Chapter 15

"I understand you need a nanny," Crowley stated, as soon as the manor's doors opened. Altaira nodded to herself in satisfaction and pleased surprise, having caught sight of the umbrella with the parrot head handle hanging on his arm. When she'd presented him with it the day before, calling it a good luck charm, he'd scoffed so hard that she'd assumed he wouldn't be using it.

He was doing so great! Aziraphale had gotten himself employed the day before as a gardener in the Dowling household. His angelic, rustic, down-to-earth disposition had ensured he was a shoo-in for the position.

That was the start of Aziraphale's and Crowley's 11-year sojourn in the House of Dowling.

Altaira looked after Aziraphale's beloved bookshop, as well as Crowley's prized collection of blooming plants. She would never be able to threaten them as well as Crowley did, but her mixed approach worked - first, the praise, and then, the subtle reminders that their master would be back. A healthy dose of plant food didn't hurt, either.

Her days were filled with blessing and tempting, taking on their guises as Aziraphale had allocated some of his miracles to her. The workload was nowhere as bad as before, and she was just glad to be able to help out those she loved. Altaira often made time to visit either one of them in the evenings.

The gardens flourished under Brother Francis' care despite him not seeming to ever do any actual gardening, and it became a hot gathering place for her birds, of which Altaira was very grateful. Once, she overheard him teaching little Warlock about showing respect to all living things, including 'Brother Snail' and 'Sister Slug'. Aziraphale was doing pretty well

So was Nanny Ashtoreth. "Will you sing me a lullaby, Nanny?" she'd heard little Warlock say, one night, as she hung about outside the window, unseen by the little boy. She wasn't always there to talk to them. Sometimes, it was enough just to see how they were doing.

"Of course, dear." The Scottish accent had been an interesting choice on Crowley's part. Then he began to sing, and Altaira couldn't help giggling to herself.

" Go to sleep and dream of pain,

Doom and darkness, blood and brains,

Sleep so sweet, my darling boy,

You will rule when Earth's destroyed."

She hadn't known Crowley could sing. Maybe he could read Shakespeare to her, sometime.


Crowley jolted awake, panting and painfully erect. Somehow, tending to a child wore Crowley out more than plotting evil misdeeds did, and he found himself sleeping more than he had in the past decades. With sleep tended to come a certain kind of dream that he'd thought he'd left behind. The kind of dream that featured his favourite seraph.

Crowley sighed, running a hand through his hair and pulling up his skirt. These dreams had started up in earnest some time after Altaira had begun to integrate herself into his life once more.

He stuck a hand down there, and it came away already damp. That particular dream had been rather more... out there than the others. He'd been in his original form in his dream, hence the scales that remained on his arms and face. He'd have to calm down first before he could reverse his appearance.

Closing his eyes, he reached for himself and hissed a little as his cold hand came into contact with his overheated, swollen, aching flesh. He was already at full mast, and he ran his thumb over his slit, groaning a little at the sensation, before smearing the precum along his length. Running his fingers along his lips and tongue, he could almost taste her sweet, musky juices. He saw her in his mind's eye, just as eager and turned on for this as he was for her, lips kiss-swollen and parted as she murmured his name over and over, bare skin all exposed for him to kiss and taste and nibble. He mumbled her name. It would've been better if he'd had a visual, but he did already know what Altaira looked like under her clothes, even if she'd been covered in eyes then. Hell, he'd take her with or without eyes. He knew what expressions she made in the throes of pleasure. He remembered the exquisite view between her parted thighs, all flushed and glistening with need for him. He remembered how tight she had felt around his finger - if he'd felt that good then, how much better would it feel, to be allowed, even welcomed, inside her? To have her squeeze around his cock just so?

Biting back a moan, Crowley suddenly squeezed his flesh hard, gasping, then kept a firm grip on it as he teased himself with slow strokes, the precum giving it some slide. With his eyes closed like this, it was a little easier to imagine her there with him, enjoying it, meeting his every thrust with her own, encasing his length like warm, wet silk. He never could make up his mind whether she'd like it fast or slow.

Once in a while, he tightened his grip on himself, just enough to make his breath hitch, and then let go. She'd probably tease him a lot as he made love to her, tightening her pelvic muscles every once in a while to try and get him to lose control. With his other hand, he tugged the hair at the back of his head. He'd really like it if she pulled his hair and made him do things for her. Perhaps she'd let him suck her breasts. He drooled a little at that, recalling how pert her breasts had looked, with sweet little rosy nipples that almost begged to be tasted and played with. Would she like watching him like this? Maybe she'd like to watch him suck himself off for her.

