"Come here, Angel. Yule celebrations are over. Humans are asleep. No one is watching now ..."
Crowley's voice was honey-like and warm. It entered Aziraphale's bloodstream and went through his body, impregnating his soul, leaving a mark in his core. Like the hellfire that was supposed to kill him, it burned. Aziraphale could feel it, feel the burn of Crowley's words, the hidden invitation in them.
The temptation.
Aziraphale shivered, hoping it would pass unnoticed. He turned around slowly, trying to maintain a neutral face. He almost failed, but nobody, not even the Almighty, could fault him.
Crowley was bare-chested. The reflection of the flames danced on his skin, changing arabesques that licked the sharp angles of his body. For a moment, a single moment, Aziraphale felt jealous of the flames and aroused. That hideous jealousy disappeared as quickly as it had appeared when Crowley smiled. Aziraphale's mouth went dry as the desert that had surrounded the gates of Eden so long ago.
A heavy stone sank in his chest.
Crowley was a vision. He was everything Aziraphale could have wished, even if he had not known it for so dreadfully long. Smiling suited Crowley, Aziraphale thought as he crossed the fireplace, slowly approaching his long-time rival. His smile made his features soften, those breathtaking eyes sparkle .
Aziraphale had to be careful not to drown in those eyes. They smoldered with desire, with longing. He gulped as the distance between them faded. Against his strongest will, his eyes wandered along the vessel of sin and temptation Crowley was. He wondered if his beloved enemy knew the effect he had on everybody.
The effect he had on him.
People - Crowley above all - tended to think him the tempter, but he was more than that. He was the Forbidden Fruit itself. That magnificent hair, reflection of a fallen star, the shadow of his smile, his glorious eyes, the sharp fangs telling forgotten stories about his demonic power, the angles of that body.
He was more than gorgeous, and Aziraphale felt damned, had been for so long that he didn't know when everything had begun.
That night was special though. When Aziraphale finally reached him, he was already lost in the beauty in front of him. He didn't care to pretend anymore. It was delusional.
"Nobody is watching".
When the demon reached for Aziraphale's chin, making him look directly into his eyes, he lost himself. Crowley's eyes were pure was something swimming in that amber liquid that the angel wasn't able to nail, but it made his heart skip a beat. .
Crowley smiled as if he knew. Maybe he did. He looked away, trying not to melt under that gaze. Maybe if he focused on something else...
Bad idea.
If he hadn't noticed before the holly garland embedded in his locks, now he had. He was so close, he could smell his perfume - the clean fragrance of fresh grass and apples.
Fucking intoxicating apple smell.
Apart from the garland, there were the tattoos. Viking tattoos that embraced his body. Sublimed it.
He gasped when Crowley's tongue caressed his right lobe, only to be replaced by his teeth. Before Aziraphale could react, he was completely surrounded by the body of the demon -strong arms around his waist, bare skin against his clothes, the fabric tearing under the pressure of his stronger-than-they-seemed arms.
"Angel ..." the demon purred into his ear, and Aziraphale realized he was drunk. Of course he was. No way he would act like this if not. The mead in that part of Scandinavia was strong, and knowing the demon, he had probably drunk it until even his occult nature was affected.
Guilt washed over him, fighting his rising arousal and craving for more. It was not right, it was not fair. He should not take advantage of the situation. He should stop, he should...should...
Something hard against his hip killed any remorseful thought he might have had. He stopped breathing.
"Angel, why have you waited so long to come here?" asked Crowley, his voice hoarse, half-muffled in Aziraphale's skin on fire.
Before he could even think up a coherent reply, Crowley's fingers slid underneath his shirt.
"C-crowley,"he murmured, trying not to burst into tears. How much had he longed for that touch? How much had he dreamed about it ?
That night challenged all his concentration and will, and he had lost it. Yule was an incredible, pagan, blasphemous celebration that, just as the demon, always found a way to awaken Aziraphale's interest. He had to accept it had a sort of hidden magical aspect that stirred his admiration.
