The thing is, Falling doesn’t actually change who you are as a person - er, angel - er, being. Theoretically, Falling is supposed to be the result of a change you’ve already undergone. The Fall itself is just a fairly dramatic retrenchment – your metaphysical status changes, but your personality doesn’t.
However, between the shock of being fired and the rush of mingled ethereal and occult energies as your access to Heavenly power leaves you and is replaced by an upswell of demonic power, well – the immediate aftermath tends to leave a newly-made demon a tad bit unsteady. It’s a time of heightened emotions and extremely poor impulse control. A good deal of the aesthetic differences between angels and demons are essentially down to the occult equivalent of flying to Vegas, taking a lot of drugs and waking up with interesting new tattoos.
When - of all things - Aziraphale’s switch got flipped by a complicated bureaucratic stuff-up (related to the new millennium database upgrades in some way nobody entirely understood), he wasn't expecting it at all, and it was rather like downing a glass of water only to discover that it had been double-strength vodka all along. He did, of course, briefly consider storming the bastions of Heaven to demand answers, as well as the more rational ‘curling up in a ball and adjusting’ response. In the end, though, he was always going to do exactly what he did.
He showed up at Crowley’s door with a bottle of wine and said, “Right. Do you remember that time in Rome?”
Crowley had near perfect recall of That Time In Rome. That Time In Rome had been the time they got drunk enough to get too close, to share a breath, to suddenly look up and see in each others’ eyes a certain wanting - and to hurriedly spring apart, sober up, straighten out their robes, and agree that it was much too dangerous for an angel and a demon to even think about anything of that sort.
Crowley also had a pretty good memory for every other time in History their hands had barely touched, their eyes had lingered, the banked coals of their mutual attraction had leapt into a blaze only to be covered over again.
Crowley took a bit of a metaphysical gander at Aziraphale’s aura, opened and closed his mouth a couple times, then put his many, many questions aside for later and reached out.
They didn’t even open the wine.
It was barely ten minutes into the SNAFU when Gabriel realised the whole thing had gone FUBAR.
"What do you mean I don't have the proper authorization?" He shouted at a cringing flunky with a clipboard who was attempting (clearly against her better instincts) to show it to him. "I am the archangel motherfucking Gabriel! I am the proper authorization!"
"It's just, I mean, do you remember that one time Aziraphale sent in forms in triplicate every hour on the hour for six weeks asking for permission to continue not discorporating of the Plague?" The Filing and Rubber Stamp Assistant Manager's Assistant tried desperately. "And then you said he could go… Do something extremely corporeal with himself… And that Endymiel, you remember my manager, Endymiel? Should do whatever it took to make the problem Go Away?"
"Sure, Baroquiel, that sounds like something I would've said," said Gabriel to the entry-level angel, whose name was actually Berylliel. "What of it?"
Filing and Rubber Stamp Assistant Manager's Assistant Berylliel gulped (metaphorically speaking, as she was currently 100% ethereal) and forged bravely ahead. "Well, it turned out that what it took was just giving Aziraphale carte blanche over all Earthly miracles below a level five?"
"I remember that, I had to send him a note about overdoing those," Gabriel said, folding his arms. "So?"
"Well," said Berylliel. "Well, the most efficient way to actually give him the carte blanche? Was… Was to just slot him in as the budget approvals officer for that division? So he could keep on approving himself? Nobody else was really using those anyway at the time?"
Gabriel was, oh no, actually tapping his foot. Berylliel winced. "I think you should know that there isn't actually a lower rank in my department that you can demote me to and anyway it wasn't my idea."
Of all the body parts to operate as a supernatural being inhabiting a physical simulacrum of humanity, Aziraphale was perhaps most fond of his mouth.
He'd used it for many things over the years, starting with the standard be-not-afraids and hosannas, and progressing through smiling, frowning, chatting, whistling, drinking and eating (themselves encompassing sipping, nibbling, gulping, slurping, swishing about the palate, worrying at bits caught in the teeth and so forth), fingernail-chewing, that little pouty thing that made Crowley do things for him nine times out of ten, and just once or twice sticking his tongue out and going 'nyer'.
