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012. Orange

Aziraphale reached out a hand to grasp a fruit. It smelled delicious, he decided as he drew it nearer, breathing deep the lovely scent of the fruit. Oh, how he i liked /i oranges.

...He only liked them, though, didn't love. That was Raphael's field. Now there was an angel who absolutely loved oranges, always had, ever since he'd first tasted them.

Of course oranges did have their faults, too. Like the name. Seriously, orange? How very imaginative. On the other hand, you had to forgive poor Adam -- after so many animals and plants anybody's imagination would have been strained to name yet another somewhat round fruit of the citrus type. Or anything, really. And at least he hadn't stooped as low as to naming anything "adamion" or something.

Anyway. He liked oranges, and so did Raphael. And it was quite some time since he'd last visited Heaven, too. Perhaps he should take some fruit to the healer?

Suddenly his warrior's instincts warned him of a nearby battle, shaking him out of his thoughts. His senses immediately picked up demonic auras approaching -- and angelic ones, too, some very powerful. Silently berating himself for not noticing it earlier, he spread his wings and took off to the direction of the battle.

As he arrived to his destination, he immediately noticed that this wasn't just a small quarrel. There were some very powerful demons about, and Michael himself was leading the angels. As he approached, one of the angel warriors noticed him and frowned.

"Stand back, principality!" he shouted. "Watch out lest you be hurt in the battle!"

Aziraphale caught Michael's gaze and silently shook his head, drawing a small smile from the angelic leader. Virtues always thought too much of themselves, and apparently this one did so as well. He did fly some way back, though, being unarmed near some apparently very fierce demons.

Suddenly, though, he felt a clawed hand grasping on his ankle. Kicking at his unseen assaulter, he beat his wings a couple of times, then suddenly withdrew them, hoping to get the demon to let go. He wasn't as fast as Michael, but had indeed managed to acquire some speed with practice, and should be able to scare the demon off.

True enough, as he was falling nearer to the ground, the demon let go of him. Immediately he spread his wings again and moved away from the hellish fiend, turning to look at it. As he saw the other being's snakelike eyes, his own eyes narrowed in disgust.

"Crawly," he said, disgusted. "I should have known. Attacking from behind is rather your style, after all."

"You let your guard down too easssily, angel," hissed the demon, smirking fiercely as he flashed his claws. "I could easssily masssk myssself in the heat of the battle. If I'd wanted to, I could have killed you right away." There was an evil glint in his golden eyes.

"Then why didn't you?" shot Aziraphale back. "It is, after all, what your kind always strives for."

"Awww, you're no fun." The demon smirked again. "I jussst wanted a nice little fight for once. Or are you scared? The lassst time we met you did lossse, after all."

Crawly didn't have to say anything else; Aziraphale was already attacking. Oh, he did remember all too well his last meeting with the demon and the painful discorporation that had followed. It had taken ages to get his wings back in shape after it, too, and he'd fallen badly behind in his practice. Oh, it was well about the time the demon got what he had coming for that one.

His attack was responded to with just as fierce one. As the other angels and demons battled on, they were engaged in their own private battle, practiced for centuries with the intention to kill -- and, before there had been time, just to see who was the better one. After they had both lost their original swords and powers they were pretty equally matched, never able to tell the outcome of a battle before it was finished. So it was now as well, claws and fists, unholy and holy powers meeting each other.

Aziraphale suppressed a yelp of pain as the demon tore at his wing. Of course he went for the wing; it was the most vulnerable part of the body for them both, after all. Aziraphale made a quick decision -- after all, they were not i that /i high in the air. Withdrawing his wings, he clung to those of Crawly, determined to drag the other down to the ground with himself. They indeed now slid downwards, their combined weight only supported by Crawly's wings which weren't exactly well-functioning with an angel clinging to them, all the time fighting.

"You've no hope, you realize," Aziraphale said. "Even if you do win me, there are still a lot of angels around, including Michael. You're as good as dead."

"Well, at least I'll take you with me, then," smirked Crawly. "And as painfully as possible, too." With this, he suddenly sank his fangs into Aziraphale's shoulder. A burning sensation immediately tore at the angel as a hellish equivalent of a snake's venom spread into him. He yelped in pain, but then recovered quickly enough to fight back. As they were almost on the ground now, he let go of Crawly's wing with one hand, then punched his face as hard as he could. Letting go with his other hand as well, he kicked himself away from the demon, landing on the ground about six feet from the demon. Not giving him time to recover, Aziraphale then leapt into the air, brought out his wings for added momentum, and, beating with them, kicked Crawly's head. It fell back with a rather satisfying crush. The demon fell to the ground and then lay there, unmoving. Human bodies were sometimes ridiculously easy to discorporate.

