Midnight in Tadfield. It's a dark, moonless night, and very quiet in the village. The faintest of lights can be discerned in Aziraphale's bookshop, however. Uriel walks up the street and through the locked door as a ghost might. Angels don't sleep, and it hasn't occurred to her that it might be an inopportune time of day to have a chat with Aziraphale. What she sees in the dim light are Aziraphale and Crowley, stripped to the waist, dancing. They're wearing ear buds, so no music can be heard. Although she's standing in the comparatively shadowy area near the door, they sense her presence and stop.

Uriel. Try knocking next time, for Satan's sake.

Crowley snaps his fingers, and their earbuds vanish. Crowley can see perfectly well in the dark, but Aziraphale magics the light level up to a pleasant warm glow, and gestures to Uriel to be seated in one of the little brocade upholstered Georgian chairs. She sits and stares at them, as if she doesn't quite know how to begin.

I . . . I didn't know angels could dance. And where was the music?

Crowley magics a pair of earbuds into her ears. She jumps as the pounding beat from a section of a trance mix assaults her hearing. Swiftly pulls and shakes the earbuds out and tosses them onto the floor.

What kind of music is that?

You know, angel, if you're just going to stare at us and be a music critic, you can leave. This isn't a public performance. Or perhaps you were hoping for more of a show?

Another snap of Crowley's fingers, and his and Aziraphale's clothing vanishes.

Swift as a serpent, Crowley sidles up behind Aziraphale and wraps his arms around his chest. Extends a long tongue and licks Aziraphale's shoulder and neck. Slowly rubs his hands through the angel's chest hair. The angel's pleasure is unmistakable.

Crowley, for Heaven's sake!

Aziraphale wrests himself from Crowley's grasp. Grabs another chair and hurries over to where Uriel is sitting in obvious distress, seats himself at an angle to her. A change from two years ago is that now he doesn't give being naked a second thought. Uriel obviously does, though, and can't tear her eyes from his shoulders and chest. And lap. Then she starts to cry.

With a groan of utter disgust, Crowley goes off into the back room.

Aziraphale snaps to and magics on his tatty old dressing gown. Places his hands on either side of Uriel's face, pulling her closer to him. Their eyes meet. What she sees are concerned and earnest gray eyes in a very kind face.

Uriel. Please. Tell me what brings you here.

She tries to speak, but can't stop crying. Her eyes fall once again to Aziraphale's wooly chest, then she jerks her head away and closes her eyes as if in pain.

Aziraphale rises and wraps his arms around her, hugging her to him as he pulls her gently from her chair onto the floor. Eventually her shoulders stop shaking and she lies quietly in his arms.

Crowley comes out of the back room with a green pint ice cream container and a spoon. Sits next to Aziraphale, extends a spoonful toward Uriel of what looks like an icy dessert.

I think this is needed. I know you eat. Take it.

It's nice, Uriel. Lime cannabis sorbet. It has a relaxing effect.

Uriel sits up, tries a spoonful, finds it cool and pleasant. Crowley hands her the container.

Keep eating.

She really does like the taste, and takes increasingly larger spoonfuls. Crowley lies back on the floor, one knee raised, arms behind his head, russet hair spilling across the floor. Uriel dimly notices that the room smells of woodsmoke . . . and something else. Something deeply floral/animal and pungently pleasant. Minutes pass. Finally she's calm enough to talk.

Now that I have found you, I have to return to Heaven. But I don't want to go. I want what you two have. I want . . . I want . . . to be in love with someone, like you two are with each other.

She feels a bit . . . dizzy. Uninhibited enough to ask a question that's been on her mind.

Are you two actually having sex together?

She involuntarily glances at Crowley, who is gazing with eyes half closed off toward the back room's entrance and doesn't notice her.

I didn't realize we could do that. It is messy?

Not at all. Our celestial bodies lack some human orifices, so we can't do some of the interesting things that they do, or use some of their peculiar devices. The excitement lasts a lot longer, though.

It's nice, is it?

We call it "Divine Ecstasy," if that gives you any idea.

I wonder why no one in heaven ever speaks about it?

I know I never really ever thought about it. Always assumed it was impossible for me. Decorative giblets only, don't you know. And I believe you have to be in love with your partner.

Oh. There's nobody . . . nobody . . .

Aziraphale gives her a keen look.

Nobody? Ten million angels and you've never fancied even one of them?

He's about to say, "Don't tell me it's a demon . . ." but sees her expression take on a wistful aspect.

