Ineffable (Crowley x female OC)

In which Jenna Meets a Demon

Crowley reclined in his first class seat, yawned loudly and gazed lazily out of the small window at the pink and white clouds drifting dreamily past the plane. As a rule, he detested flying, as it meant no smoking, excessive drinking or gratuitous frivolity (three of his favorite pastimes), although it did allow him to spread general malcontent and frustration in a conveniently airtight container during the course of a few hours.

With a smirk on his angular face, he thought back to how tempting just one child to prod his sleeping baby sister led to such a catastrophic series of events that he could still hear the flight attendants grumbling about it in the back.

Crowley sighed. This felt good. Freedom to be as mischievous and brilliant as he wanted without having Hell breathing down his neck, peer pressuring him to be evil instead of merely irksome.

He closed his eyes, safely hidden behind his thick black sunglasses, and reviewed his last conversation with Aziraphale. The memory was quite fuzzy, as the demon had been quite drunk at the time, but he vaguely recalled the angel mentioning a new friend to whom he wanted to introduce Crowley. They were from the United States, one of the stereotypical ones (was it New York? God, he loved Central Park) and didn't drink, which meant the evening was sure to be dull. During the call, Crowley had been so astounded that there was still a human alive that didn't genuinely enjoy drinking that he just sat in the bar dumbfounded as Aziraphale babbled on about something or other.

Crowley groaned, crossed his arms and leaned his aching head against the side of the plane. He would much rather go straight home, collapse onto his large, soft bed and try to shut down his brain instead of meeting the angel's new friend, but Aziraphale had sounded so excited over the phone that the demon couldn't possibly cancel on him. He'd just suffer through a few hours of mind-numbing chitchat before retiring to his apartment, gloriously alone except for his plants. Which, he thought angrily, had better look as good or greener than before I left!

~

It was exactly 5pm when Crowley reached Aziraphale's bookshop, parking his Bentley in front of the entrance. He sighed heavily, adjusted his sunglasses and opened the door, ready for an evening of incredibly subdued and academic "fun" with two bookworms, one of whom detested alcohol. Crowley scowled as he remembered this fact about the unknown person. What kind of freak hates alcohol in this day and age? How do they loosen up and enjoy themselves?

As he pondered this, Crowley pushed the bookshop door open and breathed in the familiar scent of leather bound originals, cocoa and dust, all of which to him signified Aziraphale. Smiling despite his headache and exhaustion, he took another deep inhale and savored the familiar feeling of the angel's presence: peace, love, gentleness, with a hint of his own demonic mischief mixed in there after 6,000 years of friendship.

"Angel?" Crowley drawled, sauntering toward the back room. "I'm here, are you in back?"

"Yes! Come join us!" said the angel's voice excitedly, muffled by the door. Crowley grinned and shook his head at his friend's enthusiasm and opened the wooden door leading to Aziraphale's kitchen.

"Crowley! How good to see you again!" exclaimed a beaming Aziraphale, getting up from the table to hug him. Crowley grinned warmly at the embrace, then turned his attention to the other person in the room.

Instantly, time froze for Crowley. His headache vanished, as did his ability to feel any part of his body save his heart pounding loudly against his ribs. There, sitting at Aziraphale's dinghy wooden table, next to his disorganized spice rack and old sewing kit, was her. She. The one person who made him feel like melted jelly on asphalt when she smiled, lucky just to be able to hear her speak, to know God created someone as wonderful as her.

That woman was currently sitting in front of him, in his best friend's kitchen, of all places. Crowley stared in shock, horror and wonder at her long, luscious brown locks cascading like a rippling river down her shoulders. Her deep, oceanic eyes were looking directly into his poisonous yellow one (thankfully hidden by thick black frames) and her full pink lips were actually smiling at him.

Oh, her glorious smile! It lit up her gentle features and creamy skin like a sunrise. Crowley's knees wobbled slightly and he had to grip the counter for support. As he did so, she stood up and took his breath away. She wore a lovely dark blue sleeveless dress that hugged her curves and highlighted her long, shapely tan legs. Her adorable feet were clad in fetching red heels that matched the simple ruby necklace around her regal neck, the brilliant jewel resting just above her breasts.

Crowley screwed his eyes shut and grimaced.

Why, oh why in Heaven, Hell and Manchester's names was he being tortured like this?

Suddenly, time unfroze and he could feel and hear once again. His body ached and throbbed painfully, as though he'd been beaten, and his headache returned full force. He could hardly stand, and the counter now supported his full weight.

"Crowley," said Aziraphale, unbeknownst to all of this and apparently unaware that time had temporarily halted for the demon, "may in present my dear friend Miss Jenna Kingsley of San Diego, California?"

Jenna smiled, revealing two rows of perfect white teeth, and extended her hand to Crowley, saying softly, "It's very nice to meet you."

That was the breaking point. Hearing her low, melodious voice actually address him caused Crowley's knees to give way and the throbbing in his head intensified tenfold.

"Crowley!" he heard the angel exclaim. "What's wrong?"

He couldn't answer. The pain was too great, he almost screamed in agony. All he could do was curl up on the floor and clutch his head like it was about to explode.

Involuntarily, he yelled loudly as the throbbing reached its peak. He felt nauseous; for the first time in 6,000 years, he was going to vomit. Why did it have to be in front of Jenna? Why not directly on Hastur after the bastard had tried to kill him yet again a few months ago? Or at least in the privacy of his own home. Could demons even vomit? Had he eaten anything today?

As what he assumed was bile rose in his throat, a soothing sensation began spreading from his left shoulder throughout the rest of his tortured body, gently removing his nausea and migraine. Crowley exhaled, not realizing until that point that he'd been holding his breath, and opened his eyes.

Thank G-, Somebody his glasses were still on, because Jenna was kneeling next to him and peering apprehensively into his face. He noticed her arm was lifted up, and jolted slightly when he saw her delicate hand resting on his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, rubbing his shoulder slightly with her slim fingers. Through layers of black cotton and leather, Crowley's skin burned under her touch, though not unpleasantly.

His eyes, shielded by his sunglasses, found her gorgeous blue/green ones again and stared, falling into their intricate beauty. He tried to answer her, but his mouth wouldn't move. He felt incredibly exhausted, and all he could do was think, You're even more beautiful up close, before passing out on the linoleum floor.