Chapter Text
1632 - Isfahan, Persia
Aziraphale stood, staring unseeingly out the window to the palace grounds beyond, feeling weary to his very bones.
He hadn’t seen Crowley in so long. Whenever he’d had the opportunity to look for him, Crowley had not been alone. There had always been at least one other demon with him. Sometimes more.
Aziraphale had no idea what they were up to in Italy and didn’t particularly want to check. If he checked, he’d have to write a report. Then he might be asked to interfere, and he really wasn’t in the mood for thwarting demons. Especially not when it would involve seeing Crowley in a situation where they would be unable to acknowledge each other properly – one where they might even have to be rude to each other.
Eventually he had stopped looking.
He missed him terribly. Though in truth ‘so long’ was not such a long time in the grand scheme of things. They had been apart longer before, but almost two years had gone by with no contact from the demon, and considering he couldn’t remember the when the last time was that he had gone much more than a month without seeing him, it was starting to feel like an eternity.
Now he had been forced to come to Isfahan, supposedly to try and influence the Shah to be a better person, but as far as he could tell it was an entirely pointless endeavour. He’d arrived at the palace only a few hours ago, but it had taken several days of journeying through Persia to reach it, and already he’d heard more than enough to suggest the man was a lost cause.
His cruelty was renowned throughout the realm and in the few hours Aziraphale had been at the palace he had formed the impression that Shah Safi was a weak-willed man, not at all suited to be ruler of an empire. Why his grandfather had named him as heir to the throne was a mystery to Aziraphale – one of the more perplexing in a long history of ridiculous decisions Aziraphale had seen made by humans in power. He strongly suspected it had something to do with Abbas’s guilt over murdering Safi’s father, rather than any vaguely sensible considerations about who would be best for the empire.
All in all Aziraphale felt he was going to be hard pressed to have any sort of positive influence on the Shah. Really he might as well give it up as a bad job and go home tomorrow, there was really very little he could do here, short of encouraging someone else to overthrow the man.
He was rather afraid it might come down to that in the end, because Uriel had been very insistent that he use any and all measures to turn things around here, even going so far as to directly suggest that if the Shah was not influenced in a better direction then Aziraphale would need to ensure he was removed from power. Why it was so important she had refused to divulge, and Aziraphale had not even bothered to attempt to explain that the ruling classes here no longer believed in the same God as in ancient times.
At least he had been given a room in the palace without having to use too many miracles to influence the decision. He had done his best to look like an unthreatening, yet wealthy, western scholar, who had run into difficulties on his journey to the court. The latter wasn’t entirely untrue unfortunately, given that several days ago the caravan he was travelling with had been attacked by a group of Ottoman soldiers.
All in all he was feeling weary, defeated and extremely dirty. There had been no opportunities for bathing recently, and his clothes were looking somewhat worse for wear. Despite having no love for the palace, the court, or the Shah, Aziraphale was at least grateful for the chance to wash.
The door behind him swung open and he heard the slave girls entering, moving through his quarters as they began the process of preparing the private bathing room. They would no doubt be young and beautiful, and expect him to desire certain services from them, but Aziraphale had no interest in such things. He hadn’t even bothered to learn the differences in dress and jewellery that marked out the different roles of the slaves here – he had no need of entertainment, whether it be dancing, singing, or other more personal services. All he wanted was a bath, and perhaps some food.
Sighing heavily, he sat down in one of the nearby chairs, keeping his back firmly to the activity going on behind him. He could hear one of the girls whispering occasionally, probably giving orders to the others, and though he didn’t bother to listen to the words there was something vaguely soothing about her voice. A familiar cadence that comforted him a little.
Oh, how he missed Crowley.
It was ridiculous really, how much he missed him.
He closed his eyes and let himself sag in the seat, a far cry from his usual upright posture. He could almost feel the demon’s presence. The way that comforting blanket of familiarity would wrap around him whenever Crowley was near – the mixing of their ethereal essences, where they seeped into the corporeal plane. It was something that went unnoticed by humans most of the time, save for the occasional intuitive feeling some of them seemed to have for the ethereal, or that sense of peace he had found he could sometimes bestow on them with his angelic presence.
He wondered if humans experienced Crowley’s presence differently. Did some of them experience a feeling of unease or a creeping sense of dread around him? Aziraphale had never noticed or felt such a thing himself, despite Crowley’s demonic status. To him, Crowley’s presence was always warm and comforting, a safe, familiar feeling that he cherished deeply.
How he longed for that feeling now. He longed so fiercely he could almost imagine he sensed it now, but he knew it could be nothing more than the sheer force of his desire.
Crowley was not here.
