Chapter Text
It was an awful day in Hell.
Well, it was literally Hell, so what did Crowley expect? Exhaustedly, he craned his neck, hoping to relieve the throbbing muscle ache the past twenty two hours of paperwork left him. There he was, sat in an office chair far too uncomfortable, in his own, way too small, way too cramped little cubicle, the putrid stench of sulphur and decomposing tissue practically burning the tips of his nostril hairs into ash - the norm for one in Hell, really.
It was that painfully dreaded time again, when Crowley had to subject himself to hours of the most unbearable torture imaginable - no, not feeling the sticky flesh on his skin being absolutely desiccated by molten lava and then viciously peeled off by one of Hell’s demons regularly sent to torture anyone they deemed slacking (not that Crowley had ever experienced it himself, fortunately) - this was undoubtedly, exponentially worse.
This was true torture, Crowley’s inner voice growled for the umpteenth time, as he reluctantly continued filling in yet another form where he was forced to justify each and every frivolous miracle he’d performed in the past few months. His efforts had accumulated a monstrous pile of paper, each sheet callously flung onto his desk, the mountain-shaped stack teetering precariously.
Truly, the only thing spurring him on was the thought of returning to Earth and visiting Aziraphale’s bookshop, the demon beyond thrilled to see the angel again, barely containing his excitement for the lunch reservation at the Ritz they’d made for the next day. Sure, it’d only been nearly a day of perfunctorily filling in paperwork, a speck compared to the thousands of years Crowley had lived through in his immortal lifetime, but he really couldn’t bear not being able to see his angel any longer. Every time he’d gotten close to flipping his desk, a kind little voice inside his head, one his subconscious had imagined to be Aziraphale’s, mellowly encouraged him to keep going, the mental image of the angel’s soft curls and even softer smile sending an odd bubbling sensation down his chest that he couldn’t tame. Despite this, Crowley’s patience was running thin, and reasonably so. Even Earth’s most devoted workaholic wouldn’t be able to sit through nearly a full day of non-stop paperwork, without at least snapping once.
“Should’ve never suggested this bloody system,” Crowley hissed quietly, not wanting any demons around him to hear him, fearing the possibility of getting ratted out to the higher-ups. It was ironic, really, that Crowley had been the one to spark this drastic systemic change. He’d simply grown unbearably intolerant of the way Beezlebub would send her bloody lackeys to breathe down his neck every damn time they sensed him performing a miracle, holding some sort of vehement grudge against him for some inexplicable reason.
Unexpectedly, Beezlebub thought it was a great idea, loving the prospect of both reducing manpower, and subjecting every demon to a seeming eternity of scrutinising the impossibly small fineprint, “auditing” each miracle with as much detail as they could, else they be forced to painstakingly redo everything. Having done her research, Beezlebub smartly designed every inch of the office to exactly mimic a human one, down to the very last detail, hoping to instill the same, if not stronger, dread the typical human office workers suffered. Simply put, the demon, a real smart aleck, had sabotaged himself.
“You did this?” A resonant, American-sounding voice echoed from the cubicle just behind him, sending shivers down Crowley’s spine, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath, steeling himself for the torturous tirade this demon was definitely going to launch into. Tentatively, he swiveled in his chair, standing up and gazing down at the demon before him, a rather low office partition separating them.
At the sight of the fellow demon, Crowley couldn’t help but gawk, stunned at her rather bold sartorial choices. Donning a crimson bow striped with black streaks, the woman wore a figure-hugging, overly sheer strapless maroon dress, visibly accentuating her decolletage, her sharp collar bones poking out from under the flimsy fabric. A tattoo of a rose thorn, tightly wrapped around a throbbing heart, was plastered onto her slender neck, further enhancing her ostensibly seductive aura, though Crowley wasn’t affected by it. Regardless, he was, admittedly, afraid of what she’d do to him, in retaliation for the long hours of work he’d been the cause for, being a demon and all.
“Geez, don’t look so scared, handsome,” the demon drawled flirtatiously, getting up from her seat. “Was just surprised, that’s all,” she continued, playfully tousling the uneasy demon’s auburn hair.
