Author: Nava Kirsch
Rating: M for sex, blaspheming, kinky stuff. Humour plus new and improved action.
Summary: Epiphany for Aziraphale. Hell's best and brightest arrives Topside. The Fight In the Bookshop. Wackiness all round. A/C Slasheroo.
Disclaimer: Mssrs. Pratchett and Gaiman own these characters. I don't. No actual angels or demons were harmed in the writing of this fic. No money involved. Only this psuedo-picaresque rambling is mine.
Feedback: Greatly appreciated.
Oh, you hate your job? Why didn't you say so? There's a support group for that. It's called EVERYBODY...
--- Drew Carey
000
Aziraphale was still bound to the bed.
Crowley lay on his side, propped up on one arm next to the angel. He was smoking lazily, post-coitally serene.
He poked the angel hard in the ribs.
"Hey."
Oh, God.
Aziraphale was weeping again. The angel wriggled uncomfortably as he furled his wings while lying on top of them, trying to make himself simply disappear. He couldn't, of course.
Crowley sighed.
"Christ, all I did was fuck you. And, er, blow you. And--- "
More sobbing.
"Stop it!" Crowley hissed. "Your flesh is weak. Whatever. Welcome to the rest of your life."
Aziraphale whipped his head round. His eyes were blue fire. "Not my life, you filthy, twisted--- This is your life. My life is--- "
Crowley laughed. "Worthy? Decent? Pure?" He peered into the angel's face, smiling. "Bloody little hypocrite. The genie's out of the bottle, sweetheart. Not so bad, is it? I didn't hear many complaints."
Crowley rolled onto his back, throwing up his arms in a wicked parody of the angel's helpless passion. " 'Oh! Oh! Don't stop! Don't you fucking stop! Oh, Crowley...!' " He dissolved into hysterical giggles.
"God, I hate you," Aziraphale ground out.
Crowley grinned and sat up, crossing his legs Indian-style. "Well done," he chuckled. "Points for my side." He exhaled a thick plume of blue smoke.
Aziraphale glowered. "I do wish you wouldn't smoke in here."
Crowley flexed muscular arms, stretching. He paused, regarding the angel. "Mmm. Sssooo, what have we so far? Vanity? Envy? Pride? Lust? Gosh, angel, you're going great guns. How did you end up not falling?"
The angel's face paled and stilled; he stared at everything and nothing. His heart felt like it had been squeezed dry and his mind felt like it had been through the spin cycle. He felt thickly damaged. And yet the thought of that...
...damage.
Of just how wicked he'd been.
Aziraphale drew a sharp breath...
...warmth again. Curling slyly in his belly, nudging insistently...
...and shifted his hips.
Crowley watched the angel, smiling.
Aziraphale closed his eyes and swallowed hard and whimpered as his cock responded. He felt lost.
It felt perfect.
"What have you done to me?" the angel groaned, opening enormous, tear-filled eyes and fixing them on the demon. He snuffled.
Crowley looked at Aziraphale solemnly. Aziraphale stared back, breathing hard. His nose was quite clogged now from crying.
A long minute passed.
Presently Aziraphale stopped crying. He licked his lips.
Looked away.
Looked down.
"Er, Crowley--- " the angel started.
Crowley watched, fascinated, as a hot, hectic blush spread slowly from Aziraphale's neck to his hairline. He looked like a cartoon thermometer.
"Hmm?"
"Could you--- I mean, that is, do you think--- ?"
"Yessss?" Crowley's lips twitched.
Aziraphale squirmed. He looked pained. It was rather different when he wasn't caught off guard. When he wasn't thrashing weakly, half-paralysed with demon bite, twisting about in the throes of passion. This, right now, demanded a choice. Crowley wasn't forcing him now.
It isn't fair, the angel thought angrily. He knew what would happen. Like in the Garden, with her. Once you know... it can't be undone.
Aziraphale relaxed as his internal conflict collapsed. He sighed tremulously. He couldn't lie about this, not even to himself.
He knew you wanted it.
He looked guardedly at Crowley, who had been watching this new intelligence transform the angel's face. Aziraphale had wanted merely sex; Crowley had given him self-knowledge.
Of course, the sex was a nice bonus.
Aziraphale's cock ached.
