Between Heaven

By Lisa

It was a nice day.

A nice Sunday (in fact), the first day of spring, flowers blooming, and squirrels making lots of other rotten little squirrels. It was such a nice day, in fact, Aziraphale decided to take a walk to the lovely St. James' park down the street.

Feeding the ducks is a time-honored tradition. Anyone could take a stroll down to your local pond and see a middle-aged man wrapped up in a trench coat and scarf holding a tiny plastic bag full of bread crumbs in front of many little ducks who seem to be starved to death, even though that little girl down the street already came by not so long ago with her daily bag of bread.

Aziraphale likes feeding the ducks. He knows that almost every known person in Soho feeds these ducks on a normal basis, but he cant pull his self away from their cute little beaks and pearl white feathers that are so much like his own wings. What if everyone all of a sudden just stopped feeding them? Then one day a daddy duck would be sitting alone and say sadly to his baby ducks, 'That one with the white-blond hair will come and fed us, don’t worry' and then they all starved, and there was nothing but dead ducks lying about? He wasn’t going to be the one who knew he killed all the ducks.

He loved animals.

Even snakes.

His favorite snake was named Anthony Crowley.

Well, he wasn’t exactly a snake, not anymore. When they had first met some thousands of years ago, he was. Aziraphale had been walking along The Garden until he saw that snake, the one he heard of from Him. He had heard that the snake had convinced dear Eve to eat an apple and now all hope was lost. Ever since then they had many interests in common. Crowley was now a demon that lived in upper London and drove a very nice car.

"Honestly, tell me how many times a day you are here," said a familiar voice.

"Just once, I thought they would be hungry."

"You always think they are hungry. They’re going to be too fat to fit in this pond when you’re through with them," Crowley said while reaching for Aziraphale’s bag of breadcrumbs.

"“I went to the bookstore,” Crowley said conversationally. “You were supposed to be there. We were going to have tea, remember?"

"You were also supposed to be there by noon, it is now," Aziraphale flicked his wrist to see his watch and announced, “It is now one fifteen,”

"Sorry mate, the ole Bentley was smoking again," he said, throwing an ugly, brown duck a breadcrumb.

"Sure, sure."

"So, how does that tea sound?"

**

The Singing Dragon was an odd name for a little cafe on the outskirts of London, but it didn’t stop them from serving excellent tea, lattes and apple turnovers. It was also quiet enjoyable to listen to a 40-year-old man pick on his three-stringed guitar, and sing “Behind Blue Eyes”. Kind of. Sitting quietly was something Aziraphale and Crowley never did. They were always talking up a storm about random topics, each with their own hot cup of tea with the little teabag string hanging over the rim. Aziraphale had barely touched his and Crowley looked partially bored. He took off his sunglasses.

"Ok, this silence is driving me mad. What is with you anyhow?" The words busted out of Crowley’s mouth like he hadn’t spoken in years.

"Uh?" Aziraphale muttered while staring at his cup of tea, as if it were doing a fascinating trick.

"You," he said. "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing just thinking."

"Oh... really," Crowley said. "Whatever about my dear?"

“Nothing interesting, I just go off into deep thought every once in awhile," he said, circling the top of his cup with his finger.

"Yeah? I've noticed you've been doing that a lot lately, is there anything on your mind? Someone buy too many books today?"

He smiled with a shy grin and tried to look underneath Aziraphale’s fallen hair that had covered his eyes.

Aziraphale didn’t speak.

"Okay, you’re pissing me off now. Would you like me to tell you why I'm pissed off?" he said with a dark tone.

"Crowl..."

"One, we’re supposed to be these great friends, and yet you won't tell me what's brothering you."

"No, liste..."

"Two: I'm curious as to why your acting this way, and you have been for a long time. I'm beginning to believe you just don't want me around anymore."

"No, that's not..."

Crowley’s face was red as fire, and Aziraphale was red also, not from anger as one might think but from blushing. The things that were going through his mind were punishable by law in many countries. He wondered if he was in one of those countries.

Then suddenly he didn't care anymore, he didn't feel any fear. He just let everything go. He didn't have a thought in his pure-as-the-driven-snow brain, and then he kissed A. Crowley.

It was a small kiss nothing too big about it. However, this was not like one of those kisses you would have given your grandmother when she gave you five dollars for no reason. This was hot, wet and on his nicely shaped pale lips. Until that familiar feeling of unbearable fear came rushing back in a hurry, and he covered his head with his arms and started shouting.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He screamed, over and over until it became irrelevant.

"Dear God in Heaven," Crowley muttered. Staring off blankly, he looked thoroughly shocked.

If things couldn’t get anymore stranger, an older man walked up to their table, smiled and said, "Yes?"

"Oh, Just a figure of speech. Sorry."

"No problem. Hey Aziraphale." He patted him on the back and walked away humming.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

"I'm not mad," Crowley said calmly, grabbing his arm.

"I'm sorry...What? You're not mad?" Aziraphale sputtered out in shock as he quickly raised his head.

Anger was far from any emotion Anthony Crowley was feeling at that moment.

***

The back seat of Crowley's Bentley was surprisingly big for two grown men to fit in comfortably. He was surprised that he had not known this sooner. The reason for this could be he had never had another guy in his back seat doing unspeakable things.

"Oh... My. Crowley."

After many, many, many years of dreaming about this moment, doing the worst thing he could ever do, seemed so right and felt like the best thing in the world. His fingernails dung into his partner’s back who was currently sitting on his lap. He just knew he would be leaving tiny half moons all over Crowley’s back. He would surely have to take a pen and write his name down next to each one, in other terms marking his terrority.

Crowley was surely enjoying himself as he pulled and curled his fingers in Aziraphale’s beautiful blond locks each time he sucked on the angel’s neck. He was straddling Aziraphale’s hips and they pressed together roughly as he rocked back and forth.

"Do you want me angel?" the demon hissed as his serpent tongue ran up the side of Aziraphale’s neck.

"Take me Crowley, make me yours," he moaned, burying his face against Crowley’s smooth chest.

Now as humans, when we have intercourse with someone whom we love, we like to call it “making love” because it sounds pretty. On the other hand,* when demons would have sex, they would likely call it “fucking” because there are no kind of emotions attached. Angels, well…they simply aren’t supposed to be doing anything of the sort.

What I am getting at, of course, would be the word summed up in one word.

Lust.

Powerful lust. Feeling, neediness, possibly some kind of “love”, as Crowley pushed Aziraphale down on seat, his arms wrapped around the angel’s chest tightly and the angel was thinking of two things as they sat in that old car. One would be the obvious and the other would be... love. He loved Crowley now more than ever. He kissed him more passionately than he had ever done with anything before. He pushed and pulled on Crowley’s hips, pushing because it felt so good but pulling back because he needed more.

*A hand that is filled with ideas of demons and angels shagging like hopeless rabbits.