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It’s about fucking time.
And just when Crowley started thinking that he was condemned to never leave the Underworld.
Hastur has been telling him off for eons, treating Crowley for his ceaseless pestering with deluge of swears interwoven well-placed promises that he would take Crowley upstairs for a mission in due time – just enough of a bait for the young Shifter to leave him be for a few days. But, then come back with new antics, much like a very bothersome boomerang.
Hastur is a liar, Crowley knows that. All Shifters are. But the very thought that he would never see the light of day makes Crowley so aggravated, as if a colony of bullet ants has moved in under his skin.
And he doesn’t even know what the light of day looks like, so it’s easy for one to conclude that the Underworld is not a fun place to be. Well, certainly not for a young and stimulus-deprived mind such as Crowley’s.
Hastur, on the other hand, has been so reluctant to leave it one would think that the smelly corridors crammed with empty-headed Shifters dragging their bones to whatever business they have is a prime holiday destination.
Crowley doesn’t know what exactly has done the trick. It could be that simply his turn to go up and stir some air has come. Or maybe, he’s reached the point in his training where the superiors have finally decided that he is ready to be unleashed into the world.
But, most likely, he infuriated Hastur with the last prank, which involved some extra sticky tree sap, so much that he finally decided to dump Crowley on the surface of the Earth just to get rid of him.
Good enough for Crowley.
So now he’s crawling through the soil, following the senior’s lead, with his eyes full of stars and his ears humming with the lack of information, but it’s still good.
The moment his head peeks out of the ground he flicks his tongue about. Suffice it to say that he did not dare to do that while trailing through the tunnel behind Hastur. And now, a plethora of sensations simply knocks him in the head as he takes in the world for the first time.
Hastur, of course, doesn’t wait for the impressions to settle inside the inexperienced mind, but crankily hops away, very displeased for being dragged away from his everyday whereabouts. Crowley scurries to catch up with him.
He takes in the world as he slithers behind the senior Shifter. Sure, he’s never encountered any of the details he sees right now, but he leaves it to his nature to supply the names and purposes of the objects.
That’s grass, his tongue insists. You use it to leave permanent stains over someone’s robe, his brain supplies. Good stuff.
That’s a rock. You coil beneath it and snap your teeth at passers-by. He should note that for later.
Those are leaves. You wipe your ass with them. Nice.
At first, Crowley doesn’t mind being dragged over the terrain that seems to be some kind of a dense deciduous forest. It’s so filled with wonders for his senses to focus on, and his imagination to explain away, that every minute feels like a lifetime in paradise.
But soon, he comes to think that his guide doesn’t really have a clear idea about where he’s taking them.
Hastur is hopping before him, in his favourite frog form, not even looking back to check if Crowley is following. His sense of direction looks haphazard at best, and in certain moments it sure feels as if he's making some immediate decisions about where to go next.
Crowley knows better than to complain, so he follows the warty senior and soaks in the world around him like a sponge would. His long snake-like form is simply made for sampling everything that the verdant new surroundings has to offer, starting from the sunlight to those intriguing scent particles his tongue picks up on every turn.
The fact that Crowley’s favourite form scares the living shit out of Hastur is both hilarious and completely accidental, Crowley swears on his mother’s life.
And if it is a well known fact that Shifters don’t have mothers, well...
“Halt!” Hastur hisses at him and crams his bloated body against a huge stone.
Crowley is just about to hiss back, when his ears pick up on something.
Someone’s voice. Someone seems to be... What’s that called? Singing.
To Hastur’s utter aggravation, Crowley rushes past him and climbs the stone to have a better look.
There’s a little slope beneath them, leading into something that looks like a sea of... scratch that, a flower field. A being seems to have set its station there, using some sort of dense square-shaped cover to sit upon. It doesn’t look like much of a living space, but still, the being has placed numerous items of food by its side and is eating them one by one in between the verses.
The creature itself is very unusual looking. Pretty! That’s the word. It’s human shaped, Crowley’s brain comments, and very pale, as if made out of light.
“Duck your head, you scum,” Hastur croaks from beneath him, “If you get killed up here, my ass will be on the line.”
Crowley regrets that his sense of smell is so well developed that it gets blocked by the stench of the senior Shifter, and thus unable to reach the target. “What is that?” he asks.
Hastur finds a little muddy puddle in front of the rock where Crowley’s perched and steps into it. “A fucking freak,” he croaks.
“What does it do?”