The list of things he'd thought about doing with his mouth that involved putting it somewhere on Crowley was much more extensive, and had in and of itself led to quite a bit of fingernail-chewing and probably a reasonable proportion of the drinking.
So, well, given the opportunity…
He'd started with kissing, of course. Long, sensual, slightly clumsy kisses, increasingly wet as they both got their tongues involved. That was delightful, but it did rather make him think about other places he could put his tongue, and one thing led to another… Well. Now he had Crowley laid out on his back across his own ridiculous desk, trousers vanished, one leg bent up at an angle possibly only a part-time snake could accomplish and the other flung over Aziraphale's shoulder, hanging onto his hair for dear life and making absolutely lovely little ah-ah-ah noises as Aziraphale feasted ravenously on his sultry pink - er, venerable monosyllable.
He'd dreamed of Crowley in every way he knew how to, but this act had certainly been a recurring star in his fantasies, and it was very much living up to them. The trembling thigh beside his ear, the adorable little red hairs brushing his cheeks, the hard little nub to gently close his teeth around and lave with his tongue until Crowley called his name like an epiphany, the giving flesh around the hole and the viscous, aromatic liquid seeping from it, coating his face in Crowley's essence - it was sublime, it was better than heaven, this he would happily repeat until that nonsense bird managed to dig a planetary-scale replica of Crowley's intimate geography out of that mountain.
When he put his thumbs in to hold Crowley open so his tongue could reach deeper inside, the keening noise that Crowley made was simply indescribably arousing. Aziraphale realised with a start that he hadn't anything to be aroused with - he'd been in such a hurry to get his mouth on Crowley that he hadn't even made an effort. He rectified that in a jiffy, and immediately found his trousers soaked so badly he almost wished he hadn't. But oh, how lovely to feel Crowley's sex squeezing around his tongue and then his own body following in sympathy, even if he couldn't spare a hand to help it along just at the moment.
In any case, he was very busy having a jolly nice time down there and could not in any way be blamed for not noticing that Gabriel had just walked into the room carrying a stack of celestial paperwork and was now opening and closing his mouth like a very pompous salmon.
"Az- Aziraphale," Crowley gasped, in somewhat less orgasmic tones than previously, and Aziraphale lifted his head in concern.
"Do say if it's too much, dear," he began, willing to offer Crowley his choice of alternative activity from the rest of his long, long to-do(-to-Crowley) list.
"I'll say it's too much," said Gabriel from behind him. "I mean I knew you ate… sushi… but this?"
Aziraphale groaned and rested his forehead on Crowley's mons, drawing a yelp and a wriggle out of him (which was summarily noted for later).
"Gabriel," he sighed. "You are not one of my favourite people just at this moment. If you're here to gloat…"
"I'm here about the-"
"...Well, you can just fuck right off, there's a good chap."
"Don't be smart, Aziraphale," Gabriel sniffed. "Just sign here, please."
And he plonked a clipboard down on Crowley's knee.
"Do you mind?" Crowley said faintly.
Aziraphale rolled his eyes, scribbled on the document and dove back in.
"...Right," said Gabriel, wrinkling his nose. "I'm just gonna…"
And with a vague yet contemptuous hand gesture, he was gone.
"That was sort of odd-" Crowley began, but then Aziraphale tried holding him down with one hand on his belly, thumb just brushing his clit, as he thrust his tongue back inside, and well, that was very distracting.
"You've got to be kidding me," Gabriel said flatly.
Endymiel, more resolute than their underling, slid the form back across the table impassively. "His Grace was terminated without due process. You'd normally fill out an emergency 3√Dk1 if you weren't going to do a full PIP with monthly 6}∆ signatures from everyone involved. I can't reassign his ethereal splendour, his spare harp or his cubicle without registering that he's given them up."
They gave a little shrug, like the matter was entirely out of their hands.
