Lucifer and Azazel both cast their eyes upward, simultaneously, as the loud thudding began again on the second floor of the Infernal Residence.
"Make sure you-" Azazel started, but before he could finish the sentence, every electronic device in the house suddenly hummed on with full volume.
There was a brief instant of static, and then. "OHGOD,OHGOD,OHFUCK! OSCAR, THAT'S SO GOOD."
Lucifer snapped his hand out, and tiny sparks erupted from the radio and television in the study, as well as every other audio-capable device in the house, and the smell of burning plastic and electrical components permeated the room.
"I hate it when he does that," Lucifer grumbled.
"I don't think he even realizes that he's doing it. He hasn't quite understood how much more powerful his sphere of influence is," Azazel said.
"Not that. Everyone does that, once in a while. Can't be helped, in the heat of the moment. I'm happy that he's enjoying himself."
"What then?"
"OhGod,OhGod,OhGod," Lucifer mocked, in a high falsetto. "Damned disrespectful, under my roof. The little brat."
Azazel chuckled. "I doubt he does itintentionally, as a slight against you."
"It's the principal of the thing."
"I bet He hates it," Azazel suggested. "Going about His day, meanwhile His ears are burning with cries of orgasmic ecstasy, wrought from mortal tongues, raised in unintentional prayer. Gives a new perspective on the 3rd Commandment."
Lucifer smirked around the rim of his glass of scotch, as he brought it to his lips and sipped, considering. "I can just imagine it. He's in the middle of hearing reports from the archangels, trying to pay attention to Gabriel's latest cockup, and meanwhile Adam's ranting in His ear about… what was it yesterday?"
"Penal code," Azazel said. He put on a remarkably good impression of Adam. "Holy, fucking, God, Oscar. Do you think Thomas Cromwell is down here? I'd like to ughhh give him a front row seat to this. Show him just what I think of his,oh God… Buggery Act of 1533. Fuck the Offences Against the Person Act of 1828, and the Labouchere Ammendment. And, Queen Victoria can shove her charges of gross indecency right up her fat… hng… powdered…. Mmmnh…arse."
Lucifer gave a deep throated laugh.
"We should probably talk to him about it," Azazel said.
"Setting up a torment schedule for Thomas Cromwell? You don't think he was serious about that, do you?"
"I meant about broadcasting all of his orgasms through the entire house, but I can help him with the paperwork for Cromwell, if he did mean it."
Lucifer waved a hand through the air, dismissing the idea. "Leave him be. You know how embarrassed he gets about anything to do with sex. Considering how uptight he is about it, I'm surprised he's so vocal in the bedroom. Anyway, he'll realize what he's doing before too long, and he'll get it under control."
"We could give him a nudge."
Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "What do you have in mind?"
"It's like you said," Azazel suggested. "The heat of the moment. You lose control. It happens to everyone once in a while."
Lucifer smirked. "You want to give him a taste of his own medicine."
"It only seems fair. He's been making our ears bleed with his orgasms for the last few days. I think it's high time we showed him how it's done."
oOoOoOo
Yeshua clipped his drill onto his belt and rose to his feet, stretching out his back with a crack.
He surveyed his work with the satisfaction of a job well done.
The installation had gone well, and he thought that he'd even managed to maintain the minimalistic aesthetic of the flat. The room that had once housed Crowley's plants now had a series of floating, maple shelves on one wall, forming catwalks between rounded, wood, pods, containing cat beds. Two of the pods had names above them: Minxy and George. The others remained blank, as he still couldn't remember what the other two cats' names were, and he didn't feel right about just giving them new ones. George lay sleeping, uncooperatively, in one of the blank beds, while the white cat had taken up residence in Minxy's pod, so he didn't guess that it much mattered anyway.
Minxy was in the middle of a standoff with the flat's newest occupant—over a plate of raw, minced salmon.
The compsognathus, which Marcia simply called Compy, was little more than a baby, and so of a size with Minxy, but it wasn't about to give up its dinner without a fight. It crouched and snapped at the little cat, but Minxy stood her ground, hackles raised and hissing.
"Oh, for Heaven's sake," Yeshua grumbled. "There's no need for that. Can't you two just get along?" He waved a hand at Compy's bowl and multiplied the food, and the two animals gave up their squabble and started eating, warily, side by side.
Yeshua went to take a shower, to get ready for his date with Marcia.
oOoOoOo
Gabriel groaned and sat up with some difficult, since his hands seemed to have been tied together with his own scarf. He looked around. They were surrounded by moss hung trees and vegetation in all directions.
