Continuation of The Big One, Chapter 57: Holiday Party
A riff on Stephen Jay Gould's "The Hedgehog, the Fox, and the Magister's Pox."


Tadfield. Back room of the bookshop. Aziraphale is seated in his armchair and wearing his ratty old brown cut velvet dressing gown. Crowley is sprawled on his back on the Victorian settee, wearing himself – and, for some peculiar reason, the party wreath of sparkly poinsettias and plastic mistletoe. They're both sipping from brandy snifters.

Aziraphale, assuming humans don't destroy their ecosystem and go extinct, I don't want to attend another human party for the remainder of eternity.

Just not a mixer, eh, Crowley?

I'd rather spend time with you alone, Aziraphale.

Crowley takes a sip of brandy, then rolls over on his stomach, putting his brandy within reach on the carpet.

Angel, come sit on the hassock and pet me.

With pleasure.

Aziraphale rises and kicks the hassock alongside the settee, seats himself and proceeds to stroke Crowley's back with one hand, sipping from the brandy glass held in the other. Removing the party wreath, he fondles the demon's hair. Crowley sighs with delight.

I wonder if those animals humans insist on sharing their homes with feel this good when they're petted. If I could purr like a feline, I would.

He reaches down and takes a sip of brandy.

What are we to do about the vicar and Madame Tracy?

You're the one who got that temptation rolling, dear boy. I simply help Mr. Pickersgill with his Latin translations. He's quite the scholar, you know. I have a copy of a work by Erasmus that was elaborately and carefully censored during the Inquisition. Mr. Pickersgill found it fascinating, an artifact of the ongoing dialectic between religious belief and scientific inquiry.

What's a cleric with that sort of scholarship under his belt doing in a hamlet like Tadfield?

Quite. Perhaps he's here for reasons similar to ours. Seeking refuge from the exigencies of corporate bureaucracy?

"Exigencies." I love it when you talk dirty, Aziraphale.

Tsk. You know a better word?

"Bullshit" works.

Aziraphale laughs.

Didn't you just love it when he spoke about self-righteousness before Gabriel, not realizing that smug bastard was actually present and having to listen to every word?

I memorized it. "Prudery and self-righteousness persist throughout any age. There are many who consider themselves virtuous if they follow imaginary rules. Our Saviour is quite clear, however, that love and kindness are what we must strive for." Pretty choice, what?

Crowley, you never cease to astonish me.

I liked it because it describes you, Aziraphale. Love and kindness. Resistance to silly rules. And you're coming along nicely in the prudery shedding.

Aziraphale stretches his arm backward to stroke Crowley's shapely buttocks, tickling his crack. The demon squirms.

I rest my case.

Crowley takes a final sip and empties his glass. Rolls onto his back, clutches his penis and half closes his eyes as he has a mini-orgasm, clenching his PC muscle to quell the erection a bit and not go into Divine Ecstasy. Aziraphale strokes his chest and belly.

Let's have a bit of Divine Ecstasy, Crowley. Then we can continue to discuss the vicar.

Aziraphale stands and sheds his dressing gown. Morphs into his creamy female form. Crowley in the meantime has shoved the hassock aside and glided off the settee onto the Persian carpet.

Sit on my face, Angel.

Aziraphale lightly straddles the demon's shoulders. Crowley's hands stroke her thighs and backside to adjust the height as he nuzzles her platinum bush and gets to work with his extraordinary tongue. The previous petting session has made the angel's clitoris as plump as a cherry, so it doesn't take long for her breathing to accelerate . . .

Crowley. Please. Are you ready?

Do me, Angel.

She scootches backward, rises over the demon's erection, slowly and carefully lowers herself as she gently rocks and rolls her hips. Crowley's eyes go wide and his pupils dilate, with his mouth open in a silent gasp. His back arches as he feels her muscular contractions. He releases into Divine Ecstasy. Aziraphale's head tilts back and her face assumes the St. Teresa expression as Divine Ecstasy surges through her, too. They continue for hours.