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“You know,” Aziraphale said liltingly, “Your plants really are lovely, my dear boy.”
Crowley studiously rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Don’t start, angel.”
“Well, I am an angel, dear. I give my love to all of God’s creatures and these plants of yours could use some, what shall we call it, positive affirmation?”
Crowley snorted in derision and reclined with more force and intent upon the soft brown leather couch in his once-minimalist flat.
“My techniquessss,” Crowley said in a very Crowley voice, “are perfectly adequate. You can’t fix something that isn’t broken! They’re fine, anyway.”
Crowley sat up and stalked over to his plants. “Aren’t you perfectly fine?” he hissed menacingly. The plants trembled beautifully. Several offered flowers in submission. Crowley turned towards the angel and smiled in satisfaction.
“See? Blooming and everything. Perfectly fine.”
Aziraphale tutted disapprovingly. “Fine has variable definitions.”
Crowley stalked into the kitchen and rummaged around for an 11 am bottle of wine. Staring at his husband's perfectly pert buttocks, Aziraphale had an idea.
“Crowley,” he called.
Crowley sauntered back into the living room, a bottle of wine in his hand. “Yes,” he admitted.
“My dear boy, I think you need to be convinced of the benefits of positive affirmation.” Aziraphale straightened his bowtie with a steely glint of determination in his eyes.
Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” he asked. He opened the bottle of wine, considered a glass, and then started chugging it.
Aziraphale ignored the tremendously affronting lack of manners and continued.
“I think you should pretend to be a plant and let me tell you how well you’re growing and how lovely your flowers are and then you’ll see it’s really quite nice and then you’ll be nice to your plants!”
Aziraphale smiled contentedly as Crowley choked on the wine and then fell off the couch due to violent wine-in-the-nose convulsions.
Sprawled on the floor, Crowley looked up at his angel and croaked, “What. The. Fuck.”
Aziraphale decided to skip the trying part where Crowley flailed about and spluttered dramatically before finally agreeing by getting right to the point with a directness he learned from his American acquaintances.
“You know you’re going to do it, my dear boy,” he hummed. “You do whatever I ask you to.”
Crowley flailed about and spluttered dramatically before squawking, “Y-you can’t just say things like that!”
Aziraphale turned sharply on his heel and walked towards the bedroom. Crowley followed him, his head hung in shame.
The angel smiled softly at Crowley as the demon closed the door behind him. Crowley rolled his eyes, but in a flirting way.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Alright then, let’s get it over with.”
Aziraphale beamed and then began bustling around the room, pushing furniture out of the center of the room. Crowley watched, resigned to his fate. The angel then snapped his fingers and a massive terracotta plant pot appeared in the open spot of the floor. Crowley gaped.
“Absolutely not!”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale warned.
“Urfgkkkk, fine,” the demon whined.
“Strip,” the angel ordered.
“Can’t I at least have the dignity of my clothing?”
“Do plants wear clothing?”
“Hmph.”
Crowley snapped his fingers and his clothes vanished. Sulking, he climbed into the pot and stood stiffly. Aziraphale looked at him appraisingly and decided he looked like a malnourished adolescent tree and that it wasn’t fitting the Mood.
“Kneel, please.”
Crowley gave him a look that quite clearly said there is no room to kneel and I am not miracling this bigger so there.
Aziraphale snapped his fingers, but in a guilt-inducing way. Crowley gracefully sank to a kneeling position in the miraculously expanded bottom of the pot, which now featured a rustic tartan pillow for his comfort.
“Hmm, how should I do this,” Aziraphale mused. He clapped his hands excitedly. “Ah! You need a hat!”
Crowley lifted his eyebrow with as much derision as demonically possible. “A hat?” he asked.
Aziraphale snapped his fingers and a floppy green crocheted hat appeared on Crowley’s head. There were two strings hanging down, with little pom-poms on the end that looked like daisies.
“Do you like it? I saw something like it on the Pinterest.” Aziraphale hummed happily.
Crowley closed his eyes, and in a stunning display of defeatism, murmured, “it’s lovely.”
Aziraphale stepped closer and looked down at the demon. “The safeword is ducks.”
Crowley nodded. Aziraphale hummed. Crowley bit his lip. Aziraphale sighed.
“Mmm, what a lovely plant you are,” Aziraphale said softly. Crowley heroically repressed an eye-roll.
“What green leaves, so full of life! So plump,” the angel said, tenderly cupping Crowley’s chin in his hand and running over the demon’s thin lips with his thumb. Crowley sighed and leaned into the angel’s touch.
Aziraphale continued. “And your flowers! Absolutely stunning, my dear. So fragrant and luscious. You’re growing so well, love.”
Crowley arched into Aziraphale’s firm grip on his hair. He started shifting a bit.
“You’re beautiful. Incandescent. Mesmerizing. Captivating.”
Crowley was hard. He wasn’t quite sure when that happened but it definitely had happened. Aziraphale noticed.
“You’re so good.”
Crowley gasped and started moving his hips in little aborted motions.
“So good for me.”
Crowley licked his lips and stared desperately up at the angel.
“Such a good boy.”
Crowley cried out and reached to touch himself.
“Ah, ah,” Aziraphale tutted. “None of that.”
Crowley looked up at him needily.
Aziraphale inhaled shakily and declared, “You need to be, uh, watered.” He snapped his fingers and a plastic watering can appeared in his hand.
Crowley stared at it disbelieving and then whined, “I’m thirsty.”
Aziraphale nodded and raised the watering can over Crowley’s head, shaking water down upon the demon. Crowley arched up and licked a stripe along the underside of the can’s spout. Aziraphale’s hand shook. Crowley wrapped his tongue around the base and began undulating it.
“S-stop fellating the watering can, please.”
Crowley briefly deep-throated the water can, loudly slurping his way off of it to stare hungrily at the angel.
“Got something better to fellate?” he rasped.
Aziraphale dropped the can. Crowley smirked.
…
“The plants heard everything!” Crowley wailed. “They’ll never respect me again!”
Aziraphale cooed at him softly. “I respect you, love.”
Crowley snuffled and looked up at his angel adoringly. Aziraphale visibly softened and repressed an “aww” as he patted his demon’s cheek affectionately.
The angel tenderly asked, “What’s not to respect?”
Crowley nodded happily in agreement, the green crocheted hat slipping further off his head. He slipped sensually on the pool of cooling cum on his floor and slithered (unusually, using his human body) over to his favorite dog bed in the corner of the room. Aziraphale watched affectionately as the demon began absolutely demolishing an 18 Extra Value Pack of raw eggs, unhinging his jaw to fit 3 in at a time. He cutely projectile vomited the shells underneath the bed and smiled sleepily up at Aziraphale.
“I think I’ll have a little nap, angel.”
Aziraphale could only smile lovingly as Crowley stood up and jumped up onto the wall, thrusting his pelvis to get momentum. The angel patted the demon’s bum fondly as he left the room, tarts on his mind.