Pressing his hands to his eyes he forced himself to blink away the tears there and concentrate on the sounds in the room instead. The clatter of items being set down and picked back up. The swish of water being tested for temperature. The soft padding of footsteps and low murmur of voices as the slaves moved about the room.
At last there was a sharply whispered order and he heard them retreating, leaving nothing behind but the scent of exotic bath salts and faint hint of steam in the air.
Though he did not move for some time after they were gone, eventually, enticed by his desire to be clean, Aziraphale rose slowly to his feet and turned around.
He was not alone.
A figure stood beside the table, half-facing into the bathing room, hands on their hips as if assessing the quality of the work the girls had done.
It was unmistakeably Crowley.
Even with his body softened into a more feminine form and with his hair long, straight and far darker in tone than Aziraphale had ever seen it before. Even with the ridiculously baggy pants, slung low on his hips, and the finely embroidered top clinging to his figure; with the bare skin of his arms and stomach covered in intricate henna designs, there was no mistaking it. Aziraphale would have recognised Crowley no matter what he looked like.
“Crowley…” The name left his lips so quietly it was barely audible, even in the silent room, but Crowley heard it and turned. The expression on his face was such a mixture of joy and apprehension Aziraphale could hardly stand it.
He crossed the room almost at a run, sweeping Crowley into his arms with a soft murmur of “darling,” as he pressed his face into his hair, breathing in the familiar scent of the demon as their bodies melded together.
It felt like coming home. Heavenly in a way that heaven had never been.
Tension Aziraphale hadn’t even known was there unwound all at once, not just from his corporeal body, but from his entire being. As if something held tight and restricted in his very essence had suddenly been released in a glorious wave of joy and relief, as it mingled once again with everything that was Crowley.
“Where have you been?” he murmured, but Crowley only shook his head where it was wedged against his shoulder. He didn’t tilt his face up for a kiss and Aziraphale didn’t nudge him into one, they just clung together, like they never wanted to let go, as if nothing would ever part them again.
He found himself wanting to laugh and cry all at once. To both hold Crowley in his arms and never let go, yet also to jump and yell and perhaps even dance around the room. To take Crowley to the bed, curl up with him and sleep for a week, but also to take him to the bed for an entirely different, less restful purpose. It was such an overwhelming mix of too many feelings that Aziraphale found himself frozen in place, able to do nothing but cling to the demon for long, endless minutes.
“Angel,” Crowley sighed eventually, raising his head just a fraction. Aziraphale lifted his own so he could gaze into kohl lined eyes, brushing back the hair tenderly from Crowley’s temples.
Crowley blinked, and then wrinkled his nose. “Angel, you smell,” he said.
It was so unexpected Aziraphale found himself laughing – a short, almost giddy sound, that he suspected was his corporation’s substitute for the tears he was desperately holding back.
“Probably should get in that bath then,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound too shaky.
Crowley gave him a look that suggested his hope was in vain and untangled himself from Aziraphale’s arms so he could lead him to the bathing room.
“You can take those horrible clothes off yourself,” he said, wrinkling his nose again as he bent down to test the water. “And I hope that’s not your blood I can see on the hem,” he added, as Aziraphale obediently started to strip the clothes from his body. In truth he was only too happy to be rid of them.
By the time he was naked scented steam was rising from the bathing pool set into the floor. Aziraphale strongly suspected Crowley had used a miracle to get it hotter than the system hidden away underneath was able to heat it.
Not that he was complaining. He stepped obediently into the bath when Crowley waved a hand at it and sank into the water with a sigh of relief. It felt good to finally feel the physical tension start to leech from his muscles, knowing that the patina of sweat and dirt he had accumulated would soon be washed away completely.
“You’re so tense, angel.” Crowley’s voice was soft and the hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders were gentle as he was guided into deeper water. He let his eyes slip closed as Crowley arranged him where he wanted him, feeling almost weightless in the steaming water. All he wanted was to not think for a while, to forget about the loneliness of the last two years and instead bask in Crowley’s presence.
He hummed, half in agreement at Crowley’s assessment and half in bliss, as long fingers started to rub his shoulders. From there they moved first down his arms, then back up his neck and into his hair, which had grown into tangled curls, longer than he usually allowed it to get.
“You need a haircut,” Crowley said, sounding amused.
“I know,” Aziraphale muttered, half annoyed Crowley had noticed his lack of personal grooming. Admittedly it was fairly difficult not to notice. But did Crowley really have to point it out?
His annoyance faded as his head was tilted back, and warm water poured over his hair. It seemed Crowley had decided to wash it for him and Aziraphale found himself half sat, half floating in the bath, as Crowley carefully washed and rewashed his hair with scented soaps, rinsing away the filth that had accumulated over the last few days.