You do, don't you.

She nods. Continues to spoon in the sorbet.

I don't suppose you can tell me who?

She shakes her head.

I don't think he gives me a moment's thought. We're all very work focused. As perhaps you remember.

Crowley is making snoring noises, although obviously not asleep. He snarls,

Let's just get on with it, shall we? Go back to Heaven, find whoever it is, and just tell them you think they're hot. Get it on. It took Aziraphale and me 6000 years and Armageddon before we could finally admit we were attracted to each other. Piece of advice: don't make that mistake.

Make your report to Gabriel and Michael. Then just . . . slip back down here? With your friend?

I can't disobey.

What orders would you be disobeying?

A snaky smile appears on Crowley's face as Aziraphale works the Temptation. The Arrangement definitely knocked some edges off the angel.

Uriel downs another spoonful, appears lost in thought.

No one has actually said I can't return to Earth.

And once you're back, what reason would they have to come get you? Aren't you allowed a good deal of latitude and independent work? You're pretty far up corporate ladder.

I'm just the office gofer, you know. Gabriel made me apply for Sandalphon's position, but then wouldn't give it to me. I think now that may have been lucky for me. I suspect I very well could just go off, and no one would notice for a long time. I've been down here over a year now, and they haven't even bothered to ask for a compliance report. It has made me wonder if Gabriel actually thinks he's punishing me for something. You know how distasteful he finds Earth.

Yes. Thinks humans are stupid. Won't corrupt his celestial body with gross matter. One can only imagine how revolted he would be by sex.

This latter possibility brings a sly speculative smile to Uriel's face. Crowley's, too.

May I suggest you return to London, take the Main Office escalator. Tell them you've returned because you need a new phone and want to make your report. Hook up with your friend. Then come back down to Earth.

My friend is already on Earth.

Even better! Make your report. Request a new phone, to demonstrate your good intentions and reassure them that you're keen. Come back down and find your friend. Don't bother to report again until they call you. If they call you.

I must think this over.

Uriel gets to her feet.

May I take this with me?

Be sure to return the spoon.

She grimaces at Crowley, tosses him the spoon, and magics one of her own out of the air.

Thank you . . . Both of you. Can I come by tomorrow?

Anytime the shop is open, my dear.

Uriel exits, walking through the door as if it's made of fog.

I've never been able to do that, have you?

No.

Is she a higher power?

No, just an archangel. Technically, I outrank her. I think it might simply be a talent. Like being able to sing four octaves.

Aziraphale, you don't suppose the "friend" she was referring to is you? Pretty obvious she was suffering from desire.

Doubtful. She and Sandalphon roughed me up. Helped kidnap me – you, I mean. Stood by while Gabriel tried to kill you – me – with Hellfire, didn't you say? Not exactly the way to demonstrate affection. Must be someone else.

Crowley gets to his feet, extends a hand to Aziraphale.

C'mon, Angel. Let's have a scotch and then some Divine Ecstasy.

Now that is a Great Plan.

Crowley magics Aziraphale's dressing gown back into the closet. Stretches an arm around the angel's shoulders, and they saunter into the back room.

Aziraphale pours them each a stiff amount of scotch, hands Crowley his glass. Crowley downs the liquor in one long swallow, magics the glass back onto the tray, comes up behind Aziraphale and resumes where he left off, nuzzling the angel's neck and caressing his chest. One hand strokes Aziraphale's flank, grasps and massages the angel's rapidly hardening cock.

Don't waste your scotch, Aziraphale.

Aziraphale doesn't drink his, but instead magics it back into the decanter and the glass back onto the tray. He can feel Crowley's serpentine penis thrusting itself forward to nudge his testicles. Whiskey breath, bitter almonds, wood smoke. Sensing that Aziraphale is slipping into Divine Ecstasy, Crowley writhes around to the angel's front, places his hands on Aziraphale's shoulders and pushes him down to the Persian carpet. Straddles him as their penises interlock, leans forward. Aziraphale's firm icy hands caress the demon's chest. Crowley slips his fingers through Aziraphale's wooly hair, his own russet hair spilling over his shoulders and tickling the angel's neck. Wrapping his arms around the demon's back, Aziraphale pulls him close. Crowley is so wonderfully warm.

Sighing with pleasure as he feels the angel's cool, soothing flesh and wooly chest fuzz against his skin, Crowley kisses the angel's open mouth with his ecstatic lips and tongue. Together they climax into Divine Ecstasy.