"Where, exactly, are we?" he asked.
Beelzebub idly picked a leaf out of their hair. "How the fuck shzould I know?"
Gabriel eyed them, suspiciously. "Do you remember anything from last night?"
"I remember that you szcream when I sztick a finger in your arsze."
"Did we… engage in sexual activity?"
"If that'sz what you want to call it. I've had better."
"But," Gabriel protested. "I was drunk."
"I doubt you'd be any better szober, but if you're worried about you reputation, we can have another go."
"I mean that I was drunk; I couldn't consent."
Beelzebub bristled. "What are you implying? I wasz drunk too, and you definitely didn't not conszent. Anyway, you got into bed with a demon; what did you think wasz going to happen?"
Gabriel looked around at the circle of bunched sticks, leaves, and branches that they were sitting in the middle of. "I wouldn't call this a bed. What is this?"
"I think it's a neszt," Beelzebub said, unconcerned, as they began to put their war regalia back on.
"A nest? It would have to be an awfully big bird."
"Might have been a gorilla."
"A gorilla? Where are we?"
"I already told you, I have no idea. Haven't you ever woken up in a sztrange bed before, with no memory of the night before?"
"No! Of course not. I'm the Archangel Fucking Gabriel."
"Well, as the demon who wasz fucking the Archangel Gabriel, last night, I have to szay that I'm not all that impresszed."
Beelzebub finished straightening their medals and flicked out their wings, preparing to leave.
"Wait! Where are you going? You can't just leave me here!"
"You're the Archangel fucking Gabriel. You're a big boy. I think you can find your own way home."
"But, what about…? When will I see you again?"
Beelzebub gave him a disgusted look. "Are you always thisz clingy, the morning after?"
"I've never done this before."
"That explains a lot. Give me a call when you've had more practicze, and I'll szee if I can work you into my szchedule."
"Your schedule? How many others are there?"
"I don't kissz and tell."
"That's-," Gabriel started to object, but he cut himself off. "No, that's… That's good. No one can ever find out about this."
Beelzebub rolled their eyes. "Later, Gabe." They beat their wings, a few times, to gain the first branch of a nearby tree, and moved quickly upward, out of the canopy, and sight.
"Wait!" Gabriel called after them. "Aren't you even going to untie me?"
oOoOoOo
Aziraphale wrapped his feather-hemmed, silk robe more tightly around himself, as he stepped out of their little cottage and made his way to Crowley with another bottle of wine. His bare feet made light indentations into the hard packed snow as he crossed to the edge of the cliff face and settled himself next to Crowley on their tartan blanket.
"The sun will be coming up soon," Crowley said.
Aziraphale looked down at the horizon, at the stars still twinkling below them, and up at the wide expanse of the milky way above them. Here, far above the world, the stars shone more brightly than Aziraphale had seen them since the Beginning. The sky was the deepest indigo, but the stars were a riot of colour: purple, and gold, and green. The whole breadth of the galaxy seemed to dance above them, breathtaking in its scope, and unparalleled in its beauty.
Aziraphale turned to Crowley and saw the whole universe reflected in his amber eyes, and thought that as beautiful as the night sky was, it was even more beautiful when reflected in Crowley's gaze. Crowley smiled at him, eyes dancing with the glitter of uncountable stars, and Aziraphale saw his universe in a nutshell.
"I should have guessed this," he said.
"Hmmm?" Crowley gave an enquiring and contented little hum as he settled against Aziraphale.
"The honeymoon location," Aziraphale said. "Of course you'd take me to the top of Mount Everest."
"You can't complain about the view."
"No," Aziraphale agreed. "Though I had been expecting something more tropical."
Crowley plucked at the translucent, silk, robe that Aziraphale had draped over his otherwise naked body. "You don't seem to be bothered by the cold." He slid the robe open to reveal one, peaked nipple. "Not too bothered," he amended, running his thumb over the little pebble.
Aziraphale let out a gasp. "That isn't from the cold, my dear."
Crowley leaned forward and flicked his tongue over Aziraphale's heated skin. "And I suppose that hitch in your breath isn't from lack of oxygen either."
"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale moaned, eyes fluttering shut. "You should take me back inside."
"I think I'll take you here," Crowley said, lips brushing Aziraphale's skin. "Under the stars, for all the world to see."
Aziraphale gave a helpless laugh, as Crowley worked his way lower, mouthing against his belly and the edge of his belly button.
"I suppose we don't have to worry about anyone walking in on us, here. Not even Adam would manage to stumble upon us, en flagrante, at the top of the world."
