Happy Holidays, Storms!

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Maidenhair and Ambrosia

Crowley and Aziraphale find themselves in the court of the Sun King, Crowley a maid and Aziraphale a noble lady. The restrictions of class cause Crowley to take the role of Aziraphale’s lady’s maid so they might catch up and make sure that their arrangement isn’t in jeopardy. Thousands of years of pining and longing are forced to the fore as Crowley finds how heavily Aziraphale relies on her maid.

This story contains explicit sexual content, alcohol use, and some dubious consent.
Rating: E

In over five and a half thousand years, Crowley had lived a lot of lifestyles. She had tempted monarchs and paupers, artists and politicians, priests and sinners alike. She had luxuriated in riches and wallowed in filth by turns, as at home in one as the other. She had felt dizzying highs and stomach-churning lows. There was very little that Crowley hadn’t done, seen, tasted, or corrupted in her time on Earth and she truly believed that there was nothing that could shock her.

Until this day, Crowley had never seen Aziraphale as a woman.

She appeared out of nowhere; a vision in champagne silk and creamy lace, surrounded by the finest ladies at court. Crowley couldn’t lower her gaze, captivated by the way the light played across skin she had only ever dared to imagine. Swallowing down a gut-full of warmth and longing before it could overwhelm her, Crowley found forget-me-not eyes searching her face. Aziraphale had the faintest crease of a frown between her perfect brows and her lips held a hint of the pout that always turned Crowley to jelly.

Too late, Crowley remembered her place and forced her head down, focusing her eyes on the grey stone floor. The footsteps of delicate slippers came closer, filling Crowley’s imagination with images of slender ankles in fine silk stockings. The curtsey she bobbed was clumsy and faltering, her wits having fled at the approach of rustling skirts and a scent so divine that Crowley knew herself to be unworthy of it. All the same, she touched her lips with the tip of her tongue for the slightest taste of it from the air. Her vision was filled with an expanse of silk bordering an underskirt so richly decorated with pearls and embroidery that the weight of it must have been unbearable.

Overwhelmed and bound by centuries of social rigidity, Crowley closed her eyes and hoped for the moment to pass without embarrassment. A firm, cold touch lifted her chin; barely daring to look, Crowley found that Aziraphale had extended her closed fan and was seeking a repeat of their eye contact. Her eyes were so kind, in a face softened with femininity they were enough to make Crowley want to repent of every sin she’d ever touched.

“Crowley? You’re at court?” Aziraphale sounded all too pleased and the congregation of ladies behind her smothered giggles with handkerchiefs and fans.

Crowley glanced down at her own dress, trying desperately to convey to Aziraphale how improper this interaction was. Crowley had been on the fringes of court society for a number of years, she’d learnt the rules. Aziraphale was far too new to be able to weather the scandal that could come from being too familiar with a maid and Crowley refused to have any part in her downfall.

“M’lady.” She curtseyed once more, casting her eyes down from the gaze that singed her spirit.

The fan dropped from under her chin and Crowley let go of the breath she’d been holding inside.

“Mademoiselle Crowley worked at my family’s estate when I was a girl. I had not thought to find her in such elevated surroundings!” The ladies tittered and indulged Aziraphale in her humour.

As they retreated, continuing on their stroll through the vast hallways of the palace, Crowley stole one last glance at the magnificence that was Aziraphale. White-blonde curls cascaded down her back, bouncing delicately with her unhurried footsteps. Crowley’s tongue dared to touch the cool air once more, searching for a lingering memory of her scent, just as Aziraphale looked back over her shoulder and threw a careless smile at Crowley. Despite her best intentions, Crowley smiled back, melting like an early spring frost.

 

Gossip was currency in the narrow hallways and dimly-lit rooms of the servants’ quarters, and Crowley had made herself the banker. Nothing worth knowing passed through her domain without reaching her ears first. Aziraphale shouldn’t have been able to surprise her like that; a new lady at court was always newsworthy. Annoyed about being caught on the back foot, Crowley wasted no time in setting about learning everything she could about the newcomer. Within twelve hours she had gone from being blind-sided to knowing all there was to know about her friend’s appearance at court, including the most likely reason why Crowley hadn’t heard from Aziraphale beforehand despite knowing that she had been in France for some time.

The King himself had requested her presence at court after a visit to her family’s estate in the south. She was from old money, the kind of family who had always been part of the scenery of nobility without ever getting involved in court business. Now, the youngest daughter of a family practically unknown in Versailles being ordered to attend at the King’s pleasure could mean only one thing: Aziraphale was to be a mistress to Louis XIV. She would never have asked Crowley to consider such an assignment for their arrangement, no matter how well-positioned Crowley might have been for such an action. Neither of them relished these types of assignments. Using the weaknesses of powerful men by exploiting the delicacies of femininity; it left a bad taste for them who knew the true strength and value of women.

The King wasn’t a bad man by many standards; he had done a lot for the lower classes whilst mollifying the aristocracy and keeping as much peace as possible. As a king, Louis XIV was formidable and almost untouched by the kinds of rebellions and scandal that had dogged so many of his forebears. His biggest failing was one he shared with kings the world over: a weakness for women, and the power to get unfettered access to almost any woman who caught his eye. Crowley’s stomach lurched unpleasantly at the thought of Aziraphale submitting to Louis’s lecherous hands, her pale skin marked by his too-firm grasp, her dresses torn and sullied by his lusts.

These thoughts haunted her through her duties, long past sunset and up until she was about ready to fall into her bed that night. Soft snuffling snores from the neighbouring bed told her that Charlotte was sound asleep and wouldn’t be bothering Crowley with her whimsy before morning.

Crowley untied the strings of her pinafore and unpinned the bib to hang it over the back of the chair at the foot of her bed. Her tired fingers, numb from the day's labour, fumbled with the buttons down the front of her dress until she had unfastened enough of them to be able to pull the dark blue wool over her head and placed it with her apron. As she loosened the lacing of her stays, an unbidden thought invaded her mind; whoever Aziraphale had employed as a maid didn’t know how lucky they were, getting to dress and undress an angel every day, setting her hair just so, draping jewels around her delicate neck.

Taking her first deep breath since before the sun had risen that morning, Crowley set her stays down on her chair and let herself imagine the ritual of undressing Aziraphale for bed. The myriad of casual, accidental touches that she might be able to hoard in her memory for lonelier nights were an enticement of their own. Her petticoat and hoop drawstrings loosened and slipped down her hips, followed by her pockets, Crowley stepped out of them all and sat on her bed to loosen the laces of her simple leather boots before kicking them off and knocking them under her bed for the morning. Finally free of most of her restrictive clothing, Crowley stretched like a cat. Her hands sought the ceiling as her toes pointed and curled far in front of her. Satisfying clicks and pops sent relief up her spine and shooting down her exhausted limbs. She had learnt some time ago to let the physical toll of the job show on her body, lest the other servants get too envious of her tireless nature and unending stamina. She pulled her legs up to better reach the garters tied below her knees that held her stockings in place; it was the work of a few seconds to remove them both and let the night air kiss her heat-prickled skin. Stretching just once more to enjoy the freedom of movement that had been denied to her all day long, Crowley flopped back onto her bed and drew the blanket over her bare legs.

Thoughts of Aziraphale continued to bounce around her skull, the sight of previously concealed skin had lit fireworks in her imagination. The fashion for low and wide necklines amongst the ladies of the court meant that Crowley had been given the gift of Aziraphale’s shapely collarbones and the rounded softness of her shoulders. She could only speculate on how it might feel to graze her fingertips along the tops of Aziraphale’s shoulders, to caress the nape of her neck, to wind her fingers into those soft curls and press needy kisses down Aziraphale’s spine.

Crowley’s hands had been idle too long and they were all too eager to accept work from the devil, stroking her inner thighs and pushing up the hem of her chemise as she imagined undoing the delicate lacing across Aziraphale’s stomacher and reaching in to unpin the robe. She wondered if Aziraphale would want her to loosen the ties under the falls at her back first and how it might feel to lift the skirts and reach under Aziraphale’s clothing. Her fingers brushed the soft nest of hair between her thighs as she shot a sideways glance at Charlotte, relieved to see that she was fast asleep. Crowley brought one knee up to hide the fumblings of her hands from unexpected prying eyes and allowed herself the first tentative touches of her downy labia. With slow, leisurely strokes, Crowley ran her fingers up and down the length of her vulva, feeling the warmth and gentle pleasure that could be drawn from such simple touches. Her middle finger parted her lips and dipped in to find herself slick and eager.

Crowley squeezed her eyes shut and brought the vivid image of Aziraphale in her champagne silk to the front of her mind. Almost of their own accord, her index and middle fingers began to trace routes up and down either side of her clitoris as she imagined stripping Aziraphale down through her endless layers, robe, skirts, petticoats, stays, decency skirt, all so carefully removed and discarded as Crowley unwrapped her like a long-anticipated present. She stuffed her free hand into her mouth, holding her fist with her teeth to keep the indecent sounds from escaping as her fingers finally began to directly rub her clitoris. Even when it was just her, Crowley liked the build-up, the teasing. Rewards were sweeter, she thought, if you had to earn them.

Hard, sharp breaths accompanied her thoughts of sliding Aziraphale’s stockings down her sweet calves, Crowley kneeling before her and holding her heel in Crowley’s lap. There was so much touching that she would be allowed, more than they had ever dared to exchange before, the thought of it made Crowley whimper. Curling up around her furiously working hand, Crowley rolled on to her side and clamped her hand over her mouth. A punishing rhythm brought Crowley right to the edge of her orgasm but what pushed her over was the thought of letting down Aziraphale’s hair and having unfettered access to the source of that sinfully divine scent. She panted herself through the climax of her pleasure, fingers still strumming at her overly sensitive clitoris until the final waves had crashed over her and settled. A fine sheen of sweat had formed on her chest, shoulders and upper lip; her tongue darted out to taste the evidence of her exertion. With one hand still clamped between her legs, Crowley pulled the blanket up over her shoulders and let herself drift into dreams of creamy soft skin and perfect blonde ringlets.

 

To call Crowley’s idea a plan or a scheme would imply that she had put more than the slightest thought into it beyond deciding that it was something she wanted. It wouldn’t be fair to assert that she had anything beyond a vague goal, a single-minded determination, and enough imagination to make it happen. Crowley had decided to put her not inconsiderable talents towards becoming Aziraphale’s lady’s maid and she started working on it the very next morning.