"I--- I-- Er. Oh, dear. How shall I put this--- ?"
Crowley watched the angel, gratified. This really was what the demon did best. Crowley sniffed. The scent of shattered innocence was going straight to his prick. He shook himself.He had to get some work done tonight.
With no small effort Crowley unfolded his legs and swung them over the side of the bed. "Well," he drawled, "It's been lovely, really it has, but I gotta go. Tempting and wiling and all that, you know."
He rose and blinked and he was dressed.
Aziraphale looked at him incredulously. "Are you going to leave me like this?"His hips wouldn't stop moving.
The demon straightened his jacket and walked to the bedroom door. Pausing, he turned.
"You can take care of yourself, angel," he said, grinning.
He snapped his fingers and the angel's bonds vanished. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."
000
The man stood at the bottom of the escalator, and he was holding a sign. It said, "West".
That's me, Kallie thought, and went forth.
There were two men actually, both tall and wide-shouldered and crew-cut. One had red hair, the other, dark. They wore simple summer suits and expensive sunglasses. They smelled of soap and aftershave and toothpaste.
The sandy-haired one extended a big hand. "Howd'youdoMissWest?"
Kallie shook. "Howd'youdo." Her words and inflection surprised her. They matched the man's nearly identically. This is what Americans sound like, she thought. They speak through their noses and they don't use punctuation.
"I'm Agent Thatcher," he said.(1) "This is Agent Sawyer."(2) Agent Sawyer nodded curtly. "Howd'youdo."
Agent Thatcher gestured to her valise. "We took the liberty of picking up your luggage. Just one piece?"
Kallie nodded. She shrugged and smiled. "I, uh, travel light."
Agent Thatcher nodded, grabbing the bag. "Okay. Agent Finn(3) is picking up your car. He'll follow us to the hotel."
They exited. A black Lincoln Cadillac was waiting.
Agent Thatcher opened the door and handed Kallie inside. "Sorry about the hotel. We'll find you a residence as soon as possible."
He walked around and put Kallie's valise in the trunk. Heclimbed into the back seat beside her. Agent Sawyer was already seated next to the driver.
Thatcher smiled as the car pulled away. "You'll like the Ritz, Miss West."
000
Kallie had made it to the airport on time. Barely.
Pandaemonium International wasn't sophisticated by any means, but everything ran on time.
She'd sputtered to a stop in the drop-off lane at the British Airways entrance, grabbed her valise from the passenger seat and vaulted out of the car. Tossing her keys to a uniformed imp, she dashed through the door, ran up the central escalator and tore down the concourse.
She was sorry she couldn't have left the car at the kerb for good.
To Kallie's dismay, the Yugo was coming with her. Hastur'd wanted to be sure she had reliable transportation on assignment.(4) They'd be taking care of the whole thing. Kallie wondered how you flew a car Topside. Maybe it was like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and flew itself. She frowned. Thoughts like that made her head hurt.
That was the thing about official business, right? They took care of the details. Kallie's only concern was the Job At Hand.
She threaded obediently through countless security checkpoints, showing stamped documents at every turn. You couldn't be too careful at Hell's Portals.
Her ticket said she'd come from Washington, D.C. Close enough, Kallie thought, shoving her boarding pass across the desk at a weary-looking gate attendant.
She thumped down the accordioned walkway. Kallie was the sole passenger from this point of departure. She stepped aboard, smiling agreeably at the beaming English captain and flight attendants who would have no memory of this particular stopover.
000
Aziraphale stubbed out another cigarette. He'd been systematically sucking down vodka and tobacco smoke for the past seven days. He didn't know whether he was trying to scour his insides raw or asphyxiate himself. He reckoned either would do.
He smiled bitterly. This really was so much more like Crowley, this. Not like himself at all.
Of course, he didn't feel like himself.
The angel heaved a deep, teary sigh and grabbed the vodka bottle, upending it. It was empty. He hurled it across the room.
"... Annnd, there's the pitch! It's a line drive to third base! End of the second inning! It's Angels nothing--- " Crowley ducked, laughing, and the bottle crashed on the wall directly above his head.
He paused in the doorway of Aziraphale's back room, brushing glass from his shoulders.
"Get out of here," Aziraphale said.
