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Crowley exits the lift, feeling the tingle in his feet from the holy white ground of Heaven. He hadn’t felt it the last time he was up here, too fixated on his mission. He’s not disguised this time. No point. It’s not like anyone would notice him unless the Supreme Archangel wanted them to notice, which he definitely does not.
“Hello, Aziraphale!” Crowley knocks on the office door and lets himself in.
“Crowley! I wasn’t expecting you back so soon!”
“It’s been two months.”
“You said it would take, and I quote, ‘10,000 years, minimum. More likely a couple million.’”
“I’m a demon, I lied,” Crowley says, grinning. “Well, actually, I bribed Eric to replicate himself a hundred times to go through Hell’s records, so it probably was a million demon-hours, all told.”
“I see. And they’re all there?”
“All 666 of them. The Further Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter. Guess she didn’t foresee Hell’s excellent record-keeping of all burnt papers. Or perhaps she did. I haven’t read them yet. Figured that was more your thing.”
“Well, I’d hardly call Hell’s record keeping excellent. If they’d been stored on our side, I would have had them much faster,” Aziraphale says primly. “But I do appreciate it, dear. In fact, if you’re not too busy, I can…thank you properly.” Aziraphale stands up to close the door.
“Cleared my calendar for the next month.” Crowley doesn’t actually have much on his calendar besides annoying Muriel, but Aziraphale doesn’t need to know that.
“Oh, I won’t keep you that long. Too many meetings these days.”
“You said that last time, too,” Crowley said, recalling how this new Arrangement had started. Aziraphale had popped down to check on the shop to find Crowley sleeping there. He’d tried to skip town after everything, but the Bentley hadn’t let him. He hadn’t been sure how Aziraphale would respond to seeing him again, but a second kiss had not been on his Bingo card.
My dear, I wasn’t upset that you kissed me. I was only upset that you stopped. Much like that long-ago ox rib, Aziraphale’s initial disgust at human kissing had given way to a voracious sexual appetite. Perhaps Crowley should have paused proceedings to talk properly, but he was too busy enjoying the ride. They spent an entire week together, which Aziraphale cut short with great reluctance for one of these meetings. He returned shortly after and they carried on for another week. [The Bentley assisted by taking Muriel on a nice vacation through the English countryside.] Then Aziraphale had to return Upstairs, leaving Crowley with a mission to locate the Further Nice and Accurate Prophecies, believing them important in stopping the Second Coming.
Now, Crowley isn’t sure how much time they have before this latest meeting, but he is sure that he wants to make the most of it by bending the Supreme Archangel over that blinding white desk. He tears apart the angel’s bright white shirt, not particularly concerned with preserving Heavenly tailoring, and silences any angelic complaints with a kiss. He sinks his fingers into Aziraphale’s soft stomach, forgetting everything except their bodies coming together.
He bends Aziraphale over the desk, miraculously slicking his entrance. Perhaps one day, they will make love slowly and unhurried in a bed in a cozy cottage, but not today. Today, Crowley has to release the tension that had built inside him over these two months of no contact. Two months is nothing compared to centuries of waiting and wanting, but it turns out that once you get a taste of what you want, the cravings magnify a hundred fold.
“Did it drive you mad? Waiting for me? Stuck in all your stupid meetings, daydreaming of getting railed by a demon?”
“It drove you mad, too.” Aziraphale retorts. Crowley just grunts in response. He’s used to Aziraphale driving him mad, if never quite like this.
A sign hangs on the office door: “All Meetings Canceled Until Further Notice.”