By breakfast, Crowley had learned the identity of Aziraphale’s current lady’s maid; a woman named Catherine who had travelled with Aziraphale from her home. Obeying the peculiar pecking order of servants had always grated on Crowley and this was no exception. Bolstered only by the prize at the end of the gauntlet, she approached Catherine as breakfast was being brought to the servants’ table. Crowley bobbed a curtsey and introduced herself.

“Ah, yes! M’lady asked me to look for you. She mentioned that you had worked at the estate some years ago.” She smiled warmly and Crowley wondered why she’d been worried about her reaction, of course Aziraphale would surround herself with lovely people. “All she told me was to look for the maid with the dark glasses and here you are!”

Crowley returned her smile and touched her glasses as if she had forgotten they were there.

“Your lady is kind to remember. Eye condition.” She offered by way of explanation.

Filling two bowls with porridge, Crowley offered one to Catherine and sat beside her on the bench.

“Oh, thank you. New households can be so confusing and this palace is far larger than any I have been in before. It might be nice to have a friend who knows the run of the place.” Catherine was so hopeful, Crowley almost felt bad for the plan that was forming.

“It would be my pleasure. It is lucky that you were placed in this household, there are so many in the palace and few are as well run as this one. I’ll be more than happy to help you with anything you need.” Crowley gave her arm a friendly squeeze and cast a little demonic intervention.

Crowley worked hard at the palace, she served one of the most influential families to have taken residence at Versailles with the King. As such, she frequently found herself overhearing conversations that demanded the utmost privacy. Information always has value, even if it’s only to the maid who hears it. Even those who always suspected that maids were gossips and not to be trusted never doubted Crowley’s loyalty to the family she served. And if their fortunes had only improved since taking her into their employment, no one had made that connection yet. She was just a maid, but a maid with her eyes and ears on bigger prizes.

By that evening, Catherine had become quite unwell and there was talk of quarantining her room until the doctors could be sure about what she had contracted. A scullery maid found Crowley in the dining room, assisting with the place setting for a dinner that the king was to attend.

“Antoinette! You’re needed downstairs! It’s an emergency.”

Crowley dropped the silverware and followed the girl down to the servants’ quarters. The housekeeper’s rooms were full of women, chattering and fretting amongst themselves which Crowley considered an excellent sign.

“Ah, good. You’re here. Antoinette, I need you to step in and cover Catherine’s duties until she is recovered. I trust that won’t be an issue?” The housekeeper never really asked questions of her maids, Crowley knew this.

“Of course not. It would be my pleasure. I am already somewhat acquainted with the Lady Aziraphale.”

She was dismissed as brusquely as she’d been summoned, given only the information that her Lady was awaiting her to get dressed for dinner.

Even by Crowley’s standards, this had been an easy goal to reach. She’d barely had to lift a finger to get what she wanted and now, now they could be alone behind closed doors. The thought was thrilling.

She moved as quickly as possible without actually running, it had been so long since she had been able to talk to Aziraphale and she wanted so desperately to be able to openly look at her in this form without being scolded. The confines of class were chafing against Crowley’s base wants.

Just before knocking on the chamber door, Crowley composed herself and took a deep breath; Aziraphale didn’t need to know that she’d been rushing.

“Come in.”

Crowley pushed the door open and stepped inside, dropping a curtsey as soon as she crossed the threshold. Sitting at her dressing table, Aziraphale was resplendent in pale gold brocade and bathed in warm candlelight.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale sounded delighted in a way that squeezed Crowley’s heart just a little too tightly.

“Hello, angel.” She grinned her widest and toothiest smile, all serpent and wile. “I’m afraid poor Catherine is indisposed. I’ve been asked to fill in.”

The pleasure that had lit Aziraphale’s face at seeing Crowley vanished in an instant to be replaced with a grim frown. She rose from her seat and took a step towards Crowley.

“What did you do to her? What game are you playing?” Suspicion and accusation stung Crowley, no matter how much she deserved them.

“She’ll be fine in a few days, don’t you worry. I just wanted to catch up with my friend away from the eyes and ears of the court.” Crowley didn’t lie, exactly, but it was an edited version of the truth.

Her answer seemed to soothe Aziraphale enough, her hands dropped from the anxious wringing to smooth out her skirts.

“I suppose there aren’t many ways for us to talk otherwise, what with our assumed positions.” Aziraphale conceded, a dip of her head acknowledged the necessity of Crowley’s action.

Crowley crossed the room at last, finally feeling welcome enough to approach. It irritated her to realise how much the strict protocols of service had affected her behaviour around Aziraphale.

“We don’t have a lot of time to get you ready for dinner, angel. We can catch up later tonight but I’m assuming that dinner with the king plays a significant part in whatever you’re doing here? Let’s not get you off track so early.”

“Oh, I’m already dressed. It was getting late so I just, uh, miracled a new dress on.” Aziraphale looked sheepish.

A physical blow might have hurt Crowley less, that she had been robbed of her fantasy scenario so quickly. Shock flicked across her face in the split second before she took control of her features once more.

“Good thinking, I’ll be here to help later tonight though. Don’t want you getting in trouble.” Crowley lifted her chin to indicate a realm above them.

Aziraphale nodded, her ringlets bouncing about her face with the motion, Crowley wanted to reach out and touch them, to feel them between her fingers. She pulled her hands behind her back and laced her fingers, fighting temptation as best she could.

“What’s your purpose here, Crowley? Are we working to cancel each other out?” Aziraphale worried at her bottom lip.

“Just sowing a little discord amongst the working class, nothing that will bear fruit any time soon. I can’t imagine that will interfere with your plans for the monarchy.” Crowley heard the barb in her voice just in time to see Aziraphale wince from it.

That hadn’t been fair of her, she shouldn’t have lashed out when Aziraphale was only doing her job.

“You’re probably right.” Aziraphale sniffed.

Crowley scrubbed her hands over her face as if she could erase the sting of her words. She searched for a safe topic, something to bring them back to familiar territory.

“Uh, you should probably know that I’m currently going by Antoinette.” Crowley offered as a verbal olive branch.

“Antoinette.” Aziraphale sounded out the name.

It sounded so beautiful from her lips, a name chosen on the spur of the moment transformed into a benediction. Crowley’s gaze fell from pink lips to pale throat to soft shoulders.

“What’s your name, then?” Crowley was dying to know; Aziraphale had never chosen a pseudonym before and it would be such an insight into her mind.

“Aziraphale,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley rolled her eyes and sat on the edge of the dressing table.

“I know that, angel. What name are the humans calling you?”

“Aziraphale,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley laughed, not unkindly, but a laugh all the same. Aziraphale pouted.

“What’s wrong with my name?” she asked, affronted.

Crowley held her hands up in a gesture that meant both ‘give me a minute’ and ‘calm down’ at once.

“It’s been perfectly good for thousands of years,” Aziraphale continued.

“Angel, it’s a perfectly lovely name. But it doesn’t exactly suit the image you’re projecting here.” She tried to soothe Aziraphale’s wounded pride.

It worked a little. Aziraphale let her hands drop back into her lap from where she had been anxiously worrying her fingernails.

“I think it might be too late to change it now.” Concern and pleading coloured Aziraphale’s voice, begging Crowley to fix her mistake without actually asking.

Crowley shook her head, knowing that she was about to fix something that wasn’t her problem, knowing that Aziraphale relied on her all too much.

“What would you like to be called?” Crowley had some thoughts, but it wasn’t her decision to make.

“I don’t know!” Aziraphale whined, plaintive and pathetic.

Crowley reached into the well of her power and shaped the reality she wanted to see in her mind. A snap of her fingers made it unfold over the court. To her delight, Aziraphale shivered subtly as the power flowed out past her.

“Ophelia. Your name is Ophelia and everyone here who knows you now knows that you are called Ophelia and always have been.” Crowley hated herself for the eager little pinch in her heart that waited for what would come next.

“Oh, Crowley, thank you!” Aziraphale’s face lit up in one of those bright smiles reserved for her happiest moments.

Crowley shrugged it off and looked away, grateful for her dark glasses as she melted internally at Aziraphale’s beam of loving energy. She was rescued from her delicious discomfort by a knock at the chamber door. Checking Aziraphale over once before crossing the room, Crowley opened the door with her eyes cast down as was appropriate for a servant of her position. She dropped a curtsey and moved aside to allow Aziraphale to greet her visitor.

“Lady Ophelia, may I escort you to dinner?”

“Your Majesty, it would be an honour.” Aziraphale swept out of the door and took the arm offered to her.

Crowley glanced up just in time to see the look of unbridled want that the King wore for Aziraphale. Jealousy curled up in her stomach, hot and squirming, she squashed it down into a tiny ball and determined to ignore it. The arrangement required her to lend a hand where she could, Aziraphale relied on her support in so many things, she wouldn’t ruin this.

Catherine appeared to have been a good and diligent lady’s maid, Crowley had very little to do to kill time while she waited for Aziraphale to retire for the night. Her darning was done, her clothes were clean, an outfit for the next day was already laid out. Crowley could find nothing that really demanded her attention. In the absence of any real work, she picked one of the books from Aziraphale’s bedside table and tucked herself into the far corner of the room. Curled up in the deepest shadows, she relied on her infernal abilities to aid her in reading the book.

The book was an interesting choice of bedtime reading for an angel, Crowley mused. The Lower Key Of Solomon didn’t find a home in the bedrooms of many noble ladies either. A book on demonology, no matter how laughably inaccurate, was an odd and dangerous addition to a young lady’s reading list. She made a mental note to ask Aziraphale about it later. There was sure to be an entertaining answer, even if it was just a lot of stammering and blushing. The thought of Aziraphale becoming flustered and embarrassed was deeply appealing to Crowley, especially in her current form. At some point during the evening, the book fell closed in Crowley’s lap as she leaned back in her chair and gave herself over to daydreams of drawing out Aziraphale’s blush.

It was near midnight when Aziraphale finally returned to her rooms. Crowley bit back a hundred different remarks on the lateness of the hour, the impropriety of such behaviour, how she had worried. Aziraphale was drunk and unsteady on her feet, leaning heavily against the door frame and struggling to support herself. As soon as she realised the state Aziraphale was in, Crowley rushed to her side and supported her as they took unsteady steps towards the dressing table. Managing to get Aziraphale seated, Crowley dropped to her haunches and held Aziraphale’s face in her hands to search for an explanation.

“Crooowley! Uh, can’t seem t’sober up. S’funny.” Aziraphale slurred and grinned as if this was the best joke she’d ever heard.

“I can’t do it for you, angel. How did you get this drunk?” Crowley frowned, fighting a rising panic.