Crowley crossed his arms and leaned on the jamb. "Aw, don't be like that. I actually came round to see how you were. Y'know, I do care." The demon laughed again.
"Go," Aziraphale said.
Crowley walked over and sat down at the table facing the angel. "Not until you come to your senses. You've been dead plastered for a week. Bad even for you. Have you any idea how much tempting I'm getting away with?"
The angel waved his hand and another bottle appeared on the table. He opened it and took a healthy gulp.
Crowley eyed Aziraphale. "Christ, look at you. When was the last time you had a bath?"
"Couldn't tell you," the angel said, blue eyes flat with anger. "But I could tell you in excruciatingly minute detail how many times, where and in what way, I've brought myself off for the past week."
Crowley stared.
Aziraphale was just warming up. "Oh, yes! You left me feeling like--- that. Left me!" He pointed wildly to his groin. "I couldn't move without feeling--- There was no relief, Crowley! And you--- you--- never told me I could--- How to--- "
The demon grinned. "You figured it out, apparently." He smiled sweetly. "Care to give a little demonstration?"
Aziraphale's head snapped up. Now his halo was out, and it burned white atomic fire. He snarled and lunged across the table, aiming for Crowley. Crowley, who was not drunk, moved aside to let the angel pass.
Aziraphale hauled himself unsteadily to his feet using the back of Crowley's chair. Latching quite unexpectedly onto the demon's collar, he yanked.
"Now, just a---"
Crowley landed against a bookshelf at the far end of the shop, buried under most of the complete works of Zane Grey.(5)
Crowley sat up, still stunned, and saw Aziraphale bearing down on him like drunken judgment in a green pullover. The demon jumped to his feet, throwing up his hands.
"Look, mate, I don't think--- "
Aziraphale stopped halfway and stood, weaving. He was livid. "That's right. You don't. Think. Unless it's about yourself." He advanced, pushing up his sleeves.
"Aziraphale--- " Crowley backed up, hitting the shelf again. "Aziraphale. Buddy. You don't want to do this."
"The hell I don't," growled the angel, and punched Crowley in the stomach.
000
This might be the time to describe what happened next as a Cosmic Pantomime; a Metaphorical Struggle betwixt Good and Evil, Right and Wrong, Light and Dark.
It might be, except it wasn't.
000
The bookshop was getting the worst of it.
The angel and the demon were holding their own.
000
Aziraphale landed a solid hit to Crowley's left jaw.
The angel jumped back, grinning maniacally. The collar of his pullover was torn and his spectacles hung from one ear. His halo was blinking like a defective fluorescent light. "That felt really good, Crowley! You know why? Because you deserve it! You heinous reptile. I'm smiting with the Right Hand of God, Crowley! You hear me? The ri---"
Shaking his head to clear it, Crowley regrouped and countered with a right jab to Aziraphale's ribs.
The angel, who'd not had presence of mind to sober up, tottered precariously.
Crowley leaned forward, hands on his knees. He was winded and bleeding from one side of his mouth. He straightened with difficulty and wiped his lips. "Had enough?"
The angel swore and lunged and threw a haymaker, missing by a mile.
Right, Crowley thought. He lowered his head and charged.
000
Kallie sat on the bed and looked at the room.
Even the name inspired awe. Ritz. It just---
It sounded so--- she groped for a word. Her American brain supplied classy.
Classy. Yeah. Nice. Pretty. Clean.
Kallie just wanted to sit and look.
000
Crowley had Aziraphale pinned facedown on the floor of the bookshop, one arm hard behind his back.
"Say 'Uncle'!"
There was a pause while both breathed heavily.
"Why?" Aziraphale said finally. His voice was muffled by the rug.
"Just say it! I got you. I win. So say it. That's what you say when the other person wins. Er, in a fight."
"That's silly."
"It's traditional. If you don't say it I won't let you up."
"It's absurd."
Crowley held on.
"If I must," Aziraphale muttered. His arm was falling asleep. "Uncle. Satisfied?"
Crowley let go and jumped to his feet.
Aziraphale followed, picking rug fibres from his cheek. He touched the skin around his right eye and winced; it was an unlovely black and blue blossom. A nasty cut below the eyebrow oozed blood.
"Nice shiner," Crowley opined.
