Additional Tags: Masters of Sex Fusion, Canon Divergence, 1960s, Genderfluid Crowley, Slow Burn, For Science!
At last I’m posting the story I’ve been working on for 2+ years - it’s a Christmas miracle! This is a complete story; chapters will be posted weekly.
Chapter 1: Brave New World
It begins, as these things often do, with a question.
Aziraphale knows, from both experience and observation, that questions are typically frowned upon in Heaven. They seem to be more interested in obedience, which they dress up as faith, but that’s just a fancy name, isn’t it? He tries not to dwell on these sorts of thoughts, but he finds them creeping in with increasing frequency, seeping through the cracks of his resolve.
Thoughts.
Questions.
Not doubts, per se, he is still steadfast on the Ineffable Plan, no matter what Heaven has to say on the matter.
But he’s curious.
What he’s most curious about lately is the nature of love.
:D An idea carried over from Instagram. I wanted to invite people to color a drawing of mine. So I drew some cute baking content. I’m curious what people will put in the window and in the picture frame.
Crowley tensed without meaning to and then was dismayed, feeling Asmodeus’ arm tighten around her.
With his free hand Asmodeus caught her by her chin, forcing her head up to meet his eyes.
“You can’t really lie to me, my darling, no matter how much you might try. I know you, you’re too loyal for that, aren’t you? You lie as a matter of course, for propriety’s sake, and I would expect no less from you. After all, we are demons. But I know you can’t lie to me.”
“Well, you know me. Propriety and all that,” Crowley chuckled weakly, feeling the words false upon her lips, and she kept her eyes on his brilliant green eyes, breathing evenly even as her heart thudded in her chest, hoping to keep her emotions off her face as he scrutinized her expressions.
“So what is it, my darling? Desperate for a snack? Worried about a child? Or is it…an angel.”
Cowley looked away.
“Why don’t you tell me something about your counterpart then?” Asmodeus’ breath was hot against her ear. “You must have picked up some useful information about him. It’s been a long time since you first met him, hasn’t it? I know he’s been skulking around you for centuries. It’s not anywhere near as long as we’ve known each other, but it must have been long enough for you to have learnt some things. Particularly since you seem cozy enough with him to seek him out.”
Trembling, Crowley gently tried to extricate herself from his arms, afraid that Asmodeus would notice as if he didn’t already notice.
“Tell me, Crowley. Tell me about Aziraphale.”
And at the name, a shock passed through Crowley and she felt as though she were about to jump out of her own skin. She had forgotten that Asmodeus knew Aziraphale’s name.
“The…the Representative. The opposition’s representative. Named Aziraphale. A Principality, formerly a Cherubim.”
“Yes, I know all of that already.”
“Angel of the Eastern Gate. Erm…” And Crowley paused. All the things that she could think of about Aziraphale seemed so trivial and far too personal. How Aziraphale loved food, especially fruit but over time as human cooking grew more and more complex, that had shifted toward sweets like honey cakes. That fond look of exasperation that he would give her sometimes when his patience was being tested. Aziraphale’s fussiness over his clothes, whether it was a feathery tufted kaunakes back in Mesopotamia or a shendyt kilt from Egypt or that very conservative but elegant blue-bordered chiton that he used to wear back in Athens. The comforting heat of his arms as he-
“Well, what else?”
“Uh, gullible. Yes, rather. Rather gullible. Far too honest for his own good. And responsible too. Very loyal to Heaven…”
“Darling, you aren’t telling me anything I don’t already know about angels.” Asmodeus smiled, though from experience Crowley knew that this was an empty expression, devoid of genuine emotion, a way of covering up the Prince of Hell’s impatience with the thinnest veneer of charm. “Tell me something specific about this one.”
“Erm…uh. I suppose. Well, let me think. Ah, I might have noticed that this one has a taste for sweets?” Crowley faltered, all the while thinking of how Aziraphale’s eyes sometimes changed colors depending on the light and the season and what he was wearing or what he was feeling, and sometimes that hue could be almost as golden as his own eyes when Aziraphale was in a particularly riotous mood, and often it was such a deep rich brown that it made Crowley a little weak at the knees and even more rare was when his eyes looked like the muddy blue-green-brown of the Earth as seen from far away in the rich velvet darkness of space, precious gems that shimmered in the evening light when the sky itself was tinted gently pink and lavender. “L-look, I don’t really know that much, all right? I don’t…don’t keep that close of an eye on, on the other side’s representative. I just…I don’t know, I don’t really pay that much attention to personal preferences and such, just working on my, my project as best I can given the circumstances…”
