Where The Crawdad Sings (Chapter 1)
Rated E for loads of smut, and CW for undernegotiated consent.
It is a dark and stormy night in the Land of Uz. Rain and wind-whipped sand pound into the smouldering, ruined cavity of Job's once luxe estate.
In the cellar below, Principality Aziraphale, on Heavenly assignment; and Crawley, demon and diabolical minister of Satan, are chatting amicably. Catching up on gossip and water cooler talk, they banter against the backdrop of howling wind and sand ringing eerily against the windows.
Each of them is utterly delighted to be posted alongside the other again at last, and both are working quite hard indeed to seem indifferent about their good fortune. As usual, Crawley is warming up faster. (The wine helps.) In particular, he is enjoying regaling the little angel with some of the more scandalous feats and temptations he has accomplished—or cleverly avoided—in the last few centuries.
Aziraphale, just the way Crawley remembered him, is making all the right noises in all the right places in his exuberant tales; a haughty sniff of disagreement, a shocked little gasp, a scandalized laugh in spite of himself.
Cripes, but Crawley has missed him.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
A birthday gift for the superb @depraveddame that's been in the works for so long that it is now, ineffably, both late AND early. This fic started as an attempt to get our Uz era ineffables into as much raunchy trouble as possible, and has expanded, as most of my smuttiest intentions do, with a fair bit of plot, world building, angst, and fluff. Hoping to update weekly, on Shuhite Sundays. So much gratitude to my stalwart, enthusiastic, wonderful betas @noondarkduke and @yourbestieluke for helping me see it for the trees.
Please read the tags and warnings, it won't be for everyone!