The angel glared and took a step toward him.
Crowley backed up, waving his hands. He was laughing.
Aziraphale frowned at Crowley, who was already healing. The angel poked his own battered eye. "Huh. Can't fix it. Too drunk, I s'pose."
"Sober up?"
Aziraphale grimaced, concentrating. He sighed. "Erm." He hiccuped loudly and waited. "Nope. Too much vodka." He shook his head and started for the stairs. "Plasters and iodine for now."
Crowley followed him upstairs into the bathroom. He perched on the laundry bin as the angel busied himself. "You know, this wouldn't have happened if you'd been reasonable."
Aziraphale applied iodine and scowled into the mirror. "Crowley. It is theoretically impossible for me to be indefinitely unforgiving. Much as I'd like to test the theory, what I'd like more is to have another drink. And much as I'd like to chuck you out on your manipulative, serpentine arse, I'd really rather not drink alone."
000
Blue, peach, pink, yellow. Calm colours. Sweet.
Kallie sighed and fell backwards onto the Louis XVI style bed and stretched, simply ingesting the luxury. She closed her eyes and breathed. Everything smelled like goddamn gardenias. This must be some expense account. Her eyes travelled around the room, taking in the artwork, the moulding, the flowers. Even the lampshades were awesome. There was a basket of fruit and sweets on the table by the door, for crying out loud.
Her eyes fell upon a large mahogany cabinet in the far corner of the room. Curious, she got up, walked over and opened it.
Inside was a television.
Kallie was essentially American after all.She did what every American does upon entering a hotel room.
She turned the television on.
000
According to the clock on the wall in Aziraphale's bedroom it was just past midnight. Crowley regarded it blearily and realised that he and the angel had been drinking for five hours and seventeen minutes.
"S'better up here," Crowley hiccuped, squinting critically at the bottle in one fist. "Better seats." He swung his legs over the arm of his chair and settled in sideways.
"No mess anyhow," sighed the angel. "Take an age to clean that up, down there."
"If you'd just let me--- "
Aziraphale shook his head. "Nonono. None of your diabucolic--- diabubonic--- none of your demonly magic here. Do it myself. The old fashioned way." He yawned. "Tomorrow."
Crowley smiled. The angel never objected to diabolically-conjured alcohol.
000
Kallie surfed channels for an hour. She settled on a rerun of The Brady Bunch. Marcia, much to Jan's delight, had just gotten her nose smashed by a rogue football on date night. Kallie was rooting for Jan. She didn't much like Marcia either.
"Now, Marcia, it's not that bad," Mrs. Brady was saying. "You're still---"
KALIEL, Carole Brady said, smiling.
Kallie jumped and lost her balance, sliding off of the bed onto the floor.
YES, KALIEL, IT IS WE.
Kallie crawled to the television and pressed her nose to the screen. Had that really come from--- ?
STOP THAT! screamed Mrs. Brady.
"Sorry," said Kallie, scrabbling away and sitting down. "You, uh, startled me."
GET USED TO IT.
Kallie rather doubted she would.
YOU MUST BEGIN OPERATIONS IMMEDIATELY. TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE.(6) YOU WILL GO DOWNSTAIRS AND RETRIEVE YOUR AUTOMOBILE FROM THE GARAGE. WE WILL DIRECT YOU TO THE ANGEL'S SHOP. WE BELIEVE THEY ARE THERE TONIGHT. YOU WILL WATCH THEM. GET PHOTOGRAPHS IF ANYTHING GOOD HAPPENS.
Kallie hesitated. She kind of didn't want to leave the room just yet. It was so nice. And she'd only just gotten there.
"Um. Right now, Lord?" She blurted. "I mean, they might still be at dinner or some---"
NOW! TONIGHT. WE DID NOT SEND YOU UP THERE ON HOLIDAY, KALIEL. GET GOING.
AND KALIEL.
"Yes, Lord?"
REMEMBER TO DRIVE ON THE LEFT.
000
"In Heaven there is no beeerrr! That's why we drink it heeerrre! And when we're gone from heeerrre-- "
"Crowley! Please!" Azirphale looked like he'd bitten into pasty and found half a rat. "Stop. Just stop."
"Don't like my singing?"
