Mayfair, London. The couch in the lounge in Crowley's flat. A couple of champagne bottles and glasses litter the floor. Aziraphale and Crowley are sitting alongside one another - Crowley sprawled in a skinny version of the Barberini Faun pose, his arm around the angel's shoulder, Aziraphale sitting with his knees together, hands in his lap.

Angel, here we are, a couple of bottles down, about to commit unspeakable acts of demonic lust, and you're still sitting as primly as if you're being interviewed by Michael.

Aziraphale relaxes his arms a bit, puts one hand on Crowley's thigh.

Yes. I just seem to do it unconsciously. Six thousand years of trying to be nice and modest and never daring to even think about sex . . . simply doesn't wear off quickly enough, I suppose.

You don't enjoy prancing around naked, at last?

Aziraphale laughs.

Do you know, Crowley, I very seldom completely removed my clothing in all those centuries? Only when figuring out how to wear a new costume whenever I decided it was time for a change. Afterwards I simply left my clothes on. We don't bathe or sleep, as you know. Well, you do sleep, but I think you're an exception in that regard.

I like bathing in ice water. Cold showers, too. Feels good on my hot skin.

Perhaps I should try a hot bath some time.

C'mon, Angel. You never visited the Roman baths?

The angel shifts uncomfortably.

Well, there was that one time, with you.

Crowley smiles ruefully. Aziraphale continues:

What a pair of asses we were. I think that's was queered me on visiting bath houses. Didn't want to repeat that distressing experience.

Well now, maybe we should try a bath together sometime. Except we probably couldn't agree on a water temperature. It would either be too hot for me, or too cold for you.

I suspect we could work it out if we tried.

They exchange significant looks.

With oysters.

Rome, 41 A.D., Version Two.

Bound to turn out better this time.

Aziraphale strokes Crowley's thigh, then flings himself off the couch, kneeling between the demon's legs. Caresses Crowley's giblets. Proceeds with obvious enjoyment to give the demon a blowjob that sends him into Divine Ecstasy in short order. Aziraphale smiles and continues to pleasure Crowley for over an hour.


Mmmmmmmmff . . . Angel. That was wicked.

Aziraphale kisses Crowley's groin as the demon ruffles the angel's wooly hair.

Your turn, now.

Aziraphale rises and sits on the couch. The gaze at one another, Crowley sticking out his remarkable tongue and wiggling it provokingly. Then the demon snakes off the couch and kneels before Aziraphale. Who, once more, is sitting with knees closed. Crowley gently pries apart the angel's legs.

There you go again, Angel. I feel as if I'm cracking open a pair of rusty cupboard doors.

Sensing Aziraphale's anxiety, Crowley rises from the floor to the couch again. Lies across Aziraphale's lap, backside up, his penis snaked over the angel's.

It's all right, Aziraphale. Play with me. Tickle me. Please.

He wiggles his backside, sighs with pleasure as the angel caresses him. Aziraphale gradually relaxes and slouches with his head resting on the back of the sofa. Crowley glides backward and starts to slurp and nibble at angel's erection.

Mmmmmm . . . love your tequila taste . . .

Aziraphale strokes Crowley's shoulder, runs his fingers through the demon's long russet hair. Then, with a soft moan, he releases into Divine Ecstasy. Crowley keeps him aloft for another hour.


Crowley gets up and walks to the bedroom, returns wearing his silk dressing gown with the Escher snake print, Aziraphale's lavender plaid flannel gown draped over his arm.

Well. That was a nice champagne aperitif. Let's go to the kitchen for some cocoa and cookies.

He holds Aziraphale' robe for him to don, gives him a hug from behind as the angel tightens the waist cord. Once in the kitchen, Aziraphale sits on one of the comfy leather stools at the counter while Crowley bustles about doing various things, finally seating himself at the counter as well.

Here's your cocoa breve. And some cookies.

Aziraphale opens the tin, to reveal a half dozen of what appear to be large peanut butter cookies. With a somewhat herbal aroma. Crowley in the meantime has fired up his vaporizer and is taking a puff.

I wouldn't recommend eating more than two of those cookies, or I'll have to drag you into the bedroom.

Mmmm. Delicious.