Folding his wings as quickly as he could to get them out of the harm's way, Aziraphale then turned to face the battle. To his surprise, however, he discovered that the demons had all been slain or had fled. A few angels lay on the ground, apparently discorporated, but the others still stood there, tending each other's wounds. And staring at him, like he noticed.

Michael was grinning as he walked nearer. "I see you're definitely not out of practice," he said, satisfied. "Of course you could still be faster, but then again, not everybody can be me..."

"Nobody but you can be you, as far as I know," Aziraphale replied calmly. He then took a look at his shoulder, tearing the fabric of his robes to get a clear sight of the wound. It didn't look good, he decided. The skin was a very unpleasant purple colour.

"Let me see that," Michael said. "I'm not a healer and I know it, but I can do something about Hell venom." He grasped the wounded shoulder and frowned a bit in concentration. Aziraphale felt a wave of holiness coming from him, cleaning away the traces of demonic powers. A moment later his shoulder still felt sore, but at least it was now slowly returning to its normal colour.

"Thanks," he said, rubbing his shoulder a bit as Michael let go. "I think I won't even have to bother a healer. Except for that bite he did nothing I couldn't heal myself."

"That's the spirit," Michael said, grinning. "Now, won't you come up with us? I'm sure it's well about the time you visited your brother."

"That's exactly what I was planning," Aziraphale replied, smiling. "Just let me get some oranges for Raphael first. Maybe he'll then even forgive me for letting you heal my wound."

At that, the archangel laughed. "Doubtful," he said, "but at least he'll be easier on you." Then he turned towards his warriors. Many of them were staring at Aziraphale even more than before, amazed at the casual way he spoke about the Archangel of Healing. Some of the others -- the older and more high-ranking ones -- just grinned, knowing Aziraphale and his relation to Gabriel.

The principality himself, however, just ignored them, heading back to the orange trees.

"Good afternoon, my dear," Gabriel said, smiling as he saw Raphael walking into the room. "I hope you slept well."

"Oh, well enough," replied Raphael, yawning a bit. "My head's still aching terribly, though." His eyes wandered to the table and suddenly widened. "Oranges!" he exclaimed in delight. "Where'd you get oranges?" Raphael didn't care much for other Earthly things in general, but for some reason he had developed quite a fondness for this particular fruit. He could easily tell the difference between a miracled orange and a genuine one, and thus Gabriel never miracled oranges into being. After all, he did not want to "tease him by offering the idea something that can't be reached," like Raphael himself said.

"Aziraphale was here," Gabriel replied, "and he of course brought you some oranges as he'd happened to come across some. And don't give me that look," he then continued calmly as Raphael glared at him even as he started to peel the first orange. "You needed your rest. He's still in Heaven, too -- he'll be visiting Michael for a while, but will then come back for you to see him."

"He'd better," muttered Raphael. "He managed to sneak out without giving me a proper explanation about his last discorporation. I swear, he changes bodies as often as other people do clothes!"

"Well, he hardly is getting discorporated all the time on purpose, you know," commented the Messenger dryly. "And he has taken down the demon quite a few times, too, so don't you start your lectures again. Aziraphale knows exactly what he is doing, and he is good at it, too."

"Not good enough," Raphael huffed. He took a slice from the fruit and bit at it. "I'll only consider him good when he hasn't been discorporated for a full decade. And even then I'll change my opinion as soon as he comes begging for a new body."

"Aw, he's not that bad," chuckled Gabriel. However, even as he spoke, his eyes were drawn to Raphael's lips, which were now glistening with orange juice. The healer noticed his line of sight and smirked. Then he took the rest of the orange slice between his lips and slowly sucked it into his mouth. Even more juice covered his lips now, and Gabriel unconsciously licked his own lips.

"Would you like some orange, too?" asked Raphael innocently, taking another slice off the fruit. Instead of just offering it to the Messenger, however, he put one end of it between his lips, raising an eyebrow. Gabriel didn't hesitate much before going over to him and taking the other end in his own mouth.

Their eyes remained locked even as their lips neared each other. Then their lips met, the slice of orange now about evenly shared between their mouths. Gabriel bit his own end of it and swallowed, then used his tongue to push the rest of the fruit into Raphael's mouth. The other archangel swallowed his share, too, and then kissed him. Gabriel responded eagerly, placing his hands on the small of Raphael's back, drawing him closer. Of course, Raphael did not resist much.

Suddenly Gabriel no more wished for Aziraphale to return soon.

Next Prompt: Yellow