Once in Crowley's flat, Aziraphale found himself utterly exhausted. Or, more to the point, Crowley's body was exhausted. He needed to lie down for a moment and get his strength back.
Aziraphale tried resting on the expensive looking leather sofa but Crowley's long limbs didn't fit comfortably and every time Aziraphale shifted position the leather squeaked in an increasingly annoying fashion.
Abandoning the sofa, Aziraphale instead made his way into Crowley's bedroom. He'd been given permission to come in here, after all, and the queen-size bed looked awfully comfortable. He sprawled out on top of the sheets, stretching out his limbs and letting out a long sigh. Just a few minutes to rest his eyes and regain his energy, that was all he needed, and then he'd get to work cleaning up the remains of Ligur and make sure there wasn't a single drop of holy water left in the flat.
The moment Aziraphale closed his eyes he was lost, and within minutes he was asleep and starting to dream. He wasn't used to doing either of those things. Angels didn't require sleep, and besides, it had always seemed a terrible waste of time. He much preferred spending his nights in bed with a good book and a mug of cocoa.
In Aziraphale's dream, he was in his own body. It was just an ordinary evening, and his current fears felt far away and hazy. He was reading in bed, feeling safe and content, wearing his favourite pyjamas.
Crowley was beside him, reading too, deeply engrossed in a magazine - Botany Weekly. While they had never been in bed together like this in real life it seemed perfectly ordinary in this dream world. Aziraphale was enjoying the companionable silence that had descended over them.
It all felt so homely.
Crowley set aside his magazine onto the bedside table and then rolled over onto his stomach as though getting ready to fall asleep. He shifted, and then he was snuggled up against Aziraphale's side.
Aziraphale glanced down at him, admiring his dishevelled red hair, black silk pyjamas and sleepy face. He smiled fondly before returning his attention to his book.
Except he suddenly found it difficult to concentrate. Crowley's proximity was strangely distracting. The places where their bodies touched felt warm and oversensitive. Aziraphale had always enjoyed physical contact - there was something soothing in gentle touches or a comforting hug here and there - but it had never felt like this, it had never caused his skin to prickle all over and for a pleasant heat to radiate between his legs.
Crowley moved, rearranging his limbs under the duvet. He stretched an arm out across Aziraphale's chest and left it there. It was so distracting that Aziraphale didn't even notice that his book had been knocked to the floor during Crowley's shuffling. Aziraphale's cock – not something he usually gave much thought – had grown hot and stiff.
Crowley's arm moved again, shifting down until his hand rested on Aziraphale's stomach, making his pyjama shirt ride up. Crowley's slender fingers started to rub little circles against his bare skin. Physical touch had never felt so good before, and Aziraphale had to bite his lower lip and close his eyes against the intensity of it. Something was stirring deep inside of him, making him ache with need. This was arousal, wasn't it? This was what desire felt like. He'd been around humans long enough to know the signs. He'd stumbled across enough erotic scenes in books to understand what was happening to him.
He'd always wondered what it felt like.
A shocked gasp escaped him as he felt Crowley's erection press against his side. It frightened him almost as much as it excited him, knowing that Crowley was as affected by this as he was himself. Crowley's hand was still stroking his belly absentmindedly but Aziraphale longed for it to move further down, and that terrified him too. He shouldn't be feeling like this. He was an angel. Sex wasn't for him. He was terrified of what was going to happen next, scared of how much he wanted it. His cock was desperately hard, begging to be touched, and he found his hips moving of their own accord, rubbing his erection against his pyjamas, against the duvet.
He forced himself to keep still, his whole body tensing as Crowley continued to caress his stomach before starting to rock himself against his thigh. Aziraphale's eyes flew open, panic setting in, but when their eyes met all of his worries instantly melted away. Crowley was looking at him with adoration, and Aziraphale trusted him completely.
"It's alright, angel," Crowley soothed. "It's alright."
Crowley climbed on top of him, and the feeling of Crowley's body sinking down and pressing him into the mattress was so perfect that it didn't even occur to Aziraphale to try to stop him. Every part of him wanted this. Aziraphale moaned and shivered as Crowley rubbed against him, and Crowley was moaning too, his little gasps feeding Aziraphale's arousal all the more.