Somehow, it was a little easier to get into it tonight. He must've gone too long without, for he would've sworn he could almost feel her presence, smell her scent, all tinged with delicious lust and a hint of perspiration. He couldn't help it; as he fondled his balls, he moaned her name again. First tentatively, then repeatedly, like a bastardised prayer. He just... he just wanted her so much. He needed Altaira, Altaira's mouth, Altaira's heat, Altaira's smell and taste, Altaira's hands and tongue and breasts and AltairaAltairaAltairaAltairaAltairaAltairaAltairaAltaira-

He dug his thumb into his slit, then pumped himself harder, faster, feeling the sweat beading along his hairline. Desperately, he thrust over and over into his trembling hand, dimly aware that he'd been vocalising for a while. He wasn't even sure what he was saying, just her name, and pleas, maybe even his true feelings, once or twice, although it probably all came out as unintelligible grunts and moans.

Tonight's session was exceptionally good; he hadn't even needed his mouth. He was so, so close... with his other hand, he reached behind his balls and pushed up lightly, just the way he liked it. Soon, he felt it, curling his toes as a knot tightened pleasurably in the lower half of his belly. With one final thrust, a sharp, overwhelming ecstasy finally wracked his body as he spilled violently all over his hand and stomach, her name on his lips.


The winds had carried Crowley's voice to her; repeated, insistent mumbles that didn't sound like he was in danger, but were still concerning, for he'd never called her like that before. She made sure that Aziraphale's shop was locked up, then unfolded her wings, taking off into the night.

She'd made the journey to the Dowling house so many times that she could do it in her sleep, and she was glad for that familiarity as Crowley's calls for her became increasingly urgent, alarming her greatly. Sending a prayer to the Divine, she willed her wings to beat faster than she ever had before, in order to reach him. She was perspiring from exertion by the time she reached his window. When was the last time she had flown this fast?

Pausing for a bit to catch her breath, she noticed that Crowley seemed to be alone. Tilting her head in confusion, she squinted, taking a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark, slightly moonlit room from the streetlamps she'd passed along the way.

Crowley... wasn't in danger? He appeared to be dreaming, for he seemed to be writhing about on his bed. He was still uttering her name, but somehow it seemed wrong for her to answer. She frowned, then rubbed at her eyes. Her night vision just wasn't the best.

No, wait. He had scales on his face. On his arms too. His skirt appeared to be hiked up, and he was grasping hold of his-

Altaira clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling her gasp of surprise. She had been on Earth for eons. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen human men do this, and bonobos too, in fact. They always seemed to like what they were doing to themselves. She'd just accepted it as another quirk of earthly creatures. She just... didn't expect Crowley to enjoy it, too. Because yes, he looked like he was enjoying it a lot, canting his hips up into his fist urgently as he stroked himself roughly, an expression on his flushed face that made him look almost like he was in pain. Now that she really paid attention, she could smell him, a musky sort of odour that wasn't actually unpleasant.

She really should be leaving to give Crowley some privacy, but she found herself oddly transfixed at the sight he presented. She didn't know the sound of skin slapping skin could sound so arousing, nor did she know Crowley could make such obscene sounds. But it was the way his mouth caressed each syllable of her name that really got her pulse racing.

Guiltily, she stayed, squeezing her thighs together in an attempt to relieve her own ache as she watched him smear little beads of viscous fluid across the pink, flushed head of his manhood and down his shaft. So this was what Crowley liked. She stared, fascinated, noting the way he tended to move his hand, and biting her lip so that she wouldn't accidentally give herself away. Crowley obviously kept himself impeccably groomed down there, not that she had been wondering. And he had an undeniably... pretty manhood, just slightly bigger than average, not very veiny, but otherwise normal.

Was he... was he thinking about fucking her with that? Did he really want her that much?

Altaira hadn't done anything like this before but she was... not opposed to that idea. A whimper escaped her and she felt something warm gush from between her legs. She was unopposed to the idea of fucking Crowley?

No, that was a major understatement.

She bit her lip again, determined not to make another sound.

She almost winced as he dug his thumb into his slit rather more roughly than she would have thought would be pleasurable for him, but which he evidently liked, for he groaned especially loudly at that. He must be getting close, for his movements were getting more and more frantic, and the sounds he made were getting louder, more and more unintelligible.

Crowley was always smirking, always in control; she'd never seen him that needy, that vulnerable before, and she just couldn't look away. His head was thrown back, his pale throat on show, his hips bucking wildly, uncontrollably; it was a wholly captivating, intoxicating sight to behold. And he was still moaning her name. To be wanted this much-

She watched as he pushed behind his scrotum, and that seemed to be key; with a growl, he unravelled, that hot length spurting thick white seed all over his fist and thighs. Good Lord, Altaira didn't think she'd ever get this aroused from seeing... male release.

He rode out his orgasm, slowing his strokes, until finally he breathed out, eyes still closed, and slumped back, limply, on the bed.

"Mm, Altaira," he murmured, and for one horrible moment, she froze, her heart in her throat, thinking that he'd noticed her presence. But no, he was muttering to himself, shrinking away the scales on his body, then cleaning up, miracling away the mess he'd made on his skirt, straightening the bedclothes-

She had to leave before she was discovered.

