The bookshop. Crowley and Aziraphale have returned from dropping DeeDee the Disposable Demon off at Madame Tracy's cottage.

Let's get some gavotte practice in, shall we? Relax a bit after this evening's excitements.

Crowley snaps his fingers, and the two appear in the 18th century costumes they wore at the Bastille. Crowley reaches out and pulls a tuft of Aziraphale's hair.

You should brush your hair the way you wore it back then. Makes you look very cute.

Really, my dear. Couldn't you have said "handsome?"

Crowley has magicked a hairbrush into his hand, proceeds to go over the angel's wooly mop and coax it into a semblance of a late 18th century hairstyle with siderolls and high off the forehead.

There. Very handsome. Music?

Aziraphale selects a Handel gavotte, and the two begin to dance. Whenever they come close, Crowley steals a kiss and Aziraphale trips a bit to recover his footing.

Let's do the Bach piece with me in a dress. I need to get some practice hauling all that fabric around.

Crowley switches to the silk gown he intends to wear to the upcoming Halloween Ball at Tadfield Manor

Very fetching, my dear. The chest hair adds a piquant touch.

Aziraphale cues the gavotte from Bach's Partita No. 3 in E Major, and they practice a choreography they found on YouTube. At the end of their third run through the dance, Crowley stops the music. Tugs Aziraphale's cravat loose, removes his coat and waistcoat, pulls off his linen shirt.

There's just something about a bare-chested man in silk breeches, hose, and buckled shoes.

Treat me to the same vision, if you'd be so kind.

Crowley switches back to his dressy French peasant from their Bastille visit, sans upper clothing, and embraces Aziraphale. A few hot minutes later:

Let's go into the back room for a bit of fun. Then I'll make you some crepes.


Crowley tosses the two giant pillows onto the rug. Comes close to Aziraphale and undoes the buttons to his breeches. The angel does likewise to Crowley. They step out of their buckled shoes, mutually slip one another halfway out of their breeches. Aziraphale strokes and clutches the demon's backside.

You have such a beautiful ass, Crowley.

You can do it for dessert. Lie down.

Crowley unbuckles his shoes, kicks off his breeches and stockings, pulls off Aziraphale's shoes, breeches, and stockings. Sometimes it more fun to undress rather than simply magic clothing away. Straddles the angel's hips. Runs firm hands up Aziraphale's chest and down along his ribs, leans over to nuzzle the angel's neck and shoulder.

You feel a bit sandpapery tonight, Crowley.

Because you like it.

Yes. I do.

Crowley rubs his chin over the angel's lips and across his other shoulder. The he sits up and lets his snaky penis spiral around Aziraphale's erection before again leaning over and tightly hugging the angel to his chest. Does a serpentine wriggle and pumps his hips. Aziraphale gasps and clutches Crowley's hair and shoulder, raises his knees and rolls a bit to the side as he arches his back and releases into Divine Ecstasy. Crowley's feet twist together and his toes turn up as he joins Aziraphale.


Several hours of Divine Ecstasy have passed. They're relaxed in one another's arms.

What's that you said about my righteous ass, Angel?

Aziraphale smiles and sighs in reply.

Crowley sits up and re-positions himself in a Marie-Louise O'Murphy pose in Aziraphale's lap. Aziraphale doesn't need an engraved invitation, and delightedly caresses and tickles Crowley. The demon wiggles as he feels the angel's cock stiffening against his belly. Then he morphs into his snake demoness form and crouches with buttocks elevated.

Do me, Aziraphale.

The angel scoots up and shifts his legs around until he's kneeling.

Are you ready, Crowley?

Positively dripping. C'mon, angel!

Aziraphale pushes himself in, and they both immediately go into Saint Teresa mode as Crowley's viselike contractions pulse along the angel's erection like a python in the terminal stages of constricting prey. Crowley's talons rip holes in the pillow.


Crepes for brunch? We promised Madame Tracy to meet at her shop this morning.

Damn. I was thinking steak and chips at the Bull and Fiddle, myself. With a liter of porter.

We could also do that as well. Second course, so to speak. Or would that be the sin of gluttony?

Let's hope so.