Aziraphale giggled and hid behind her hands. That, Crowley felt sure, was neither an answer nor a good sign.

“Sit still. Let’s just get you into bed and have you sleep this off the mortal way.” Crowley put firm hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders to hold her steady and impress upon her the importance of staying still.

“Gettin’ me into bed a’ th’ first chance, Crowley? Tut tut.” Aziraphale giggled again, this time in a lower pitch and more suggestive than Crowley wanted to hear.

“Behave yourself, angel.” Crowley scolded.

She did at least manage to sit relatively still while Crowley wrestled with the ridiculous number of layers that current fashions demanded. The robe à la française was tightly knotted as a result of Aziraphale’s miracle dressing earlier in the evening. If Crowley hadn’t been gifted with her demonic sight, she would have never stood a chance at loosening the sack-back. Swatting away Aziraphale’s hands was the next challenge as Crowley tried to unpin the front of the dress and the stomacher from Aziraphale’s stays. This wasn’t quite the sensual undressing that Crowley had been picturing the previous night; bitterly, she admitted to herself that it was better this way. She could contain her more basic desires when Aziraphale was so vulnerable. Finally, the dress came free and the stomacher followed a moment later. The decorative petticoat, or jupe, wasn’t tied anywhere near as tightly as the previous strings that Crowley had battled, which was a blessing.

“Come on, stand up.” Crowley directed Aziraphale over to the bed, letting the jupe fall to the ground as she stood. “Hands here.”

Aziraphale put her hands on the bedpost and smirked at Crowley, a look she had never seen Aziraphale wear before.

“Look at you, undressing me. Taking care of me. So sweet.”

Crowley growled in the back of her throat and tugged at the ties around Aziraphale’s waist harder than she’d intended. Ignoring the indignant yelp, Crowley untied the petticoat, hoop skirt, pockets, and decency skirt one at a time and set them aside for putting away when Aziraphale was in bed. The stays had clearly been put on that morning by Catherine, so they offered no resistance to Crowley. Still, she hesitated in removing them. To see Aziraphale in just her chemise while she was too drunk to complain or consent felt like a violation. Duty and desire warred within Crowley’s chest. The stays came away in her hands without Crowley being aware of having made a decision. That was it, though. Aziraphale could sleep in the chemise and Crowley would bring a clean one for the morning. She wouldn’t strip her any further than absolutely necessary. A sparkle caught Crowley’s eye, drawing her attention to the jewellery that Aziraphale still wore. She took the necklace, fighting the urge to trace her fingers along the soft skin of Aziraphale’s neck as she went.

“Earrings.” Crowley held out her hand for Aziraphale to deposit the earrings, not trusting herself to resist temptation forever.

“You’re shaking, Crowley.” Aziraphale blinked one eye at a time as if to check what she was seeing.

“Nonsense, you’re drunk.” The jewellery made its way to the box on the dressing table.

Crowley was grateful to realise that most of Aziraphale’s hair was held up in a simple braid. She unpinned it and shook out the lengths, the soft silkiness of it was everything she had imagined. Despite herself, Crowley took a lungful of the scent that was tied up in it and hoped that Aziraphale was too drunk to realise. A quick, loose braid allowed Crowley to run her fingers through the blonde curls once more as well as giving Aziraphale something comfortable to sleep with. One of these facts seemed far more important than the other to Crowley. Finally, she took Aziraphale by the shoulders and turned her to sit on the end of the bed, taking care not to unbalance her as they moved.

As Crowley got to her knees at Aziraphale’s feet, Aziraphale started to giggle again and kicked her feet against the bed like a child.

“It’s funny seein’ you down there.”

Crowley scowled up at her, waiting for some kind of explanation but none was forthcoming. Instead, Crowley caught her by the heel as she kicked and slipped off one satin shoe at a time, loosening the buckles with deft fingers. The last task was the one Crowley was both looking forward to the most and also dreading beyond all others. Aziraphale’s garters were tied in neat bows just below her knees, pulling the bows open felt like sacrilege, like revealing something too holy to be looked upon with unworthy eyes. Crowley took a deep breath and reached up to grasp the top of one stocking, unable to prevent her fingertips from grazing the soft skin of Aziraphale’s thigh. She pulled it down over Aziraphale’s knee and gently freed her foot before moving to the other leg. A muted sigh made Crowley glance up to find Aziraphale gazing at her with an almost loving expression, echoing some of the emotion that Crowley was currently fighting against. Tearing her eyes away and back to the task at hand, Crowley swallowed hard and pulled down the second stocking.

“All done. In to bed now, come on.” Crowley stood, taking the shoes and stockings with her to put away.

Aziraphale whined.

“Catherine always pulls the blankets down for me,” she complained.

Crowley turned to face the bed, Aziraphale’s petticoats in her hands. In just her chemise, with the white-blonde braid over one shoulder, Aziraphale was kneeling on the bed and giving an exaggerated pout. Crowley wished that she was more resistant to that face, to that tone of voice, but she knew as well as Aziraphale did that she would do anything Aziraphale asked of her. In fact, it was rare that Aziraphale ever got as far as asking before Crowley had caved to her desires. She dropped the petticoats and went to the head of the bed, pulling back the blankets right down to where Aziraphale was kneeling.

“I assume you’ll want tucking in as well?” There was a sarcastic note to Crowley’s question that they both recognised for the defence mechanism it was.

Aziraphale nodded and crawled up the bed to slide her feet under the blankets and wiggle herself down into the warmth. She looked ridiculously pleased with herself as Crowley pulled the blankets back up to her chin and tucked the edges back under the mattress. A hand slipped around the back of her neck as she was bent to her task, Crowley froze in place. Aziraphale’s breath was sweet with wine and warm on Crowley’s cheek.

“You know I’d let you have what you want. Be brave.” Aziraphale punctuated her cryptic comment with a kiss to Crowley’s cheek before releasing her neck and rolling over to go to sleep.

Flustered and confused, Crowley picked up all the discarded clothing from the floor and went to sort out what needed laundering and what needed to be put away before she remembered herself and took care of it all with a snap of her fingers. The candles were snuffed, the fire banked, and everything set for the next morning. Crowley dithered for a moment, unsure of whether she should leave Aziraphale drunk and alone. Realising that, drunk or not, Aziraphale was still an angel who was fully capable of looking after herself when she had to, Crowley smiled to herself and retired to her own room.

 

It was easier to fantasise about undressing Aziraphale now that she’d actually done it. The images were more vivid, the knowledge of rich fabrics under her fingertips added realism to the scenarios, and the scent of Aziraphale’s hair still filled her head. It was safer to think about the shape of Aziraphale’s curves under her fine chemise than to dwell on the parting words of a drink-addled celestial. So it was that Crowley found herself masturbating to her thoughts of Aziraphale for the second night in a row. Whimpering her climax into the dark with her own hand clamped over her mouth to keep from waking Charlotte, Crowley came with the memory of Aziraphale’s kiss burning her skin.

By the time the sun rose the next morning, Crowley had already washed, dressed and eaten a quick breakfast. Catherine was still quite unwell, the poor lamb, and Crowley had assured her that she would be happy to look after the Lady Ophelia until she was quite ready to return to service. Really, Crowley thought, it was the least that she could do considering that Catherine’s illness was entirely demonic in origin.

Carrying a tray laden with the kind of breakfast that she knew Aziraphale favoured, Crowley made her way back to the rooms that Aziraphale currently occupied and let herself in.

“Good morning, Aziraphale,” Crowley said brightly and a little louder than was polite.

The lump under the blankets groaned and shifted in a way that suggested it was not sold on the goodness of this morning yet.

Crowley set her tray on the bedside table and poked at the lump in the bed.

“How are we feeling today? Any thoughts on the sins of drinking to excess?” Crowley threw open the heavy curtains, letting sunlight stream into the room as she teased the groaning lump.

“Go ‘way, Crowley,” came the muffled response.

“I’ve got your breakfast here and you’ve got several engagements today. Don’t get grumpy with me because you can’t hold your wine!”

The truth was that Crowley had already heard gossip about the sheer amount of wine that Aziraphale had put away the night before. The servants were joking about the dent that she would put into the household’s reserves if she managed to keep up drinking like she had last night. That was without mentioning all the disapproving comments Crowley had heard about how such drunkenness was unbecoming for a lady.

Aziraphale finally pulled the blankets down from over her head and peered at Crowley.

“I don’t feel well.” She sounded miserable.

Crowley was equal parts amused and sympathetic.

“You drank too much, angel. You can’t process as much alcohol as you’re used to because you’re a bit smaller than usual.”

Aziraphale was still the picture of soft sensuality, but she was fairly petite in her current form and the effect that it had on her overall mass was not insignificant. Crowley was pretty sure that this was the reason for Aziraphale’s inebriation and, therefore, a lesson she needed to learn thoroughly before getting herself in trouble again.

“What good does that do me right now?” Aziraphale whined.

Crowley handed her a cup of water.

“Drink this, it’ll help.”

Aziraphale grumbled but drank it anyway, casting annoyed glances at Crowley as if she was to blame for the hangover that had its talons in Aziraphale’s head.

Crowley ignored them and busied herself with setting up a washbasin for Aziraphale on the dressing table.

“Eat your breakfast, angel,” Crowley instructed whilst rummaging through the drawers of the dressing table, looking for hairpins and such.

There was no retort, just the muted sounds of movement and clinking porcelain as Aziraphale relaxed her quest for sympathy in favour of tea and pastries. Crowley could feel the baleful eyes that were boring into the back of her head as she studiously avoided looking back towards the bed. Her imagination was already vivid enough; nothing good would come from having an accurate image of Aziraphale sleep-rumpled and soft amongst her pillows and blankets. Only once she heard the empty teacup settle back in the saucer and Aziraphale’s feet hit the floor, did Crowley trust herself to turn and face the bed.

She regretted the decision almost immediately.

Aziraphale was sat on the edge of the bed, her toes pointed to the floor and her arms stretching up to the ceiling as she warmed her body up to the idea of moving. Her braid fell over one shoulder, shining like white gold in the sunlight, whilst the shorter hair around her face stood out like a halo and highlighting the pink tint to her cheeks. For a moment, Crowley forgot how to breathe at the sight of her, ethereal and angelic to her core whilst also being the personification of every single lustful thought that Crowley had ever entertained. Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, Crowley indicated the washbasin she had set up.

“Haven’t got all morning, angel. Some of us have work to do.”

The combination of scrunched nose and stuck-out tongue did nothing to help Crowley fight her more inappropriate thoughts. Aziraphale pushed herself up off the bed and wobbled so badly that Crowley was at her side before registering having moved.

