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The days following Crawly and Aziraphale's experiment were the most relaxed the demon had felt in aeons. His mood harkened back to his time with guileless brown eyes, clean white robes and the glow of newborn stars reflecting off his iridescent wings. Back then he had no concerns other than vividly coloured clouds of gas and dust in the cosmos. With a decidedly undemonic spring in his step, Crawly had roamed the Garden, admiring the kaleidoscopic beauty he found in every nook and cranny. He marvelled at translucent butterfly wings and even replicated the look, before deciding it was a step too far for him to get away with Down Below (even if he enjoyed the look). Nothing escaped his attention, not the heady smell of petrichor, nor the wing-like leaves of an umbrella plant.
Somehow, everything seemed to harken back to Aziraphale. The shelter he had provided, the glitter in his smile... The way his hands had felt on Crawly's bare body.
Aziraphale's touch had made his corporation feel fluid and weightless, almost like he could melt away with the flow of the Garden's streams. It was an addictive feeling to have experienced pure, blinding ecstasy at the hands of a divine soldier. Aziraphale should have been fearsome, stuck up... But he was gentle and kind. Arming the cast-out humans with his God-given sword and then sheltering Crawly when the first rain came. The demon had already been intrigued by this wayward angel, and now his intrigue had grown exponentially since their meeting down in the lush foliage.
The illicit nature of their coupling was obviously enticing to a demon, but it was more than that. Crawly was not meant to feel something as light and rapturous as his time with Aziraphale. His demonic essence was corrupt, and by nature, he should crave dark, evil things. Of course, Crawly was a creature of subversion and had always been on the wrong side of 'should' and 'should not'. Aziraphale was an angel who stood firmly between those territories, there was no wonder he had seduced Crawly.
He had been mulling over the event while coiling in the late afternoon sun, basking in his snake form. Little compared with a warm pool of sun to lounge in, he had found. There was something in the way the rays seeped beneath his scales that made him recall how Aziraphale's fingertips had pressed into his skin, infusing an intangible warmth directly into the core of his being, the way the angel's touch filtered from the pads of his fingers and somehow had Crawly writhing in molten pleasure. Powerful hands, capable of effortlessly smiting, yet he had used them so delicately right where Crawly was most vulnerable. The memory flickered behind his eyes, the picture was almost perfect, vivid enough that Crawly wanted to shift into his human shape and reach out to sate his craving. There was an itch, he realised, not quite irritating, but persistent. It was a squirming, heated itch that beseeched human anatomy and well-placed friction.
With a thought, he stretched out his human limbs sans wings, shaking off the tingly feeling of shifting his bone structure. Immediately he became aware of the delicious slippery sensation between his thighs and grinned wickedly. There was no reason why he shouldn't take the opportunity to further their corporeal research; he was a dedicated student of his curiosity after all. His first foray into solo corporeal exploration had failed, but he had more data to work with this time. Crawly had the benefit of both a vivid imagination and an inquisitive scientific mind. He could replicate the work of two by himself, surely?
He hadn't bothered to manifest robes when he crafted this body, so happily nothing was stopping his questing fingers from immediately exploring the hot, wet centre he had equipped himself with. Two slender fingers dipped inside the wet opening, spreading the slick fluid gathering there. Sparks danced promisingly under Crawly's sensitive skin. It was incredible how instinctive these bodies were, how they guided themselves independent of the user's mind.
Crawly's eyes clenched shut, conjuring the image of Aziraphale. Something about the angel in this place was so natural, yet so stark; the way Aziraphale blushed pinker than the azaleas that grew in abundance here, or how his hair blazed like super-heated lithium. Aziraphale was a beacon, drawing the demon's attention in a way that another being never had before. Crawly recalled how wide-eyed Aziraphale had been, enraptured as he grazed his thumb over the demon's intimate flesh. The ghost of sensation caused him to gasp as he mirrored the movement, feeling the little bundle of nerves grow hard under his fingers. A wash of heat that had nothing to do with the sweltering sun swept through his body, boiling his blood. He was almost worried that he would leave scorch marks in the grass.