Yes, the creature looks intriguing. It must be a human. It sure looks like one. Crowley can look like one too, but not that well, so this is definitely not a Shifter. The colour of its hair is very light, the strands of it are coiled. The complexion is so fair that it is almost transparent. And, above all, it is covered with a pristine white robe that creases handsomely above its thighs.
Its voice is so melodic, and the singer is immersed into weaving tones into the air to such an extent that Crowley almost thinks that he is witnessing singing being created for the first time.
But the purpose of the being fails to come to him.
“It does nothing,” Hastur spits, “Humans are there to be tempted. That’s all they are good for.”
“Oh.” For once, Crowley looks at the senior shifter with interest. “So, is this my assignment?”
Hastur squirms in his puddle. “Yea... Donno... Maybe,” he seems to be thinking. And he’s not the best in such an activity, curse his heart.
Crowley very much wants this creature to be his first task. He would sell his own proverbial mother for the opportunity to study the angelic thing. “Wonder why she is singing?” he mutters to himself.
“Ha,” Hastur scoffs, “It’s not a her. I think.” He directs his eyes towards the singer who’s taken a moment to have a bit of fruit. The blonde really seems to enjoy the day, chewing on the little morsels with a blissful smile, basking in the sun, surrounded by the smell of flowers and the sounds of bees.
“Hmm,” the frog communicates his version of a snarl, “actually, it might as well be...”
Crowley hasn’t ended up on the surface of the Earth by missing out on opportunities. “I shall find out!” He lifts his snout to the extent his current form allows. “That can be my task. I’ll sex the creature.”
The muddy water bubbles as Hastur turns around. “If you just go peek inside the robe like that, you’ll get fucking discorporated, and this will be all over way too soon,” he complains, obviously very vexed by the thought of having Crowley (and his practical jokes) back in the Underworld after just a few moments of repose. “You need to tempt the human into revealing it.”
As if Crowley would complain to spend as much time up here as possible. “I can do that,” he announces from his perch. “It might take some time to set the scene,” he adds in a serious tone, “but I’ll do it.”
“I don’t give a shit what you do,” Hastur supplies, hopping out of the mud, already on his way back home. “Just complete the fucking task.”
With the growling senior Shifter finally at his back, Crowley returns his gaze towards his target. The assignment has decided to have a little lie down, it seems, admiring a near-by flower, running gentle fingers along its stem.
From where Crowley is standing, he can’t really discern if the little hills and valleys under the white robe are tell-tale signs of breasts or if the bulge below the belly is filled with more than the fabric, but it doesn’t matter.
He’ll find out soon enough.
***
It’s been hard to come across the target again this time round. Of course humans don’t just laze about in one spot with the vastness of the world beckoning at them at every step. Unfortunately, when Crowley does finally manage to find the blonde again, they’re with company.
Other humans seem to seek this one very often, ruining Crowley’s plans, making him hide behind a tree or a fence and glare. More often than not, the blonde seems to be helping the others, be it joining their search for a lost lamb, aiding them with some heavy lifting or simply speaking to them, consoling them in their grief.
Like an angel would, Crowley would say, if only he didn’t know what assholes angels were.
Sure, Crowley doesn’t mind the extra days upstairs, but he is burning with the desire to finally approach the puzzling creature.
So he can’t believe his luck when, one day, the blonde finishes his business with a local villager, bids them adieu and starts strolling towards the forest.
Like a very eager shadow, Crowley follows and waits for the right moment.
The angel leads them through the forest, walking with the confidence of a connoisseur. Numerous wild flowers find their way into the gentle hands, puzzling the Shifter with their purpose. But the angel does nothing with them, just bunches them all together and carries on.
Finally, satisfied, the target finds comfortable shade under a huge tree and lowers themselves onto the grass.
Crowley almost squeals with delight upon seeing the perfect setup!
He takes a moment to shift his body into the shape he’s selected – he takes a human form, and a female one too, something he doesn’t do very often. He lets a long black robe flow down his body, to cover up his hourglass-shaped figure. He normally wears long hair when in human form, so allowing unruly red locks to tickle his neck is nothing new.
What is new is the vail he has seen village women wear around their heads, so he adds that too.
But he can’t do a thing about his eyes, no Shifter can. His serpent nature refuses to be hidden completely, resisting the shift of the eyes by keeping them yellow with a vertical slit splitting them in half, making them look much like two gold and black coffee beans.
It will have to do, Crowley thinks, miracling a basket filled with blueberries.
