AN: Warning: Crowley has a nightmare at the end of this chapter (brought on by his fear of sexual abuse) and while he wakes up from it fairly quickly, it still might be triggering for some people.
After Aziraphale had gone, Crowley looked through the toiletry bag. A sudden light-headedness washed over him as he realised what all of this was about.
Aziraphale wanted him to be clean and well presented with minty fresh breath and new clothes. He wanted him to look good for when they had sex together. Perhaps Aziraphale would demand sex before they went down for lunch. Maybe he would refuse to feed him if he didn't do what he wanted first.
And what would Aziraphale want him to do? They were both men - or at least men shaped creatures - what if Aziraphale wanted to have anal sex with him? Crowley had never done that before. He was scared it would hurt. Besides, he didn't want to do it with an angel.
He reminded himself that Aziraphale had said that he wouldn't hurt him. He thought of when he had woken up to find Aziraphale touching his forehead – healing him he had said – and Crowley believed him. The pain hadn't been as bad as it usually was when he woke up, and he recovered fairly quickly.
But would Aziraphale use his healing powers to stop him from feeling pain while he made use of him? Crowley didn't know what to expect. He had not been told what chores were expected of him. So far, Aziraphale had done his own cooking, and presumably, his own washing up. Crowley couldn't help but feel that he was here for sex alone. Even if Aziraphale didn't force him, that didn't mean he wouldn't be coerced into it.
Crowley knew it was in his best interest to do everything in his power to keep his owner happy. Aziraphale had been kind and friendly so far, but there was no telling how long that would last. It was possible that he was only being friendly as a way of flirting with him.
If Aziraphale made it clear that he expected to be shown a good time when he came back before lunch, maybe he could get away with just using his hands or even his mouth. He'd done that before, and he'd even liked it.
Sometimes, in the Demon Rehoming House, whichever demon happened to be in the cell next to him would comfort him when he was upset. They would hold him through the bars, whisper gently to him, rub his back. Sometimes, when they had something resembling privacy - when they could hide beneath their wings, or the demons in the nearby cages were asleep – they'd pleasure each other through the bars. He enjoyed it. It was a welcome distraction, a little bit of pleasure when everything else seemed bleak. But more than anything, it was something to do.
The choice had been his to make. There had been bars between them, and he had been able to say no if he wasn't in the mood. If he did those things for Aziraphale, it would be different. But he knew he had to do whatever it took to keep his owner happy or he would be punished.
Despite Aziraphale's promise not to hurt him, it was possible that Aziraphale would lose his temper and end up hurting him anyway. Promises were nothing more than words.
Crowley's hands were shaking as he undressed, and then got in the shower.
Afterwards, he tried on all of the clothes. Most of them fit him well enough, although some were a little baggy. There was a robe, similar to what he had worn for the past 6000 years, and several sets of human style clothes. He felt drawn to the robe, as that was the style he had always worn, but Aziraphale seemed to favour human clothes so he felt that would be the safest bet. He wanted to keep Aziraphale happy.
He put on some black trousers and a long sleeved shirt. The trousers felt weird. He wasn't used to having his legs covered and it felt odd, though he supposed he would get used to it with time.
He sat at the desk and waited anxiously for the angel to come for him. He flicked through the books, trying to find one to read, but he felt too on edge and couldn't concentrate on the words. Then he found that one of the books was full of pictures.
It was titled, 'Constable,' and the paintings were mostly of countryside landscapes. This book was a welcome distraction, and he flicked through the pages, utterly mesmerised by the stunning artwork.
Crowley missed the outdoors. He hadn't been outside since becoming a demon, and he had never been outside on Earth. Neither of his previous owners had allowed him to leave the house.
With his first owner, Michael, he at least had views from the windows both upstairs and downstairs, but with his last owner, he had spent most of his time in the basement. It was only when he was allowed upstairs that he was occasionally able to see out of the windows.
Crowley spun around in his chair to face the window above the head of his bed. The view was obscured by heavy curtains, and his heart leapt at the thought that he might have a view of the human world from his very bedroom.
He ran across and threw open the curtains.
Directly below him was a little patio with a table and two chairs. Ivy grew across the high wall opposite, and beyond that he could see rooftops, tree tops, and a blue sky dotted with clouds. The sun was shining.