The wind rippled the palm fronds above his head like the Garden was giving its permission for the demon to join in the rustling chorus of gusts and sighs. His heartbeat thudded under his fingers as he circled the hooded nub of combustive flesh, but Crawly could swear that human hearts were located in the chest cavity, not the genitals. Aziraphale had not made any comments about his corporation being wired up incorrectly when he had scrutinised the demon so thoroughly. Such attention should have been uncomfortable, but Crawly had only relished Aziraphale's eyes raking up and down his exposed body. The angel had easily taken Crawly apart with his clever hands and the organ that nestled tantalisingly between his legs. That magnificently thick and silken rod of pulsing blood and velvety skin, Crawly's breath stuck in his throat as he thought about how full he had felt with Aziraphale buried deep inside him. Shocks of lightning rocked through his limbs, he was suddenly aware of pleasurable jolts shooting through his toes and marvelled at just how thoroughly these bodies felt pleasure.
The apex at Crawly's thighs continued to leak, lubricating the way as his imagined angel pushed slowly inside, pinning him into the grass with his heavier body. The pressure would leave imprints of grass blades on his back like a temporary branding, gentle yet undeniable. He felt the press of lips to the underside of his quivering jaw, clamping down where his pulse fluttered in his neck, and he whined high and needy at the feeling. Shivers radiated from his groin, making his thighs tremble as he let the fantasy climb to new heights. Crawly wanted those plump angelic lips to cover his feverish skin, to find every sensitive spot and exploit it until he was panting, reduced to a screaming mess of shaking limbs. The hand not between his legs began to trace over his flesh where he imagined the angel's mouth would explore, in the deep hollow of his clavicle, under his ear, plush lips puckered around his ruddy nipple.
Crawly hissed at the brush of contact over his nipple and returned to flick his thumb over the sensitive nub, eliciting a hum of pleasure as he trialled swiping and pinching in turn to figure out what felt best. The rolling movement seemed to heighten the tension building in his abdomen, spiking and expanding until it felt like he could no longer contain it. The control he held over his body was woven out of spiderweb silk, flexing, stretching, loosening.
As he urgently rubbed his fingers between his legs, he found his backside squirmed into the ground in tandem with his hand movements, pushing for more stimulation. Everything was so vivid at this juncture of pleasure, Crawly even delighted in the trickle of perspiration falling from his shoulder blades down into the green earth. The long, red tresses he chose in this form trailed across his skin like a whispered breath. Like the angel's gentle exhales blowing a gale as he cried in unison with Crawly.
Crawly opened his eyes and they drifted to the trees again, alighting on a bird with startlingly red plumage singing into the declining green void. Did it have a mate out there, gilded in silver and gold feathers? Its merry tune certainly suggested it was well fulfilled. Was the Garden filled with dichotomous pairs, destined to find their bodies' pleasure together? What would happen to them when the desert consumed the green wilderness?
His mind wandered back to the memory of Aziraphale's body, the sun embellishing his sweat-studded skin until it seemed crystalised. Every bit the ethereal creature that he was supposed to be. Aziraphale was as sturdy as the Wall, yet plump and yielding enough that the demon had felt supported and comfortable in his arms. It had felt right. Crawly could vividly recall the strong scent of jasmine and honey emanating from the angel's body; he smelled like the earth. It struck the demon that Aziraphale loved this speck of elemental chaos in an infinitesimal universe so much that he was integrating with its scent. Crawly inhaled now, letting the fragrance infuse into his lungs, making the illusion that much more tangible.
The slippery flesh under his fingers seemed to get wetter and wetter the more he visualised Aziraphale above him, making his way down Crawly's willowy shape, using his mouth, his hands, and his effort to draw out his breathless cries. Crawly looked down at his quaking thighs and imagined a head of cloudy curls stationed there. The angel's tongue would nestle between the intimate folds of skin at his core, enthusiastically lapping at the nectar of his pleasure, Aziraphale's saliva mingling with it until it dripped down his chin decadently. He groaned, feeling a wriggling buzz make its way down his limbs and take up residence in his toes. The silky fluid soaked his fingers and it sparked a memory of the viscous liquid Aziraphale had spilled inside him last time. In a fit of on-brand curiosity, Crawly brushed his glossed fingers against his tongue and sucked, delighting in the salty musk of his essence. It made him long to taste the angel's release, to wrap his lips around his firm shaft and map its texture with lips and tongue. Would he tremble, the way Crawly trembled? How would he taste? Crawly desperately wanted to know.