With mischief brewing inside her bones, Crowley takes a deep breath and approaches her target directly.
The blonde human is busy arranging the flowers into something resembling an order. Upon hearing her footsteps, the blue eyes look up from their work.
Surprise opens up the angel's eyes as they take in their new company, downright pinning Crowley in place with the sheer amount of wonder in them.
Sure, she was planning on evoking a similar reaction, but the brightness of the welcoming smile stuns her stupid.
“Oh, my,” the angel mutters, politely standing up from their spot, still holding the bunch of – a bouquet, yes, now she remembers. “Good morning. I apologise, I didn’t see you there.”
Crowley gives her stunned body a mental push forward and her legs somehow obey. “S’ alright,” she offers, making sure her basket attracts the attention of the blue eyes, “I’m just passing by, on my way to the village.”
She tries to keep her eyes down, so they wouldn’t startle the human way too soon, but she can’t help but sneak little glances towards their body now when she’s this close. Its general shape doesn’t help her decipher the puzzle in her hands.
The human’s figure is full and soft, the shoulders are neither too wide, nor too narrow. The same can be said for the hips. Even the fingertips just look gentle and caring and nothing else.
She wishes her tongue was still in its cleft version to at least catch the scent of her company.
“Ah,” the company offers kindly, “on your way to the market, I see.”
Crowley clears her throat to chase away some unusual confusion the melodic voice has left behind.
“Yes, the market. But these blueberries are not for sale, you know.” She makes a little pause to allow the mystery to build up. She cocks her hip and lets the basket twirl on it a bit, hoping the human is observing the object and not her eyes. “I’ll give them away for free. But not just to anyone.”
A quick peek tells her that her little show has truly captivated the audience.
“Oh? And who’s to be the lucky person?”
The suspense in the human’s voice makes her look up in order to catch the exact moment when they take the bait.
“They are for the fairest maiden of them all," she declares with triumph, her eyes looking at theirs with challenge.
The angel must be aware of their beauty. It comes especially obvious when one sees them in the company of other humans with their plain features, their lifeless hairs, their rough, bony or broad exteriors. Nobody’s face is this brilliant, nobody’s smile is this radiant, nobody’s eyes look like two pieces of heaven.
It’s just a simple matter of the angel coming forth to claim their rightful reward or to politely correct her if they are of masculine nature.
The flowers get pressed against the white robe when the gorgeous blonde breathes, “Then, surely, you will be keeping them all.”
The Earth must have stopped turning. Stupefied, Crowley stares, frozen in her position of a self-satisfied temptress, feeling just like she did yesterday when the log she was standing on in order to reach a bird’s nest rolled off from under her feet.
“Eer...” the sound comes from her throat.
Still holding the flowers, the angel twists their fingers with touching bashfulness. But the blue eyes do not look shy whatsoever. They hold her gaze with open admiration, allowing a surge of warmth to just wash over her when they say, “ Forgive me for my boldness. But, it is true.”
In a bid to summon some composure, Crowley tries to toss her veiled hair, but fails.
“Is it, now?” she lifts her eyebrows, trying to sound as if people tell her nice things all the time, and not as if she wants the angel to repeat the words.
“Of course it is.” The blue eyes come closer. “You’re absolutely gorgeous. And I must say, your eyes are simply stunning.”
The situation is so new, the angel has come so close, and the earnestness on that round face is so disarming, that Crowley can’t do anything for a few moments than to blink, gap her mouth like a fish on dry land and believe they really think that of all things unholy.
The heap of petals and leaves tickles her neck, making her realise that she’s just been given the bouquet.
“I would really like you to have these,” the angel’s eyes are as big as spheres.
With their hands behind their back, the blonde takes a new look at Crowley, as if admiring their own work of art. “I think they compliment you.”
Crowley presses the bunch against her chest, the purpose of which has now come clear to her – it serves as a gift. A little sign of appreciation. But the revelation about how a Shifter is supposed to accept it never comes.
“Here,” she manages and practically shoves the basket filled with blueberries into the angel’s arms. “I’ve changed my mind. Don’t need them.”
Without much tact – and still wearing the mask of horror on her face – Crowley turns on her heel and walks away. She has no idea where to. All she knows is that she needs to make some distance between herself and the unprecedented creature whose presence seems to be scrambling her mind.
Yes, good idea. She’ll find a secluded place and try to kick start her brain so she could finally think and come to a few conclusions.
The first and foremost being the one about what has just happened.