Aziraphale couldn't hold back any longer, his hips started to move, pushing up against Crowley's body. The friction felt divine as they rubbed against each other, chasing something that felt just out of reach. Their pyjama bottoms had ended up around their knees. Skin on skin, their cocks sliding together lewdly, and Aziraphale knew he ought to feel ashamed but it felt so good. He was gasping with pleasure, and Crowley was just as vocal, whimpering against his ear wantonly.
Aziraphale grabbed Crowley's arse in both hands, pulling him down to meet his thrusts, holding him in place. Each push of his hips heightened his pleasure until he felt dizzy with it. He'd never felt anything like it before, and all the while Crowley was moaning as they rocked together.
Aziraphale tensed, drawing in a shocked breath as a wave of unstoppable ecstasy washed over him. His cock pulsed as he came, dampness spreading out between them, and he was making a strangled sound, trembling in place, overwhelmed by the intensity of it.
The dream faded away as reality crashed back in. Deeply confused, Aziraphale didn't know where he was at first, utterly convinced that Crowley was there with him. He could hear Crowley panting and it took him a moment to realise that those sounds were coming from his own mouth. He was in Crowley's body, and every noise he made, every whimper, was coming out in Crowley's familiar tones.
Aziraphale was on his stomach, but he quickly rolled onto his side before sitting up, horribly aware of the dampness in his trousers. It was seeping through his black jeans. His cock was stiff and raw but it was slowly softening.
He'd fallen asleep and had an orgasm while in control of Crowley's body.
The afterglow was wearing off, leaving him with nothing but guilt and horror. A quick miracle and the sticky and uncomfortable mess - evidence of his indiscretion - vanished.
Shame gripped him. He'd had an orgasm - something he wasn't allowed to experience - and even worse, he'd used his best friend's body to experience it. There were tears in his eyes as he half-climbed and half-fell out of bed, and then he fled the room.
He'd crossed all kinds of boundaries and had no idea how he was ever going to face Crowley ever again. What would Crowley say if he knew what he'd done? Would he feel violated? Disgusted?
Then he remembered what Crowley had told him: 'Seems kinda cruel to give someone a dick and then not let them have any fun with it. You can have a go with mine if you like.'
Oh, but he hadn't meant it, he'd only been teasing.
If only Aziraphale had wished away the sexuality from this body like he'd wanted too. This wasn't his fault, he hadn't even been conscious! If Crowley hadn't argued with him then this would never have happened. But that wasn't fair on Crowley, it wasn't his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault really. Neither of them could have predicted this, and there was no point in beating himself up about it now.
Then he remembered what he'd dreamt about. He'd had sex with Crowley, they'd rubbed their cocks together and he'd liked it. He'd found the entire thing exciting and he'd even enjoyed the erotic sounds Crowley had made.
Did he… Did he have a crush on Crowley?
No. He refused to believe it.
He wasn't allowed to have crushes.
The dream didn't mean anything. Aziraphale had read plenty of books about dreams and knew that humans dreamt about all sorts of strange things. It didn't mean anything at all. Perhaps he'd only included Crowley in the dream because he cared about him and he felt safe around him. Perhaps he'd simply heard the sound of Crowley breathing and that had inspired him to throw him into the dream. It didn't mean he wanted to have sex with him in real life.
Did it?
He thought about the reality of it, of kissing and caressing him, and while he felt alarmed and troubled by the idea, it made him feel warm inside.
Slowly, hesitantly, Aziraphale made his way back into the bedroom and looked at his reflection in the floor length mirror. Crowley stared back at him, his elegant eyebrows creased together in worry.
From the yellow of his eyes to the red of his hair, Crowley was beautiful. Aziraphale had admired his appearance before, appreciated Crowley's looks in the same way he might appreciate a sunset. He knew Crowley was handsome, that was nothing new. But now when he looked Crowley up and down he found himself admiring the long line of his throat, his slender fingers and his lithe legs. Aziraphale looked into Crowley's eyes and felt a fluttering in his chest. There was a vulnerably in Crowley's facial expression that made Aziraphale feel hot inside. He found his gaze drawn to his mouth and wondered what it would be like to kiss him.
