Chapter Text
Soho, 1967
Crowley had known her heat was coming on, but had neglected to realise she also needed to feed. This was not a predicament she’d have ever found herself in, had she not been so distracted by the last two overlapping assignments for the gang. They’d both been an absolute disaster, total bodge jobs, and she knows she’s on thin ice with Beez now. Hopefully, they won’t rat her out to Luke (the sizable skim she’d forked over to keep schtum should help) and she’ll be out of the woods come next bit of business. They’d got the money and the goods, in the end. No harm done - except to herself - and, well, two escaped “domesticated” Ocelots, a destroyed crystal chandelier, one burned out caravan (fucking Hastur), and some poor fucker who's now floating somewhere in the Regent’s.
So this is why she’s at this shite bar, on a shite backstreet, in some forgotten part of Soho on a night where it’s pouring rain. Hunger. The whole pub smells like a wet fucking donkey. She’s starving, ravenous, ribs wincing in pain, and anyone should do, but none of the denizens are standing out. Plenty of Betas (pass), a few Omegas who might prove tasty enough, but what she really wants is an Alpha and there are precious few in here; none of them are desirable to her for a feed and the odour of every last one is off putting. This close to her heat, she knows her tastes get particular. Fuck. This is why she should have eaten a week ago. She knows better.
And then… he walks in and the scent rolls over her like a tsunami. Honey, vanilla, tea, something soothing and citrusy, old leather, a dozen more complicated pieces of a bouquet she’s too intoxicated by to identify. She feels the dampness between her legs increase and her teeth sharpen to needle points. And that’s before she even sees him. He’s approaching from behind and on her right and he idles up to the bar next to her, ordering himself a sherry in a polite, rich and plummy voice. Out of the corner of her eyes, covered with her usual dark sunglasses, she catches a halo of bright blond curls and turns to him, flashing a sharp grin. “Hellllooooo.”
She tilts her sunglasses down, slit pupils already expanding to deliver her mesmerising gaze, and then her golden eyes widen as they meet a pair of the most beautiful blue eyes she’s ever seen. Oh, oh fuck. The man is immediately in her thrall and swoons a bit, spilling some of his drink on the bar as he leans into her, inhaling her scent. She coaxes his hand down, to settle the drink, then takes it back up, twining their fingers together. For a moment, she hesitates. He smells more enticing than any meal she’s ever had, but there’s something about him, something that makes her not want to cause him any harm, protect him even.
It’s just, she’s so hungry.
“You’re alright sweetness, take me home,” she says, and he nods, eyes now glazed over but looking at her, rapt. She’s pulled through the crowd and out the door and to her surprise, only across the street, where the man lets her in through the front doors of a shop.
~~~~~~*~~~~~~
Aziraphale comes to with the stunning red head from the pub straddling him. He’s not quite sure how they came to be here, on the sofa in his bookshop, but the smell of sweet apples, wood smoke, and cloves is surrounding him and she’s doing something to his scent gland with her mouth that has him hard as a rock. He reaches up, and brushing over her clavicle, slides one of her thin green dress straps off her shoulder, exposing a tiny pert breast to the air, the nipple pink and hardening. He gently cups it, easily swallowing it with his palm.
Crowley moans and grinds down instinctively, but then pulls her mouth off of him with a gasp, sitting up when his hips buck up to meet her. He shouldn’t be conscious. It’s impossible.
His hand is still holding her breast and squeezes a little before he drags two fingers over her nipple. “Gorgeous… so gorgeous… what are you?” He leaves her breast and reaches further up to push a scarlet curl behind her ear, cup her jaw, then wipe the blood from the corners of her mouth with his thumb and forefinger, first the right, then the left. He meets her bare gaze. “Certainly not human, I gather.” His other hand is now on her backside, massaging.
“I…” Crowley is unable to speak. He can’t be awake. He can’t be. She’d had him mesmerised the whole time. Now that he’s looking at her again, clear eyed, all she can think is, Lord, but he’s pretty. So thick, all over, just like the cock she can feel nudging at her from below where she’s soaking through her lace knickers.
His soft hands drop to her hips, then to her thighs, pushing up the arsenic green silk of her dress to expose her more fully. Their eyes meet again and something flashes in his that makes them look reflective, dangerous and predatory, in the low light. They almost glow. “Take whatever you need, darling. You can’t hurt me.”