“Better, angel?” Crowley murmured, closer to Aziraphale’s ear than he had expected. He realised for the first time that Crowley must be in the bath with him, and on the heels of that realisation came another. Aziraphale’s cock was hard – almost painfully so. Somehow while his mind had ignored the arousal caused by Crowley’s hands on his skin, his body had been on board the entire time.
His groan this time was one of need, and he shifted in the water, feeling his cock brush against the swell of his stomach.
“You’re still not relaxed, angel.” Crowley voice this time was like liquid silk, pouring into Aziraphale’s ear and pooling in his core, where it only added to the sudden urgent need clamouring for his attention. “Let me help you with that.”
Bliss enveloped him as Crowley’s hand encircled his cock. There was no preamble, or teasing, just familiar fingers wrapped around his length, pulling in long, slow strokes that had him whimpering in both relief and desperation.
“Shh, I’ll take care of you, angel.” Crowley moved closer and Aziraphale watched the little ripples across the surface of the water as Crowley settled into position behind him. There was a slight, barely noticeable pause, and then a body pressed against his, naked and soft in a familiar, yet unfamiliar way.
Aziraphale tried not to react. Like an animal trainer anxious not to spook a flighty horse, he did his best to neither tense nor gasp – tried to keep breathing steadily as Crowley’s soft curves pressed against his spine.
Oh how he wanted to look. How he wanted to turn and press his own chest against Crowley’s. To wrap his arms around him and worship him the way he deserved to be worshipped.
The very thought was blasphemous, but Aziraphale couldn’t help it. All he could think of were the soft breasts, completely uncovered, pressing against his own naked skin.
Never in the entire time they had been on earth had Crowley allowed this. It was as if his feminine form was something he was embarrassed to share with Aziraphale, except Aziraphale had difficulty believing the beautiful, confident demon could ever be self-conscious about such a thing. He had concluded eventually that Crowley simply did not wish to share this with him; or perhaps did not enjoy sharing it with him. It was a form he obviously had no problem wearing, and he certainly seemed to enjoy experimenting with the different styles of dress humans had developed over the millennia, but for whatever reason of his own, it was a private thing.
They had embraced, even kissed, with Crowley in this form before. Aziraphale had fond memories of the 13th century, when Crowley had last been just a little freer in allowing Aziraphale to touch him in this form. Usually, even then, they had both been fully dressed whenever it had occurred, but there was one memory Aziraphale treasured – a time when Crowley had allowed Aziraphale to hold him in this form without any clothing on at all.
Aziraphale had always tried not to mind Crowley’s reticence. Had tried to tell himself that he had no right to touch Crowley at all – that he was lucky he got to experience even the parts Crowley was willing to share with him. Yet he could not help but long for more; to experience all the different pieces of this beautiful, fascinating demon he shared the earth with.
He longed for Crowley to trust him enough to share them, even as he knew such a thing was impossible. They were friends, perhaps, but they were also enemies. He had no right to expect Crowley to trust Aziraphale with every part of himself.
Now though those beautiful curves were pressed up against his back, soft and yielding, and though he was still trying not to react, Aziraphale couldn’t help the moan that spilled from his trembling lips. This was more than he had ever been granted before and it took all of his willpower not to turn around and take more than he had been offered.
He could only hope Crowley assumed the moan was a response to the firm, slow strokes the demon was still lavishing on his now throbbing cock.
Behind him, he felt Crowley shift in the water, legs bracketing Aziraphale’s hips as his hand moved a little faster. It was good, but even better was the feeling of Crowley’s nipples, hardening to tight peaks, pressing against the skin of Aziraphale’s naked back.
There was a whimper from the demon, and Aziraphale wondered if he was enjoying the sensation as much as Aziraphale was. Frantically he fought against the desire to turn and lay Crowley out on the side of the bathing pool and suck one of those beautiful nipples into his mouth. Would they be as sensitive as they were when Crowley wore his male form? Perhaps they would be even more so, given Crowley was moving again, much more deliberately this time, obviously seeking the friction of Aziraphale’s skin.
“Relax, angel,” Crowley murmured, more insistently this time. His free hand, slid over Aziraphale’s hip, rubbing soothingly up and down his thigh, travelling up over his stomach and chest, before sliding down again in long sweeping movements that set off tingles through Aziraphale’s body.
All the while he carried on with those maddening strokes to his cock that had pleasure building in his core, the pressure insistent enough Aziraphale felt he would be driven mad by it. His cock was burning hot under Crowley’s clever hand, and he was unable to bite back the moan that tumbled from his lips, but the demon only kept up the frustrating pace.