Gabriel massaged his forehead (figuratively speaking, because you definitely couldn't get a headache in heaven). "Okay, let's action that. Does he need to sign this… 3√Dk1 form himself?"
"Unless he's appointed a proxy recently?" Endymiel asked. "I'd have to see the HH™✓4•π dockets myself…"
"Nevermind…" Gabriel groaned.
They'd progressed all the way through vaginal fingering, cocksucking, anal fingering and rimming (with a minor diversion between the first two when Crowley had insisted Aziraphale at least take his clothes off and, seeing how wet he was, insisted further that he rub himself off against Crowley's thigh while talking him through the rest of the List), and Aziraphale was now putting his seemingly inexhaustible manic just-fallen energy into giving Crowley's arse a right seeing-to. Crowley was bent over the desk, moaning, his cock trapped between his belly and the glass top in a way that he was finding surprisingly stimulating, and Aziraphale was hanging onto his hair with one hand and his shoulder with the other as he pounded his arse mercilessly.
It wasn't that Crowley had never fantasised about getting this sort of treatment from his angel, it was just that he'd rather imagined he'd have to do some sweet talking first, as opposed to screaming "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me" while coming his brains out with Aziraphale's tongue up his arse and having his lover simply pant "all right, then," grow a cock on the spot and get to it. But then, his lover wasn't an angel anymore.
Aziraphale had already come inside him once, so each long, irresistible thrust produced a lovely slutty squelching sensation that reminded him of getting his cunt fucked when it was absolutely sopping - very much on the list - and his own cockhead was sliding through so much precome on the glass desktop that he'd had to adapt his Effort slightly to prevent his balls from slapping too hard against the edge. He remembered spending his own post-Fall high (ha) mostly searching out hidey-holes to avoid the worst excesses of a whole rebel army's collective trauma melting the place down as the other new demons tried to one-up each other in proving they were completely fine and didn't need no stinking Heaven anyway and look, Satan, no hands. This was much better. He was actually quite retrospectively impressed with Aziraphale's former powers of repression if this was the raging desire he'd been fighting all along.
Aziraphale, meanwhile, was nowhere near done with the oral segment of his to-do list, but Crowley had begged so prettily and it wasn't like he couldn't get back to it later. In any case, intercourse was turning out to be very much worth the effort. Crowley's wonderful sex noises had gained a rhythmic, guttural note, like every thrust was reverberating right through his body and shooting out his throat. And the sensation of him squeezing around Aziraphale's member, as though trying to return the come-slick channel to its initial, exquisite tightness - it was enough to have Aziraphale idly daydreaming about making an even bigger effort. Yes, maybe next time, gradually increasing its girth until he stretched Crowley to his body's limit, until he was so full as to be unable to clench down without changing his own musculature - and Aziraphale could make sure he was much too distracted for that…
Gabriel cleared his throat.
"You've - got to be - kidding me," moaned Crowley.
"I really did think you might be done with all this…" Gabriel wrinkled his nose and gestured vaguely in their direction. "This by now. I mean, I understand trying to synergize with your new… colleagues, but you're really pushing the envelope here. Anyway, Aziraphale, just a little more housekeeping…"
Aziraphale sighed. "You know, I thought one of the benefits to Falling might be not having to deal with…" he released Crowley's hair to mimic Gabriel's gesture back at him. "This anymore. Really? More paperwork?"
"I'm not any happier about this than you are, you little shit," said Gabriel blandly. "Now put your game face on and sign. Here."
Aziraphale rolled his eyes but held out a hand for the clipboard.
"You'll need to initial clauses 2, 5 and 13 through ∆," said Gabriel, flourishing it at him.
"Ahem," said Crowley, tapping his fingers on the desk.
"Yes dear, just one second," said Aziraphale, initialing clauses 2, 5 and 13 through ∆.
"No, no, by all means," said Crowley, pushing his hips back to try and impale himself on Aziraphale's length in a way that was somehow equally arousing and infuriating - sort of like those neon short-shorts he'd worn for a while in the 80s. "I'll just amuse myself, shall I?"