***
It was a ruse, yes, Crowley is certain. The angel saw right through his charade and decided to block his temptation with the use of – a counter-temptation!
Very smart, little blond, very smart. But, Crowley wasn’t having a century long nap in a cave on the Moon when God went about, giving everyone their own share of intelligence.
This time, Crowley has set up a Trap (with a capital T, indeed).
That morning, on their regular every day walk, the angel finds three perfect red apples on the road. The blonde picks them up with delight and, as always when there’s fruit on the menu, takes them right towards the stream for a bit of a wash.
Crowley’s three-day-long surveillance has surely paid off, as the target approaches the running water at the same spot as always. The Shifter waits for the figure to kneel with their prize and plunge them into the clear water.
And enters the stage.
The angel raises their head with surprise when the neigh comes.
Crowley is wading through the water of the stream, on the spot where he knows the sun will be behind his back, keeping his face in the shadow, secluding his eyes from the onlooker.
But everything else is there to be seen. The glossy black coat on his body. The wavy red mane that is flowing down his arched neck and over his eyes too, just in case. The long golden horn on his forehead. The strong cleft hooves that splash around with elegance.
The evidence of his majesty is written all over the astounded round features.
“Oh, dear Heavens.”
Crowley stops some forty feet from the human and shakes his noble head.
“I didn’t scare you, I hope?” he offers to the angel.
“Pardon me for staring,” the blonde places a palm over their own chest, “I just haven’t expected to come across a unicorn this morning.”
Crowley tries not to smirk too much about the awe in the lovely voice. “I know, right?” he fails.
He makes a few more steps and flaunts his lion-like tail, pulling a loud gasp from the white-clad figure. “Simply gorgeous.”
He thought that one would be more stable on four feet, but Crowley has just found out that this only means he’s got four knees to suddenly feel weak in. He shakes his head, determined not to let the words do the best of him on this go.
“You really think so?” he asks with faux modesty, “I thought that my coat has lost some of its sheen since I got caught in that drizzle yesterday.”
“Oh, no.” The angel looks horrified that Crowley would think such a thing. “It is brilliant, my dear. Like black ink.”
The Shifter is only lucky horse faces are not made to convey complex emotions, as this way he has only his voice to control. “Nah. My mane also looks a bit dry this morning.”
“Don’t say that,” he gets chided as if he’s insulting someone very dear to the angel, “It’s absolutely glorious.”
“Donno...” Crowley’s voice actually cracks, but that only adds to his convincing act.
But, it’s time for action. “Wanna touch it?” he asks, knocking his head a bit to make a wave roll down his mane.
The apples make three very satisfying little splashes in the shallow water. The angel’s hands travel to his heart as if trying to prevent it from leaping out.
“Of course. If you’d let me.”
Just what Crowley has been waiting for.
“Actually, I’m not sure.” He backs away, thinking. “There’s that little rule, you know. Nobody can touch a unicorn unless they are a male.”
The shapely eyebrows draw closer a bit.
“Oh. But, don’t you mean – a virgin? Regardless of the sex?”
“No, I mean male virgins.” Crowley nods with a bit of irritation seeping, trying to seal that one hole in his otherwise flawless plan. “Male virgins, in particular.”
The two lovely hands drop from their post on the angel’s chest and start fidgeting.
“Well, either way,” they let out a heavy sigh, looking very crestfallen, “I’m afraid that means I’m disqualified...”
A-ha!
“... As I have, uhm, dabbled with the pleasures of the flesh.”
And now Crowley has to fight with both surprise and jealousy upon everything else.
“Well, uhm,” he tries, “I use the term ‘virgin’ rather loosely, y’a know? Like, pffft, one or two partners, who counts those, right? Technically, you’re still a virgin.”
But if Crowley thought that this would elevate some of the tension from the round shoulders, he was gravely mistaking. The blond looks caught in the act. They look away and even blush a little bit, looking as if they might bolt any moment now.
“I meant three or four,” Crowley rushes the words out. Now he has to fight both the jealousy and his own dismay, trying to push them to the background, but all he can think of right now is fighting the three or four partners off his angel. “That’s nothing, right?”
But all that his struggle to save the angel’s face has done is make the said face turn crimson.
“Well,” a forced smile rolls their cheeks up, making them look just like those red apples Crowley left for them to find this morning, “I should be going now. The village doctor needs me, I believe.”
“No, no, you don’t have to...” Crowley is not sure when his agenda to find out the human's sex turned into fighting tooth and claw to make the said human not give up on touching him.