Reflexively flinching at the sensation of her wiry fingers running through his hair, Crowley backed away, knowing that there was only one person he’d ever want touching his hair like that - and it certainly wasn’t her.
“Sorry, babe,” the woman smacked her lips together, almost obnoxiously, before clutching the sleek, black divider between them with her unnaturally long acrylic nails, sensing a rather alluring aura emanating from the mysterious demon. “What’s your name, love? I’m Erosia, former angel of love, presently a demon of lussst.”
Technically, Erosia wasn’t actually a demon of lust. She’d just been unluckily designated to one of Hell’s countless rather unimportant departments (most of which just idly followed the orders of the higher-ups), not having been assigned to any major responsibilities since she’d fallen.
Of course, she found it easier, and much more face-saving, to introduce herself as a lust demon, even though she’d actually never really been that interested in the carnal pleasures of humans - but rather the almost enviable affection they’d harbored for each other. (Clearly, she was still love-obsessed at heart.) Unfortunately, introducing yourself as a love demon didn’t exactly earn the respect of other fellow demons, so she decided to call herself one of lust. Though, meddling in others’ love lives could be considered demonic, she supposed. Besides, her fall hadn’t stripped her of her spell-casting abilities, making her all the more determined to stick her pointy nose in everyone’s love-related matters.
Technically, Erosia wasn’t meant to retain her powers post-fall, but still did due to the negligence of whoever settled her administrative matters, and she definitely wasn’t going to ask anyone about it.
“That explains everything,” Crowley thought, before clearing his throat. “Name’s Crowley. And I’m kind of only left with one form to go, so if you don’t mind,” he curtly replied, eyeing the lone sheet of paper on his desk as he made a vague dismissive gesture towards her.
“Mm,” Erosia cocked her head to the side in feigned contemplation, lustrous blonde curls bouncing on her shoulders as she wiggled her eyebrows teasingly. “Only if you tell me who you’re so obviously pining for.”
“Yeah, okay,” Crowley gave an automatic response, body already half-turned to face his desk before he processed what she’d just said. The muscles on his face reflexively tensed up, the demon’s cool facade immediately crumbling. “Wait, what?”
Slowly, Erosia traced the edges of the office partition between them as if she were caressing it, before her hazel eyes met Crowley’s golden yellow ones. “I can sense it, someone’s got a crussssh,” she ended the sentence emphatically, sneaking in a cheeky wink at the other demon.
“You’re taking the piss out of me,” Crowley retorted defensively, pointing a finger at her face.
“I wouldn’t stoop that low,” Erosia replied, arms akimbo. Seemingly in thought, she blinked slowly, faltering, before continuing, “Okay, maybe I would. But I’m not, I swear! For your information, I can still sense love, and you’re drowning in so much of it, it’s disgusting.”
Sensing some truth in her words, Crowley froze, unsure of what to say as he tried clenching his fists to ground himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking abou-”
“So who is it?” Erosia interrupted brusquely, resting her chin on her knuckles, blinking expectantly, her absurdly long eyelashes bobbing about.
Wordlessly, Crowley pondered for a moment, wondering if he should give in to her idiotic questions. After all, he was one form away from leaving this (literal) hellhole, and there was no major harm in talking about the angel, the thought of whom motivated him to trudge through those forms in the first place. He took a breath, hesitantly taking a step closer to the nosy demon.
“Just this ang- this guy who wears the most ridiculous bowties,” Crowley capitulated, with an obvious fondness bleeding through his tone, letting out a breathy laugh at the thought of the angel’s anachronistic taste in fashion.
“Ooh! Tell me alllll about it,” Erosia beamed, excitedly clapping her hands together in an almost childlike manner, cheeks aching from smiling so much. For a demon, especially one of lust, she was uncharacteristically giddy at such trivial things, her mannerisms oddly bearing a semblance to a cherub’s. Maybe she hadn’t completely let go of what she once was.
