Follow-up to the "Fade and a Quiff" chapter at The Big One.
Tadfield. Late Evening. Back room of the bookshop. Aziraphale is wearing his frayed old Victorian cut velvet dressing gown, is on the settee with his feet on the hassock. Crowley is wearing himself, lying curled with his head in the angel's lap. Aziraphale is petting Crowley's fuzzy fade and running his fingers through the quiff.
Do I feel like your robe, Angel?
A bit. But ni- . . . er, more pleasant. You're warm. And this robe has a silk lining. Always feels a bit chilly at first.
You were going to say, "nicer," weren't you.
But I caught myself this time. Surely that is an improvement?
Nothing could improve you, Angel. Say "nice" all you like. I'll just try to get a grip.
No. I'll continue trying to eliminate that word from my vocabulary. Don't like tweaking you.
Crowley takes the angel's hand and kisses it. Rises and goes over to the liquor cabinet, returns with a glassful of scotch for each of them. Plops himself alongside Aziraphale with one arm around the angel's shoulder, a knee raised in his Barberini Faun pose. Aziraphale puts his hand on Crowley's thigh. The demon clinks his glass against Aziraphale's.
Bollocks to Heaven.
Aziraphale grins.
I say, Crowley, I like that one.
They take a long while to companionably sip through their scotch, simply enjoying one another's presence.
But eventually things begin to stir. Aziraphale's hand strokes Crowley's inner thigh. Crowley magics their glasses back into the cabinet. Transforms into snake demoness form, and rolls over to sit astride Aziraphale's lap. She's retained the short haircut instead of the usual cascade of russet locks.
Ohhh. Crowley. You look quite . . . delectably dangerous.
The demon pulls Aziraphale's sash loose, opens his robe, and pushes it off his shoulders. The angel pulls his arms free. Crowley draws close, slit serpent irises gazing into soft gray ones. A thick black forked tongue slides from the demon's soft rosy lips, flicking over Aziraphale's face. The angel half closes his eyes, opens his mouth. Crowley's serpent tongue tickles the angel's lips and tongue. Ruby claws stroke through Aziraphale's wooly hair as his hands caress the demon's soft sides, back, and firm bottom. She writhes from side to side, rubbing her nipples against his chest hair until they're firm as red currants. Aziraphale caresses her breasts, Crowley sighing with pleasure as the angel gently tweaks her nipples. Aziraphale is breathing hard.
Crowley. Please.
The demon raises herself a bit, wriggles and slides her plump and wet clitoris up the angel's erection. She slowly lowers herself until Aziraphale is completely inside. Slippery and tight. It takes only one rotation of her hips to release them both into waves of Divine Ecstasy.
Hours later, after they've disengaged, Aziraphale magics away the puncture marks in the settee's upholstery.