"No doors to worry about locking," Crowley murmured. "And you can make as much noise as you like. There's no one to hear you."
"Hunhh," Aziraphale agreed, breathless.
"Might cause an avalanche," Crowley suggested.
"That idea would appeal to you."
Crowley smirked, parting Aziraphale's frilly, silk robe further, pulling at the tie. "You look like a dessert in this."
Aziraphale winced. "I tried on a leather one, all covered with buckles, and laces, and zips. I thought you might like that, but I felt like an overstuffed sausage."
Crowley hissed. "I think I'll have you feeling well-stuffed in a moment, but I like you like this- like some fancy cake."
"I suppose you can handle the frosting, as well?" Aziraphale suggested, a wry tone colouring his voice.
Crowley chuckled. "If you like, angel. I'd even be as eager as you to clean my plate."
Aziraphale huffed out a breath, and it puffed out into the cold air like a whiff of smoke. The temperature may have been well below freezing, but Aziraphale was beginning to feel entirely too hot, as Crowley went back to working his mouth over newly exposed skin.
"This all feels so strange."
Crowley pulled back from where he'd been making his way down Aziraphale's side. "You don't like it?"
Aziraphale chuckled. "Not that. It's just so quiet here. I feel so far removed from everything. The world is going on without us. I feel like… oh, I don't know… a new parent leaving their infant with a sitter for the first time."
"We've both left Earth before," Crowley pointed out. "Gone to report to head offices."
"Yes, but not since we've branched out on our own. It just feels different, somehow."
"Yeshua's down there. He'll look after things for a few weeks. If Jesus Christ isn't good enough to be your baby sitter, I can't imagine who would meet your expectations."
Aziraphale laughed. "As odd as it must sound, coming from me, I think I'd be less worried if we'd left the Antichrist in charge."
"He's busy down in Hell," Crowley said, going back to the soft skin on the inside of Aziraphale's thigh. "Probably spending a lot less time worrying over what's going on back on Earth , while he does all the things to your very good friend, Oscar Wilde, that I'd like to be doing to you," he added in a murmur, speaking to Aziraphale's hardening cock. "Don't fret, angel. It's our honeymoon."
"I'm not fretting," Aziraphale protested. But then, Crowley's mouth was enveloping him, and he forgot all about Earth, as he raised his voice to the heavens, in a startled cry of pleasure.
His voice echoed through the mountain, and rumbled the snow-capped peaks. 65 km below, at base camp, the hills were alive with the sound of music.
Later, as they both lay, utterly spent and completely naked, on the sodden blankets, Aziraphale's silken robe a complete loss, the sky began to lighten—sun cresting the horizon far below, as a full moon still shone in the sky, and Jupiter glowed orange and yellow.
Crowley stretched, languidly, and rolled over onto his side, gazing out at the sky.
Aziraphale admired the sharp angles and lines of his body, stroking one hand over the jut of a hip. He'd always thought that Crowley's corporeal form suited his personality well. He was all sharp points and brusque angles, a jangle of nerves and hard edges, but so very cool and clever—never giving a damn about what anyone else thought of him. The serpent suited him just as well: cool to the touch and calculating in his regard, tightly bunched muscles that could be ready to strike out ar a moment's notice, even as he moved, sleek and slithering, through the undergrowth. Seeing him had always given Aziraphale a little jolt of pleasure. Always thrown him off a step.
By contrast, Aziraphale had always been soft, but also solid. He could be strong when he needed to, when it was right, but he much preferred the peace of being a quiet bubble in the center of outward chaos.
"I love you," he said, softly.
Crowley turned his gaze from the sky to look at him, smiling. "I love you too, angel. Husband."
Aziraphale huffed and lay back, looking up at the sky. "This still feels entirely too good to be true. That we can have this," he gestured between the two of them, "after everything."
"Almost makes you believe in a caring God."
"She does care, I think," Aziraphale said. "She just doesn't always interfere."
"What do you think would have happened if we'd done all of this a thousand years ago? What if I'd come to you in the Bastille, found you all tarted up like some shiny, French pastry, bound and waiting, and just said, 'fuck them all,' and taken you for myself? Or, if you'd carried me out of the rain, that first time, in the garden, and we'd sheltered under the apple tree and given the bushes a good rustle?"
Aziraphale laughed. "I don't know, but… I almost like it better this way."
"What do you mean?"
"All those years… the centuries, millennia even, of waiting… it makes it all a bit sweeter, doesn't it? It means so much more now, having it, after waiting so long."