Aziraphale had a thing for magic.
The enormous fire in the center of the place where people had been dancing for hours diminished but still had some strength, like dying remnants of the feasts that had taken place only minutes ago. Everyone had been dancing, yelling, singing, praying to their gods for the start of spring, celebrating in the heart of a snowy winter, asking Odin to delay Ragnarok one year more.
That was what Yule was about in the end. As the Christian priest he portrayed, he had observed from far. He kinda liked it. Twenty years ago, when he arrived in those lands for the first time, he had discovered a fascinating culture. Almost had been discorporated, too (and thus more than once). But in time, even the fierce Vikings had come to like him. He was particularly appreciated by the new young king that wanted to establish relationships with Anglo-Saxons - a political mind he had, even if he carefully avoided Christianity.
Then there was Crowley. Crowley, who had searched on those lost landscapes somewhere to feel protected, not judged by his looks. How had he? He had charisma, beauty, that kissed-by-fire mane, the dangerous balance of his hips. Above everything else, the demon's intelligence and snake-like eyes made him considered a divinity above brave Vikings. So had he been the main star of that sacred night, dancing under the decorated Yule tree (one of Azira's favorite parts of that heretic tradition, the huge pine trees decorated with jewelry and candles), those shining objects making lights play over his skin, emphasize his movements. Oh, those movements. Sometimes Aziraphale wondered if Crowley knew how to use his corporation's hips properly.
Not that Aziraphale was complaining. It made things worth watching even more - a complete contrast to his priestrole, and such a seductive thing to admire.
It was Crowley who seemed wounded in his pride, ashamed when he hid sharp fangs in the soft skin of his corporation, his hands ripping off the angel's clothes.
As he had been the one tempted.
"Oh angel ... angel ..." Crowley sounded angry and aroused. It gave Aziraphale goosebumps. Before realizing what he was doing, Aziraphale passed his arms around Crowley's waist, his legs wrapping around his dancing hips." Why did you spend so long coming here?" he asked desperately. "Why do you tempt me so much?"
Their gazes met .
"What?" Aziraphale asked, shocked. Crowley was crying. Why on earth was he crying? Aziraphale touched his cheek. "My dear ...".Something crossed the demon's stare.
"Do not 'dear' me!" he hissed, so low Aziraphale almost didn't hear him, even though Crowley had closed the distance between them, so close he was breathing against Aziraphale's lips. "Do not dare 'dear' me when you have been avoiding me for so long. Do you think I didn't see how you have been keeping your distance, angel? As if I had some kind of disease. Turning away, always far …" He laughed but it was bitter, his tears still falling on Aziraphale's cheeks, tasting like the sea "... always out of my reach ..." Their bodies were now pressed together, their erections more than evident, noses touching.
"Why? I can't stand it anymore! Can't stand it, you understand? It's too hard and I..." Aziraphale covered Crowley's lips with a kiss. He had never kissed before, but somehow he knew how. Crowley growled for a single moment in surprise but quickly gave in.
It was hungry. It was forceful. It was *heavens* delightful. What did the Greeks call it? Ah yes - ambrosia. As the gourmand he was, Aziraphale could appreciate it.
Aziraphale deepened the kiss. Before he could know, he was naked. Crowley's lips were everywhere, lavishing biting, marking him with the venomous fangs of the snake he was.
And Aziraphale fucking loved it.
"I love him," he realized. Such enlightenment as the demon placed kisses over his neck, sucking, then licked his thighs.
"Crowley!" Aziraphale gasped, and those eyes were on him in no time. For the first time, Aziraphale recognized that special glow that, he thought in amazement, had always been there, but which he had struggled to acknowledge. Incredible fondness and warmth. He swallowed hard . "Are you sure you want this?"
Crowley grinned, climbing until his lips invaded Aziraphale's mouth, claiming him.