“Steady there. I can’t send you out there covered in bruises, don’t want people thinking you’re a drunk and a brawler.” Crowley chided but without any sting.

“I’m not a drunk!” Aziraphale protested.

“Tell that to everyone downstairs. You’re the topic of all the best gossip this morning.”

Aziraphale groaned again, dropping her head forward as if ashamed.

“Being a woman is so difficult. All these rules and expectations.”

Crowley nodded in sympathy. No matter the era, life was always that much more difficult when she presented as a woman, if this truly was Aziraphale’s first taste of womanhood then it was no wonder that she was struggling with it.

Once she had Aziraphale settled at her dressing table, Crowley took pity on her and performed a subtle demonic intervention to soothe the effects of the hangover away.

“Oh, thank you.” Aziraphale breathed, her eyes bright and clear.

However, she made no move to pick up the washcloth or strip off her chemise.

“Angel, just how much does Catherine usually do for you?” Crowley started to suspect the extent of Aziraphale’s reliance on her maid.

“Um, pretty much everything, I’d say. I didn’t know what I could do myself.” The question had made Aziraphale start to worry.

Crowley didn’t have the heart to toy with her while she seemed so fragile and unsure of herself. Instead, she picked up the washcloth and wetted it in the warm water she had prepared.

“Close your eyes,” Crowley instructed.

Once Aziraphale had complied Crowley began to draw the cloth over Aziraphale’s upturned face, washing away the residue of sleep. She lathered the cloth with the chunk of Savon de Marseille and pulled Aziraphale’s braid out of the way so she could wash around Aziraphale’s neck and shoulders without wetting her hair.

Rinsing off the cloth in the basin, Crowley tried to steady herself before opening her mouth next.

“Look, I don’t mind helping you, but you need to take your chemise off.”

Aziraphale started as if she’d felt a static shock.

“Oh, of course. Of course.”

She stood and pulled the loose shift over her head with no apparent shyness or hesitation. Crowley attempted to school her features into impassive indifference and failed miserably. She felt sure that the only reason that her eyes didn’t fall out of her skull completely was purely because her dark glasses were keeping them in. Aziraphale was the picture of youthful womanhood, all gentle curves and soft rises. She was always beautiful to Crowley, no matter her physical form, but Crowley had to admit that she found this choice to be especially pleasing.

With careful, almost worshipful strokes, Crowley washed Aziraphale’s underarms, around and under her breasts, and the apex of her thighs, where she folded the washcloth over so many times that she could barely feel the details of Aziraphale’s body. The exertion of resisting temptation rendered Crowley incapable of conversation, meaning that she worked in silence and could hear every little hum or gasp as her hands found sensitive spots all over Aziraphale’s skin. Perhaps Aziraphale would allow her to assist with a full bathe later, Crowley dared to hope as she imagined washing that mane of glorious curls.

“All clean.” Crowley declared at last as she wiped away the final suds from Aziraphale’s thigh.

If her voice sounded a touch strained, Aziraphale was good enough not to mention it. Crowley removed the basin and fetched a clean chemise, holding it out to Aziraphale so she could begin dressing. Once the loose linen smock had settled over Aziraphale’s body, Crowley began to feel like she could breathe easily again. The routine of dressing was familiar enough that she could relax into it.

“I believe you’re going riding this morning, so we’ll dress you for that as Catherine intended. Call me up to help you change when you return and I’ll be here before dinner as well. Understand?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“Good. Now, work with me here, angel.” Crowley held out the first petticoat for Aziraphale to step into.

The stays came next, cinching Aziraphale’s waist and straightening her torso into a smooth line. This style, Crowley thought, was especially flattering on Aziraphale as the severity of her bodice served to accentuate the soft roundness of her shoulders and breasts. For ease of sitting on horseback, Crowley dismissed the full hooped skirt and instead helped Aziraphale into a structured pocket and hoop combination, tying the drawstrings around the waist of her stays and covering it with a light petticoat. The riding habit was dove grey and made from very soft wool. Pale blue ribbons and embroidery added little details around the hem of the skirt. Crowley pulled it over Aziraphale’s head and fastened the skirt, taking care to align the side slits with the petticoat and pockets underneath. Fumbling around for the entrance to one’s pocket would not help someone already getting a reputation for being over-fond of wine.

A stomacher embroidered with fine silver wire and beads of blue glass was pinned neatly to Aziraphale’s stays to cover the area that fell between the lapels of her jacket. Crowley’s nimble fingers fastened the low buttons of the jacket and then pinned the lapels in place while Aziraphale stood patiently and lifted her head to give Crowley room to work. The overall effect was quite striking. Aziraphale was stunning and demure enough to speak of innocence but with enough décolletage to be fashionable and tempting. Crowley was sorely tempted to undo all of her hard work before she was even finished.

Putting firm hands on Aziraphale’s hips, Crowley pushed her to sit and then moved behind her. Crowley had known how to style hair for every fashion since Rebekah had complained to her of having to marry Isaac without even a comb to run through her hair first. The current trend of curls and ringlets had come and gone so many times before that Crowley could do it in her sleep. She knew that she should have set Aziraphale’s hair before bed the night before, she knew that she should keep the curls as defined as possible, she knew all of this and yet when she untied the silky braid of Aziraphale’s hair, she couldn’t help but sink her fingers into it and shake it all loose. She ran the lengths through her fingers over and over again, destroying every carefully formed curl in her eagerness to feel every inch of it. Completely forgetting herself, Crowley brought a handful to her face and inhaled deeply whilst rubbing her cheeks and lips against the mass of white-gold hair she held.

Aziraphale cleared her throat, making Crowley glance up and catch her eyes in the mirror. Caught red-handed, Crowley dropped her hands to her sides and tried to ignore how guilty her reflection looked. A quick snap of her fingers had Aziraphale’s hair styled in perfect curls with a couple of long ringlets falling down the centre of her back.

“All done.” Crowley squeaked, looking anywhere but Aziraphale’s face.

“Not quite, I think.” Aziraphale turned and lifted her skirts to show her bare feet.

Crowley nearly wept, she was so overwhelmed with feelings that needed to be squashed and now she had to kneel at the feet of her angel and reach up under her skirts.

“Right. Yeah. Of course.” She said thickly as she sank to her knees.

Bunching up one stocking in her fingers, Crowley rested Aziraphale’s foot on her lap and eased the stocking on to it, leaving the length of it folded around her ankle in order to move on to her other foot. Crowley pushed Aziraphale’s skirts as high as she could manage and smoothed the silk stockings up until it was clear that she would need to move closer to get them over Aziraphale’s knees. There was nothing else for it, Crowley had to duck her head under the multitude of skirts and petticoats to get to grips with the tops of the stockings. The warm, dark cavern of Aziraphale’s dress felt like a home Crowley had only just begun to miss. She tugged one stocking up and smoothed out the wrinkles before turning to the other leg and, impulsively, planting a gentle kiss on Aziraphale’s exposed thigh.

“Crowley.”

She heard her name but the subtleties of tone were lost in the layers between them. She patted the second stocking in place and backed out quickly, grabbing the garter ribbons and beginning to tie them just under Aziraphale’s knees back in the clearer air of the room.

“Sorry, angel. Won’t happen again.”

Crowley laced Aziraphale’s riding boots and handed her the stylish hat that completed the outfit. The thought of looking her in the eye and seeing the disappointment that Crowley had surely earned was too painful. Until Aziraphale had left the room, Crowley stayed staring at her hands where they lay in her lap. Only once she had heard the latch close behind Aziraphale did she dare move. Crowley aimed a thought at the door to keep it closed until she was ready to face the outside world. Hating herself for her weakness and her deep need, Crowley threw herself face-down onto Aziraphale’s bed and buried her nose in the pillows, breathing deep as she pulled up the front of her skirts. Her heart pounded a violent tattoo against her ribs, a rhythm for her thoughts to follow as she accused herself of every despicable violation her imagination could conjure. Her fingertips found her slippery wet cleft and sank inside as Crowley moaned at her own wantonness, her disgusting nature, to have violated the precious trust between friends and still be aroused by it. Crowley fucked herself on two slim fingers and ground the heel of her hand into her clitoris, using her other arm to press the heaven-scented pillows into her face. Tears with no chance to fall soaked into the linen sheets as Crowley moaned and berated herself by turns until she came with a shuddering cry, sprawled across Aziraphale’s bed. Another violation. Crowley leapt up as if the bed had burned her and straightened the blankets back to perfection, knowing that she was leaving touches of her arousal across it. Disgusted and angry with herself, Crowley took Aziraphale’s soiled clothes down to the laundry room and spent the morning scrubbing chemises and stockings until her hands were dried out almost to the point of cracking.

 

When Aziraphale returned from her morning of riding, Crowley helped her change out of her riding habit and into a less formal gown. She was being introduced to several popular tailors hoping to acquire the business of a fashionable rising star in court. If Crowley hadn’t been feeling so miserable, she would have had a great deal to say about Aziraphale’s track record with fashion. She suspected that the only reason for Aziraphale’s current trend awareness was that she had needed a whole new wardrobe in order to be Ophelia.

The muddied train of the riding habit gave Crowley a new task to punish herself with for the afternoon; she spent hours carefully cleaning the soft wool without damaging it and ignoring the pain that shot through her hands every time they plunged into the cold water. By the time she was done with the laundry, it was late enough that Crowley could head back upstairs to get ready for Aziraphale’s dinner change. Her feet were leaden on the stairs, Aziraphale had been in such a rush earlier and that conversation had been kept to a minimum. Crowley was sure that she was about to be given the cold shoulder and silent treatment, or worse, a scolding.

There was no answer to her knock at the door, so Crowley let herself into Aziraphale’s rooms and began her preparation. She pulled out several suitable gowns and then, knowing how Aziraphale could dither over the most meaningless decisions, Crowley selected a dress for her and put the others away. The robe was of peach satin and Crowley paired it with an ivory petticoat. Both were quite plain in terms of decoration and embroidery so Crowley felt safe in selecting a stomacher of ivory lace and seed pearls for contrast. Aziraphale still hadn’t arrived by the time Crowley had laid out the gown and checked it for stains or imperfections. She had just started to worry that Aziraphale would avoid her completely when there was a thump against the door.