Just as a test, Aziraphale winked and quirked his lip in an attempt to make Crowley look flirtatious. It made heat pool between his legs.
It was too much. He felt overwhelmed by the revelation of this attraction. He didn't know how to handle it. So he looked away and told himself that he was just in a strange frame of mind. He'd only had his first orgasm moments ago and he'd only had a sex drive for a few hours. What he was feeling might not even be his own sexuality. His feelings were being filter through Crowley's body so it could be Crowley's lust and desire that he was feeling. But… if that were true then did it mean that Crowley fancied himself? Aziraphale wouldn't put it past a demon to be so vain, but Crowley didn't seem the type. If – and obviously Aziraphale wasn't going to do this – but if he allowed his own body to have sexuality when he got it back then he might feel differently.
Aziraphale looked back at the mirror and saw his own emotions reflected back at him. Crowley looked distressed, and seeing that expression on Crowley's face made Aziraphale want to hug him. He let out a miserable laugh and left the room, settling down on the squeaky sofa instead.
None of this mattered. Once he returned to his own body he'd be back to normal and wouldn't have to worry about any of this ever again. He had bigger problems right now, like being able to correctly mimic Crowley while facing whatever Hell had in store for him.
Aziraphale busied himself by cleaning up the terrible and distressing mess on the office floor. He made sure there wasn't a single drop of holy water left, and then he made himself a cup of tea and sat down at the kitchen table, utterly exhausted.
Aziraphale watched the sunrise, the kitchen bathed in a golden glow. Soon it would be time to meet Crowley in the park.
The angels had tied Crowley to a chair, the ropes digging into his wrists. He had a sinking feeling as he watched them place a circle of stones on the floor before him, the circle easily large enough for him to stand in. He was beginning to strongly suspect that Aziraphale had been right.
"Nice stones. What are they for?" Crowley asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. How much they would confess to at this stage?
"Barbeque," said Uriel with a smile on her face. Once of the other angels stifled a laugh.
Was that supposed to be a joke? Did Uriel just make a joke about how they were planning to burn Aziraphale alive?
"What fun. I love a barbeque," Crowley heard himself say while internally he cursed every single one of them.
Gabriel started talking at him, and Crowley went through the motions, doing his best to act and talk like Aziraphale while his fear steadily gave way to anger.
"I think you're gonna like this. I really do," said Gabriel. "And I bet you didn't see this one coming."
Crowley could never be described as a violent person but in that moment he desperately wanted to slap that smug look off Gabriel's face. Of course Aziraphale had seen this coming - the brilliant, clever and wonderful angel that he was.
Then Eric swaggered past Crowley. Nervous little Eric. Hell's errand boy, always so keen to please. Eric was enjoying all of the attention, feeling important as he emptied a pan of Hellfire into the stone circle. It erupted into a whirlwind of flames.
Gabriel, Uriel and Sandalphon - usually so proud and brave - all backed away, staring in terror at the inferno before averting their eyes.
Eric's voice cut through the silence. "Can I… Can I ask a favour… Can I hit him? I've always wanted to hit an angel."
Uriel and Sandalphon exchanged a look, and Crowley thought they might refuse Eric's request simply because they wouldn't want a lowly demon to have any fun at an angel's expense - even if that angel were Aziraphale.
"Go for it," said Sandalphon.
Crowley couldn't say he was all that surprised.
Eric came towards him with excitement in his eyes and his hands bunched into fists. If it had been Hastur or Beelzebub then Crowley would have been terrified, but it was only Eric. It was like being threatened by a puppy. Entirely unafraid, Crowley made a point of maintaining eye contact with him. Eric hesitated, clearly unsettled, and Crowley quirked his lip.
"I should be going back," Eric said awkwardly and scampered away.
Uriel marched towards Crowley. She untied the ropes, freeing him from the chair.
Once on his feet, Crowley adjusted his bowtie. "I don't suppose I could persuade you to reconsider…?" His words were met with silence, and his frustration got the better of him. "We're supposed to be the good guys, for Heaven's sake."