The angel burped. "I'll never be that drunk."
000
She eased toward the skylight by agonizing inches. The roof was deeply pitched and Kallie didn't know why she hadn't fallen off ten minutes ago. The six-pound messenger bag across her back wasn't helping. Goddamn slippery slate and it better not rain. It had rained all the way from the Ritz to Soho. Fucking rain. That had been the good part of the ride. She snorted. Soggy chilly island full of crazy-ass people who drove on the wrong side of the road and smelled like wet wool and brussels sprouts.(7)
She wished she were back at the hotel. She felt guilty for thinking that. She was on an important assignment, after all. They had great faith in her. This could be very big.
At the hotel there had been a lovely box of chocolate truffles wrapped in gold foilon the bed pillows. Kallie hadn't even had time to try them. They'd smelt quite good. She tried to put it out of her mind but couldn't.
A foot to go. She was sweating like a stevedore and cursing like a sailor. Angry sparks danced in her blonde hair. She hated heights.
And now she'd reached the skylight. Good, okay, there we go. She took a breath and looked down and saw them, sitting in two shabby, overstuffed armchairs. The floor was a sea of empty booze bottles.
She saw the dark one first. So that was Crawly. She vaguely remembered him. It had been a long time.
She scrutinized him. Life Topside certainly agreed with Crawly. Dark hair, killer bone structure. Hot body. Filthy, dirty perfection, and wasn't he just the nicest piece of work? Well, she thought with a touch of pride, they all were, when you got right down to it.
But Crawly... he had something else. It radiated from him in sweet, warm waves and it was not at all unpleasant. Yeah, she remembered now. His warmth drifted slowly aloft and coiled lazily in her belly, tickling as it settled in.
She blinked and exhaled sharply, feeling her grip on the slate falter.
Man. You could go far with that kind of talent. No wonder Eve had---
And suddenly there was Something Else and it hit her like a locomotive hits an egg; and she, unfortunately, was the egg. Through a haze of pain Kallie understood that the locomotive in question sat across the table from Crawly, and he wore a green sweater and a lovely smile. Aziraphale. Whatever the demon had, the angel had it threefold, and it was clean and sweet and cool and the sheer force of it nearly knocked Kallie off the roof for the second time in five minutes.
Radiance.
It made her want to puke and it made her bones ache and it really, really pissed her off. She gagged, grimacing, and twisted her body as if to expel the taint.
She squinted and the pain subsided to dull malaise. And now she really looked at the angel.
Oh, man.
She'd forgotten what the good guys looked like. She squirmed, but something surged in her chest and she resisted the urge to look away. Her green eyes were bottomless teacups and they were filled with the angel. She wanted to look until she couldn't.
She stared at the frank, open face, framed by tousled blonde hair. Perfect, upturned nose, soft pink mouth. Rosy cheeks ---very rosy. Kallie wondered, grinning, just how much booze the angel had slammed. She squinted harder. She really wanted to see his eyes. Whoa, he was wearing glasses.(8) Reading glasses, for crying out loud, but there was no way you could hide the wild blue yonder in those first-rate orbs.
Hmm. The angel was built well for sure, but he looked like he'd been hitting the cream cakes a little too hard. Tough to see much more under the baggy sweater and rumpled tweed pants. Tweed? Dude. She giggled and glanced at his feet, and the argyle socks and cutie-pie loafers cracked her up some more. Ten bucks said this guy went to bed every night with a hot water bottle and a copy of Winnie the Pooh.
Kallie raised an eyebrow and sniffed. She could smell him, and he smelled like cupcakes and fresh linen and starch. He smelled like incorruptible innocence(9) and a steely strength that promised some serious ass-kicking in the name of the Lord.
She breathed him in, but it was like poking a sore inside that had never really healed.
Suddenly Kallie wished it didn't hurt. It wasn't fair. You might not miss what you never had, but she'd had it once too. She gnawed a thumbnail, frowning.
Well, she'd also had a nice go on the Celestial payroll, and it lacked a lot in the incentive department. Heaven was long on protocol and short on promotion. She'd been overworked and under-appreciated. When they'd chosen sides, she'd jumped at the chance for a Brave New World. At least Below there was room for advancement.
Ogling the Eagle Scout in the green sweater was just another perk.