As she was about to open the door to see what had caused the noise, Crowley heard voices. A man’s voice was whispering urgently, pleading and cajoling in a way that Crowley recognised too well. She heard Aziraphale answer, placating and denying uncertainly. All her misgivings about Aziraphale’s delayed arrival disappeared as soon as she realised what was happening on the other side of the door. Crowley jerked the door open and stepped aside as the King fell through and landed on his face. Aziraphale’s panicked expression softened into relief as soon as she saw Crowley, something that helped Crowley take her customary stance beside the door.

“Oh, Your Majesty! I’m so sorry, I thought I heard someone knock!” Crowley let empty apologies fall from her lips as she bobbed repeated curtsies. Aziraphale helped the King to his feet only for him to near sprint away in embarrassment.

“Oh, Crowley, thank you. I didn’t know how I was going to get him to leave.”

She fell into Crowley’s arms, shivering from something deeper than cold. Understanding, Crowley pushed the door closed and wrapped Aziraphale in her embrace. There were things besides pretty dresses that came with being a woman, things that Aziraphale had only heard about before today. Crowley remembered all too clearly the first time that a man had pinned her against a wall and made the kind of suggestions that she wasn’t supposed to object to. She led Aziraphale to the couch by the fireplace and sat them down, drawing Aziraphale’s head in to rest against Crowley’s chest whilst she ran her hand in soothing circles on Aziraphale’s back.

“It’s all right, you’re all right,” Crowley crooned into Aziraphale’s hair.

The trembling calmed and Aziraphale untucked her arms from where they were pressed between their chests to wrap them around Crowley’s waist. She looked up at Crowley and smiled.

“Thank you. I think I was just being silly.”

“Nonsense. You had a scary thing happen and you reacted in a way that makes sense. There’s no need to diminish it.” Crowley countered.

“Oh, I do hope I haven’t ruined this assignment.” Aziraphale diverted into fretting quickly enough.

“If that was all it took to ruin it then they sent you on a fool’s errand,” Crowley said with certainty, knowing exactly what Aziraphale needed to hear. “Shall we get you ready for dinner now or do you need a bit more of a cuddle?”

Aziraphale sniffed and snuggled a little closer to Crowley.

“More cuddle, please.”

Crowley was happy to oblige her for a while longer, enjoying the rare chance to be this close without any purpose other than comfort. Whatever lingering bad feeling there might have been appeared to have been forgotten, Crowley was all too pleased to note.

Once Aziraphale had left for dinner, Crowley’s plea to watch her drinking still echoing between them, Crowley set about tidying up the room and preparing for Aziraphale’s return. She called for a couple of the footmen to bring up a large wooden tub and plenty of water which she had set in front of the fire to warm. Once her preparations were complete, Crowley sat and waited with only her imagination for company.

Aziraphale didn’t keep her waiting on this night; with barely a hint of wine on her breath, Aziraphale came breezing back into the room far earlier than Crowley had anticipated. She barely held back from saying so, deciding instead to just accept the time as the gift it was. She gestured to the seat by the dressing table and waited for Aziraphale to settle before beginning.

“I thought you might like a more thorough bath tonight, angel.” Crowley tried to sound casual as she pulled the fichu from around Aziraphale’s neckline.

“Mm, that does sound nice.” Aziraphale gave her little wiggle of pleasure and Crowley felt her heart melt. “Crowley?”

Aziraphale turned to look over her shoulder and when Crowley came closer to answer her, she snaked an arm around the back of Crowley’s neck and drew her into a kiss.

Crowley froze for a beat, unsure of what to do or how to react before instinct took over and she returned the kiss. Aziraphale’s lips were soft against hers; she could taste wine and cream and Aziraphale. Her tongue darted out to touch her lip and gather another taste, only to find Aziraphale’s lips parted and welcoming her in. It was overwhelming. Crowley’s senses were filled with Aziraphale; her hands on soft shoulders, her ears filled with happy little moans, her tongue tasting more than she had ever hoped for. It was too much, too soon, too sudden. She broke away and gasped for breath, looking Aziraphale in the eyes as if she would be able to find the answer to questions she didn’t know how to ask out loud.

“Crowley, I’m sorry. I-I should have asked. Are you all right?” Aziraphale didn’t drop her hand from Crowley’s neck, keeping her from straying too far away.

“Am I alright? Angel. Honestly. How can you- What do you thi- Aziraphale, you are a mystery.” Crowley ran her hand up Aziraphale’s arm and peeled it away from her neck as she came around to sit on her haunches in front of Aziraphale.

She pressed a kiss onto Aziraphale’s knuckles and then turned her hand over to press another into her palm before reaching to push her glasses up her nose, hiding her eyes as she wished she could hide her desires.

“You had a shock tonight. It wouldn’t be a good idea to throw yourself into something else just to try and feel something good. Trust me.” Crowley hated having to be responsible here but she would hate herself more for taking advantage.

“I’ve been thinking about this since you undressed me last night, Crowley. I’m not so fragile as to not know my own mind. I trust you and I want to show you just how much. Let me put myself in your hands, please?”

She sounded so earnest, so open, so sure of herself; Crowley struggled to see the right path. This was Aziraphale, offering herself up from a place of love and trust, offering exactly what Crowley had wanted ever since she’d seen that look of conflict at the admission of exactly what had happened to the flaming sword.

“Ugh, this might be a terrible idea.” Crowley gesticulated vaguely, refusing to let go of Aziraphale’s hand. “I’m not making any guarantees here, angel. Just promise me that as soon as you’re not sure about this, or you don’t like it, you’ll tell me. OK?”

“I promise. Crowley, I promise it will be alright.” Aziraphale near begged her.

Crowley pressed one more kiss into Aziraphale’s palm before standing and releasing her. Taking her place behind Aziraphale, Crowley hoped that she could rely on muscle memory to divest Aziraphale of her clothing. Shivers of anticipation took hold of Crowley’s hands and she took solace in the fact that Aziraphale couldn’t see how much she struggled to untie the ribbon of the choker around Aziraphale’s pretty neck. Once it was free, Crowley reached around to stroke Aziraphale’s throat and slowly pulled the necklace away. Just as Aziraphale liked to savour every morsel of her meals so Crowley intended to savour every second of this experience. Her hands grazed along Aziraphale’s bare shoulders, drawing muted gasps from her subject. Crowley leaned in to trail kisses up the back of Aziraphale’s neck, holding her across the chest with one arm whilst the other hand pulled pins from her hair and let the curls fall loose.

“Is this all right?” She whispered against Aziraphale’s skin.

“Yes. Yes, Crowley.” Aziraphale replied urgently.

A kiss just behind one ear was followed by the delicate gold and pearl earring being drawn out and then repeated on the other side. Keeping one hand gently resting between her shoulder blades, Crowley leaned away to put the earrings next to the necklace on the dressing table. Aziraphale shivered under Crowley’s hand, remarkably flushed despite having only been stripped of her jewellery. Letting her fingertips trace those delicate collar bones that had seemed so untouchable just days before, Crowley returned to kiss the sensitive spot where neck and shoulder meet.

Her hands wandered down Aziraphale’s chest, seeking the pins that held her gown in place and plucking them out one by one. As soon as all the pins were safely tucked into Crowley’s pinafore, she slipped her hands into the front of the dress and eased it down Aziraphale’s arms.

Once the dress had been removed, Crowley took Aziraphale by the waist and urged her on to her feet. The kisses continued across Aziraphale’s shoulders and the back of her neck as Crowley untied the jupe and then the petticoat. They rested atop the hooped pockets until Crowley loosed that and let all three fall to the floor. She took Aziraphale’s hands and helped her step out of the heap of linen and peach satin.

“You are so beautiful.” Crowley broke the silence with a whispered confession of an opinion long held.

Aziraphale blushed prettily and looked away, squeezing Crowley’s fingers for a beat in acknowledgement. They were finally facing each other, seeing each other as if for the first time. Impulsively, Crowley pulled off her dark glasses and tossed them onto the dressing table; she wanted to see Aziraphale as she was, as the rest of the world saw her. Wearing little more than her stays and chemise, Aziraphale was still breathtaking. The ornate panel of her stomacher was still pinned to her stays, the pearls catching the light when she moved. Crowley stepped as close as her skirts would allow and held Aziraphale at the waist as she pulled out the last few pins and tucked them into her pinafore for safe-keeping. Aziraphale stopped the stomacher from falling but appeared lost when it came to putting it down; Crowley took it from her and set it on the stool behind Aziraphale for tidying away later.

“What would I do without you, Crowley?” Aziraphale searched her face for reassurance.

“Well, you’d have Catherine here, so...” Her reminder trailed off into silence.

“You know damn well that I’d rather have you with me, always.” Aziraphale looked at her with such softness, such open adoration that Crowley could hardly bear it.

Crowley swallowed, this was the closest that Aziraphale had ever come to acknowledging what they were to each other, what they could be.

“Always?” she parroted, stupidly.

The spell was broken. Aziraphale took half a step backwards and something in her eyes closed off. Crowley cursed herself, her stupid mouth, her incessant questions.

“You know what I mean.” Aziraphale’s tone was snippy.

Crowley flinched at the sound of it, feeling as though she had been physically struck. Her eyes closed, screwed tight against the sight of one more rejection. A soft hand touched her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw with gentle fingertips. A kiss pressed against her lips, so delicate that Crowley almost thought she had imagined it.

“I’m sorry, what I want would never be safe for you and I can’t take that risk. You are too important to me.”

Crowley opened her mouth to object, still not daring to look at Aziraphale. A finger touched her parted lips to silence her.

“For tonight, let us be Antoinette and Ophelia together. Let it be class that makes us have to hide our desires. Be human with me for one night, my dear, and take what pleasure we can from it.”

A deep breath and mentally permitting herself to relax were necessary preparations for Crowley to open her eyes. Aziraphale had tears running down her cheeks and regret in the set of her mouth. Softening, Crowley nodded. She didn’t trust her traitor voice to give an answer that wouldn’t make things worse again. One night with their assumed names was something, better than the nothing that Crowley currently had, something to hold as a real memory. She leaned in to kiss Aziraphale’s tears away, wrapping her arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“Thank you. Thank you.” Aziraphale spoke into Crowley’s skin, winding her own arms around Crowley’s waist.

They stood like that for several minutes, breathing in each other and calming the spike of nervous energy that had been triggered. Crowley felt Aziraphale’s heart rate slow back to normal and decided that it was safe to start loosening the lacing of the stays. Her fingers ached with the motion of pulling the cord through over and over but Aziraphale was still clinging to her, soothing any possible discomfort with her mere presence.

The stays came apart at the back, Crowley put just enough room between their bodies to slide the garment out. The softness of Aziraphale’s body was an unexpected delight, so different from the stiff shape that her clothing forced. Crowley moaned into a mass of blonde curls and held Aziraphale tighter just to feel the way her body moved.