The blazingly sensitive pink bud throbbed under his attention and his body quaked as the images behind his eyelids came faster, harder and more intense. Touch and augmented memories were sending another blast of fire through him with every circle of his fingers. Crawly's lungs stuttered at the sudden rush of heat. Then the familiar tension gripped him, drawing every muscle taut in anticipation of the upward climb to the peak of this sensation.
It was almost surprising how quickly it possessed his body, how it wrecked every iota of the carefully maintained control he had cultivated since Falling. The liquid fire in his veins made the demon convulse and writhe into the shed leaves in the grass, they crinkled and crunched with every shift of his sinuous back. Crawly couldn't quite grasp control, the sensation stifled his airways until he choked on his moans. In the spell of time it took to draw a breath, Crawly's body arched and rocked against the air at the height of pleasure and then wilted into the depleted flora; another spent organism in the vastness of a failed Paradise.
His bleary eyes shot skyward again. Glimpses of peach light filtered through the fronds, dappling the floor with pools of golden rays. The sunlight ignited details on the ground that would have escaped his notice otherwise, and he lay in wonder at the glorious minutiae of this world, a universe in and of itself. Sage and olive-hued lichen were clinging to tree bark like the tiny starbursts that had exploded behind his eyes during his peak. The air was perfumed with the scent of honeysuckle and ripe fruit high up in the boughs; some had dropped to the ground and provided a bountiful feast for the microscopic insects and various fauna. It was a beautiful, whimsical place, Crawly was loath to admit. He had spent his demonhood thus far preparing to despise Her Creation and everything Divine-adjacent. But there he was, enjoying his human body whilst appreciating the beauty of the earth. Quite the pickle.
The afternoon was waning, and Crawly couldn't be certain if he was wearing his human or snake corporation because his limbs were so loose and relaxed, there was no strength left in him to even attempt to move. So, with a lazy smile, Crawly closed his eyes and decided to resume his nap for a little while. Who said that evil never sleeps?
When he awoke, the sky had deepened into rich ribboned clouds of cherry and plum, the sun barely visible as it dipped below the horizon to bestow its life-sustaining warmth upon the other half of the planet. He shivered; the cool night air had soaked right into his bones after he had foolishly neglected to attire himself before drifting off to sleep. With a quick gesture, Crawly called up some Hellish magic which simultaneously robed and warmed his chill-prickled skin.
Usually, Crawly would have retired to a quiet spot long before this time. The encroaching shadow disoriented him in his sleep-misted state. Fortunately, the twilight held out for those reluctant to take shelter for the night, lending them a fraction of light as a promise that the sun would once again rise tomorrow. It was a whole new world when the light was lost. Nightjars whirred in the dead branches, bats took flight and crickets chirruped in the browning brush; it seemed a new cacophony took residence whilst the day-dwelling beasts rested. Life persisted even in the dark; Crawly could appreciate that.
A realisation struck him with a horrible dip in his stomach that he was minutes away from seeing the night sky for the first time since he surfaced in this new world. He had been avoiding it. The thought of seeing his precious stars again stung fiercely. He had accepted he would never see his beloved creations again long ago. The hope had been ripped out of him, left in tatters on the floor of Hell's torture chambers. How could the view down here compare with the majesty of being amongst the cosmos of swirling gas and fire in colours that this paradise could only try to mimic with its exotic birds and flowers?
No point in trying to avoid it now, he thought.
The foreboding shadow of the now-useless Eastern Gate caught his attention as it eclipsed a great portion of the darkening sky. Perhaps it would be a good vantage point to take his first peek at his pride and joys. Perhaps there would be the company of a certain angel there too... He had research notes to share, after all. He was not sure why he felt so drawn to his enemy; maybe it was something innate that he had yet to understand, like how the bees were attracted to flowers. They didn't question it, they just went with the flow of the wind, carrying them to the next bright delicacy. Maybe he ought to let the current carry him, too.
It felt like a portent to have the opportunity to see the stars again; it was even more peculiar that Aziraphale could be alongside him, just like when they had turned the lights on in the heavens. Something beyond seemed to be tethering them together, as they witnessed the turning points of Creation.
But that was silly, wasn't it?