"Well, for Heaven's sake, we are meant to make examples of traitors. So. Into the flame," said Gabriel, gesturing at the towering inferno.
Crowley realised with horror that they expected him to just walk into the fire himself. They expected Aziraphale to commit suicide, to destroy himself on command. The worst part was that Crowley knew Aziraphale was loyal enough to do it. However, Crowley also knew that Aziraphale would dither and stall for as long as possible. He launched into a speech, but was quickly interrupted by Gabriel.
"Shut your stupid mouth and die already."
Crowley was so furious he had visions of dragging Gabriel into the Hellfire with him. Maybe he'd burn all three of them, see if their little barbeque joke was so funny then. He forced himself to calm down. He suspected Gabriel's words were only spoken out of frustration. He must have expected Aziraphale to be terrified, to beg for his life, but Crowley wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
Taking a deep breath, Crowley walked into the flames.
Gabriel grimaced but didn't look away, morbid fascination on his face.
The flames felt warm and soothing in this cold and holy place. Crowley smiled and cracked his neck, enjoying the looks of confusion on the angel's faces. Had they ever destroyed an angel before? Did they know what it was supposed to look like? Had they realised yet that it wasn't working?
Grinning madly, Crowley breathed fire at the three angels, making sure it fell just short of them. The temptation to destroy them - or even just singe them - was strong, but murder and torture wasn't really Crowley's style, and more to the point, it wasn't Aziraphale's either. Crowley just wanted to make sure they understood how dangerous Aziraphale was. He wanted them to be afraid of Aziraphale so they'd never hurt him ever again.
The angels all backed away from the fireball, Gabriel reaching for Uriel and Sandalphon and pulling them back with him protectively. So he was capable of giving a shit about someone other than himself after all. Who would have thought?
The three angels were panicking and asking questions but all Crowley did was smirk at them. He'd feared they might figure out the truth but it was clear they had no idea how he'd done this. As Crowley stepped out of the flames the three angels backed away even further, their eyes wide with fear.
"Well, I'll be off," Crowley said with a smile. "Unless you have any objections?"
Uriel and Sandalphon shook their heads wildly while Gabriel merely swallowed. Crowley had them backed up against the glass windows.
"I didn't think so," Crowley said coolly. "I think it would be best if you left me in peace from now on - or I'll be the one planning the barbeque." He let out a cheery laugh and a small flame escaped his lips. Crowley covered his mouth with a hand and chuckled. "Oh, pardon me."
Crowley spun around and walked away.
Eric was at the other side of the room, having stuck around to watch the execution. He was cowering in the corner when Crowley approached.
"Where did they take Crowley?"
Eric stuttered a response, his eyes widening as he realised that the same situation must be occurring in Hell. Once Eric had told him all he needed to know, Crowley got into the lift. All he could think about was Aziraphale.
It was gloomy, cramped and filthy in Hell. The floors and walls looked sticky and Aziraphale was trying very hard not to touch anything.
His wrists had been bound in front of him. Two demons escorted him until he found himself stood in front of Beelzebub, Dagon, Hastur and a small, round imp-like demon holding a staff.
An ominous bathtub stood behind Aziraphale, and beyond that there was a big grimy window where a horde of demons were watching eagerly.
When Michael filled the bathtub with holy water, Aziraphale couldn't help but feel smug for having correctly interpreted the prophesy.
"It'sz not that we don't truszt you, Michael, but obviously we don't truszt you," Beelzebub said. "Hazstur, test it."
Hastur strode towards the small round demon, who screamed in terror as he was lifted and held over the bath. The demon was dropped into the water, and Hastur hurriedly jumped back to avoid getting splashed. Aziraphale watched with horror and pity while the poor creature flared and fizzled before dissolving away into nothing. The thought of Crowley being forced into the bathtub just like this poor imp while the hordes of Hell watched made him feel sick.
The irony that part of Crowley's crime was the murder of a demon when Hastur had just casually committed the same crime was not lost on him.
Before seeing the bathtub Aziraphale had assumed he'd have holy water poured over him, and then he'd expected Michael to be the one to force him into the bath but she'd already left the room. Perhaps Hastur then? But they were all fools if they thought Crowley wouldn't fight tooth and nail to stop this - and to make sure to take out as many demons as possible in the process.
