Crowley sighed heavily and unbuttoned his shirt. He was feeling tense and he always felt better when he was free to stretch his wings. A dark shadow swept over the apartment as a pair of black velvet wings unfolded themselves gracefully. Crowley exhaled as the tension around his shoulder blades immediately lessened. He smiled as the sensitive feathers brushed the leather, sending shivers down his neck. That felt good. Leaning further back into the recesses of his couch, he let his eyes grow heavy and his mind wander.
Aziraphale.
The man's name drifted through his consciousness like a feather falling to earth and Crowley felt the corners of his mouth turn up. This caught him off guard and he frowned as he recalled the voice's words.
"Tempt the angel. Make him fall. Bring him to his knees."
Crowley knew the demons below still stung from their unexpected stalemate and sought to humiliate their opposition. He also knew that this was a form of punishment for him too. If he failed to tempt the angel - an impossible task - he would face hell's wrath and that they would be fully justified in disciplining him. The demons were waiting for their chance at revenge and Crowley was circling their trap.
He reached over, groaning with the effort, and lifted his phone from the table beside him. He stabbed in the first four digits of a familiar number and as he did so, was amazed to find a faint smile hovering on his lips. Crowley let the phone rest on his leg as he contemplated this. He was smiling. Why was he smiling at the thought of phoning Aziraphale, of hearing his soft, musical voice? He should be nervous, afraid even. If he failed, hell would punish him. If he succeeded... Crowley wasn't even sure how to approach tempting an angel. Where would he begin?
At the start. Find his weakness.
Aziraphale hummed to himself as he dusted the leather bound books lining the shelves in his shop. He stood on his toes and waved the feather duster half-heartedly at the top of the towering shelves. He didn't like to remove too much dust as it dissuaded potential customers and so a thin coating covered every possible surface. He repaired a few broken cobwebs by some miracle and breathed life back into a cockroach that had died during the night. It scuttled back under the floorboards gratefully. The angel, whistling now, strode along the avenues of books until sunlight told him he was nearing the front of his shop. Turning the final corner in the labyrinth of literature, he found himself behind his desk, facing his shop window. The blinds were drawn, giving the impression he was closed but allowed thin strips of light to decorate the room.
The duster swept over his desk, scattering bills and notes and sent particles of dust up into the air where a beam of light highlighted their slow, graceful descent back to earth. Aziraphale lounged in his chair and swiveled to face his phone. A flashing red light had attracted his attention. The angel kicked away from his desk and propelled himself over to the phone. He flicked the switch lazily.
"Zira, mate, you still in London? Thinking of traveling down there myself in a bit. Fancy hooking up? Meeting up, I mean. Drink? I'll even let you choose the wine."
Aziraphale closed his eyes as the husky voice filled the room, bouncing off the walls. How confident the demon sounded. What made him think he even wanted to meet up? The angel scoffed and twirled himself back to his desk lost in bliss. He groaned as the bell above the shop door tinkled. Drat, a customer.
A bespeckeled, middle aged man wandered over the threshold and glanced around the dusky shop. He nodded as he met the angel's gaze before shuffling off in the direction of crime fiction. Aziraphale narrowed his eyes, stood up and shuffled after him. After a while, the customer felt that inexplicable prickling on the back of his neck which told him he was being watched, or, more accurately, glared at. He half turned to find a heavenly pair of blue eyes regarding him over the top of a dog-eared first edition. Aziraphale lowered the book and offered the balding man a wan smile.
"May I be of assistance?"
"Err," said the man, shifting his weight uncomfortably, "just browsing thanks."
"Perhaps you were looking for this...?" Aziraphale leaned over the man, inhaling his tobacco stench, and selected a book a random. He could afford to sacrifice a few.
"Um, I don't think -"
"...only I was about to lock up for lunch." finished Aziraphale, still smiling angelically.
"But...it's only half past ten..." Aziraphale's smile did not flicker. His eyes bore into the man's watery ones.
"Actually..." said the customer hurriedly taking the book out of the shop keeper's resisting hands. At last the till was closed and the bell above the shop door announced the man's departure. Aziraphale sighed and shook his head. Everyday at least one human tried to take his precious books away from him.
He fingered the papers on his desk and tried to recall what he had been doing before that rude man had interrupted his peaceful morning. Oh yes. That phone message. Aziraphale's smile brightened the room and a rush of breath escaped his parted lips as he thought about Crowley's proposal to meet up. He didn't bother to wonder why he was suddenly blushing, instead he dived for the phone and pushed speed dial. He'd have to close the shop for a few days. Thank goodness.
The phone rang twice before it was answered by a sleepy Crowley.
"Whazyt?" he said gruffly. Aziraphale apologized quickly. He had forgotten the time difference. It was half past five in the morning in New York.
"S'fine, s'fine," purred Crowley, "name the time and place. Changed my mind about the wine though. You're awful at choosing." Aziraphale smiled into the receiver.
"On my way to Paris dear. Rare book auction this afternoon, I'm afraid."
"No problem. Montmartre for dinner? Say, nine?"
"Perfect. It's a date."
