Balancing the Books

Title: Balancing the Books
Author: sithlady
Fandom: Good Omens
Pairing/Characters: Crowley/OFC
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Crowley is audited, and seduced.
Feedback: Please review, let me know what you think. Constructive feedback welcomed.
Content/Warnings if needed:
Disclaimer: Good Omens and Crowley are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry
Pratchett. I'm only borrowing for the purposes of this story and I am not making any money from it.
Author's Note: Updated 18 October 2005. Many thanks to the people who took the time and trouble to review this story and also particularly to the reviewer who kindly pointed out my error. Thanks, I appreciate it.


"Yes?" Crowley demanded impatiently as he flung open the door and stared at the woman standing in his doorway.

She was nearly as tall as he was, dressed in a severe black suit, a scrap of white lace visible in the vee-neck of her jacket. Bright red hair, an indefinable colour somewhere between gold and copper, was pulled back into a tight knot at the back of her neck. Perfume, heady and spicy, wafted over him.

"May I help you?" he asked politely.

She stared at him from behind dark tinted glasses and he could feel her gaze inspect him thoroughly from head to foot. Then full, red lips curved in a smile.

Heaven. Crowley swore silently as she removed her dark glasses and he stared down into a pair of eyes identical to his own.

"Diabolical Audits," she said, and extended a hand to him. "Crawley, isn't it?"

Between her first two fingers a card appeared, matt black and engraved in a cursive gold script. Her nails, he noted dazedly, were long and pointed, painted a deep, glossy red. He couldn't take his eyes off them. He found them strangely erotic and, as Crowley couldn't remember ever having an erotic thought about anything, vaguely disturbing.

Visions of black silk sheets and mirrored ceilings flitted through his head. Just like his bedroom, he realised. Of course, he had never used it except for sleeping, certainly never...at this point he gave himself a mental shake.

He took the card from her, staring at it uncomprehending, and momentarily lost for words as she brushed past him into the flat.

"I wasn't expecting...."

"No one ever does. We only happen to other people."

She pulled a clipboard seemingly out of thin air and turned over the top sheet.

"And the name's Crowley," he added belatedly. "Mister Crowley."

"I'll start here," she announced, and produced a gold fountain pen.

"May I ask...." Crowley began again.

"Your expense accounts." She shook her head sorrowfully. "I know greed is a deadly sin, but you really have gone over the top, haven't you?"

He leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. He smiled, staring at her from beneath half-lowered lashes. It was a pose that was at once seductive and non-threatening. It usually worked with women. Normal women.

"Don't waste your charm on me," she snapped, and made a large check mark on the top sheet of paper. "I'm immune."

He followed her as she prowled the living room, shaking her head and making discouraging noises as she discovered evidence of more excesses.

"This really won't do." She shot him a triumphant look from dark-lashed amber eyes and gave him a smile that was better suited to some predatory animal. Which, in a way, she was. "Unless you increase your quota, you'll have to make some economies."

"My quota." Now he was angry. "I don't have to fill a quota."

"It's in the contract. Page fifty-seven. In the fine, fine print. Don't tell me you didn't read it."

Glowering and silent, he refused to rise to the bait.

"So how many beings occupy this residence?" she called from the kitchen where she was rummaging noisily around in his refrigerator and taking inventory of the contents.

"Only one. Just me."

"All this, for one person." She tutted with disapproval and shook her head. It seemed to be her favourite gesture. Her hand made a sweeping motion and she frowned. "Won't do. Won't do at all. I'm sure a little bed-sit in...."

"No!" Crowley's cry was horrified and he had visions of rat-infested, cockroach palaces in some East End slum. And he liked it here. He'd stayed here because it wasn't...well it wasn't Hell.

"And what's in there?" she asked, slamming the door of the refrigerator closed and indicating a door on the other side of the living room.

"My...my bedroom. But there's nothing worth seeing in there."

"I'll be the judge of that," she said briskly, and pushed the door open.

There was a brief silence and then her voice, hushed with awe. "It certainly is impressive, isn't it? I must say, Mister Crawley...."

"Crowley."

"....Crowley, I have underestimated you."

He blinked with surprise. "Mmm?"

"Virgins, for the seduction of." She flipped through the papers on her clipboard and made a small notation. "You must have more than you can handle...."

Crowley blinked with surprise. He had never seduced a virgin in his entire existence and wouldn't have known one if he met one. If he could even find one.

"No, it's not like that. It...I never bothered with...."

He faltered uncertainly as she gave him a broad grin, eyes knowing as if the two of them were sharing an intimate secret.