Crowley gasped, amazed that he was able to see such a beautiful view, let alone from his bedroom window.
He tried the latch on the sash window and was shocked when it unfastened and he was able to slide the window open. He tried to reach out through the window but the action was blocked by an invisible barrier. There was a ward on the window, just like he had been told was on the door.
But he would never try to escape. He knew that if other angels found an escaped demon, then their owner would get the proverbial slap on the wrist but the demon would be destroyed with holy water. No second chances. And no matter what happened to him, Crowley wanted to live.
A breeze swept past him, and Crowley let out a gasp. He had not felt the breeze for thousands of years. He closed his eyes and savoured the sensation of it.
A knock on the door dragged him back to reality.
Crowley froze, terrified that Aziraphale was going to burst in and assume he was trying to escape. He fumbled desperately with the window, trying to get it closed.
Luckily, Aziraphale didn't open the door. "Hello, Crawly. Can I come in?"
Crowley was glad that Aziraphale had this odd habit of asking permission to enter the room. He finally got the window closed.
"Y- Yes. I'm coming…" Crowley said, assuming that Aziraphale wanted him to open the door again.
He opened the door, and Aziraphale gave him a quick glance up and down, a smile on his face. Crowley's stomach twisted into a knot as he felt the angel's eyes on him, inspecting him. Crowley's shoulders hunched. These clothes were more fitted than he was used to, and he felt on show.
"That outfit looks nice. Do you like it?"
Crowley lowered his eyes to the floor. "Yes. Thank you."
"How are the other clothes? I can alter them with a miracle if they don't fit right. Or if you don't like them."
"They're all perfect," Crowley said quickly. "Thank you."
Crowley's heart was racing, scared of what was going to happen next. He glanced up at Aziraphale to see if he could read his intentions on his face.
The angel looked embarrassed, a slight blush to his cheeks, but then he looked away, his eyes falling on the open book on the desk.
"Oh! You've been looking at the work of John Constable. Do you like his paintings?"
Crowley nodded.
"He was a wonderful artist. Nice fellow, I met him a few times."
Crowley fiddled with the sleeve of his shirt. "Thank you for allowing me to look at your books."
"You're very welcome. I have lots of books, and you are more than welcome to look through them."
Crowley thanked him again in a small voice.
"Oh! You finished all of your croissants! You must have been very hungry indeed! Do you still have room for lunch?"
"Yes!" said Crowley quickly, frightened that Aziraphale would think he had eaten too much and would refuse to let him have any lunch. He was starting to regret hiding all of the croissants under the bed.
"I didn't realise demons have such big appetites. Well, you can have as much lunch as you fancy and if you can't finish it, that's alright."
"Thank you."
"Shall we go downstairs for lunch now? Or I can bring your food up here if you would prefer? Please don't be nervous, Crawly. I'm not so bad really. It's up to you, whichever makes you feel more comfortable."
"I- I'll go downstairs with you for lunch," Crowley said, wanting to keep on Aziraphale's good side.
Aziraphale beamed. "Marvellous. I'll just drop the ward on the door… There we go. Ready?"
Crowley nodded. He felt confused, but also relieved. It looked like Aziraphale didn't want sex right now after all. He followed Aziraphale cautiously through the doorway.
Aziraphale led the way down a long and narrow corridor. Crowley trailed behind him, eyes darting all around as though expecting something or someone to jump out at him. He glanced at the old, dusty paintings that were dotted on the walls.
"This is my bedroom," Aziraphale said, gesturing to a closed door.
Crowley's stomach flipped. For a horrible moment he thought they were going to go in there, but Aziraphale walked straight past. Aziraphale gestured to another door. "And this is the sitting room, although, to be honest, I spend most of my time downstairs. I run a bookshop you see. The flat is above it."
Crowley froze. "A shop? Are there people downstairs?"
"No," Aziraphale reassured him. "Not right now anyway. The shop is closed, and I'll keep it closed for a while."
They went down the stairs and then along another narrow corridor until they emerged into a small kitchen. In one corner was a table and chairs. The table was piled high with food. There were two loaves of bread – one white and one brown – and a multitude of sandwich meats, cheeses, jams and salads. It was more food than the two of them could ever manage between them.
I thought we could have sandwiches," Aziraphale said. "I wasn't sure what fillings you like, so there's several to choose from." A panicked look crossed Aziraphale's face. "Do you like sandwiches? I'm sure I can rustle up something else if not."