“Bath.” Crowley managed to get the word out, a suggestion and a reminder in one.

Aziraphale’s response was to lift her face and seek Crowley’s lips with her own, pressing gentle kisses across Crowley’s mouth in a way that felt like being loved. Aziraphale allowed herself to be led to the couch beside the wooden tub, apparently entirely serious about putting herself in Crowley’s hands. Crowley pressed down on her shoulders, bidding her sit as Crowley got on her knees and pulled off Aziraphale’s shoes. With just the decency skirt between her hands and Aziraphale’s garters, Crowley felt both more daring and too exposed. She pushed the skirt up over Aziraphale’s knees and tugged at the ribbons holding up her stockings.

“Oh, Antoinette, your hands look so sore.”

Crowley started at hearing her chosen name, unused to the sound of it when spoken with affection.

“Laundry soap does that.” She tried to sound casual about it, but the thought of touching Aziraphale’s perfect skin with her work-roughened hands seemed like a sacrilege.

“Please, let me.” Aziraphale closed her hands around one of Crowley’s as she spoke.

A tingle spread from the heel of Crowley’s palm into her fingertips; the sensation of a divine miracle on an infernal body. Aziraphale took Crowley’s other hand and repeated the gesture as Crowley inspected her newly healed skin. She touched her face, gingerly stroking her cheek to feel the effectiveness of Aziraphale’s work. It felt like a caress of fine silk, a sensual experience worthy of an angel, perhaps.

“Thank you, Ophelia.” Words they had barely been able to whisper before began to feel safe.

Crowley ran her hands up Aziraphale’s calves from her ankles to the backs of her knees in light, teasing strokes before removing the garters and dropping them on the couch. Focusing on one stocking at a time, Crowley pressed her fingers into Aziraphale’s thigh and took hold of the top of her stocking to pull it off in one smooth motion. She glanced up at Aziraphale, checking her face for worries, before kissing her knees and stroking the sensitive skin behind them. A noise that could have been anticipation or desire was almost lost in the crackling of the fire, Crowley knew she’d heard it, though, and filed it in her memory for future lonely nights. Her kisses moved upwards, Crowley’s nose pushing back the linen skirt as she chased the taste of Aziraphale up her inner thighs.

“Is this alright?” Crowley asked, looking up at Aziraphale from her lap.

“Yes, darling. It’s wonderful.” Aziraphale’s cheeks were pink and her lips parted.

Crowley had never seen her look more delicious. She grabbed Aziraphale’s hips and pulled her forward, burying her nose in the soft patch of pubic hair and nuzzling. She so wanted to make Aziraphale feel good, to give her an experience that she would never forget; the pressure that Crowley was putting on herself was near crippling. Making the wrong move could ruin everything she had ever wanted. As if she could hear Crowley’s thoughts, Aziraphale reached for her and stroked her cheeks, neck, and hair with such sweet affection, Crowley was reassured by the contact. She moved lower, kissing the velvety skin of Aziraphale’s upper thighs and tasting the first hints of arousal from her vulva where her tongue dared to dart out and touch hidden flesh.

Above her, Aziraphale moaned a low and needy sound from deep in her chest. Gripping her hips with newly refined hands, Crowley ran her tongue up Aziraphale’s labia in a firm, wet stroke. Encouraged by the muted gasps that had elicited, Crowley lapped again, allowing her tongue to breach Aziraphale’s outer labia and touch the heat hidden within. That first taste of Aziraphale’s pure desire, direct from the source,  overwhelmed Crowley to the point of forgetting herself. She pushed forward, burying her face in blonde curls and slick, hot folds. Her tongue sought the centre of Aziraphale’s pleasure, her clitoris already standing proud and aching to be found. Crowley closed her lips around it and suckled, feeling Aziraphale buck and shudder at the sensation. A flood of tight warmth, like a delicious twist of a fist in her abdomen, took Crowley by surprise as a response to the reactions she was causing. She gasped against Aziraphale, losing her rhythm and digging her nails into the plush backside of Aziraphale. It took mere seconds for her to find herself again, suckling and lapping at the tight little head of Aziraphale’s clitoris, allowing her teeth to graze it in the lightest of teases, building up a wellspring of pleasure in her beloved. Crowley glanced up to check on Aziraphale and found her flushed pink, heaving with shallow breaths, and eyes wide.

“Don’t stop! Please!” Aziraphale begged. “Oh, my darling. You are incredible!”

Her voice was ruinous, husky and strained with need. Crowley’s desire made itself known again as her hips rocked, seeking anything to grind against. Annoyed that she had been robbing herself of the sight of Aziraphale coming undone, Crowley watched her face intently and sucked harder. A whimpering keen, broken by urgent breaths, told Crowley all she needed to know about Aziraphale’s enjoyment. She brought one hand around to stroke at Aziraphale’s entrance, gathering the wetness on her fingers and tugging on the lips before sliding one finger inside and stroking upwards.

Aziraphale exploded almost immediately, thrusting her hips into Crowley’s movements. Her hands grabbed at Crowley’s hair and upon finding hairpins and combs barring her the closeness she wanted, Aziraphale began pulling them out with frantic fingers until Crowley’s red hair flowed over her hands. It felt, to Crowley, that she was exactly where she was supposed to be; drawing exquisite pleasured moans from Aziraphale’s bitten lips with her clever tongue.

Aziraphale came with a wordless cry, her hands fisting in Crowley’s hair as her pleasure crested and broke like a tidal wave. The angelic force that she expelled flickered the candle flames and buffeted Crowley’s skirts. Crowley kept up her attentions until the last shudders of Aziraphale’s orgasm calmed and then gently withdrew, peppering kisses over the creamy thighs that bracketed her head.

“Was that all r-” Her question was silenced by Aziraphale’s urgent kiss.

The hands in her hair tightened and drew her upwards as Aziraphale came down to meet her. Crowley expected hesitancy or rejection when Aziraphale tasted herself in their kiss but instead found deepened passion. The wet velvet of Aziraphale’s tongue touched her lips and begged entry; Crowley gave it all, gave her everything.

When they finally broke apart, gasping and heated, Crowley thought that she had never seen Aziraphale look so taken apart, nor more delightful. Her silver-blonde hair was sweat-damp and messy, her cheeks were pink splashes against alabaster, her mouth swollen from kisses and wet with her own arousal.

“Thank you,” Crowley whispered, reverent.

It was as much to Aziraphale as it was to any god that cared to hear her, her gratitude for this gift great enough to break through her usual disapproval of the almighty.

Aziraphale loosened her grip from Crowley’s hair and began stroking her, running fingers through flame-hot tresses, grazing fingertips along a sharp jawline and angled cheekbones, caressing her throat with whisper-light touches. Crowley pillowed her head on Aziraphale’s thigh and closed her eyes, as content as she could ever remember being.

“You are so wonderful,” Aziraphale spoke in a soothingly low tone as she petted Crowley. “So very good to me, my darling. You take such good care of me, even though I can’t give you what you need. You beautiful, incredible, darling creature. I would make you mine if only I could, please know that.”

Crowley looked up at that, seeking Aziraphale’s eyes with a question she couldn’t voice. There was nothing guarded or hidden in Aziraphale’s gaze, just love touched with sadness.

“I am yours. Always have been. Always will be. No matter where you are, it’s a constant state of being.”

Aziraphale leaned down to kiss Crowley’s brow, her eyelids, her nose, cheeks, jaw, and finally a feather of a kiss on her lips. Crowley sighed, a smile spreading across her face.

In the fireplace, a log shifted and cracked, making Aziraphale jump. Jolted back into reality, Crowley remembered what they had been aiming for.

“Bath! Doubly so now!” She laughed as she stood, offering her hands to Aziraphale and pulling her up from the couch.

Crowley made quick work of the ties at the waist of Aziraphale’s decency skirt and dropped it to the floor around her feet. Stripping the chemise over Aziraphale’s head felt like a far more intimate moment than having her face buried between Aziraphale’s thighs. Aziraphale was completely nude and unabashed, Crowley had previously imagined that she might make some move to cover herself but the experience of washing her that morning had at least prepared her for this.

Crowley took a large linen sheet and dunked it in one of the buckets to soak it. With one foot she moved the tub a little closer to the fire, not wanting to give Aziraphale a single moment of discomfort, and laid the sheet out in the base to protect against splinters from the rough wood.

Crowley turned to offer Aziraphale her hand but instead found hands on her waist, gripping her from behind as a girlish giggle tickled her ear. Aziraphale pulled apart the bow of Crowley’s pinafore and then began to loosen the lacing that held the back of her dress closed.

“Don’t want your clothes getting all sodden, do we?”

Crowley’s dreams had never covered the possibility of Aziraphale wanting any part of her, it had always been about pleasing and serving her beloved. Yet, here she was, faced with the reality of Aziraphale undressing her and wanting. She unpinned the bib of her pinafore so that it no longer hung from her chest and threw it to one side. Aziraphale fought with the lacing at her back, almost certainly making an awful mess of it. Crowley let her. She was being undressed, being cared for. It was novel and delighting and so very Aziraphale. Charcoal-grey wool was finally pulled over her head, mussing her hair and tugging her petticoats out of place but in ways that Crowley found funny and endearing; she couldn’t stop smiling no matter how she tried.

Feeling Aziraphale’s hands falter and flutter at her hips, Crowley took pity and rested her fingers over Aziraphale’s, holding them higher and against her waist. She guided their combined hands to the strings holding up her petticoats and pulled them loose together. She gathered the skirts up and wrapped Aziraphale’s fingers around them before finally letting go and raising her arms so that Aziraphale could pull the gathered linen over her head.

Kisses pressed into the bare skin between her shoulder blades as dainty fingers skated along the tops of her shoulders and down her arms.

“You are beautiful. A treasure. The best person I have ever known. You are mine,” Aziraphale whispered in her ear, lips barely brushing the back of it.

Crowley wanted to turn, to kiss those lips and show Aziraphale how true that last statement was. But her knees were weak and her hands were shaking, still absorbing the softness of how Aziraphale saw her.

“Antoinette, my dearest girl. You are so good.”

Crowley sobbed, stuffing a fist against her mouth and choking off any cutting response she might have made, forcing herself to endure the praise, to absorb it and believe it.

A quick study, Aziraphale managed to untie Crowley’s farthingale and pockets by herself. Crowley wriggled her snake-like hips to make them drop to the floor and stepped out of them, away from Aziraphale. Her stays were tied at the front so she wanted to turn for this last step. Crowley was in no way prepared to see the silent tears glittering on Aziraphale’s cheeks and dripping from her chin.

