Crowley sinks once again to the floor into a catatonic crouch - feet crossed, head upon his knees, arms folded protectively over his head. Aziraphale kneels next to him, puts an arm around the demon's shoulder and his hand atop Crowley's. Carefully extends his snowy wings and folds them around himself and Crowley, enclosing them in their own feathered shell.*

Time passes. Aziraphale detects that Crowley is finally beginning to relax. The angel's hand strays down from the demon's shoulder, caresses his back. Moves a bit lower and brushes his tailbone and tickles his ass crack. Crowley uncrumples and crouches across Aziraphale's lap, backside elevated.

Mmmmpf. Do that some more.

The angel continues to stroke and caress and tickle Crowley's crack, backside, and thighs, gentle fingers reaching in and massaging the demon's balls.

Angel, two years ago, did you ever imagine you'd be tickling a demon's bollocks?

Crowley, so many things have happened since I capitulated to your wiles that playing with your backside scarcely moves the needle on the dial.

Speaking of backsides, Angel, let's see what your new tramp stamp looks like.

"Tramp stamp"?!

Crowley grins, raises himself and gives the angel a gentle push. Aziraphale obligingly straightens out and rolls over onto his stomach.

It's a red star. A pentangle, two points uppermost. Apparently the mate to my gold one. Does it hurt?

Can't feel a thing. Bit numb, actually. You can keep tickling my tailbone, though. I can feel that.

How about this?

Crowley lies atop Aziraphale. His serpentine penis gives a twitch as it neatly aligns itself between the angel's buttocks.

Angel. You make me feel as if I'm lying atop an ice floe. Unbelievably soothing.

Aziraphale meanwhile is relaxing into putty from the heat of Crowley's demonic body.

You make me feel warm and protected, Crowley.

Well, that's more than a bit ironic, now isn't it?

Perhaps.

They continue to bask in one another's body temperatures for a long while. Then . . .

Crowley, I could do with a bit of champagne.

This has become a code phrase between them. Crowley magics a bottle of Cristal and two glasses onto the little table between the settee and armchair.

I'm all for that kind of aperitif, Angel.

He rises and plumps one of the giant pillows onto the settee as Aziraphale pours champagne. Does his park bench sprawl in the middle of the pillow. Aziraphale hands him a glass, they clink a toast, take a long sip each. Aziraphale drops to his knees between Crowley's legs and proceeds to stroke his flanks and minister to the demon's growing erection. Crowley drains his glass of champagne as he lovingly massages his fingers through the angel's wooly hair.

Mmmmmmm. Better than eating an éclair.

Now I'll never be able to eat one of those in public again, Angel.

The demon's toes turn up and his champagne glass drops to the carpet as he releases into Divine Ecstasy. Aziraphale keeps him there for well over an hour, sipping champagne whenever his mouth feels a bit dry.


*The Big One, Chapter 39: Branded