London. The bedroom in Crowley's Mayfair flat. The two angels are nude, holding hands as they lie side by side atop the bed. Aziraphale shifts to straddle Crowley's hips, then pins the demon's arms above his shoulders.
Do whatever you want to me.
I'm going to make you take a compliment.
Satan's sins, Angel!
You know, Crowley, that deep down inside you really are quite a nice person.
No! I'm a demon. A bad, wicked demon. Can't be nice . . .
Still keeping Crowley pinned, the angel leans down and whispers in the demon's ear.
A very nice fallen angel. So sweet.
Nuh-uh. 'M not nice. Bad! . . . Nnngk . . .
Crowley mock struggles as Aziraphale kisses his neck.
I think you need a blessing for being such a very nice demon.
Aziraphale releases Crowley's hands, places his arms alongside the demon's slender body and, propping himself on his elbows, plants icy kisses along Crowley's shoulders, chest, stomach . . . Cradling the demon's balls in one hand and stroking his flank with the other, the angel gives Crowley's now erect cock a big, wet sloppy kiss and works from there. Crowley plunges both hands through the angel's lambswool hair, then spasms into Divine Ecstasy.
A long time later:
Crowley, do you realize that your toes turn up when you orgasm? That's so cute.
I could kill you, you know, cupcake.
I do know. And I you.
Crowley gazes into Aziraphale's earnest gray eyes.
Made for each other.
He kisses the angel with increasing passion . . .