Well. Aziraphale certainly couldn't be having with that.
"Please excuse me," he said, handing back the clipboard. Then he nudged Crowley's legs a little wider, grabbed him by the hips and returned to the business of rogering him silly with renewed vigour.
"That's… more… like it," Crowley moaned.
"Right," said Gabriel. "I'll just… See myself out, then."
"Absolutely not," said Gabriel. "No, no, no, no, no. Nein. Nyet. Uh-uh."
The Metatron shrugged. "Annual report's always had full Principality sign-off. The optics won't be great if one drops off willy-nilly, will they?"
"I'll show you willy-nilly," muttered Gabriel under his breath.
"I'm sure somebody will, anyway," said the Metatron brightly, before vanishing.
"So much for demonic stamina," Aziraphale teased, watching Crowley flop around on the bed they'd finally staggered over to and whimper pitifully.
"Angel," Crowley moaned. "Oh, bollocks, I'm sorry. I - Aziraphale. I have now had… somewhere between eight and eleven orgasms, and you just sucked your own come out of my arse like something out of extremely niche porn. Give me… a fucking… moment here!"
Aziraphale tapped his foot, blushing a little at Crowley's filthy language. "Well, I suppose if you're not interested in the next item on the list…"
"Satan save me," Crowley mumbled. "What's the next item on the list?"
"Oh, well," said Aziraphale. "That is, I was rather hoping to switch back to an, er, innie over here…" He gestured vaguely at his crotch. "And, well, climb on top and ride you like a very forward cowgirl?"
Crowley said "ngk" as his penis, which had been taking a well-deserved break flopping against his belly, made a shockingly rapid comeback. Aziraphale smiled at it fondly.
Crowley snapped his fingers, caught the bottle of ice cold water that had appeared in thin air, downed the lot in one gulp (throat working remarkably) and then slammed the empty bottle into the void.
"Oh, good," said Aziraphale, concentrating on his nether regions. He thought he might as well arrange a vaginal canal with its elastic capacity and sensitive spots perfectly suited to the johnson that Crowley was currently sporting and save them both a bit of effort (so to speak).
Crowley held up a finger in the classic "just one second" gesture. Then, with the other hand, he snapped his fingers again, caught the resulting bottle (this time some sort of modern "energy drink" promising to replenish his electrolytes), drained the whole thing and banished it again.
Crowley wiped his mouth and converted the "just a second" gesture into a "carry on then" gesture.
"Ah," said Aziraphale. "Right, then."
He crawled up over his lover (goodness! to have a lover! To have Crowley!) and wasted no time positioning himself. Grasping Crowley's member in one greedy hand, leaning back against his whipcord thigh with the other, Aziraphale gave himself a few seconds to tease at his sex with the soft, plump head as Crowley moaned quietly, one slick slide all the way up to his clitoris and down again to slot tightly against his entrance. Then he pushed down slowly and felt it pop inside.
"Oh!" The sensation took a little adjusting to, but at the same time he immediately wanted more, deeper - and there was nothing stopping him now from having absolutely anything he wanted.
"Oh, fuck," groaned Crowley as Aziraphale began to rise and fall rhythmically over him, squeezing him tight and making breathy little sounds as he took what he wanted from Crowley, again, again, again-
"I do not want to know what corporeal filth you are currently engaging in, Aziraphale," announced Gabriel, who was suddenly standing right next to the bed with one hand clamped firmly over his eyes. The other was waving some sort of booklet in Aziraphale's face. "Please sign this and make it quick, you do not have to read it, I am having a day."
Aziraphale pouted. He also did not stop what he was doing. Crowley, meanwhile, started to giggle.
"I'm a little busy here, Gabriel," Aziraphale panted. "I don't see - why I should dance to Heaven's tune - metaphorically speaking, of course - if Heaven has - cast me out."
Crowley was still laughing a little hysterically, one arm over his eyes, hips rocking into Aziraphale's movements.