“Whatever is the matter? What did I do? How can I help?” Crowley held Aziraphale’s shoulders and searched her face for a clue.

Aziraphale laughed and pulled Crowley close, her warm and naked body a balm to Crowley’s nerves.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, oh, my darling girl. I’m happy! I never thought you would trust me with yourself like this, I’m overwhelmed at the gift you have given me.”

“Oh.” Crowley didn’t know what she had expected but it certainly wasn’t that.

Aziraphale kissed her once, chastely.

“I’m afraid I need your help again.” She gestured to Crowley’s stays helplessly.

Laughing, Crowley swept away Aziraphale’s tears with the pads of her thumbs before dropping her hands to the knot holding her stays in place. A few quick, sharp tugs later and the lacing was loose enough for Aziraphale to get her fingers in between the strands and pull them free. Once the front was open, Aziraphale pushed the straps off Crowley’s shoulders and leaned in, kissing along her collar bones and licking at the base of her throat. Humans can't purr, but Crowley could never be accused of being human, so she didn’t let that stop her. Aziraphale’s arms wrapped around Crowley’s slender waist and brought them flush against each other, soft bodies finding the ways they fit together for the first time. It was so unlike holding each other with stays in between; Crowley could feel the give of Aziraphale’s flesh under her fingers, the rounded push of her breasts, the gentle rise of her belly, all in overwhelming detail against her own angular body. She allowed her head to rest on Aziraphale’s shoulder, nose buried in Aziraphale’s hair and breathing deep lungfuls of the salt-sweat scent of her.

“You’re softer than I imagined,” Aziraphale said into Crowley’s neck.

“You- You imagined this?” Crowley choked on her response.

“Constantly. Every day since, oh, the walls of Jericho fell, I think. You were magnificent that day.” Aziraphale sounded far away in her memories.

“Ophelia,” Crowley said, warning her off this train of thought and back into the relative safety of their pretence.

“Hm? Oh, yes. Of course.” The moment was lost but not forgotten.

Now in just her chemise, Crowley felt suitably undressed for the task at hand and span them both around so that Aziraphale’s back was to the tub.

“Step in, please.” Crowley urged her backwards.

Aziraphale didn’t take her eyes off Crowley’s face as she stepped up and backwards into the tub, giving her utmost trust to Crowley. She sat down, cross-legged, at Crowley’s urging and watched. Crowley tucked in the sleeves of her chemise and plunged one hand into the nearest bucket, warming the water more than the fire had.

“Turn around, I need your back first.”

Aziraphale did as she was told, trying not to twist the cloth under her as she turned. Crowley put her hand to Aziraphale’s forehead and filled a porcelain ewer with warm water.

“Stay still for me, love.” Crowley kept her hand in place to try and stop the water from running into Aziraphale’s eyes as she poured the water over Aziraphale’s hair.

The water was the perfect temperature, Crowley was sure of it, so the little shiver she felt from Aziraphale couldn’t be from the cold. She finished pouring the water, soaking the long blonde hair thoroughly.

“Are you alright there?” Crowley couldn’t help checking.

“Mm, divine.” Aziraphale gave a little shiver again.

This time Crowley recognised the pleasure in it, the actions of her beloved hedonist enjoying a novel experience. The knowledge relaxed her. Crowley built up a lather in her hand with the soap chunk and began to work it into Aziraphale’s hair, starting at the roots. Aziraphale hummed happily and leaned into Crowley’s hands, encouraging her to massage her scalp and neck. Eventually, Crowley realised that she was just making her next task more unpleasant and grudgingly removed her hands from Aziraphale’s hair, again tipping her head back and pouring water from the ewer to rinse it clean. She was thorough, filling the jug twice to pour through the lengths until the water ran clear. From nowhere in particular, Crowley produced a small bottle of rosemary-scented olive oil and splashed a small amount into her palm. She smeared it between her fingers and began to comb through the tangles she’d made in Aziraphale’s hair.

“I’m sorry if this pulls. I got carried away.” Crowley never wanted to hurt Aziraphale.

“No, no, it’s not your fault.” Aziraphale waved over her shoulder.

Tangles and snarls caught at Crowley’s fingers and she eased them out as slowly as she could, adding a little more oil to her hands as she needed until the worst knots were out and she could begin to comb Aziraphale’s hair into order. Squeezing out as much of the water as she could between passes of the comb got Aziraphale’s hair looking almost golden in the firelight. Crowley finally pulled it into a loose braid and wrapped it up out of the way.

Crowley soaped up the washcloth and scrubbed at Aziraphale’s back in circles, dipping over her shoulders and around her sides when she dared. It was incredible to her that she could touch Aziraphale in this way, that she was allowed to perform this act of service for her. Even if it was only for one night, Crowley would take whatever she could from it, including the feeling of every inch of Aziraphale’s body in her hands. Another ewer-full of water rinsed clean the pink skin and Crowley got to her feet. She offered her hand to Aziraphale to help her up.

“Thank you, dearheart.” Aziraphale beamed at her with such joy.

Bringing Aziraphale’s hand to her lips, Crowley kissed her knuckles and the back of her hand as she dipped to retrieve the ewer. A torrent of clean, warm water ran down Aziraphale’s torso, wetting her thoroughly. Impulsively, Crowley wrapped her arm around Aziraphale, placing her palm between Aziraphale’s shoulder blades and pulled them closer together. She kissed Aziraphale’s sweet mouth, swallowing the hungry moan that greeted her and moving down to her throat, her clavicle, the flat plain of her upper chest, pressing kisses wherever she liked until her mouth found the pink peak of a nipple. Looking up at Aziraphale, Crowley drew it into her mouth and sucked. Her tongue lapped at it, feeling the areola tightening in response as much as she saw Aziraphale’s head fall back and heard the sigh of pleasure that accompanied it.

The needy coil of lust in her belly squirmed once more, begging for release. Her grip on Aziraphale tightened, forbidding her hands from seeking her own pleasure. Aziraphale’s free hand buried itself in Crowley’s hair, holding her mouth to Aziraphale’s nipple and silently asking for more. A graze of teeth across the ridges of the hardened areola got the whimpering moan that Crowley had hoped for. She experimented with increasing the pressure of her bite, her eyes fixed on Aziraphale’s face. Still holding tight to Aziraphale’s hand, Crowley brought her other hand around from Aziraphale’s back and cupped the breast she was neglecting. Sweeping her thumb over the nipple as she lapped at the one in her mouth drew a shuddering cry from Aziraphale, her fingers closing in Crowley’s hair and holding her fast. Crowley coordinated a bite and a pinch together and was rewarded with a yelp and Aziraphale’s back arching towards her. Eternity just like this wouldn’t be long enough, Crowley thought, just as Aziraphale whimpered and curled over her. Her beloved was the finest instrument she had ever laid her hands upon, the music she produced was a balm to the soul, Crowley was a virtuoso at playing Aziraphale’s body. It broke Crowley’s heart to know that the debut performance would also be her swan song. All the more reason to draw it out, she reasoned, and Aziraphale certainly wasn’t complaining. The whimpers from above her were becoming more desperate now, a slightly pained tinge to them, Crowley released the nipple from her mouth and kissed it before moving her attention to the breast in her hand. The tweaks and pinches she had been liberally applying had the nipple hard and hot already. Crowley put her lips to it and sucked, drawing as much of Aziraphale’s breast into her mouth as she could and rubbing her tongue against the nipple as roughly as possible. Aziraphale sounded tortured, whimpering and whining with every flick of Crowley’s sinning tongue.

“Please, please, ah!” Aziraphale gasped.

Crowley broke away to check on her, Aziraphale was flushed from her shoulders to her hairline and shivering violently. Crowley cursed herself for getting carried away and not noticing the state that Aziraphale had got into.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Damn it all, I’m sorry.” Crowley wanted to hold her but the fear of making things worse had her frozen in place.

Aziraphale leaned on her instead, laughing in fits and starts.

“You idiot. I wanted you to touch me again!” Aziraphale pulled Crowley closer to kiss her.

The words took a moment to trickle into Crowley’s understanding, leaving her stiff against Aziraphale’s kiss until Aziraphale wrapped her arms around Crowley’s waist and drew their bodies closer together.

“Are you serious? I thought I’d broken you!” Crowley held Aziraphale’s face between kisses and searched her eyes for the truth.

A giggle was Aziraphale’s only response as she pressed forward for another kiss.

“Bath. No more distractions.” Crowley disentangled herself from Aziraphale’s arms and picked up the ewer again.

Aziraphale pouted and looked through her thick lashes, Crowley realised that there were likely to be as many distractions as Aziraphale wanted no matter what she said. Crowley threw the water at her, splashing her chest and face playfully. Before Aziraphale could retaliate, Crowley lay her arm across Aziraphale’s shoulders and held her in place as she scrubbed the washcloth over Aziraphale’s chest and belly. Water splashed onto Crowley as she worked, cooling on her skin and making her chemise cling to her body in random patches. She felt Aziraphale’s eyes on her, taking in the details that were revealed by the wet linen. The idea that Aziraphale might be interested in her physical form had not occurred to Crowley before. They were just such opposites; Aziraphale was pillowy and generous, soft and curvy like she was meant to be held and enjoyed. Crowley was lean and spare, all hard angles and sharp features. She looked serious and business-like; Crowley had heard words like “harsh” and “hawk-like” whispered about her. The way that Aziraphale looked at her made her question everything she had ever thought about this form; Aziraphale looked at her like she was a decadent dessert and with the same hope of perhaps being allowed a bite. Crowley could get addicted to being looked at like that.

When she came to pour out the ewer once more, Crowley kept Aziraphale close and didn’t flinch away when Aziraphale splashed her playfully. The thin fabric clung to her breasts and hips, making her look more angular than usual. Crowley watched, dumbstruck, as Aziraphale reached for her and ran a hand down her body, stopping at the hem of her shift and silently asking permission. Crowley nodded, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth all of a sudden. Aziraphale took hold of the hem and pulled up, moving away just enough to prevent the chemise from snagging between their bodies. Crowley held her arms up and ducked down to allow Aziraphale to pull it over her head.

“You are so beautiful, love. Thank you for letting me see.” Aziraphale was so earnest in her praise that Crowley had to turn away, blushing.