But the blond stays just enough to utter, “It was nice talking to you. Good day,” and not a second longer.
“Wait,” Crowley cries and tries to trot towards the shallow, but gets reminded just how impractical having hooves is. The big round rocks of the stream's bed have been polished by the endless caress of water and time, so much so that they leave little purchase for his feet.
Breaking one’s leg feels awful no matter what form you shift into, so all Crowley can do is to stop his advances and follow the retreating figure with his eyes only.
“Shit,” he neighs, feeling stunned by yet another unexpected feeling. What the fuck is guilt doing here?
***
“Help! Help me!”
The scream startles the angel from their slumber.
“Help! A fox!” come someone’s helpless cries, some sixty feet away from the tree that has been serving as a cover above the sleeper’s bed.
The voice is coming from a large thorny bush. A black fox has stuck its front into it, obviously trying to reach the poor creature that is still calling for help. “Over here!”
“Hey!” The aid that is coming in the form of the groggy white figure startles the black predator.
It jumps away from its spot, flicking its black tail. But the next moment, it yelps and scrambles quickly to the side, nearly escaping the rock flying its way. Without time to spare, its fast legs take it around the large bush and into safety.
Once away from the angel’s eyes, Crowley transforms into a tiny version of his snake form so quickly that his entire body tingles. He wastes no time but slithers under the thorny branches right towards the little pre-set stage. He keeps the size, but another rapid shift means that his head is a bit dizzy when he takes the red berry waiting there, breaks it open and smears its juice over his front.
And just in time as the angel’s concerned face peeps through the branches and finds his tiny body sprawled there.
“Are you alright in there?” the saviour calls from outside of the bush.
“No...” Crowley wails, “Ahh...I’m badly wounded...”
The blue of the angel’s eye finds a little window to peek through the thorns, right into the little dark crevice. “Let me get you out of there, I might be able to help.”
But Crowley starts coughing horribly, as people do when they are seriously injured. “No, it’s too late.” He knocks his head back, his dragonfly-like wings shake pitifully.
“I don’t think it’s that bad...”
“It is,” Crowley, the fairy on his deathbed, insists, backing up his claim with another bout of coughing, “the damned fox got me...”
To his utter dismay, he sees the daylight breaking through as the infuriating being is somehow moving the prickly branches away in order to reach the injured one. With a quick miracle, Crowley makes the leaves and spikes on the remaining branches grow thicker.
“I’m dying,” he adds before the remaining cover gets removed, “at least, tell me your name, dear saviour.”
Whatever business the angel has had before the bush, they now cease it. The blue eyes get back to the little slot in the shrubbery. “Of course,” they say readily, “it’s Aziraphale.”
Crowley snarls towards the bigger being. “A wot?”
“Aziraphale.”
This makes the fake fairy sit up with indignation. “Aziraphale?” he frowns, “What kind of a name is that?!”
“Well, mine?”
Crowley’s had it. How could have this backfired? He leaps on his feet, and props his fists on his hips. “But, it’s neither here nor there!” he complains, “Are you sure it’s not something like Aziralph? Or maybe Azirophelia?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” the angel, of course, replies, “Is there an issue?”
“Yes, there’s an issue.” Crowley stomps his little feet through the bush, and it obediently pulls its numerous leafy limbs out of his way, until he’s out of the seclusion completely.
Crowley practically bends his spine backwards to send a determined look towards the giant before him. “You’re not lying to me, are you?” His tiny finger threatens the supposed Aziraphale. “Cause, that’s not funny at all.”
Aziraphale kneels in a bid to come closer to the fuming little Shifter covered in red berry juice. The angel’s face is as big, as round and as flawless as the Moon. “I never lie, my dear.”
But the face gets startled when Crowley allows his frustration to vent out in a form of rather elaborate chain-swearing.
Not giving Aziraphale time to comment on the rude behaviour, the sturdy little wings buzz, lifting Crowley up, and taking him away like a very aggravated red haired wasp, leaving the angel to stare after him with confusion.
***
Nothing works. Nothing.
Crowley used to pride himself with his resourcefulness. He used to be the go-to Shifter when the others of his kind had used up all of their rather repetitive ideas for mischief. Crowley himself has never suffered from such an ailment.
But none of his ideas are working against the angel, almost as if the target deliberately finds a way to naturalise his temptations, and never really reveal their true gender!