Even the added stimulation of Crowley’s softness pressing insistently against his back was not enough to send him closer to the edge. Crowley was moving deliberately now, rubbing his nipples against Aziraphale’s skin, pouring delighted little moans and gasps into Aziraphale’s ear, and yet still it was not quite enough.
Floating in the frustrated bliss of it all, it occurred to Aziraphale that those gasps held the edges of delighted surprise, as if Crowley had not known it would feel so good to move against him in this way. The thought that Crowley was discovering this now, with him, sent a shock of arousal through him and his cock spurted precome into the water, turning it cloudy between his legs as he moaned wantonly.
“Crowley,” he whimpered, feeling he could stand this torture no longer. “Please, more.”
He wanted that hand, with its kohl painted nails, to move faster, but instead Crowley’s other hand drifted to his nipple and rubbed over the peak in a way that was equally as maddening.
“Crowley.” The word this time was more of a groan as sparks of pleasure ricocheted through his body. Unable to hold back any longer, Aziraphale arched into the touch – desperate to find just a little more friction for his straining cock. The slide of his wet skin against Crowley’s breasts was clearly pleasurable, given the way the demon moaned in response and tightened his hold.
“Ah, a-angel.” Crowley tugged at the nipple under his fingers and then all at once went still, hand sliding up to grasp at Aziraphale’s shoulder as he pushed their bodies apart. Aziraphale couldn’t help whimpering at the loss of contact, even as he tensed, wondering if he had done something wrong.
A moment later Crowley’s lips pressed against his shoulder, and the hand on his cock slipped away to rest on his thigh. There was the tingle of a miracle in the air and Aziraphale realised Crowley was transforming his appearance. Remaking himself into his preferred form. For a moment Aziraphale thought he might be preparing to leave, but then Crowley was crowding in close again, wrapping his arms around him until their bodies were crushed together and Aziraphale could feel the long line of Crowley’s cock pressed against his lower back.
The hand slid back to his cock and Aziraphale’s thoughts went fuzzy as pleasure flooded his body. The shock made him cry out, hips thrusting forward automatically into those wicked fingers, and his whole body thrumming when he realised Crowley was chasing his own pleasure, pulling back on Aziraphale’s hips so he could grind his own cock against Aziraphale’s arse.
“Oh!” Aziraphale gasped, as he forced himself to still, and then went further, pressing back as Crowley gave a desperate little whimper.
“Oh fuck, angel,” the demon gasped, thrusting more frantically, the slipperiness of wet skin now a hinderance as he tried to find the friction he needed. “Fuck. Turn around, hold the side.”
With a groan Aziraphale tore himself away from the demon, doing as he was told. The bath was deep enough to reach above waist height if he stood up in the middle, but around the sides were a series of ledges of different heights, and Crowley helped manhandle him into a kneeling position. He braced his hands against the edge as Crowley tugged on his hips, nudging his legs closer together before he draped himself over his back.
“I’m going to fuck your thighs, angel,” he panted into Aziraphale’s ear, breath hot over damp skin, “and it’s going to feel so good.”
All Aziraphale could do was whimper. This wasn’t something they had ever done before and he had no idea how it was going to work, but just the sound of Crowley’s voice and the way his cock poked hard and insistent against his arse was enough to drive him wild with lust.
“Fuck, please,” he managed to choke out, watching another spurt of precome cloud the water as he waited for Crowley to get on with whatever he was planning. His cock was aching now, the need for his long-awaited release throbbing inside him.
There was another miracle and he felt something change between his thighs, something slippery coating his skin, warm and apparently impervious to water. He had only a second to wonder about it before he felt Crowley’s cock nudge against the back of his legs. Then the demon was pressing forward, groaning into Aziraphale’s ear as his length slipped between the meat of Aziraphale’s thighs.
Oh. Oh! That was… it was… Aziraphale shuddered. He knew his thighs were sensitive, Crowley had taken advantage of that fact often enough, but this… this was something new and unexpected. Aziraphale found himself letting out a little mewl of wonder at the sensation and then biting his lip when he realised how utterly ridiculous the noise was.
Behind him Crowley froze, and just as Aziraphale was starting to wonder whether it was his ridiculous noise that had put him off, a kiss was pressed to his shoulder. “You all right there, angel?” Crowley murmured against his skin, his voice so tender that it started up a different sort of ache, this time around Aziraphale’s heart.
“Good… I’m good,” he managed to pant out, when he realised Crowley must have mistaken his noise for one of distress. “It feels… good.”
It wasn’t the most eloquent he’d ever been, but he had no room for further thought. The pleasure and the tenderness, and the way Crowley hummed contentedly against his shoulder was overwhelming. When Crowley pressed the rest of the way forward until their bodies were flush and Aziraphale could feel the full length of his cock sitting snugly between his thighs he was forced to bite his lip to keep from crying out.