The angel put his elbows on his thighs, leaned over and cupped his chin in both hands. A lock of honey-hued hair flopped into his eyes and he pushed it away with a hand like poetry.
Oh, baby.
The warmth in her belly was oozing to other areas, and the effort was rapidly becoming effortless. The still-sizzling sparks in Kallie's hair spread, covering her body. They jittered madly, showering stinging red needles on the slate. She snarled softly. Juicy little angel. She wanted him, bad.
Her mind wandered, wrapped in a demon's fantasy.
She'd wound him first and dim that radiance a bit. Her teeth itched to bite the angel's wings til they bled. String him up and pluck out some feathers, maybe. Scratch her sharp nails down that soft belly.
Her palms were sweating.
Kallie's right hand lost its grip and she slipped a swift and alarming twelve inches south. Clawing her way back up, she took a shuddering breath and tried to concentrate.
Incorruptible, huh. Kallie wondered just how much. She sighed. In her case, not much at all. She'd been a wash-out as an angel and she'd taken her lumps. She'd taken plenty as a demon too. But that was different; they rewarded loyalty Down There.
(Didn't they?)
Kallie mused on. Her eyes never left the angel, who had uncorked yet another bottle. He sure could soak up the sauce, and wasn't that interesting?
Downright edifying.
Kallie grinned.
Nobody's armor was seamless.
000
"Did you know," said Aziraphale, "That some cats swim?"
Here we go, thought Crowley.
"Turkish Vans. Um. From Turkey. They swim out to the fishermen when they come in each day, you see, and the fishermen toss them--- " He paused, tilting the last of his bottle toward what suddenly looked like two glasses in his hand. He aimed gamely for both. Wine splashed merrily on his trousers.
"Fish?" Crowley's voice was weary.
Aziraphale beamed. It hurt Crowley's eyes. "Yes, fish! Exactly. For the cats."
It's like picking a scab, Crowley thought. Shouldn't do it; can't help myself.
"So what's in it for the fishermen?"
"Eh?"
"The fishermen. What do they get? The cats get a free meal. Seems to me the fishermen are gettin' stiffed."
"Certainly not!"
"Why?"
" 'M thinking."
"You're stalling."
"Nonono. Look, ever seen a cat swim?"
Crowley slugged bourbon. If he ever had it would be because he'd tossed it in the drink himself. He shrugged.
"Exactly. 'S a small miracle, right? Not every cat can do that, y'see. That's what the fishermen get. A lovely miraculous kitty water ballet. A spontaneous act of --- hic --- feline grace. And since Grace is its own rewar--- "
"That's virtue. Virtue is its own reward. And it's not spontaneous if the cats do it every day. It's behaviour modification. I still think the fishermen are getting the shaft."
Aziraphale glowered and put his glass on a table that existed only in his mind.
000
Damn, that angel was plastered.
Kallie was getting a cramp in her left foot.
She inched along until her torso was over the skylight, and lowered herself on the glass. The angel was still talking, bent forward in his chair, elbow on one knee and chin in his hand. The other grubby mitt clutched a wine bottlefor dear sweet life.
His eyes were closed now, a lollipop smile on his pretty mouth. Crawly got up and staggered around to stand behind the Boy Scout's chair. He removed thebottle from the angel's hand and placed it on the floor. Crawly put his hands lightly on the angel's shoulders, pulling him slowly back against the chair.
Crawly dipped his head and buried his lips in the angel's hair.
Well, now.
Kallie pushed further out onto the glass, lying flat. She could feel Crawly's baking heat and it smelled like gin and woodsmoke. Her belly fluttered anew as she watched the two of them.
Go on, she thought. Do it. She stared, galvanised, completely unhidden.
000
Had Crowley and Aziraphale looked up at that moment, they would have seen a tall, slender blonde girl in pink flowered capri pants and a lime green polo shirt stuck to the skylight like a giant, panting moth.
But they didn't.
000
Kallie watched breathlessly as Crawly curled his fingers around the angel's shoulders. The angel started violently, turning around. He shook his head, grabbing Crawly's hands in an effort to remove them. He rose unsteadily, halfway to his feet. Crawly smiled and shoved him back into the chair. He ruffled the blonde hair, keeping one hand on the angel's shoulder. He trailed his fingers from the angel's hair to one fair cheek, turning the blonde head forward. The angel sat staring straight ahead, a marble statue in a wine-stained green pullover. Crawly began to stroke the angel's cheek, continuing to knead the sweatered shoulder.
