Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or settings to be found herein.

A/N: A few weeks ago one of my LJ friends asked that I write something R rated featuring Crowley and Aziraphale. Being the hightly susceptible person I am when it comes to fic requests, I obliged. This is the result.

Seven weeks had passed since the apocalypse that wasn't. Aziraphale, being Aziraphale, had - after a prolonged period of therapeutic dithering - chalked-up his continued existence to ineffability and quickly drifted back into his old routine. This had ever so slightly irked Crowley; who was still half-expecting the hit men of Hades to be lurking in wait for him behind every corner.

"But you still haven't heard anything from your people, right?" demanded Crowley, drowning an overfilled glass of red wine, at the table in Aziraphale's back room.

"Not as such," said Aziraphale, suddenly remembering to mentally switch the sign outside the shop from 'open' to 'closed'.

"So you don't know what they're thinking then?"

"Look, I'm sure that if they were intending to have you recalled they would have done it by now. Really Crowley, I do think you're being slightly paranoid."

"Paranoid? I've seen what they can do to you down there. You'd be bloody paranoid if you thought they were about to drag you back."

"Yes, but my point still stands. If they were going to do anything, they probably would have done it by now."

"I just don't see how you can just let things get back to normal so quickly. You've just been going about work as usual."

"Well you've been going about work as usual too," protested Aziraphale. "I mean, it was only last Thursday when I caught you inciting that orgy in Battersea. Though I really can't fathom why you felt the need to participate like that. Quite undignified if you ask me."

Crowley stared into his drink with a look of what Aziraphale would have perceived to be of mild embarrassment had it been affixed to anybody else's face, and muttered something sub-audible.

"Sorry, what was that?"

The demon's cheeks took on a vaguely reddish hue. "That erm… well, that wasn't exactly work."

Aziraphale's face creased with non-comprehension for a few moments, before realisation dawned. "You mean you were doing all of that for personal enjoyment" His voice was filled with the same kind of disbelief that one might expect from a hard core biker who has just discovered that his co-motorcyclist possesses the complete works of Jane Austen.

"Look, it's hardly a big deal. I was invited to a party, and one thing led to another. You know what humans are like; insatiable little buggers, the lot of them. Besides, I was trying to distract myself."

Memories of seeing Crowley sandwiched, in what appeared to be a most orthopaedically inadvisable position, between a young man with spiky blue hair and a pert breasted woman, with a horribly gaudy nose piercing, flooded into the angel's head. "But why?"

"I already told you. Downstairs still hasn't been in touch, and I've spent most the week looking over my shoulder, half-expecting to see Hastur standing behind me."

"No, I mean why on earth would you want to distract yourself like that? Why not just…" Aziraphale paused for a moment as his alcohol infused mind tried to think of an alternate activity, "…read a good book."

Much to Aziraphale's irritation this perfectly reasonable suggestion prompted Crowley to start smirking. "Yes, but a good book just doesn't have the same stress relieving properties as a really great fu…"

Aziraphale cut him off with a sharp cough. "My dear, there really is no call for language like that."

"Sorry," said Crowley, his expression suggesting that he was anything but. "You did ask though. Still, I suppose you wouldn't understand, what with being an angel and all that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your lot don't usually adopt the, how should I put it… full human form, do they?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Well okay, some of your lot maybe. I could hardly picture you doing it though," said Crowley, smirking at the thought.

"Oh, why not?" said Aziraphale, feeling ever so slightly indignant, yet not quite sure why.

"Well, you're… you're Aziraphale, aren't you." Crowley gestured flippantly towards the angel.

"Indeed," said Aziraphale, his tone suddenly taking on an inscrutably English brittleness. "Thank you for that most insightful observation."

"You mean you have?"

"Have what."

"You know, made an effort to get the anatomy right." The smirk on Crowley's face was dangerously close to metamorphasising into a snigger.

"On occasions."

The demon raised an eyebrow. "And did you make use of it."

Aziraphale spluttered. "Really, what sort of question is that?"

"Well, did you?"

Unable to lie, and unable to escape without looking like a complete coward, Aziraphale drew himself up, and spoke with as much dignity as he could muster. "As a matter of fact I did. Once or twice. But only in order to better understand humanity."

For a few moments Crowley's face was a picture of utter amazement. He then, much to Aziraphale's irritation, began to shake with mirth.

"So let me get this straight," said Crowley, once he'd recovered sufficiently enough to string together a sentence not punctuated by a fit of laughter. "When I shag people it's because I'm an insatiable bastard, but when you do it it's a brave attempt to better understand the workings of the human mind?"

"Really Crowley, I'm sure that even you can tell the difference," said Aziraphale, failing to mention that these bold endeavours to gain further insight into the human psyche had occurred only under the influence of vast quantities of liquor, and with the co-operation of very attractive humans.

"How about a demonstration then?" said the demon, smirk still firmly affixed to his face.

Even though Aziraphale wasn't actually drinking anything at that moment he found himself nonetheless choking in shock.

"And how would that aid our understanding of humans, pray tell?" He said, once he'd ceased coughing.

"Oh, it wouldn't," said Crowley. "But you could put it down as distracting the enemy."

"Honestly Crowley, I'm not even going to dignify that with a response." Unfortunately, a part of Aziraphale was becoming reluctantly, yet acutely, aware that a) he was very gradually progressing towards an advanced state of inebriation, and b) Crowley was really quite attractive.