When Crowley left a beautiful women’s ring on their chest while they were sleeping, Aziraphale cooed over it with delight, placed it on their little finger and exclaimed that it would go brilliantly with their gold watch.
When Crowley appeared one night in the tavern where the angel was enjoying their dinner, looking exactly like the target (minus the blue eyes and the blond hair) claiming to be Aziraphale’s long lost identical twin brother bringing inheritance, he ended up getting completely drunk by the angelic host and sobbing into his ale while the blonde was explaining him with all the kindness in the world that he had got a little confused.
Crowley winces inwardly when he remembers being gently lowered over the tavern bench, covered up by a cloak that Aziraphale had produced from out of nowhere and even given a little goodnight forehead kiss before losing consciousness.
Right now, the failed Shifter is sitting on a log by the river, in his human form, thinking that he would never hear the end of Hastur if he found out that what seemed as a simple assignment has turned out to be Crowley’s Gordian knot.
The young Shifter is completely disgruntled with the entire situation, certain that there must be a rather simple solution to his problem that just keeps evading him.
In fact, he’s so annoyed with himself that he doesn’t even react upon seeing the rather familiar white robe making its way towards him through the foliage. He also does nothing to cover up his nudity, forgetting it’s Shifters’ natural state, but not everyone else’s.
“Oh!” Aziraphale’s eyes flash with surprise upon seeing the Shifter there.
“Hey,” Crowley replies, completely missing the admiring once-over he receives.
But, Aziraphale is quickly back on their feet. “Good day, my dear,” they offer a little nod and a smile, “May I have a seat by your side?”
“Sure.” Crowley makes a bit of a room on the mossy log he’s sitting on. It’s not like it’s the angel’s fault he’s not feeling like himself.
The human lowers themselves on the vacant side of the log, with their back as straight as a flag pole. Unlike Crowley, who’s all slumped and boneless.
“Forgive me, dear fellow,” the angel is trying to catch the sulking Shifter’s gaze, “but I can’t help but notice that you look a bit forlorn.”
It’s the concern in the human’s voice that makes him force out a reply. “Yeah, well... You’d feel the same if you had this one job and you kept botching it over and over again.”
“Now, now,” the soothing voice comes, “I’m certain you’re being too harsh on yourself. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Crowley scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Hardly. Especially if you hear what it is.”
Aziraphale shifts a little on the log so they are facing Crowley now. “Oh, please do tell me. You’ve been around for weeks, and I’ve come to see us as, uhm, kind of friends. I really hate seeing you like this.”
And here Crowley was thinking that there are absolutely no more ways the human could astound him with. “Wait.” He stares right into those two wells of kindness. “You knew that it was me all along? In all those different forms?”
“Of course,” the angel shrugs lightly, “I may not be certain what you were up to most of the time, but it is kind of difficult to miss those exceptional eyes of yours.”
Ah. Yeah. There’s that. Crowley should really work on that.
“Well,” he sighs, “I may as well tell you, as I will probably be forced to get back to the Underworld soon.”
It is surprisingly easy to make a confession when you are regarded as if there’s nothing in the world you can say to make your company think less of you. But Crowley wouldn’t be Crowley if he didn’t challenge. “My assignment is to find out what’s between your legs.”
Of course he gets thwarted from trying to pull out a reaction too. This human is a walking Crowley-neutralising machine. Pronounced blinking is not as satisfying as, I don’t know, leaping up with horror would be.
“Oh?” and because Crowley is also dealing with a bastard, they add, “My apologies, dear boy, but I just can’t see how all the things you’ve done were supposed to supply you with such a piece of information.”
“Well, I’m not allowed to ask you a direct question, of course,” Crowley elaborates, “I was trying to somehow tempt you into revealing it on your own. With little success, apparently.”
Aziraphale nods, looking thoughtful. “I see.”
“And since I’ve failed gloriously on my very first mission, they will never let me up here for another temptation. Ever.” With the final comment, Crowley is back in his sulking position, all balled up onto himself, thinking about all the ways he will rot during his perpetual stay in the Underworld.
“What’s your name?”
It’s the Shifter’s turn to run some scrutiny of the being on his side. He decides it doesn’t really matter if the angel learns everything now. “Crowley," he murmurs.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale repeats with a huge smile, “Crowley, would it help if I volunteered the information?”
Crowley gives this a thought. “No. I don’t think it would count as my accomplishment.”
An understanding nod. “And, how about if I get persuaded into showing you?”