Indeed, Hastur kept glancing nervously at Beelzebub as though expecting to be called forward to assist again, no doubt suspecting that Crowley would try to splash him as he forced him into the bathtub.
"Get in the bath, Crowley," Beelzebub ordered.
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.
"Or we'll torture you until you wish you'd climbed in."
Jeers and whooping sounds came from the demons beyond the window, and Hastur started to laugh.
Aziraphale forced his face to look suitably distraught while he edged towards the bath. The water was clear, all evidence of the small demon's demise gone.
Aziraphale removed Crowley's nice shoes and expensive jacket, arranging them neatly on a cheap plastic chair. In his current condition, Aziraphale might have worried about being in a state of undress – he couldn't predict how this sexual body would react – but his nerves and disgust made it clear that he had nothing to worry about.
"Get on with it!" shouted Beelzebub.
"Give me a minute," Aziraphale said, now down to tasteful black underclothes. He took his time, circling the bath and looking at it from all angles – Crowley liked to circle things - and then, carefully, he climbed up onto the bath like a spider. He had his back to the water, hovering over it, mostly just to frustrate the demons that were holding their collective breaths while he perched precariously.
Dagon threw a pen at him but it missed and hit the window.
A second later, Aziraphale allowed himself to drop into the bath with a splash.
The demons erupted into cheers but their excitement quickly gave way to confusion. Silence fell as Aziraphale lay comfortably in the tub.
Aziraphale sat up with a grin and spread out his arms. "Ta da!" he said to a gobsmacked audience. This was definitely the best magic trick he'd ever performed. He leant over and splashed holy water at the window, making the demons behind the glass cry out and back away. Aziraphale made eye contact with Beelzebub, Dagon and Hastur, enjoying their obvious distress, and then he asked for a rubber duck.
Aziraphale smiled. "So you're probably thinking, 'If he can do this, I wonder what else he can do?' and very very soon you're all going to get the chance to find out."
"He's bluffing," Hastur said, striding confidently towards him while also, Aziraphale noted, being careful not to get too close. "We can take him. One demon against the rest of Hell, what's he going to do?"
As an example of what he could do, Aziraphale casually flicked holy water towards him and Hastur leapt back with a squeal.
"Shut it!" Beelzebub shouted. "Get him out of here. He's going to causze a riot." She looked at the demons on the other side of the glass. "What are you all looking at? Nothing to see! Nothing to szee here!"
Aziraphale joyfully splashed water at the window as the glass went black, Beelzebub using her demonic magic to block their view.
There came a dinging sound as the lift doors opened and Michael strolled in holding her empty jug. "I came to bring back the- Oh Lord!"
Aziraphale beamed. "Michael! Dude! Do us a quick miracle, will you? I need a bath towel."
To Aziraphale's intense pleasure, Michael did as she was asked.
"I think it would be better for everyone if I were to be left alone in the future. Don't you?" said Aziraphale.
Beelzebub nodded miserably, and Dagon and Hastur joined in. Aziraphale turned his gaze on Michael who gave a curt little nod as well.
"Right," Aziraphale said. He stepped out of the bathtub, holy water pouring from him. It dripped on the floor, forming a puddle, and the three demons in the room all backed away from it.
"Michael!" Beelzebub snapped. "Collect your holy water already!"
Michael stared at her helplessly for a moment, too shaken to respond, and then she returned her attention to the bathtub. A moment later every last drop of the holy water had vanished and the jug was full once again.
Now that Aziraphale was no longer drenched in holy water he felt vulnerable, but the three demons still remained huddled together fearfully while Aziraphale got dressed, and even Michael backed away from him as he walked past her towards the lift.
Authors Note:
I'm referring to the 'Disposable Demon' as Eric because of a line in the Good Omens script book: 'Disposable Demon… there was a draft of the script in which we learned his name was Eric.' (It's on the first page of the introduction.)
The bit where Uriel says they're gonna have a barbeque is in the Good Omens script book but was cut from the show. Eric asking to hit Aziraphale is a deleted scene on the DVD.