"I like sandwiches," Crowley said. He didn't have much of an appetite at the moment – he felt too nervous - but the sight of so much food and choice was making his mouth water.
"Oh! I'm glad," Aziraphale said with relief. He picked up a plate and handed one to Crowley. "Help yourself."
Crowley was not used to making decisions for himself like this. It took him a long time to decide what he wanted, but eventually he made a ham and cheese sandwich.
Aziraphale had sat down at the table with a tuna and egg sandwich in front of him. Crowley stood awkwardly with his plate, unsure of where he was supposed to sit. There was only one table in this room and Aziraphale was already sat at it. Was he supposed to sit on the floor?
Aziraphale gestured for Crowley to join him at the table, and he did so wearily. He had never eaten at the same table as an angel before – at least, not since becoming a demon – and he felt like he was acting above his station. But Aziraphale seemed to like sitting with him. Perhaps Aziraphale didn't know it was inappropriate for them to eat together.
Now that they had both sat down, Aziraphale started to ask him various questions. Was he okay? Did he need anything else? Was his room warm enough? Crowley assured him that everything was fine.
Once Aziraphale had finished asking questions, they started to eat. Crowley ate fairly slowly, nervous as he was, and he might have been self-conscious about it had Aziraphale not been an even slower eater than he was.
Aziraphale savoured every bite, and he repeatedly stopped in order to chat. He was extremely talkative once he got going, and he talked animatedly about his bookshop, which Crowley soon learnt made up the rest of the downstairs.
"Through that door is the shop, and through that other door is the backroom, which is where I keep my rarest books - mostly bibles and books of prophesy. I'll show you the bookshop another time, when you're more settled."
Crowley nodded. He could tell how important Aziraphale's books were to him and knew it would be a while before he was trusted enough to be allowed in the shop, let alone in the backroom where he kept the rare books.
The more Aziraphale talked about the bookshop, the more confused Crowley felt. Aziraphale allowed the general public - humans - into the shop, but he didn't actually want to part with any of the books. He did everything in his power to put people off buying them, including musty smells, erratic opening hours, extortionate prices and a confusing shelving system.
Crowley thought this was all extremely odd, and couldn't understand why he allowed people into the shop in the first place.
Eventually, despite his nervousness, Crowley's curiosity got the better of him. "Why do you have to open your bookshop to the humans?"
Aziraphale thought about it for a moment. "It's part of my disguise as a human. It helps me to blend in."
Crowley nodded.
"Also..." Aziraphale continued with a thoughtful look on his face, "It's nice to have humans come in for a chat - when they're not trying to buy my first editions, that is!" Aziraphale let out a chuckle.
Crowley laughed too, wanting to please Aziraphale.
Aziraphale smiled at him. "It's nice having you here to talk to."
Crowley smiled back. Perhaps Aziraphale really had bought him because he was lonely and wanted someone to talk to. Perhaps he really meant it when he said he didn't want a demon for sex.
And yet, Crowley couldn't shake the feeling that Aziraphale was only being nice in order to get him into bed. He wasn't used to angel's showing any friendliness towards him, and the way Aziraphale was making conversation with him made him feel uncomfortable. If he was being kind to him, it was for a reason - it was because he wanted something in return.
Once they had finished eating, Aziraphale started to clear away the food that they had not eaten, returning it to the fridge or the cupboards. Crowley had to resist the urge to hide some food away in his pockets.
Aziraphale scraped the plates over the bin and then put them on the side next to the sink. Crowley was not used to seeing angels performing such menial tasks. It felt wrong. He should be doing these things. Why wasn't Aziraphale making him do it?
Crowley thought back to when Michael was his owner. Back then, he used to do the washing up after every meal.
"Would you like me to do the washing up?" Crowley asked in a small voice, wanting to prove himself useful.
Aziraphale smiled. "Oh, yes please, Crawly. Thank you."
Crowley crept to the sink, which was right in front of a window with a perfect view of the same little courtyard that Crowley could see from his bedroom window. As he did the washing up he gazed outside longingly before quickly focussing all of his attention back on the task at hand. The washing up didn't take long, especially with Aziraphale drying everything and putting it all away.