Kicking off her shoes, Crowley took a step back to bend down and untie her garters. Aziraphale put out her hands and held Crowley’s sharp hips, moving to kneel in the tub and take over. The garters were already half undone, Aziraphale finished them off and threw them towards Crowley’s discarded shoes. Crowley’s hands flexed uselessly at her sides, suddenly on the back foot in this scenario. A whisper of a kiss to her inner thigh sent a searing jolt into her core, a want she barely dared to name. Aziraphale hooked her fingers into the top of one stocking and began easing it down, kissing every inch of skin as it was exposed to the air. She drew Crowley’s foot up to rest on the edge of the tub as she eased the stocking off her heel before pressing a kiss to Crowley’s bony toes. Crowley made to put her foot back on the ground to allow Aziraphale to remove the other stocking but a hand on her ankle held her fast. Aziraphale looked up at her and encouraged her to step forward, into the water with her. Crowley did as she was bidden, leaning on Aziraphale’s shoulders for balance as her other leg was divested of its stocking and decorated with angel kisses. She laughed as she helped Aziraphale back to her feet.

“What now?” Crowley asked between her giggles. “There’s barely room to move!”

“Yes, there is,” Aziraphale said pointedly, and there was.

Crowley was far too happy to act disapproving, she laughed again and enjoyed the feeling of it.

There, in front of the fire that kept them perfectly warm, with a ewer that never ran dry, and a tub that fit both their bodies comfortably, Crowley and Aziraphale washed and bathed each other far more thoroughly than had ever been necessary. They explored the peaks and valleys of each other with curious fingers and hungry mouths, neither of which could be sated, each new stretch of skin a delicacy to be enjoyed to the fullest.

Crowley hadn’t known that it was possible to love and be loved like this. She gorged herself on it, stuffing herself like a bear preparing for winter. And surely, it was a winter that loomed ahead. An unknowable stretch of cold nights and empty hearts, never sure if this glorious summer might return. Even as she feasted, she grieved for the loss to come. Every exchange of love between two names they didn’t wear comfortably stabbed Crowley through the ribs. The pain was worth the pleasure, she would die a thousand deaths if only to keep the memory of this night. As she wrapped Aziraphale in a dry sheet and rubbed her down, Crowley knew that she could suffer eternal agonies and never let go of this one bright feeling.

Aziraphale drew her into the sheet, wrapping around them both like a hug.

“Stay with me tonight, please,” Aziraphale asked, uncertainty around her eyes.

Crowley kissed her, amazed that Aziraphale could have any doubt of her answer.

“Of course, my dove. Of course.”

They sat together on the couch, Crowley braiding her hair for the night before turning to redo Aziraphale’s braid.

“We really should be rag-curling this, you know,” Crowley warned. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to miracle your hair too much.”

“It’ll be fine.” Aziraphale shook her head a little impatiently.

Crowley stood to tidy the room, or at least pick up their discarded clothes and gather her hairpins from where Aziraphale had dropped them. Aziraphale whined and pouted, every inch the pampered noblewoman being denied a small pleasure. Crowley smiled, feeling none of the irritation that anyone else would have raised in her.

“You could always tidy your own chambers, you know.”

Aziraphale’s responding laugh was cut short by a sharp look from Crowley; a reminder that Aziraphale was choosing to live a life far beyond the reach of most humans. The wordless chastisement seemed to hit home and she began to help. In truth, it made Crowley’s workload increase as she had to instruct Aziraphale on what to do with every item she touched, but she was trying and that meant a great deal to Crowley. Aziraphale also appeared incapable of carrying more than one object at once, carrying the comb back to her dressing table and then crossing the room again to retrieve a discarded hair ribbon, once more for her perfume. It was endearing, just how utterly useless she was. Crowley wondered at how she had survived this long and resolved to start paying a bit more attention to her movements in future. The winds of change had begun to lift, in a few generations the landscape would be radically different and Crowley knew that Aziraphale rarely noticed the century, let alone the decade.

“All right, mon ange, we’re done. Thank you for helping.” Crowley took Aziraphale’s hands and brought them to her lips.

Aziraphale giggled prettily and looked away.

“We both know that I wasn’t any help, dearest.” Aziraphale was at least realistic about her contributions.

“You tried, and that is the most important part.” Crowley dropped her hands and pulled back the blankets on the bed.

Aziraphale climbed on and tucked her feet under the blankets, otherwise sitting and watching Crowley move around the room and snuff the candles. It was later than Crowley usually liked to sleep but they still had many hours before anyone would notice their absence. Crowley spending the night in her mistress’s chambers wouldn’t be remarked upon even if anyone did find out about it. Once it was fully dark in the room, Crowley approached the bed and climbed into the vacant side.

“I’ll be more help in the future,” Aziraphale continued, sounding resolute.

“And I’m sure that Catherine will be very pleased for it.”

Crowley snuggled up to Aziraphale, finding that her body fit alongside her naturally. She found the side of Aziraphale’s face and nuzzled it with the tip of her nose, hoping for at least a kiss before sleep took them.

“Oh yes, Catherine. Of course.” Aziraphale’s voice was stiff with something that Crowley didn’t recognise.

“You know that I would like nothing more than to stay with you. Just as you know that I can’t. Ophelia and Antoinette have tonight, but that is all they can have. I’ll look to leave Versailles by the end of the week so I’m not in the way.” Crowley brought her hand up from under the covers and urged Aziraphale to face her. “I won’t be far away, not if you really need me. You know that, don’t you?”

Aziraphale nodded and Crowley kissed her sweetly, tasting the salt of silent tears on her lips. Suddenly, Aziraphale surged over Crowley and pinned her to the bed, her hands grabbed at Crowley’s wrists and held them firm as Aziraphale tried to pour the depth of her love into a kiss. Crowley took it all, drank it in and returned it in kind.

“If tonight is all we have, I need to even the score,” Aziraphale said, somewhat cryptically.

Crowley began to protest, she could think of no inequality, no injustice, no imbalance between them. Aziraphale silenced her with a kiss, her tongue begging entry and finding Crowley’s eager response. A smooth, firm thigh pushed Crowley’s knees apart and pushed upwards, resting against Crowley’s vulva.

The split second of realisation did not go unnoticed, Aziraphale smiled against Crowley’s lips and moved her kisses along to Crowley’s jaw.

“Let me make you feel good, darling. Show me what you like.”

Crowley whimpered, alarmed by how quickly her body responded to Aziraphale’s suggestion. Heat and wetness surged to ready her, automatic responses to a need she had tried to dismiss. Crowley broke one wrist free of Aziraphale’s grasp and wrapped her arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“Lay beside me, love, and give me your hand.” Even to herself, Crowley’s voice sounded strained.

Feeling as though she was leading Aziraphale into sin, Crowley guided Aziraphale’s hand down to her vulva, using strange fingers to stroke the skin at the tops of her thighs and tease the slit of her lips. Crowley used Aziraphale’s fingers to find the hard peak of her clitoris, moaning at the contact and grinding down into it.

“Here? Like this?” Aziraphale circled her fingers around Crowley’s clitoris, rubbing fire into her.

“Ah, yessss. That,” Crowley hissed, burying her face in Aziraphale’s neck.

Aziraphale held her, letting her relax into the sensation of being pleasured and taken care of.

“Is this how you do it when you’re alone, love? Is this how you touch yourself?”

Crowley was going to discorporate on the spot, these things shouldn’t be coming out of Aziraphale’s mouth. She turned to find her lips, to silence her and stop these thoughts from being given voice. Aziraphale evaded her and held her head away.

“Do you think of me when you do this? Hush, now. Don’t fuss so, darling. Tell me, though, is this how you did it when you used my bed this morning?”

Crowley started, jerking away, but Aziraphale held her fast with a grip that was stronger than Aziraphale should have been capable of. Crowley whined, losing the capacity for speech in her embarrassment.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re so pretty when you’re trying to hide. Did you think I wouldn’t know? You are too obvious, my love.” Aziraphale kept up her stream of gentle teasing as she rubbed Crowley’s aching clitoris with firm, steady fingers.

A building pressure low in Crowley’s belly made itself known. She cried wordlessly into Aziraphale’s neck and raised her hips, rocking into Aziraphale’s hand. She gripped Aziraphale’s wrist and tried to push her hand down, tried to get something that Aziraphale didn’t understand.

“Tell me, tell me what you need,” Aziraphale whispered, urgent and concerned.

“Ah, please. Inside. Need your fingers inside,” Crowley gasped, rolling her hips again.

With a grin, Aziraphale complied and slipped two fingers into Crowley’s heated entrance. Crowley keened and arched her back at the fullness, the bone-deep rightness of the feeling of having Aziraphale pinning and pleasuring her. Crowley didn’t know how Aziraphale knew how to touch her, but she surely did. In a moment of sheer divinity, Aziraphale curled her fingers and ground her palm against Crowley’s clitoris, her fingers pressing on that spot inside Crowley that made her see stars.

“That’s it, let go and come for me. Show me how good you are.”

Crowley lunged for Aziraphale’s mouth, desperate to have her in as many ways as possible. This time, Aziraphale allowed it, gave Crowley the kiss that she craved and welcomed her tongue. Crowley shuddered and stiffened, a fine film of sweat coating her skin as she cried out. She clung to Aziraphale, her hips twitching into the hand that was drawing out her exquisite pleasure.

“Ah, ah, ah. Don’t stop. That’s it.” Crowley panted out.

Aziraphale pressed kisses to Crowley’s brow, easing her to the crest of a ground-shaking orgasm.

“Good girl, good girl. Let go. Give it to me, darling.” Aziraphale murmured into Crowley’s hair.

An almighty wave of pleasure crashed over Crowley, gripping her entire body. Her toes curled and her back strained, both trying to get away from and closer to the hand that tormented her. She collapsed into Aziraphale’s arms, completely spent and wrung out. Aziraphale pulled her hand from between Crowley’s thighs and held her tight, rocking her through the aftershocks of her climax.

“Hush, my darling. I have you.” Crowley barely heard Aziraphale’s gentle soothing.

She felt safe, held, loved, surrounded by Aziraphale, she never wanted to leave the moment that they were sharing.

“I think we’re even now,” Crowley joked, her face buried against Aziraphale’s chest.

“Ha, perhaps.” Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s hair as they spoke. “How are you? Do you need anything?”

Crowley mumbled and pulled Aziraphale closer, shaking her head and snuggling into the bed.

“Just sleep.”

Held in Aziraphale’s arms, Crowley began to drift off into a restful sleep, content that she was in the one place that she’d always dreamed of being. In the morning, she would work out her next move and find a way to say goodbye once more. That was a problem for tomorrow; for now, she could just enjoy Aziraphale’s embrace and let herself feel loved.