There was that disturbing vision of mirrored ceiling and silk sheets again, only this time it included her; naked, that glorious red hair spread across....

"Seduction, Mister Crowley, is something you should bother with." She seemed to be almost ecstatic. "The pursuit of pleasure is very worthwhile. And should be compulsory."

"I'm not sure I underst...."

His voice trailed away as she perched on the edge of the bed and bounced experimentally. She laughed, and the sound of that laughter did strange things to his insides. And there was definitely something stirring downstairs in the trouser department.

She lay back, and all of a sudden she seemed to be wearing less clothes, her hair was falling free of its severe hairstyle and she glanced up at him.

"This brings back fond memories," she said. She sat up and patted the bed next to her, smiling invitingly. "Join me."

"What for?" he blurted out before he could stop himself.

"Mister Crowley, you mean this is all for show?" She grinned. "Have you ever...you know...."

He knew, or at least he'd heard of it. "I don't have time for all that," he said huffily. "I have a quota to fill. Apparently."

She moved faster that he would have thought possible and she had grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him towards the bed before he knew what was happening.

"Now, Mister Crowley, don't be shy. A virgin demon, how...quaint." Her glance slid downwards, and her tongue darted out to moisten her lip. "You appear to have a slight problem there. And it seems to be getting bigger. Want me to help you?"

"No." But his voice shook slightly and there was little conviction in his tone. "No," he said again as her hand brushed against the front of his trousers, pressing against the bulge of his erection, and his eyes widened with surprise. "Don't...."

But she ignored him and he had neither the inclination or the will power to resist as she tugged at the zipper and slid it down slowly.

"The trouble with human bodies," she said conversationally, "is that there are certain functions we have no control over."

"I've done all right until now."

"Hmm, take a lot of cold showers do you?"

"N...no, I...gnnk...." He suddenly lost the ability to speak as her hand slipped inside his trousers and fingers wrapped around his erection, thumb rubbing gently back and forth across the head of his cock.

He braced his hands on her shoulders and, shuddering, closed his eyes. Then he felt her breath warm against his skin as she leaned closer to him. "You appear to have sprung a leak, Mister Crowley. I'd better clean it up."

"Anthony," he gasped. "Please call me Anthony. Since we're going to be such good friends."

He glanced down at her in time to see her tongue, pink and pointed, dart towards the tip of his cock and delicately lick at the drops of clear fluid seeping from the tip. He tightened his grip on hhoulhoulders, groaning as her lips, warm and wet, closed around him and gently drew him inside her mouth.

Tongue licking and circling his shaft, she worked her way down, taking more and more of him inside her mouth. The suction of her mouth was creating sensations, very pleasant sensations, and the tiny part of his mind that still functioned rationally wondered why he had not tried this before.

So this is what it feels like to have sex, he thought, unaware that what he was experiencing now was nothing to what he was going to experience.

Hands sliding to the back of his thighs she held him steady, and he started to thrust into her mouth, gently at first, and then with increasing urgency as his brain emigrated to his groin and applied for permanent residency.

She sucked at him harder and a momentary panic engulfed him. Two separate thoughts jostled for space in the part of his body still thinking.

She's going to pull it off. It's going to burst.

But even as he tried to pull back, something seemed to explode inside him. It started in his head, tingled its way down his body and suddenly every nerve in his body seemed to be concentrated in that small part of him in the woman's mouth.

He was unclear as to what happened next. He recalled crying out, then his body convulsed, hips bucking forward and there was the sensation of somng lng leaving his body in a rush of pleasure so intense he nearly passed out. At least, he saw stars, tiny pinpoints of light bursting behind his eyes. Then his legs turned to jelly and he collapsed on the floor, panting and trembling.

Her face appeared at the edge of the bed, looking down at him, a frown of concern puckering her forehead. "Are you all right?"

"I'm still alive?" Unsteadily, eyes glassy, he sat up. "What hit me?"

"You had an orgasm, Anthony," she purred. "Haven't you had one before?"

He vaguely remembegettgetting drunk one New Year's Eve. "I thought it was one of those pink fluffy cocktails."

With a sigh she reached down, grabbed a fistful of shirt and hauled him on to the bed beside her. "Not that sort of orgasm."

"I want another one," he muttered. "I want lots of them."

"So do I, Anthony, so do I. So why don't you get out of those clothes and we'll work on it. How long have you got?"

"Umm...how long do we need?"

Impatiently she tugged at his shirt, stripping it off in one practised movement and then said, "Forever, if you keep talking."

