You know what Beelzebub and Crowley got up to back in the day.

It's if a heat mirage ripples through the room. Crowley's eyes are glowing orange, and a faint shadow of pterosaur wings and claws starts to appear.

Ammun recollects a bit more about the missions Beelzebub made Crowley perform. Being a god hanging around temples in the big towns, he got more of an up close view than Aziraphale, who generally could be found wandering around in the wastelands trying to lessen the misery of impoverished herders driving their goats and sheep and camels and donkeys.

-The Big One, Chapter 16


Uriel and Ammun have left the bookshop. Crowley has gone into the back room. Aziraphale follows him.

Crowley is nude, standing like a wilted plant, head down, long hair dull as dirty rust. One arm stretches limply downward, hand over his genitals. His other arm is crossed across his chest, hand clutching the first just above the elbow.

Aziraphale magics away his clothing, comes up behind Crowley and wraps his arms around him. Takes Crowley's hands in his, holds them tightly against the demon's chest, his icy body soothing against the demon's feverish back.

Crowley is breathing in rasping gasps. He's in a nightmare where someone is about to hurt him very badly, but he cannot scream. He tries and tries and tries, but can only make gasping little whispers. Tries to cry out for help, but his vocal cords are paralyzed. Finally:

UnhhhhhhAHHHHHHHH!

He screams as if he's just been stabbed through the liver. Catharsis. His breathing stops. He sinks slowly to the carpet, sprawls face down with his arms outstretched, hips in Aziraphale's lap, long legs stretched out to either side of the angel.

Azirphale's cool hands caress and massage Crowley's lower back, flanks, upper thighs, backside. The demon's hands become talon-like, long ruby nails digging into the plush Persian carpet. She arches his back and lifts her hips. Aziraphale repositions himself so he's sitting on his heels, knees supporting Crowley.

Are you ready, Crowley?

Do it, Angel.

Aziraphale slides his erection through the demon's wet labia.

OooooohhhhUnhhhhhhh….

This time Crowley's cry is a moan of pleasure, her rhythmic contractions feeling the angel's cock satisfyingly deep inside her.

Their Divine Ecstasy lasts until very early dawn.


Feeling better, Crowley?

Crowley morphs back to male, coils around and lays his head upon the angel's shoulder, one arm hugging Aziraphale's chest.

Aziraphale. I've never . . . I've never had an episode like that one, where I couldn't scream. Where I was voiceless. He was going to hurt met, and I couldn't even scream. Usually I screamed my damned head off. Was the only thing to do, of course. Was what he wanted to hear.

Crowley, do you think it's wise to indulge these memories?

I can't stop them, Aziraphale. Even after 2,000 fucking years. Part of my torment for being damned, do you suppose?

I would hope the Almighty is not so cruel as that.

The memory of being pitched from heaven into a million-lightyear freestyle dive toward a lake of burning sulfur comes to Crowley's mind, but he keeps silent about it.

Well, Beelzebub is certainly up to the mark. But she can't get me now. I have a guardian angel.

Crowley caresses Aziraphale's shoulders and chest, gently tugs the angel's head toward him and kisses him.

Let's try another position, Angel. You tell me how you want me to love you.

Kiss me all over, Crowley. As you did on our first night of Divine Ecstasy. That was so wonderful.

And it is still wonderful.