Feeling oddly feverish and still with that burning ache in her centre, she launched herself off the tree branch, taking off again, to seek the cool night air on her overheated face.


"So, then, that was the first time horses had ever been ridden!" finished Altaira triumphantly. Having decided that she needed a more familiar and comforting scene, she'd gone to find Aziraphale in his hut on the Dowling grounds. For the last half-hour, they'd been reminiscing on the past. And on Altaira's part, she couldn't help reminiscing about Crowley.

Crowley paused, having been about to knock on Aziraphale's hut on the Dowling grounds. He could hear Altaira talking. Huh.

Having felt oddly bereft after his wank, he'd decided to seek out his other best friend's company. He didn't think he could look Altaira in the eye right now. Nevertheless, he frowned, listening hard.

Altaira appeared to be reminiscing, for she seemed to be in the middle of telling Aziraphale about the time they'd played with the faerie babies and gotten high off faerie dust. They'd been reprimanded rather sternly by the Faerie King for that.

Crowley waved his hand, and now he could see inside the hut. Aziraphale was smiling. It was mostly genuine, but part of it was an attempt to cover up some sort of growing worry. As Altaira prattled on, this time about the time they had brought dogs to Australia and accidentally lost them, hence the existence of dingoes, Aziraphale's grip on his mug of hot cocoa tightened, and his shoulders pulled tenser and tenser.

"Altaira," he suddenly interrupted, then looked a little embarrassed at having done so. Still, he continued. "Did something happen?"

"What?" Altaira blinked at Aziraphale, blank-faced, but spilled her own mug of cocoa.

And that was when Crowley knew that she had seen him in his private moments.

His insides swirled together with his vision into the hut as he got distracted. He ought to be mortified, but part of him was turned on. Had she liked watching him? Maybe she'd let him watch her-

Now was not the time, horny bastard though he was. He ran a hand through his carefully-coiffed curls and breathed out, attempting to regain control. The image came into focus again.

Altaira was doing her best impression of a gaping goldfish. What had Aziraphale said to her?

Abruptly, her flabbergasted expression was replaced with one of such happiness, it took his breath away, and a smile curled at the corner of his mouth as he looked on. Altaira was most beautiful when she was happy.

"Yes," she murmured, as if she could hardly believe what she was saying. "Yes, I love Crowley." She paused in wonder, repeating the words slowly, as if she were tasting them. Crowley's heart fluttered, even as he reeled back in shock at the soft look on her face.

She loved him?

Altaira floated about in circles, laughing in surprised delight. "It feels so good to admit it aloud! Thinking about him makes me so happy. I miss him already. I wish I could be with him every moment of every day, and I want to make him happy. I really do love Crowley, Aziraphale. "

This was-

Was his heart about to break out of his chest? It was hammering so rapidly against his rib cage. Or perhaps he'd taken too much faerie dust unknowingly? He felt a crazy impulse to whoop, jump around and perform all manner of miracles just for the heck of it. He was floating too, he found.

Aziraphale's words brought him back down to earth. Literally.

"You know you can't," he was cautioning worriedly, practically vibrating with anxiety. "We angels are not supposed to be consorting with the other side."

Altaira's euphoria dimmed, somewhat. "I know, Aziraphale. I cannot be with him. Why, the last time God got so angry at the union of man and angel that She sent a flood to start over. But surely, I am allowed to love him, as long as I remain faithful to our side? It is in our nature to love, you know that. Surely it is okay for me to desire his happiness and safety, even if I cannot act on my feelings. You cherish him too, don't you, Aziraphale?"

Aziraphale's eyes darted about the room nervously. He seemed even more flustered at the question. "Well- I, er- He's a wily old serpent and I, er-" He wrung his hands for a bit before he sighed, seeming to give in. "Yes," he admitted, extremely grudgingly, and Crowley couldn't stop his smile this time.

"Not the way you do, however," he cautioned Altaira. "It is dangerous to love Crowley in the way you do. I've seen the way you two look at each other."

Altaira blinked again in surprise. "And in what way do you say we look at each other, Aziraphale?"

The angel in question gave her a hard look. "In the way that the Watchers must have looked at the daughters of men," he replied, gravely. "In the way that adult humans in love look at each other."

Silence reigned for a time, as Altaira wore a rather complex expression on her face. If Crowley had to guess at it, it was one part resignation, two parts sadness, and one part, unknown. He wondered what she would say. Probably some sort of denial-

"Crowley, too?" There was such longing in her voice that it made his heart ache. He hadn't been wrong then, after all. Then she thought better of it.

"No, you're right, Aziraphale," she agreed, making his heart sink. "We can't. Hell does not forgive. What if they punish him for it? What if he slips up because of it?"

Crowley waved his hand again, dispelling the vision, for he'd seen and heard enough. Shouldn't she be more concerned about herself? Crowley had borne a lot from Hell over millennia, and he would gladly bear more for them. For her .