Kallie wiggled the rest of her body onto the window. Now only her feet touched the roof.
Crawly moved his hand from the angel's cheek to his mouth, shoving a thumb between those awesome lips. The angel moaned.
Yesyesyes! They were really gonna do it. Kallie's sooty heart rejoiced, and her thoughts turned to office decor.(10) Maybe she'd get some plants.
Now for some pic-- Camera! Where--- ? Shitfuckdamn. Those two were more distracting than she'd bargained for. Cursing her brand-new hormones, Kallie shot out her left arm and dragged the messenger bag, inside of which lay an enormous Kodak Brownie camera, to the edge of the skylight. She turned over andsat up right in the middle of the window. Shegrabbed the bag and tore madly at the zipper.
It stuck.
000
The angel bowed his head, leaning into Crowley's hand. The demon grinned.
Come on, sweetheart, Crowley urged silently. If the angel thought Crowley was done with him yet he was grievously mistaken. Taking Aziraphale's body had been tasty. Getting into his head would be Heaven.
He slid his hand to the angel's shoulderblade and pushed where he knew it was still tender. Let me in. Just once. I already had your ass. Give me your mind.
Aziraphale shook his head, groaning. He couldn't. Not that.
Crowley tapped Aziraphale's temple. "I wanna see in there," he murmured. He paused. "Don't you love me?" Hoo, boy, that was a classic.
Aziraphale tensed, determined this time not to buckle. Having the demon wreck his body had been bad enough. The fact that he couldn't seem to say no both disturbed and alarmed him.
But his mind... No.
Aziraphale could feel the demon pushing hard against his brain. His defences were far down. He raised his head and the demon felt a weak flash.
Whoo-ee. Decidedly unimpressive. The demon sighed. "That your best shot, angel?" Crowley slid his hands under the angel's sweater and dug his fingers hard into soft flesh, nipping Aziraphale's neck for good measure. "You're so fucking easy."
Aziraphale shuddered.
Crowley held his breath.
000
Directly above them, Kallie was losing a battle of Brobdignagian proportions with the zipper. She pulled. It resisted. She had been doing this for fifteen minutes. She couldn't will the bag open; the angel and the demon would sense it in a second. It was the hard way or no way. "Fucker!" She hissed. Her face glowed like molten iron.
"Fuckerfuckerfuckerfucker!" She gave a final enraged tug. There was a faint tink as the zipper pull broke free and flew out into the night.
Demons are very strong. Kallie had wrenched mightily. The resulting force when the zipper pull finally let go was impressive. Kallie shot backwards onto the window. Really, really hard.
000
The glass in the skylight of Aziraphale's shop was very old.
Kallie West stood five feet, nine-and-a-half inches tall and weighed one hundred and sixteen pounds. While her height-to-weight ratio put her squarely in the realm of Not Fat, one hundred and sixteen pounds is, after all, one hundred and sixteen pounds.
It was more than the glass could take.
000
There was a mighty crash.
Footnotes
(1) Get it?
(2) How about now?
(3) Okay. (If you haven't got it by now, which I'm sure you have. You all are pretty smart.) Becky Thatcher, Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn. The names of three quintessentially American literary characters for three quintessentially American Secret Service Men.
(4) Hastur knows you can't pull off a serious stealth operation worth its salt in a taxi.
(5) Zane Grey was famous for his exciting novels of the Old West. He wrote more than 85 books. Most of that would be enough to hurt even a demon.
(6) Wouldn't be a wacky action/adventure/romance without that line, now would it?
(7) Specifically regarding brussels sprouts. From Good Omens. Madame Tracy'sVery English Room Fragrance, used to great effectin calming skittish customers.
(8) Crowley had lost his own sunglasses during the fight and had not bothered to conjure another pair.
(9) Kallie was not the most perceptive of demons.
(10) Hastur, as you may remember, had promised Kallie a corner office with a window if she successfully completed her assignment. Note that no mention was made of what would happen if Kallie failed.