Gabriel made a face rather like a chinchilla that's accidentally stuck its head in a paint-bucket. “Do not make this difficult for me, Aziraphale.”
“Or what?” Aziraphale demanded. “I’ve already Fallen. Your - difficulties - are no longer my problem.”
“We’ll see about that,” Gabriel said grimly, and vanished.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley wheezed. “I fucking love you.”
Aziraphale went still as they both processed that. “Well, I…” he said after a few moments. “I love you too, sweetheart.”
He lifted Crowley’s hand to his face and kissed his fingers, then pulled it down to the place where their bodies joined. “Now, ah, if you would…”
“Your wish is my command,” Crowley said with a grin.
Michael turned a corner and almost ran directly into Gabriel, who was looking a trifle… less kempt than usual. They raised an eyebrow at him inquisitively.
“Michael,” Gabriel said pleasantly. “I need to pick your brain, metaphorically speaking of course, ha-ha. Who exactly got all the Fallen to sign the exit paperwork after the Rebellion?”
Michael frowned. “Exit paperwork?”
Gabriel’s smile achieved unheard-of standards of fixedness. “Budget approvals transfer? PIP? Emergency 3√Dk1?”
“Ah,” said Michael. “Gabriel, you may have been a little… too busy to notice this, but we didn’t actually implement any of those procedures until well after the Rebellion. In fact, part of the reason Metatron was gunning for increased paper trails that whole time was to try to think outside the square and help avoid any more of that sort of thing.”
Gabriel stared at them, unblinking, for a long moment. Then he said “Yes. We should definitely… avoid this sort of thing.”
Aziraphale's angelic status was reinstated without fanfare while he was fourteen solid inches down Crowley's throat. Crowley had seized upon his second wind with abandon and was moaning wantonly and using both hands to touch himself as Aziraphale held onto his hair and thrust into his mouth over and over - until he stopped.
"Oh… oh dear," he said faintly.
Crowley opened his eyes and tried to convey both a general concern for Aziraphale's well-being and a specific desperation for Aziraphale's cock using only his eyebrows. It was semi-effective.
"My dear, I'm afraid I may have been rather hasty," said Aziraphale, pulling out. Crowley made a little whining noise in the back of his throat.
"Crowley!" Aziraphale said sharply. He did something complicated with his hand, sort of like gesturing up and down your body but with a 5th-dimensional twist to indicate your supernatural true form.
"Yes, y- oh," said Crowley. "That's… well. That's happened, then."
Aziraphale nodded tightly.
Crowley got up off his knees and leaned against the wall beside Aziraphale, exuding a remarkable impression of having his hands in his pockets for someone who very much wasn't wearing any clothes. Both of them contemplated the situation in silence for a while.
Eventually, Crowley said "But they… They can't punish you for anything you did while you were. You know. On sabbatical. Right?"
"Probably not," Aziraphale said gloomily.
"Right," said Crowley. "So we just… Uh… Forget this ever happened?"
Aziraphale pouted a little, but re-manifested his suit. "I suppose we must."
He looked up, biting his lip. "I hope you know, my dear boy…"
Crowley flapped a hand at him, stubbornly failing to be any less naked. "Yes, yes, me too…" he sighed a little wistfully, "...angel."
A few years later, Crowley got handed an ominous basket in a cemetery. But that's another story.
2 He had to be in a certain mood for CBT and honestly, what was the point of being a shapeshifting demon who didn't reproduce anyway if you couldn't have your testicles on the inside when you'd like to.[return to text]
3 It wound up back inside a vending machine with the full ones, just to baffle and aggravate people, because that sort of thing made his occult power expense reports simpler. He did send it to the machine right outside the prime minister's office, though, because he wasn't a complete bastard.[return to text]
4 Crowley had kept on insisting on Aziraphale growing more inches. The ability to unhinge your jaw had to be good for something besides hastily hiding the evidence when Hastur caught you knitting a tiny, adorable, snake-themed baby jumper for your neighbour.[return to text]