The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 4 Part 1

Chapter 4: The Pangs of Despised Love

Under the circumstances, Crowley thought it best to shovel his friend into the back of the Bentley rather than have him up front. Neither was roomy, but at least his angel could change positions and wouldn't feel as if his knees were pinned around his ears.

Once he was settled, the angel surprised him by joking through gritted teeth," I suppose we could have avoided all of this with a snap."

Crowley leaned against the door frame and smirked. "Yeah, but we would have dunnit already, now, wouldn't we?"

Aziraphale's breath came hard as he tried to grin back," Wh-why didn't we, Crowley?"

"Wanted to see this thing thru, I guess."

Again, the struggling smile as the angel tried to adjust. "Ob-servation."

"Observation."

But as Crowley pulled away from the curve, taking more care than he'd ever bothered with before, he meditated on the question, which led to others.

Like, why hadn't the angel tried the demon's approach? Cause, it was temporary relief at best. It didn't work for the demon in the end either: blasted eyes still big as saucers, raging hard-on (that for the mere sake of the angel's plight he was trying to ignore).

So, no, angel, the glasses stay on.

Maybe the angel never touched himself that way, which even for Aziraphale didn't seem plausible. How much experience did his friend have with physical arousal to begin with? I mean, with all the temptations he'd taken on for Crowley, and a playtime of six thousand years, surely something had been learned.

Crowley turned a corner and the angel moaned. Yeah, but that was work-related, right?

So, gave him time to practice? And what did he learn?

Hmm, well, maybe what he had learned was that it did nothing for him. And if that was the case, why would he continue the act of masturbation? Or what followed?

The opposite of Crowley's experience. Crowley had done many, many, things for their recreational value. He'd go back and revisit them from time to time. But when you've been around for six thousand years, well, there's nothing new under the sun, it there? Everything wanes after a bit. Leaves you feeling hollow.

Aziraphale did NOTHING that would leave him feeling hollow.

Possibly he wanted to get filled—

Blast it all. He's letting it happen, or it's happening on its own, or God knows what. Because it's me this time. Only me, for so much time. Yes, oh yes. And we're both in the same boat, and we're the only maties, and damn it, none of the crew knows how to steer.

Such an unknown quantity, this thing between them. It was much weightier than he anticipated. And this episode had to be dealt with first, with a delicate hand. All the chatty-chat about what it might mean could come later.

When they arrived, it was a little after tea-time. The angel was falling into himself, deep into his inner turmoil. So, Crowley attempted to keep him talking. Not the Big Talk, but something that had nagged him. "Is it hard to speak?"

The angel grunted, but shook his head. "I can try. But please, get me into my shop."

Crowley threw his friend's arm over his shoulder and placed his own behind his back. The angel nearly gave him all his weight, and struggled to gather his feet underneath him.