Crowley snorted. "You would say that, bloody, stubborn, angel. You've been freely going about, enjoying all the pleasures Earth has to offer, since the beginning, but you've never once given up a chance to watch me squirm."
"You do it so prettily, my dear," Aziraphale said, leaning in to kiss him. "And, as you say, I'm just enough of a bastard to enjoy it."
It would appear that they weren't quite entirely spent after all, and things were heating up again, when they were suddenly interrupted by the noise of crunching ice on the trail head.
Aziraphale pulled away from Crowley to look up, and saw a man, bundled into many layers of cold weather gear, scuffing his feet against the ice, looking embarrassed and apologetic. He was accompanied by several other, similarly dressed, figures, but they all seemed much more interested in the cottage that Crowley had created for their honeymoon, than the two naked newlyweds at the top of the mountain.
"Dreadfully sorry to interrupt, sirs," the man said. "Only, it's been a bit of trouble getting up here. One of the sherpas broke a leg on the initial ascent, and we had to weather out a blizzard for two days, and, well… I don't suppose any of that much matters. It's just my job to deliver the packages, and I have something for you here. Been on the schedule for quite a long time."
Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a look, and Aziraphale snapped his fingers. They were both properly clothed, if not appropriately so, in their usual attire, as they separated and got to their feet.
The delivery man held out a small, brown paper-wrapped package, in a mittened hand. Crowley took it while Aziraphale signed.
"The view from up here is unbelievable," he said. "You know, they call this mountain Holy Mother. It feels that way, up here. Like you're standing in the footsteps of God, looking down on the world."
"Not quite," Crowley said.
"There is a sort of sacred feel to the place," Aziraphale said. "A sense of the divine."
"Yes, that's it exactly," The delivery man agreed. He took his clipboard back, securing it into his satchel, and rubbed his hands together to warm them, letting out a gust of breath in a deep billowing cloud, as he looked down over the world. "It's definitely an upward battle to get here, but worth it, in the end," he said quietly.
Aziraphale and Crowley couldn't help but agree.
"Well," the delivery man said, "this will definitely be one to tell the grandkids about. I never imagined half the places I'd see when I signed on to this job, but this one tops them all." He chuckled. "Come on boys," he called to the sherpas, still standing around the cottage that had suddenly appeared at the top of the mountain, gesturing and loudly arguing. "I think there's cocoa and hot chicken soup waiting for us back at the bottom. Let's let these nice gents get on with their honeymoon."
He tipped them a wink before ushering his guides back toward the trailhead, where their footprints were already being blown over with dry snow, in the light breeze.
"How did he know we were on our honeymoon?" Aziraphale asked, as they disappeared into the distance.
Crowley handed him the package.
Written upon the paper, in an elegant script were the words: Inne Celebration ovve youre longge overdue nuptials. I knowe you'll treate this withe more respect than my distant relations. Beste wishes, Agnes Nutter.
Aziraphale's eyes widened, and he felt the package- which most definitely contained a bound ledger of some kind.
Crowley recognized the expression at once and snatched the present back. "Oh no you don't, angel. I'm putting my foot down. No more reading on the honeymoon."
"But, Crowley, you don't understand," Aziraphale started, eyes still greedily fixed on the package.
"Oh, I understand perfectly.This," he waved the package in the air, "is one Pandora's box that we aren't opening until after we go back to work. We'll just chuck it on the pile with the rest of the gifts, and you can open it when we're back in England."
"Excuse me?" Aziraphale looked offended by the mere suggestion.
Crowley rolled his eyes. "All right then. We'll set it, gently, next to the other gifts, and you can give it the full attention that it deserves, when we're back in England."
Aziraphale relaxed slightly, as they started walking back to their honeymoon cottage.
"The only wedding gift that I plan to make any use of, for the next three weeks, is Adam's," Crowley continued.
Aziraphale gave an indulgent sigh. "Did he really need to give us so much lubricant?"
"I'm not letting you off this mountain until we use all of it," Crowley threatened.
"Is that meant to be a challenge?"
Crowley held the door open and raised a brow.
"Well then," Aziraphale said, holding himself straighter, as he bounced a little on the balls of his feet. "Challenge accepted."
oOoOoOo
As voices raised, once more ringing out through the mountain top, (with songs those hills hadn't heard before, not even in a thousand years, but which had become a common occurrence over the last couple days,) a very small spaceship landed on a spot where a tartan blanket had been laid down over the snow.
A bird hopped out, craning its neck around to look for the source of the strange noise. When there didn't seem to be any particular danger, the bird hopped over to a rocky outcropping, with a worn groove on one side, sharpened its beak, got back into its spaceship, and flew away.