~~~~
“And the way he’s obsessed over his stupid books, y’know he’s always driving customers away? This idiot runs a bloody bookshop, for Someone’s sake, and doesn’t want to sell a single one,” Crowley chortled, wiping away the laugh-caused moisture from his eyes, shaking his head at how adorable the angel was. This sparked a laugh from the other demon, too, who was now sitting on the floor of his cubicle, back leaned against the wall. They were lucky - the demons around them were too exhausted to tell them to shut it, and no one was really around to make sure they were doing work at that time, which may have been the work of a little demonic miracle Erosia had so inconspicuously performed.
Surprisingly, Crowley hadn’t realised that he and Erosia had been chatting like excited teenage girls for the past forty seven minutes, most of the time spent on Crowley’s almost torturously long tangents on the angel.
“Oh, I’ve never met someone so…in love before,” Erosia found herself verbalising her thoughts, the wrinkles near her eyes deepening. She couldn’t help it - she was just so in awe at the demon’s ability to so purely, and deeply, feel for someone, despite the typical sinful nature of a being from Hell. It was in her nature.
A bittersweet smile crept up on Crowley’s face, the overwhelming joy he’d previously felt fading ever so slightly. “Too bad he doesn’t feel the same, though. It kills me each time we have dinner together and the waiter asks if it’s our anniversary, or something. In fact, we’re going to the Ritz tomorrow and I’m sure he’ll brush it off again if it happens,” he sighed, somewhat shocked at how easy it was to bare his heart out to someone he didn’t even know hours ago. Maybe he’d really gone soft, as Aziraphale had always teased him.
“You don’t know, for sure, that he doesn’t feel the same, babe,” Erosia replied placatingly, tone drastically changing as she patted a reassuring hand on the sulking demon’s back. She pursed her lips together tightly, considering something before opening her mouth to speak.
“How about I cast a little demonic love spell? Sprinkle a bit of love dust on his food, stuff like that,” she offered earnestly, almost bursting with excitement, eyes widening.
“What? No,” Crowley replied reflexively, scowling. “I’m not some pathetic , obsessed bum who needs to force someone to love me.”
Furrowing her eyebrows defensively, Erosia swiftly stood up, bristling as she took an assertive step forward to look the demon in the eye. “That wasn’t what I meant. I’m only trying to help you.” The veins at Crowley’s neck bulged at her response, slender hands tightly balled up into fists.
“I knew it, you were just trying to get me to tempt someone, weren’t you?” He raised his voice, straining his vocal cords.
“Crowley, please, you’ve got it all wrong, I-“ Erosia got cut off by Crowley hastily scribbling something on his last form, carelessly tossing it on the towering pile on his desk, before miraculously disappearing with a brisk swish of the hand.
“Shit, I’ve messed it all up, now,” Erosia blanched, as she slumped to the ground, defeated. Idly tracing the cracks on the floor with her fingertips, countless ways of making it up to Crowley flashed through her mind, whirling around in a vicious tornado. She could really only settle on one - help Crowley’s Angel™ (“Figuratively speaking, of course,” Crowley had reminded her each time the pet name slipped out. He wouldn’t ever let anyone, let alone a demon, know he was in love with a cherub, afraid that Heaven would keep him away from Aziraphale forever.) reciprocate his feelings, of his own accord. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to give him a little push, would it?
“I’ll just sprinkle a little bit of this on his dish at the Ritz tomorrow,” Erosia whispered, white sparkling dust materialising in the palms of her meticulously manicured hands. “If he feels the same for Crowley, it’ll just intensify his love for him, and if he doesn’t, it won’t affect him in the slightest. No harm in trying,” she assured herself, desperately trying to convince her subconscious that it was a foolproof plan. “I’m a demon, for Heaven’s sake, why the hell am I so worried if his feelings get hurt? Getting soft, I am,” she wondered, slowly spiralling.
For now, of course, she had to snap out of it, and divert her focus to more urgent matters, like completing her assigned paperwork. As she reluctantly fell back into the mundane, robotic cycle of filling up forms, she couldn’t resist letting her mind drift away into her fantasies, planning the best way to “spike” The Angel’s food without either of them noticing.