"Thank you for your help," Aziraphale said once they had finished. "I must confess that sometimes I use miracles to do things like this. But they keep an eye on my miracle count and I've done quite a few recently so this really helps me out."
Crowley was very aware that Aziraphale had been performing miracles for him - creating clothes from raw firmament and using his healing powers – and he didn't want Aziraphale to get into trouble and then take it out on him.
"I'm good at housework," Crowley said quickly. "I can do lots of things you might use miracles for. Cleaning and washing clothes. And tidying."
"Oh, thank you! I could really do with some help around the place. Maybe another time though - it is your first day here after all. I thought it would be nice to retire upstairs to the sitting room and just relax for the rest of the day."
As Crowley followed Aziraphale upstairs, he wondered, nervously, what Aziraphale meant by 'relax.'
The sitting room contained a sofa and two armchairs with a coffee table between them, but the first thing Crowley noticed was the huge bookcase that took up an entire wall and was full to the brim with books. Everything in the room looked old and worn but also comfortable, as though Aziraphale had decorated it during the Victorian era and had never bothered to update it - save for the television which was the only modern thing that Crowley could see.
Everything was slightly dusty, and Crowley itched to clean the place and show his worth, but that would have to wait. Aziraphale wanted him to relax after all.
Aziraphale told him that he could help himself to any of the books whenever he wanted, and to feel free to browse and see if anything took his fancy. After a few minutes, Crowley found another art book, and took it with him to an armchair opposite the one Aziraphale had already settled in.
Aziraphale picked up a novel with a bookmark in it from a table beside his chair.
Crowley looked down at his own book. The artist was called Lawrence Alma-Tadema and most of the paintings were of humans dressed in robes lounging on marble benches in front of sparkling oceans. The world these humans lived in looked so beautiful, extravagant and serene that Crowley was instantly lost in it.
Silence descended on the room, and every time Crowley turned a page it seemed deafeningly loud but Aziraphale didn't look up from his novel even once.
Hours passed by and Crowley read about the artist as well as gazing at the pictures. He was on the last few pages when Aziraphale shifted in his seat and Crowley jumped, his whole body tensing. He watched the angel nervously.
Aziraphale looked thoughtful. "What would you like for dinner?"
Crowley felt put on the spot, and didn't know how to reply.
Aziraphale smiled. "I was thinking we could get something delivered. How about pizza? Or Chinese food? Would you like either of those?"
Crowley nodded. "Yes please."
"Any preference between pizza and Chinese food?"
He shook his head. It would be best for Aziraphale to decide.
"Let's have pizza then."
Aziraphale showed him a menu and yet again, he felt overwhelmed by choice. He'd never had so much say over what he ate before. In the end, he went for a chicken, bacon and mushroom pizza, swayed in part by the thought of more bacon.
Aziraphale ordered the food over the phone and it arrived not long after. They put away their books - Aziraphale was worried about sticky fingers - and then Aziraphale switched on the television.
There was a documentary about life in the ocean, and Crowley was immediately captivated.
He had been with his last owner for about a hundred years, and there had been a television in the living room for the past sixty. Sometimes, when he was allowed upstairs, he caught a glimpse of a television programme. His owner thought most television was just human nonsense and so only watched things that might be of historical significance or which might help the divine cause.
Crowley had always been fascinated by television, all the way back to when it had been in black and white, but he had only ever caught snippets while he was doing his chores - usually parts of news broadcasts. He had once seen a few minutes of the moon landing. He had never been allowed to sit down and actually watch something, and any time he was caught ogling the television instead of doing his chores he would be punished. Even now, he half expected his old owner to come barging in, shouting furiously, and then drag him away to punish him.
Despite feeling like he was doing something wrong, he found himself starting to relax, until, soon, all that existed were the dolphins on the screen.
Despite his enjoyment, he found his eyelids growing heavy. He glanced at Aziraphale, who had gone back to reading his book after they had finished eating. As tired as he was, Crowley didn't want to go to bed, but it wasn't just because he was enjoying watching television. He was scared that Aziraphale wanted more from him than he felt able to give. He stared at the television, trying to ignore his sleepiness and nerves, but as evening turned into night, he felt sure that Aziraphale was going to want to take him to bed.
Soon, Aziraphale finished his book and returned it to the bookshelf. He glanced at the clock on the wall. "My goodness, it's gone midnight! Perhaps I'll turn into a pumpkin!"