Crowley unravels his arms from around himself. Never in his existence has he switched the moods so abruptly. “That could work.”
A very pleased flutter of eyelashes brings forth that rosy colour onto the angel cheeks. “You know, Crowley,” a light touch of fingers over his thigh makes the Shifter twitch, “I can honestly say that that is not far from the truth. You have been very... tempting.”
“I have?” Crowley squeezes through his suddenly parched throat.
“Indeed.” The playful fingers graze against the little hairs on the Shifter’s leg. “I’ve never seen anyone so breath-taking. I truly think so about all your forms... Well, actually, that time when you looked like me was a bit unsettling. Anyway, I have to say that I feel especially dazzled by the current shape you are taking.”
Crowley had no idea that one could shiver from what they feel within, but this angel continues to force new situations upon him and they do it with such an easy elegance that Crowley finds himself following spontaneously as if he’s an expert on the topic.
He thinks.
“Really?” he asks seductively, allowing his stirring penis to return the compliment on his behalf.
The angel bites their lower lip and nods, their eyes confirming that the compliment is indeed well received. The curious fingers travel up towards the flat plane of Crowley’s stomach, making more of Crowley’s appreciation to show.
“You look absolutely wonderful,” Aziraphale whispers, casting their eyes below the Shifter’s belly where he is now just as firm as his stomach muscles are, “I believe I’m going to enjoy you very much.”
Crowley watches with bewilderment as the lovely hand travels down to run over his sack. The Shifter hisses, astonished with the intensity of the excitement the fingers leave as they trail between his balls and towards his shaft. The skin of his entire lower body tingles when the fist closes over his length to run a little experiment stroke.
“Oh, yes indeed,” Aziraphale purrs watching the long curved organ turning red, following the way the skin behaves while rolled over the firm muscle. The angel looks captivated as if Crowley is really doing the tempting by just sitting there, “you are an utter delight.”
The fist then closes over the red tip, making it spit right into the snug little cave it makes, making Crowley kick his head back, fighting for a breath.
“But only if you want this, my dear,” Aziraphale warns but doesn’t let go of the tip, “Do you know what I am referring to?”
Crowley knows the theory, of course, but who gives a shit about the theory now when some extremely interesting practical things are happening right here, right now. “Aha. Hgkyyk...”
That was Aziraphale adding a very interesting twist of the wrist to their ministrations. The lips that land on Crowley’s neck somehow manage to feel even hotter than the hand. But their words best their touch by far.
“Good.”
The touches retreat, but only for a moment. With swift mesmerising movements, the angel bunches their robe above their knees and swings their leg over Crowley’s. They let the white fabric fall, secluding Crowley’s cock as well, but the Shifter can’t complain about the lack of such a view as now he’s occupying the prime spot to witness the milky white thighs quivering with the movements.
The angel’s bum lands on Crowley’s thighs revealing that it too is very bare, making the Shifter’s hands finally participate. He kneads on the lovely soft flesh of the angel’s upper legs and tries to pull him closer to have their sexes touch, but the being resists being pulled.
Aziraphale splays a palm over the firm chest, making Crowley look up to meet the heated blue gaze.
The human’s face is closer than ever, blowing a bit of air into Crowley’s lips. A marvellous feeling! They must have felt the Shifter’s heart doing a somersault at this, as a little pleased smile reveals their teeth.
With a charming flutter of eyelashes, the angel moves impossibly close to press their lips together for a moment, two, then three and lets go.
Crowley’s astounded that he hears their words over the noise in his head. “You lovely boy. I consider myself completely tempted.”
Crowley himself can’t feel like such a lost cause either, not when the angel is raising their weight for a moment to arrange themselves, spilling casual comments about how attractive Crowley is, as well as what they are about to do.
“I believe I’m going to need a bit of an aid, my dear. It’s been a while, and you are not that small, you pretty.”
Crowley whoops when the angel snaps their fingers and his cock gets covered by something wet. His brain is way too forgone to even search for the connection between the human and the obvious miracle that has just happened, so he does what he does best – plays along.
And the reward is there. The angel lands more kisses over his lips, making him blind and deaf for anything else that they are doing until Crowley feels the fingers holding his erection in place.
And the angel sits.
The young Shifter can’t control the surprised groan that escapes him when the dense hotness starts sliding down his cockhead and shaft. The angel is lowering themselves steadily, with their mouth open in a sigh and their eyebrows up. Two warm palms frame Crowley’s face as if urging him not to look away.