“Fuck, you feel good,” Crowley muttered, almost as if he were talking to himself. Instinctively Aziraphale tensed his thighs, clamping them together as tightly as he could to squeeze at Crowley’s whole length. His reward was a noise that was mostly consonants and, more importantly, hand reaching forward to wrap around his own neglected cock.
“Oh! Crowley!” Crowley’s hand was covered in the same slippery stuff as Aziraphale thighs, and his hips bucked forward involuntarily. His own moan was matched by the demon’s as the movement caused his thighs to flex around Crowley’s cock again. Then an arm locked around his waist and he found himself being held in place by a demonic strength he had no wish to overthrow.
“Fuck, angel,” Crowley grunted, shifting around in the water. There was a brief pause and then he began to move, slowly at first, then with increasing enthusiasm as he found a rhythm in the water.
Aziraphale found he could do nothing but hang on to the side and allow himself to be used. His brain was drowning in pleasure, Crowley panting obscenities into his ear as he fucked into the sensitive channel of his thighs. The long fingers wrapped around his cock, moving in time with the demon’s hips, pushing him closer to his release with every thrust.
It took no time at all before he was hurtling uncontrollably towards his peak, precome spilling from his cock in what felt like an unending river, as the tension built to almost unbearable levels. All he knew was that when it finally snapped, the pleasure would wipe away much of the stress of the last two years
“Oh, angel, angel,” Crowley purred into his ear as he drove his cock forward hard enough to nearly jolt Aziraphale off the step. “Are you going to come for me, angel?”
“Fuck, fuck,” was all Aziraphale could gasp out. He reached down, desperate to feel the place where Crowley’s cock nudged against his tight balls. On the next thrust the head pressed against his open palm, and at the contact the broken moan that came from Crowley sent Aziraphale hurtling spectacularly to his own peak.
With a wild cry he started to come, his own cock pulsing in Crowley’s hand as the pleasure exploded through him and every muscle in his body spasmed in pleasure.
“Fuck. Angel, fuck!” Crowley cried, his movements becoming erratic as he shook apart. His release pulsed against Aziraphale’s palm and the sensation of it sent him spiralling into oblivion, as his orgasm peaked with an almost painful intensity. He didn’t bother to try and contain the noise that was ripped from his throat as he let the bliss wash through him, cleansing parts of his soul the water and soap could never hope to reach.
They clung together, letting their bodies come down from the dizzy heights of their climax, twitching and panting in the heat of the water. For his part Aziraphale was reluctant to move – reluctant to break the connection between their bodies so soon, after so long apart. Eventually though Crowley shifted, though he moved only enough to press his lips to Aziraphale’s shoulder in a soft kiss.
“Angel, I… oh, angel…” Crowley’s arm tightened around his waist again, holding him close. “I’ve missed you,” he said, the words tumbling out, as if he was rushing to say them before he forgot. Or perhaps before something else entirely slipped out.
Just for a moment unsaid words seemed to hang in the air. Then they were gone and Aziraphale told himself he had imagined the whole thing.
Gently he set his hand over where Crowley’s was holding him so tightly, squeezing back, opening his mouth to try and express just how much he had missed the demon as well.
The sound of the main door opening interrupted the moment. Almost at once, Crowley pulled away and the bathwater sloshed as he stepped out. By the time Aziraphale had regained his balance, Crowley was walking towards the arch that led through to the main room, hips swaying scandalously as the water ran in rivulets from his hair and skin, until he was completely dry. Another few steps and his clothes wrapped around him, forming from the firmament and flowing around his rapidly changing body, until he was back in the same form and outfit as previously.
As he disappeared into the room beyond Aziraphale could hear him talking to the slaves, directing them to lay out the food they had brought on the table. He tried not to be too disappointed by the interruption. No doubt whatever words had been about to come out of his mouth would have revealed far too much of his heart to the demon – it was probably a good thing then that he had not had time to speak them.
While the slaves worked, Aziraphale miracled the water clean, before quickly scrubbing himself down with the soaps left for him and climbing out of the bath. There were towels placed ready for him, so he dried himself, before pulling on fresh clothes.
By the time the girls departed, Aziraphale was dressed and he stepped through into the main room as soon as he heard the door close. Crowley was standing by a side table pouring glasses of wine, but after handing one to Aziraphale he went to the chaise longue and dropped dramatically onto the seat, lying back against the cushions as if in a swoon.