"I'd ravish you," he confided, "if you were only a simple mortal who made me horny." His hands played with the angel's nipples and Aziraphale's back arched. "But you make me feel alive. You are so much more. You are ..."
Aziraphale rested against him. "What am I, dearest?"
"More. More than a friend, than an acquaintance, than a rival. You are everything to me. You are more than enough but still never enough. You fill me and you leave me unfilled. I am always satisfied and famished of you. You are the only I want, always did, always will." He closed his eyes, his hands sinking in Aziraphale's hips. "How dare you even ask me if I want this?"
Aziraphale nodded in his neck."I want it, too," he said, "but please, stop crying. I cannot bear it. Not you, not for me ..."
Crowley nodded. Aziraphale gently guided one of the demon's hands to his cock while reverently kissing the knuckles of the other.
The demon's touch was silky, and Aziraphale's gasp died into the demon's mouth as the redhead played with it, gently stroking at a low pace. It was killing him how deliberately slow Crowley was being. He wondered if he was doing it on purpose, some kind of sweet revenge. He smiled, as an overwhelming feel of affection filled each cell of his body. It didn't matter, because this was Crowley.
Knowing he wanted him even more than he had dared to hope was all he needed.
The angel's hands found the demon torso and he reverently touched each centimeter of that skin he adored, making their way to the redhead's cock. Crowley shivered.
The demon's hand closed a bit harder around his cock, the pace increasing, pleasure overtaking his angelic senses, running through him like the most powerful drug. His cock was hard, beating, longing for more, pre-cum slipping from its tip. His hands were on the demon's dick, but he couldn't manage to stimulate it correctly.
The angel got slightly frustrated. He wanted to please his demonic lover the same way he was being pleased but Aziraphale's mind was blurred, a fog of desire and rapture that avoided any coherent thought to be formed.
A delighted groan escaped his lips at a particularly hard tug. Suddenly he felt Crowley's hand taking his, putting them over his torso, where his heart was. He blinked, confused, as he knew Crowley's member was as hard as his, aching to be touched.
The serpent's voice reached his left ear, an electrifying caress. "Let me" he whispered. "Let me take care of you"
The smooth tone made his heart and member twitch.
"Crowley" he begged, heart hammering, eyes closed. He needed more, he needed him. When Crowley's mouth took his member, a cry of delectation drew out from his very soul, the sensation making his wings to materialize into the earthly plane.
Aziraphale babbled something incoherent, as the clever tongue of the demon played with his phallus. He wasn't going to last much longer. Between his blurred lashes, he looked down. His lover's gaze fixed him. He wasn't crying anymore, but his eyes glowed more than ever.
Crowley sucked once more, and Aziraphale came with an animal sound, a muddled phrase in which the only comprehensible word was the demon's name.
He felt as if he could touch the stars.
When his brain functions recovered, he saw the handsome face of the demon looking at him with reverence.
Aziraphale touched his cheek, and Crowley leaned into the touch before stealing a kiss.
"How did it feel?" his gaze was asking.
Aziraphale only kissed back, unable to answer, feeling unworthy of expressing all he wanted to say, the love he had for his demon.
Crowley chuckled into the kiss. Then: "The night is not still over, you know".
The serpent's cock was still hard between their bodies, throbbing against his firm abdomen and the soft belly of the angel.
Just the thought of that made Aziraphale's effort harden again.
"I need you" he finally managed to say.
Crowley's eyes burned with desire, with love. His fingers met his entrance, his teeth busy on the angel's earlobe. Aziraphale tightened his embrace around him, marvelling at the freckles on his elbows. They reminded him of stars.
As he buried his face into crimson hair, the scent of apples enveloped his senses once more.
It smelled like home.
Later... much later... the sun's first rose light shone on that bright day after Yule's celebration. But even the flaming star could not have competed with the light of Aziraphale's halo brightening with his tenth faltering orgasm; the love in the shining eyes of the tempter as he sank inside his angel; the undying, heart-stopping, ethereal fusion of two beings made to be together.