that's the explanation!
Well. If someday you find yourself plunging into a pool of boiling sulfur, call me. I'll join you. We could enjoy the spa together. Being next to you would make it worth the trip.
Kiss me again, Crowley.]
Aziraphale is still unsure if it's just the body swap that's caused his reaction to consecrated ground. What if it's his love for Crowley? A surge of defiance rises within him.
Crowley. Possess me. I need to feel you deep inside me.
The angel morphs into his womanly form, spread-eagled on the plush Persian carpet.
Crowley doesn't hesitate. While his erection solidifies, he strokes the nipples on her beautiful high tight breasts with his warm hands. She moans as the tip of his heated erection slides over her wet clitoris and between her chilly labia, raises her lovely legs. Her soft body is so wonderfully cold against his. The angel begins to pant as she moves her hips, and he thrusts as forcefully as he can in counterpoint. She is so tight. Aziraphale arches her back and cries out as Divine Ecstasy overcomes her. Crowley buries his ecstatic face against her neck as her muscular pulses cause him to come again, and again, and again . . . time slows as their Divine Ecstasy continues for hours.
It's early dawn before they release and pull apart. But Aziraphale hasn't had enough.
Now my turn.
Male once again, he gives Crowley a gentle push to roll him over onto his stomach, then lies atop the demon's back. Crowley morphs into his snake demoness form. Aziraphale locks hands tightly with the demon's fingers, and holds her arms outstretched so she cannot close her talons. Her russet hair flows over the carpet like a spill of blood. She arches her backside and stretches her thighs open, and the angel enters her as deeply as he can go. Supple as an anaconda, she locks her ankles together behind him and writhes and wriggles and rocks her hips beneath him. And once again they're carried along in a tidal wave of Divine Ecstasy.
Late afternoon.
Well that was fun! Let's get dressed and drive to the club. We're in plenty of time for Sunday dinner. And then we can do Wings all night at your flat.
Aziraphale decides to wear his crisp linen summer suit with a blue and gold tartan tie. Crowley's constructed summer suit is the color of steel slag, over a shirt the color of ashes. Italian distressed metallic leather shoes, sans socks. Instead of a tie, a short necklace under the wings of his collar. Ancient stone and glass beads, with a Hongshan culture jade cicada pendant, an excellent replica of which is in a Beijing museum. [Crowley promised his connections that he'd return the original if the necessity ever occurred, and so far it hadn't.]
And off they go to London, at a relaxed 75mph.