Crowley laughed though he didn't get the joke.
"You can go to bed whenever you're ready. You certainly look sleepy. The manual said you would need about eight hours?"
Crowley nodded.
"I'm going to go downstairs to my bookshop. I've been working on some book restorations. If you need me, just pop downstairs and give me a shout. Feel free to carry on watching television if you wish. But try not to stay up too late."
Crowley nodded again.
"Is there anything you need? Please tell me if I've forgotten something."
Crowley shook his head.
Aziraphale quickly showed him how to turn off the television - for when he decided to go to bed - and then Aziraphale headed for the door. He hesitated in the doorway. "You've done very well today. A lot has happened to you recently, and I- Well. I think you've been very brave. I'm proud of you."
A memory, long forgotten, came back to Crowley. Of the Almighty admiring the stars he had helped create, and saying, 'I'm proud of you.' That was the last time anyone had ever said those words to him.
There was a lump in Crowley's throat. Somehow, he felt happy and sad at the same time. "Thank you."
Aziraphale smiled. "Shall we have breakfast together in the kitchen tomorrow morning? Would that be alright? I understand if you need some time to yourself and whatnot. I'm happy to go at your pace."
"Breakfast in the kitchen sounds nice."
Aziraphale beamed. "Jolly good. I'll come and fetch you. But not too early - you've had a long day, after all, and I don't want to interrupt your sleep. Good night, Crawly."
"Good night."
Aziraphale left, leaving the door ajar behind him. Crowley listened to his footsteps descending the stairs, unable to believe he was leaving him unattended in his sitting room.
He wondered how much of the house he would be able to explore before being stopped by wards or getting caught. But he wouldn't dare be so reckless or to take advantage of the freedom and trust he had been given.
He couldn't quite make Aziraphale out. Was it all an act? He seemed too good to be true.
He started to entertain the idea that Aziraphale really had no ill will towards him, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like hopeful thinking. He was probably just being nice to put him at ease.
Not long after Aziraphale had left, exhaustion got the better of Crowley. He switched off the television and the lights before going to his bedroom. He closed his bedroom door and then got ready for bed, putting on the pajamas Aziraphale had given him.
Crowley lay in bed but he couldn't sleep. He listened for footsteps on the stairs, scared that Aziraphale was going to come for him. Or, maybe Aziraphale would go straight to his own bedroom, and expect Crowley to come to him and offer himself.
Crowley didn't know what he was supposed to do.
He decided, either way, that it was in his best interest to not go to Aziraphale. After all, Aziraphale had said that he wouldn't take advantage of him so he might be offended if he offered himself up.
Crowley waited and waited for the footsteps on the stairs but they never came, and eventually he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
Crowley dreamt.
There were footsteps on the stairs. There was a knock at the door, and a voice asking to come in.
Crowley lay there, frozen with fear, unable to get his voice out. He silently pleaded for Aziraphale to go away and leave him alone.
But Aziraphale didn't. He came in and sat on the edge of the bed. "You've been so good today, Crawly," he whispered. "I think you deserve a treat."
Hands were immediately on him, trying to get under his clothes. Crowley yelped, pulling away. He backed away into the corner.
"Come on now, it's okay," Aziraphale said gently. "I'll make sure it feels good for you too, I promise."
Crowley shook his head. He trembled as Aziraphale reached out towards him again.
"It won't hurt, if that's what you're worried about. I did say I would never hurt you. I have healing powers, remember? I can make sure you won't feel any pain at all. Come on now, I want you so badly. Don't be coy."
"I don't want to," Crowley said, his voice shaking, barely above a whisper. He felt helpless. He started to cry.
Aziraphale's friendly mask fell away, replaced by anger. "Don't act like you're a delicate virgin! Everyone knows demons are gagging for it. What's the matter? Aren't I pretty enough?"
"I- I- I can't-"
Hands found him again and Crowley cried out as he struggled to get away. But Aziraphale was stronger. His owners were always so much stronger.
"How dare you! After everything I've done for you! Everything I gave you! You ungrateful brat!"
Crowley woke up, gasping for breath, and then he sat up. He felt disorientated, unsure of where he was at first.
He sat there, shaking, until slowly, quietly, he climbed down from the bed and hid underneath it, taking the duvet with him and wedging himself at the back against the wall.