“C’mere, angel,” he mumbled, waving vaguely at the space in front of the seat. Aziraphale was not particularly keen on the idea of sitting on the floor, but the dining table was low and there were cushions scattered around designed for sitting on while eating. He dragged one over, but couldn’t help giving an annoyed little huff as he sat down.
“Stop complaining,” Crowley said, without rancour and with a good deal of amusement, squinting at Aziraphale’s damp hair. “I don’t know why you insist on drying yourself the human way.”
Fingers threaded into his curls, and a moment later they were dry, and the residual dampness left on his skin had disappeared. Crowley looked smug, so Aziraphale merely rolled his eyes at the gesture and tugged the low table towards them so he could better reach the food.
They ate in silence for a while, Aziraphale doing his best to ignore the fact Crowley had not reverted to his usual form after the girls had left, and instead trying to concentrate on enjoying the delicious array of nuts, fruit, meat and other delicacies that had been provided.
Occasionally Crowley would lean forward and snag something for himself, or wave a hand in the general direction of a dish, until Aziraphale passed him up whatever it was he wanted. He made sure to grumble a little each time, as if terribly put out, but in truth he didn’t mind. He didn’t think he would mind anything at all now that he was finally back in Crowley’s company again.
Eventually he could ignore the questions in his mind no longer, his hunger sated enough it was no longer a useful distraction. Slowly he reached for a bunch of grapes, cradling them in his hand and pulling them off one by one as he spoke, just for something to do.
“Where have you been recently?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.
Behind him he heard Crowley sigh and shift around on the seat before he answered. “Italy mostly. And here. Well not here in the palace, but around this part of the world. Downstairs have got some agenda – don’t ask me what. I’m being monitored though, there’s been other demons around a lot of the time.”
Aziraphale had already known about Italy and about the other demons, but he had forgotten about the latter in his joy over seeing Crowley again. Now with a sudden jerk of alarm he twisted around to stare at Crowley in horror, forgetting he hadn’t intended to look at him at all during this conversation.
“Are there any here now?”
Crowley waved a hand. “Of course not!” he said, looking a little put out. “Don’t you think I would have mentioned it earlier?!”
“Oh, uh… yes.” Chastened, Aziraphale turned back and picked at his grapes again. “Sorry, I just… well, anyway… heaven sent me here to try and set the Shah on a better path. I suppose he’s like he is due to all the demonic influences of your lot.”
To his surprise Crowley snorted in amused derision. “No actually. We had some dealings with his father when he was alive – might have made him a little bit paranoid about his line of succession and that had a few uh…. consequences, but I didn’t expect him to name this one as his heir after we left. I’ve no idea what he was thinking.”
“So he’s just like he is because….”
“Because he’s a horrible human,” Crowley confirmed. “I was supposed to make him suspicious of his heirs, just like we did with his father, but uh… in all honesty I think I might have pushed it a bit far. I didn’t realise he was already one of the most paranoid humans I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet.”
“I heard he killed his brother,” Aziraphale said, trying not to make it sound too much like a question.
“Brothersss,” Crowley said, pulling a face. “Like I said, horrible human.”
Aziraphale sighed and popped another grape in his mouth. Crowley leaned down and plucked a couple of the bunch before sinking back into the cushions.
“Anyway, he’s a lost cause, angel. I wouldn’t bother if I were you.”
“You know I have to try,” Aziraphale said reprovingly, hearing rather than seeing the demon’s answering shrug behind him and deciding not to bother delving into that particular argument. Instead he addressed the other pressing question on his mind and said, “Is there a reason you’re disguising yourself as a slave girl?”
“Invisible. Well, sort of invisible. Most of the men here think of slaves as part of the furniture, they aren’t careful what they say around us.”
“Oh.” It wasn’t the answer Aziraphale had expected and he could almost feel the curiosity radiating off Crowley at his subdued reaction.
“What did you think I was doing, angel?” Crowley asked quietly. Aziraphale forced himself to turn around and look at him, though he immediately feared it was a mistake when his eyes roamed over Crowley’s lithe figure without instruction from his brain.
“Last time you looked female you tried to get everyone to fall in love with you,” he said quickly, when he realised Crowley had noticed and was smirking about it.
“That wasn’t last time,” Crowley pointed out, the smirk turning into an eye roll, “that was centuries ago.”
He was right of course, it was only because Aziraphale had thought about it earlier that it felt like the last time. In fact it had been near four centuries ago and Crowley had presented himself as a female many times since then, for many different reasons.
“Well, all right, fine. But you have to admit you kept that one up for quite some time,” he pointed out, trying to pretend he’d known this all along. “I had a terrible time thwarting you.”