They sit companionably and enjoy their respective snacks. Then:

Let's go cuddle in bed.

Crowley levitates and floats into a horizontal position above Aziraphale's head. The angel reaches up to grab a handful of the demon's hanging long red hair and gently pulls him along like a man-shaped balloon. He did not see the video clip of the Disposable Demons dragging Crowley from Beelzebub's office by his hair.

I'm not tugging too hard, am I, Crowley?

Oh no. Feels great. You have the gentlest touch. Even better than Peter at the salon.

They pile the giant pillows so they can sit in bed. Crowley shrugs his robe off his shoulders, curls up against Aziraphale's fuzzy chest.

Pet me, Angel.

Aziraphale smiles and runs his fingers through the demon's hair, massaging his scalp. Caresses his shoulders and back. Crowley sighs deeply and closes his eyes. Then murmurs . . .

It's been a rough couple of weeks, hasn't it, Angel.

Indeed.

Do you think, Angel, that perhaps your anxiety about your body is a hangover from that statue experience?

I've been wondering that very thing.

Six millennia of repression didn't seem to have affected your enthusiasm much once we discovered Divine Ecstasy. It's just recently that you've been edgy.

The angel shudders.

Gabriel and Michael and The Twins gazing at me as if I'm some sort of ugly mess was the absolute worst. Oh, Hell.

He's once again unstoppered the hidden well of emotional poison and it flows out unchecked. He's unable to stifle his quiet sobs. Crowley pulls the pillows out from behind them so that Aziraphale can lie prone. Opens the angel's robe, takes off his own, stretches his warm body out atop Aziraphale, hugs him tightly, buries his face against the angel's neck.

Angel. I'm here. You're safe. Just let it out.

Eventually Aziraphale calms and stops breathing.

You must think me such a wuss, Crowley.

Don't be an ass, Aziraphale. Of course I don't. I know quite nicely and accurately how you're feeling. It kills me to think what they've done to you. I'm Fallen, I get punished. But you don't deserve that treatment. Not at all.

Aziraphale's expression changes.

I don't think you've deserved the punishment you've received, Crowley. The injustice is staggering.

The only part of the Disposable Demons' videos that Aziraphale heard before he fled the room with his hands over his ears was, ". . . those Seraphim can really take it. He's still screaming." Crowley's background screams echo through his mind. He pulls his arms out from Crowley' grasp and hugs the demon as tightly as he can.

Oh, Crowley.

Punishment. Crowley has a flashback of Beelzebub caressing his backside. Writhes onto his side, pulling his knees up and crossing his ankles, hands clutched over his genitals. His breathing has become shallow gasps.

Not enough kush. Lay on top of me, Angel.

Crowley stiffly uncoils and lies on his stomach. Aziraphale shrugs off his robe and lies atop him. Feels Crowley gradually relax and stop breathing.

Oh, Angel. You're so cool and soothing.

Aziraphale kisses the demon's neck and shoulder. Crowley rolls out from under him. They're on their sides, gazing at one another.

Kiss me, Aziraphale. Kiss me like you want me.

Aziraphale gently pushes Crowley onto his back, straddles his hips. Caresses the demon's chest. Thrusts his hands through Crowley's hair and kisses him hard and thoroughly. Then grasps Crowley's wrists and lightly pins the demon's arms alongside his head. Plants soft ice cream kisses all over Crowley's shoulders and chest, feeling the demon dissolve with pleasure, their mutual erections stiffening.

Do Wings, Aziraphale. On your back.

Aziraphale flares his wings, floats off and away from Crowley and into the middle of the room, rolls over onto his back. A look of determination appears on his face as he spread eagles himself, letting his arms fall and his legs bend down at the knees.

Crowley stands on the bed, flares his raven wings, floats up between Aziraphale's legs, stroking the angel's inner thighs as he rises.

Attaboy. Bollocks to Heaven.

Aziraphale laughs.

Crowley, you are so resolutely awful.

Mmmm . . . Thank you, Aziraphale. Tell me I'm terrible, too.

You are terrible. Totally. Totally terrible and awful.

Crowley is now atop Aziraphale, hands clutching the angel's buttocks. His snaky penis spirals around the angel's erection.

The pair float silently for hours, consumed by Divine Ecstasy.