That’s very challenging for the fresh mind which right now doesn’t know how to focus on anything else but the overpowering tightness rolling down his dick.
The moment the angelic bum hits his thighs again, Crowley’s hands finally remember their purpose and start grabbing. There seem to be two soft places on either sides of the human’s waist for his palms to slot in, so they do. It’s as if nature has created those perfect handles for his hands to rest upon and support the angel with their movements, Crowley’s brain supplies.
Looking very satisfied with Crowley’s ingenuity, Aziraphale does just that – they start making little bouncy movements in the Shifter’s lap, keeping them shallow, making sure they don’t slide off the erection.
Crowley’s a goner. His eyes roll in his head as the angel’s body tugs and slides back, bringing him so much pleasure he’s certain he’ll explode way too fast. He tries to focus on something else, to give his cock a chance to cool off, but the world has turned against him.
Everywhere he looks he’s surrounded by beauty. His fingers find rolls of softness on the angel’s back, his lover’s buttocks feel so firm when they bounce off his muscles. Aziraphale’s hold over his face is so endearing and the little “ah” noises they make bring him so much joy, knowing that the angel is enjoying his cock in return.
He must be doing things right, he must be, as otherwise this gorgeous creature wouldn’t roll their hips just so to take him harder, to make him go deeper.
Once again, the bastard beats him to it – they finish first. The only warning he gets are the blue eyes which flash with something wild before the angel shoves themselves deep inside Crowley’s lap. With a very loud satisfied groan, the angel’s muscles start trembling, sending their nimble hips into a frantic mode, making Crowley follow right after.
The Shifter wraps his arms around that beautiful body, buries his face into the bosom and lets his own hips bounce the angel from below. The softness muffles the roar he makes, but nothing dampens the absolute euphoria inside of him as he spills inside the glorious creature.
Everything becomes very slippery – from his groin to his belly where the wet robe is getting smeared, but Crowley doesn’t mind. Hell, the world might be coming to an end and the young soul would be none the wiser, too high on this creature in his arms to even know what’s up and what’s down.
His soft pillow starts moving in a slower rhythm as Aziraphale is breathing themselves back to Earth as well. Crowley must be all red in the face when his chin gets lifted for a kiss, but he’s not too concerned about that. The angel must be all cross-eyed with pleasure, just like he is, they must be. Everything else would be unnatural.
With a satisfied pop of their mouth, the human rubs their nose against the Shifters, the sap, and lifts their hips. Crowley puffs his cheeks as his dick gets released from the unseen depths, feeling ready for a little lie down.
“Oops,” the human smiles apologetically, remaining there with Crowley between his splayed legs, “I seem to have made quite a mess. No worries. I’ll fix it in a jiffy.”
And then Aziraphale – the human of them two – snaps their fingers, making Crowley’s loins suddenly feel very cool and dry.
“Eerr...”
But the bastard just sits on the grass before the log and beckons for Crowley to join him.
They lie on the ground and their embrace receives a completely naked, very exhausted and utterly confused Shifter.
“So,” the blonde downright wiggles with satisfaction, “I’d call that temptation accomplished. Did you get your answers?”
“I have no fucking idea what’s just happened," Crowley admits from the very comfortable headrest that is Aziraphale’s shoulder.
“Why, thank you.”
“No. Literally.” He lifts his face. “I have no clue what you’ve got there. Was that a quim? No, don’t answer that. You’re not supposed to tell me.”
Aziraphale is looking at him as if Crowley’s the puzzle here. “Alright,” they offer cautiously.
“But answer me this. You did a miracle there. You’re a god-damned angel, aren’t you?”
The primness on the blonde’s face could rival that on a monarch. “There’s nothing god-damned about being an angel.”
“Knew it.” Happy with at least that little win, Crowley sighs into their neck.
Five careful fingers run through his long hair, rearranging it over his shoulder to their liking. “A question, my dear,” the petal-like skin on the angel’s throat vibrates, “If a unicorn happens to trot by, by any chance, would you be allowed to touch it, so to speak?”
There’s nothing question-ly in that question, Crowley knows it, but he can’t help but grin into the bastard’s neck.
“Not any more.”
A hum and a nod and the two arms close over Crowley’s shoulders.
Technically, Crowley hasn’t completed his task yet, but, for once, he’s not worried. An entire world of new ideas of how to get a peek under the angel’s robe has bloomed inside his mind. He’ll work his way through the list, one temptation at the time, and who knows?
One day one of them might just do the trick.