Trousers, shoes and socks followed the shirt to the floor and then her body, naked and soft and warm, was pressed against his. Again he felt that pleasurable tightening in his groin, and he groaned as her fingers wrapped around the beginnings of a healthy erection, and began to stroke him gently, squeezing and relaxing in a steady rhythm.

Then her mouth covered his, her tongue darted between his lips, and rational thought took a holiday.

After an eternity, she broke the contact and drew back to look down at him. "Anthony," she purred, her voice husky with arousal, "try and relax, will you? Sex is a participation sport. So feel free to join in."

His gaze was riveted to her breasts, inches from his face, and she grinned. "You can touch them you know. They don't bite."

He did more than just touch them and she gasped with pleasure, arching her back as he cupped a breast in each hand and leaned forward to take a nipple in his mouth.

"Am I hurting you?" His face, wearing a anxious, guilty expression, peered up at her.

"No...no, that's good...very good. Don't stop...you're doing fine."

He was good, she thought dazedly. Gentle but not too gentle. Just the right amount of aggressiveness. As that surprisingly talented tongue and lips, working in perfect harmony, licked and sucked, first one aching nipple and then another, it occurred to her that maybe he wasn't as innocent as he'd led ho beo believe.

"You have done this before," she said, an accusing frown on her face.

He shook his head, not letting go of the nipple he was currently giving his undivided attention.

She seized him by the hair and tugged sharply, the nipple slipping out of his mouth with a faint plop.

"If you've been deceiving me, Anthony, I'm going to be very disappointed."

"I've been studying," he blurted out. "'Sex for Dummies'. I've only just started Chapter Two. 'Oral Stimulation'. I haven't gotten around to the practical side yet."

She moved over him, positioning herself so that his erection pushed between her legs. Then she slowly lowered herself, taking him inside her, a little at a time. "You have now," she said, her breathing unsteady.

He groaned and then gasped, hands grasping her around the waist as she began to rock back and forth on top of him, internal muscles gripping and squeezing his cock in the same gentle rhythms as her hand had. But this was more pleasurable, more intimate. Her hand hadn't felt this wet, this tight, this hot....

And as the pressure in his groin increased he thrust upwards, hips frantically seeking her, wanting release from this exquisite torment. Just as he felt the orgasm building, just as he thought he was about to explode, she slowed the pace of her movements, holding him on the edge of release, and he nearly cried with disappointment.

"Not yet," she panted. "Ladies first."

He couldn't care less. Brain functions were shut down indefinitely and the only sentient part of his body demanded satisfaction. Frustrated, he growled, and his eyes narrowed into angry golden slits.

She found his display of male aggressiveness totally arousing, and oddly endearing. She grabbed him by the shoulders and rolled to one side, taking him with her, so that he was now on top.

He had been right; seeing her lying naked beneath him, red hair spread over the black sheets, was an incredibly erotic vision.

"Put your hands under me," she gasped. "Hold me...."

He slid his hands under her thighs, raising her body slightly, and found that he was able to penetrate her more deeply, so deep that he thought he would lose himself inside her. And then she wrapped her legs around his waist. That was even better.

She moaned against his ear, wordless little cries of pleasure as he began to thrust into her with renewed energy. Better, much better, and he discovered that he could attend to her breasts at the same time.

"Anthony...." she breathed, and her body convulsed. "Harder,
please...harder...."

With a soft grunt he thrust deeper, hands gripping her so tightly she gasped with pain. Her nails clawed at him, her hips bucked up towards him and her head fell back on to the pillow.

"That...that's better...nearly there...Anthony...oh...Anthony...." Her voice trailed away in a breathless cry of triumph.

It only took one more thrust before he felt her contract around him; she moaned and panted under him, body straining against his.

At that point he surrendered, and he allowed the intense pleasure to overwhelm his senses. But this time he was more aware of what was happening.

As he ejaculated inside her, he felt the flood of warm wetness envelop his cock and he groaned and closed his eyes, body shuddering with almost unbearable ecstasy.

When sanity reasserted itself he was still alive. They lay together in a glorious, sweaty, sticky tangle of arms and legs and damp sheets. He was uncomfortable; his body ached and there was a wet patch of uncertain origin under his hip, but he could not have moved an inch even if his very existence depended on it.

She stirred beside him; her head turned towards him and she smiled. A slow, satisfied smile. "You were right, Anthony," she said in a husky whisper. "I think we are going to be friends. Very good friends."

Then he somehow found the strength to reach for her again and he lost himself in the soft warmth of her body.


The End