Crowley was pressed into the corner of his bedroom, his hands clamped over his mouth.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale dropped to his knees beside him. “What happened? Why didn’t you come to dinner?”
Crowley shook his head, and glared. He didn’t seem hurt, although he looked… dreadful. Dishevelled, but not in his usual artful way. He kept his hands over his mouth, but jerked his head towards the door.
“I don’t understand, what’s happening? Why aren’t you speaking to me?”
Crowley’s eyelids fluttered shut, and his shoulders heaved, and then he dropped his hands. “You need to go Aziraphale, right now, before I start talking and I can’t stop, but you’re not going to listen to me, are you, of course you aren’t, you’re the most stubborn bloody thing She ever created, it’s probably your third most endearing trait—”
He clapped his hands back over his mouth, horrified.
“This would be much easier if you’d simply explain to me what the problem is,” Aziraphale said, with a calm he didn’t feel.
Crowley shook his head, again.
“My dear whatever it is, I’m sure I can help you—”
The next headshake was even more emphatic, but Crowley’s eyes darted sideways this time to the bed, and a strange lizard-like statue, with a wide open mouth, on the dark duvet. It was clearly cursed.
“Truth-telling curse. Please, angel, just leave, it’ll wear off soon enough.” With what seemed like a superhuman effort, Crowley shut his mouth again.
“My dear boy, whatever you tell me, I’m sure it will be completely fine.” Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s knee.
“Oh shit.” Crowley scrabbled further into the corner. “Don’t touch me, I mean yes, please, touch me, anytime you want, I’m open for touching, twenty-four-seven touching hours, shit shit shit this is bad, this is bad—”
“All right, I won’t touch you, I’ll just… sit here, and we’ll just wait it out together.”
“No, now I just have to look at you and think about you and that’s even worse, please just leave before I start talking about how your thighs look, the fabric’s all stretched over your legs! It’s obscene, you shouldn’t be allowed to walk around in public with thighs like that!”
Aziraphale looked down at the beige cashmere of his trousers. “A glass of water perhaps? Are you thirsty?”
“II’ve been thirsty for six thousand years, and you’re the only thing I want to drink,” Crowley let out a high manic giggle. “Oh no, I can’t deal with that puppy dog expression, now I can’t stop thinking about kissing you, please just say something else to distract me, will you, why don’t you start telling me about Sandalphon’s underwear or snuffboxes or—”
Aziraphale rocked back and considered Crowley carefully. He knew he should go but there was something horribly compelling about the river of words tumbling from Crowley’s unwilling mouth.
“--I’m willing to do anything, within limits obviously, not super into the idea of whipping and what-not, I’m getting ahead of myself, but I’d really like to suck your cock—” Crowley was saying “—and bury my face in your arse and make you scream, Aziraphale, angel—it’s not about sex, of course not, I’m not a monster, and I just want to be with you, and we could do that picnic—”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly.
“I know,” Crowley continued desperately. “I go too fast. But I don’t have any expectations, it’s not about expectations, or obligations, but I can’t not say it. I love you. You don’t need to… reciprocate. Just so you know. But I do. It’s humiliating, I’m pathetic; but I’m yours.”
There was a moment of blessed silence, and Crowley stared at him, wide-eyed and stricken.
Aziraphale took a deep breath, and reached, not for Crowley, but for the huge-mouthed statue on the bed. As soon as his fingers touched it, he felt the curse take hold, and knew he was hopeless to do anything but tell the truth. He gave Crowley a small smile. “Any questions?”