There was silence for a while as Aziraphale dwelled on exactly what had happened all those centuries ago, and exactly how he had managed to put a stop to Crowley’s demonic game in the end. He suspected Crowley was thinking about it too – the faraway look in his eyes suggesting it wasn’t exactly an unpleasant memory.
The demon was the first to shake himself out of his reverie, and he effectively put an end to Aziraphale’s as well by leaning over and stealing the remainder of the grapes from his hand.
Aziraphale’s grumbling objection to the theft was deftly ignored as Crowley popped a grape into his mouth and then proceeded to stretch languidly, and very deliberately, in a way that drew Aziraphale’s attention to the bare skin of his torso.
Without thinking, he reached out, tracing a finger over the delicate henna patterns on his stomach.
“I'm surprised you get away with this outfit,” he murmured, almost without thinking, most of his attention taken up by soft skin under his fingers. “I thought modesty was supposed to be the thing here.”
Crowley snickered. “This is for scandalising the Europeans.”
Aziraphale’s fingers paused where they were now trailing up over the embroidered material of Crowley’s top. “What do you mean?”
“There are visitors here from some European country at the moment. I go wander around in front of them wearing this – they get terribly scandalised and take back stories about the lascivious, half-dressed slaves over here.”
“That's dreadful,” Aziraphale chided, trying not to smile. As demonic actions went, it was hardly the worst, and besides, some of the things that scandalised the English court were really quite ridiculous. The fashion for women baring their breasts had been all the rage for the last century or so, yet for a female to show their stomach or legs in public would be scandalous. It was odd really, that some humans had decided breasts were such a sexual thing. Aziraphale had never understood it, at least not until had seen Crowley with them and even then he felt his obsession with them was somewhat bizarre. He couldn’t work out if it was one of the many things he had picked up from humans and applied to the one creature in the universe he found devastatingly attractive, or if it was simply because they were tantalisingly forbidden to him, something untouchable and therefore more desirable, or if it was simply another facet of his own lustful desires. Desires, that as an angel, he shouldn’t really have at all.
“Well, I am a demon.” Crowley shrugged and Aziraphale realised that while he had been thinking about Crowley’s breasts, his hand had crept up and was now resting on the swell of the one nearest to him, fingertips touching the bare skin at the edge of the material.
“But...” He trailed off, brain registering exactly how soft the skin was under his fingers, just before it registered another, more pressing concern. “I'm not a European you need to scandalise!” he objected, though why he was objecting he had no idea, not when it meant he got to see Crowley like this.
“You just get to see this as a treat.” Crowley preened under his gaze and Aziraphale was sure he felt him shift, almost imperceptibly, so that Aziraphale’s fingers slid a little further onto his bare skin.
“You're incorrigible.”
Crowley only smirked shamelessly. “No, I'm beautiful,” he said smugly.
Much as he had to agree, Aziraphale could hardly let the demon get away with that one. “You're vain,” he countered, though he was fairly sure the smile tugging at the corners of his own lips was noticeable.
“Are you telling me I'm wrong?”
“Would you believe me if I did?”
“Thinking of lying, Aziraphale? Tut tut, naughty.”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes, knowing there was no winning this one. It was obvious he found Crowley attractive. It had been obvious to Crowley ever since they had first had sex over a millennia ago. Perhaps it had been obvious even before that. There was very little point in denying it, especially when it was also obvious Crowley knew he was attractive and usually deliberately made sure of it no matter what form he took. “Stop it, you menace,” he chided.
“Hmm maybe.” Crowley leaned back on the sofa again, eyes closed as he relaxed against the cushions.
Aziraphale gave in to the urge to lean over and press a kiss to the curve of his chest, deciding he could write of the gesture as playful. He had to bite back a moan as his lips touched against the warm skin, so smooth and soft he could barely feel it, until he pressed a little harder and the plush flesh gave under the pressure in a way he’d never felt before.
“Knew it,” Crowley mumbled, and though he didn’t seem annoyed by the gesture, or inclined to move away, Aziraphale could sense a slight tension in his body and knew he was the cause of it.
Quickly, although not so quickly as to make it obvious, he pulled away and shifted until his back was to the seat again. He leant over the table and selected a honey covered date from one of the plates, mostly for something to do that wasn’t fling himself around and beg to be allowed to press more kisses to Crowley’s skin.
“You're making yourself all sticky,” Crowley grumbled when Aziraphale reached for a second date, sitting up slightly to glare at him. “I went to a lot of effort to make you nice and clean.”
Aziraphale chuckled. “You washed my hair, not the rest of me,” he pointed out.
“I arranged the bath for you,” Crowley countered immediately, glaring as Aziraphale licked the honey off his fingers and then reached for one of the ripe peaches on the fruit platter.