"But you just…" Crowley stopped mid sentence when noticed the look of warning written all over the angel's face. He did after all have a strong instinct for self perseveration.

Seeing no other option Aziraphale decided to try and redirect the conversation to a slightly less uncomfortable, or at least slightly less uncomfortable as far as Aziraphale was concerned, topic. "Now, you were talking about your superiors, and were about to suggest increasingly paranoid reasons as to why they haven't contacted you."

Crowley did not take much prompting to turn back to the subject he had barged into the shop to discuss. Unfortunately, he seemed to now be surrounded an aura of barely concealed smugness, which was only faintly masked by his proclaimed fears about the 'boys downstairs', and what they might – but probably were not, in Aziraphale's opinion - be planning to do to him.

It was therefore in an attempt to do away with annoying smugness that the demon seemed to insist on exuding that Aziraphale did what he did next. Or at least this is what Aziraphale, cognitive dissonance being a long time friend of his, told himself.

Whilst drifting into a prolonged diatribe about Hastur, and why he was such a petty, vindictive wanker, Crowley was rather surprised to find a hand making its way up his right thigh. Actually, rather surprised was an understatement. Completely stunned, was probably more accurate way of putting it. He was even more stunned when he noticed that every item of clothing bar his sunglasses and black boxer shorts seemed to have disappeared.

The look on the demon's face was so priceless, in fact, that Aziraphale rather began to wish that he made a habit of keeping a camera around.

"Angel I… er… I didn't really think that you'd…"

"Well, you did say that you wanted a demonstration." This was not what Aziraphale had actually planned to say. He had planned to re-materialise the demon's clothing after a few seconds, and begin to himself exude an annoying aura of undeservedly righteous smugness at the demon's inevitable expression of complete and utter shock. For some reason however, the bit of his mind that usually dealt with dismissing the thoughts that he knew he shouldn't be having had decided to take an unannounced leave of absence, leaving said thoughts free to vocalise themselves at will.

"And you're prepared to give one?" said the demon, desperately trying to retain something resembling composure.

This would have been a good point, were he so inclined, for Aziraphale to pass the whole thing off as an alcohol fuelled joke, aimed at deflating Crowley's considerably over-inflated demonic ego. He was therefore rather surprised to find himself leaning over the table and stroking the side of Crowley's face; before unsteadily getting out of his chair, pulling the still startled demon to his feat and kissing him on the mouth. Well, it started out as kissing, but had any independent observers been present they would have quickly reclassified it as devouring.

It was, Aziraphale thought with the part of his mind that wasn't demanding to know what on earth he was doing, really quite nice. Especially the way Crowley seemed to be pushing his hips forwards in a clear attempt to let Aziraphale feel just how much he was enjoying it.

Crowley, for his part, had ceased trying to utilise rational thought the moment that his apparel had vanished, and was just enjoying the sensation of having an unusually assertive angel pressed against him. He was a tad disappointed when Aziraphale finally pulled away. Fortunately, the disappointment was only momentary, as the angel then proceeded to kiss his neck, whilst letting his hands roam just about everywhere, before pressing them against the demon's rear and sending the boxers to join the rest of his spatially displaced clothing.

When Aziraphale finally let go of the demon and sank to his knees Crowley couldn't quite believe it. Here he was, in the middle of a dusty bookshop back room, about to get an impromptu blowjob from an angel who had, until a moment ago been deriding his taste for sex with humans. The whole situation was surreal. There was no other way to describe it. Coherent thought however, went the same way as rational thought, as soon Aziraphale began to demonstrate exactly how creative he could be with his tongue.

It was almost torturous at first. The light, teasing flicks of the angel's tongue were enough to drive any demon half-insane, and Crowley found himself involuntarily grabbing onto the edge of the table with one hand and pressing the other against Aziraphale's head. Fortunately for Crowley, Aziraphale seemed to get the message, and it wasn't long before he had the angel's whole mouth wrapped around him. To say it was incredible was an understatement. It was just about as close to divine as a demon could get.

As the pleasurable sensation centred between his legs began to build up to a level of almost unbearable intensity, Crowley couldn't help but start to vocalise, very loudly and using as colourful a range of multi-lingual vocabulary as possible, exactly how pleasurable it was. Under normal circumstances Aziraphale would have berated him for such a display of profanity; however Aziraphale was an angel of good manners, and knew that it was impolite to talk with ones mouth full.

It didn't last very long. It didn't have to. The demon soon found his back arching and a guttural moan involuntarily emanating from his throat.

When it was over, and coherency and rationality had slunk back in, he found himself being held by an angel who was looking very pleased with himself, and beset by the feeling that his legs had temporarily metaphorphosised into jelly.

"My dear, you really were making an awful lot of noise there. I do hope that the neighbours didn't hear."

Usually a statement such as this would have led to Crowley commenting at length about the nature of the locale that Aziraphale had chosen to inhabit, and why the neighbours probably wouldn't mind the noise. However, about the only thing he felt like doing at the moment was wrapping himself around the angel. So for several minutes they stood entwined in the middle of the back room.

"Crowley," said Aziraphale, eventually.


"I thought that in the spirit of fairness you might want to… er… reciprocate."

Crowley smiled like the snake who'd just devoured the cats that got the cream.