You'll Never Get To Heaven (if you're scared of getting high)

When your lovers bring you down

Crowley was not enjoying the day as much as he had hoped. Yes, he had memories to cling to of the way Aziraphale had looked at him and what he had said outside the door, and the decidedly enthusiastic response to his kisses once inside, both of which still turned his stomach to molten silver if he let himself think about it. Yes, it was delightful to see Aziraphale openly display parts of his sunlit personality usually only revealed to Crowley and people attempting to buy books.

The problem was that no matter how kind and sympathetic Dagon pretended to be, they were still the Master of Torments, and apparently their current favourite target was Crowley. He wondered just how well Dagon actually knew him, to know how it would feel to stand by while Dagon bought Aziraphale everything his gaze fell on, and to have Aziraphale light up with joy in response.

Aziraphale could afford it all himself, too. But that, Crowley knew perfectly well, was not the point. There was something about Aziraphale that meant that the right and proper way of being was to lavish him with luxuries.

Dagon reappeared almost as soon as they had vanished, human corporation in place.

"Oh, you look charming," Aziraphale said with what Crowley felt was unnecessary warmth. He was mildly relieved that Dagon had picked a female-presenting body. It wasn't that he was worried, but—well, given it was Aziraphale, Crowley was a little happier that way, pleasant though Dagon's corporation was. They kept their ginger bobbed hair, styled more fashionably, and worse perfectly done conservative makeup that Crowley suspected showed Nell's lingering influences, the tell-tale scales barely showing underneath. The frilly dress with cascades of satin and velvet in a wreath collar was, he suspected, all Dagon, as were the shark leather bag and shoes.

"Still dressed, I see," Sandalphon said sharply.

Dagon opened their heavy-lidded eyes wide. "Disappointed? I know you're eager, but we should at least have lunch before you get to see me starkers. I mean, get to see Aziraphale. We're just here to chaperone, aren't we, serpent darling?" They hooked their arm through Crowley's arm and beamed at Sandalphon.

The angels were left a little behind due to Sandalphon struggling with Aziraphale's new treasures, and Crowley took the opportunity to snarl into Dagon's ear, "Stop spoiling my angel like that."

"Isn't part of the plan to make Sandy realise only a demon is reckless enough with luxury to keep a fussy angel satisfied?"

"Yeah, but the demon's supposed to be me, not you. Give me back my bloody powers and funds. I've seen the error of my ways, enough is enough."

"Don't mistake me for having compassionate motives. If you think I am at all interested in helping you get a leg over your angel, you are mistaken. I'm more interested in showing Sandy just how wonderful being spoiled by me could be."

Crowley tensed. "But what about Aziraphale? That's not fair on him."

"Fair? Is that really a word that should be in your vocabulary, scion of Hell?" Crowley bit his lip, and Dagon giggled. "Don't worry, snake, I think it's amusing how besotted you are with your fluffy little angel. But that doesn't mean you're getting off easy. After all, I find him quite enjoyable, too. Fair warning, if you lose me my angel, I'm taking yours."

"Frrnghh. That's—you can't," Crowley said, remembering the way Aziraphale had been looking at him lately, the touches and kisses. "Anyway, how is that fair?" he added, more injured. "I didn't take your blasted angel."

Dagon's smile grew warning. "Are you saying it's Aziraphale's fault? That he seduced Sandy away from me?"

Crowley started to panic, on general principles of no one being allowed to blame his sweet Aziraphale for anything. "No, no of course not."