“You had help. All you did was issue instructions,” he said, taking a bite and letting the juice trickle over his hand.
“Ugh.” There was thump as Crowley’s head hit the cushions again and Aziraphale licked away the juice before it could drip down his arm. A moment later the peach was plucked from his hand, and when he turned to object, the demon bit into it with a smirk.
With a huff Aziraphale turned away again, ignoring the chuckle that came from behind him.
A moment later he was surprised to feel a hand sliding onto his shoulder, and then was even more surprised when Crowley tugged, clearly wanting him to turn back.
When he complied, curious to know what Crowley wanted, the peach had vanished and the demon was swinging himself upright on the seat.
“Shall we play a game?” he asked quietly, eyes fixed on the other side of the room, as if embarrassed to look at Aziraphale while he asked the question. Aziraphale wasn’t sure why he should act so awkwardly about it – they played games together all the time, it was hardly an unusual suggestion.
“What would you like to play?” Aziraphale asked, already rising to his feet, assuming they would move to an empty table in order to set up whatever it was Crowley was thinking of playing. Crowley followed suite, rising much more gracefully than Aziraphale’s rather awkward scramble off the floor.
“How about Trictrac?” The demon sauntered over to the small table, his clothes altering as he went. Aziraphale blinked in surprise, but it faded into a fond smile as he realised the demon had reverted to what Aziraphale thought of as his Eden robes, though he’d worn them far longer than just their time in Eden. They seemed to be his preferred style recently, at least they had been the last time Aziraphale had seen him, and he was pleased to note that this at least had not changed in the intervening time.
Neither apparently had the demon’s preferred hairstyle, the straight locks shortening into shoulder length waves, with plaits woven through in places. It was one of Aziraphale’s favourite of Crowley’s hairstyles, and he was still stood staring at it when Crowley looked around, presumably wondering why he hadn’t yet answered.
“Yes, trictrac!” Aziraphale agreed hastily, hurrying over to the table. Crowley gave him an unfathomable look, but said nothing, instead waving a hand to miracle up the playing board and pieces before sitting down in one of the chairs.
“You can tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself while I haven’t been around,” he said casually, eyes fixed on the board as he set it up for the start of the game, not looking up even when Aziraphale slid into the chair opposite. “Did you manage to sort out that mess with the king and parliament you were working on? And did you ever get that furniture you commissioned from that little place near the Thames? How does it look in the room? Oh, and what about books? Have you acquired any new ones recently?”
Aziraphale had done at least two of these things, but before he could speak of them he had to take a moment to try and school his expression. Luckily there was the distraction of the playing pieces, which meant he could keep his head down while he sorted through the complicated emotions Crowley’s words had stirred in his chest.
That Crowley had bothered to ask, and was obviously interested to hear, what Aziraphale had been doing was surprising and pleasing in a way Aziraphale hadn’t expected. Of course, he blathered on about what he had been up to every time they met in the usual way of things. But that was something that happened naturally in the course of their conversation. For Crowley to ask, with barely disguised eagerness, and obvious embarrassment at his own curiosity, was something that felt new.
“I didn’t sort the mess out,” he said, feeling like it was the safest topic to start with. If he started to talk of home and books – the home Crowley hadn’t seen in far too long, and the books he hadn’t yet shared with him – he thought his emotions might betray him.
At his words, Crowley’s head snapped up and he subjected Aziraphale to a penetrating stare. “Really?”
“Unfortunately, yes, really.” Aziraphale finished arranging his own pieces in their neat piles and picked up the dice. “It’s even more of a mess now. I can’t see it ending well, at all.”
“Nothing ever seems to end well when it comes to humans,” Crowley grumbled, finishing nudging his own pieces into much more haphazard piles that Azirpahale’s. Aziraphale put his uncharacteristically pessimistic outlook down to the behaviour of the Shah and shook his dice cup noisily.
“I did acquire the new table,” he said casually, changing the subject to something lighter as he threw the dice, curious to confirm whether Crowley really was interested, or had just been asking out of politeness.
The demon immediately perked up, and demanded further information, asking for so many details of how it looked and whether Aziraphale was pleased with it, that he was forced to conclude Crowley was actually as interested as he had first appeared. It was rather a heady feeling, and had he not had the game to distract some of his attention, Aziraphale thought it might be somewhat overwhelming.
As it was he found himself relaxing and enjoying himself as they talked and played, the hours of the night slipping by until finally they stumbled to bed in the early hours of the morning. There Aziraphale found himself wrapped up in the arms of a demon, who clung to him as if he never intended to let go.
“I’m glad you’re here, angel,” were the last words he heard whispered into his ear as he finally succumbed weariness and the pull of sleep.