A Council

After the 1066 conquest of England, both Aziraphale and Crowley relocated to London the better to observe social progress. Aziraphale was interested in watching over the spread of formal religion from Europe as it took over from the native English paganism. Crowley justified his presence there by murmuring generalities about "war and conquest, lots of opportunities for temptation, you know…"

They settled within a few miles of each other, which was convenient for comparing notes on the progress and spread of holiness – or lack thereof. They fell into the habit of meeting up at the end of most months for a mug of beer and chat. Gradually each meeting contained fewer notes, and more beer. Neither of them being particularly susceptible to alcohol they were free to indulge themselves – Crowley had long since convinced Aziraphale that alcohol was a natural product invented by God and having nothing at all wrong with it if taken in moderation. (That was just an observation and didn't count as a temptation.)

They had been meeting and chatting for some fifty years, when one end-of-the-month meet-up took an intriguing turn. Crowley had arrived in their usual pub in a suspiciously good mood. He ordered French wine instead of their usual English beer and proposed a toast. "To the Roman Council and Pope Callistus II."

Aziraphale cautiously sipped his wine (which was very good) and wondered why a church council should have Crowley in such good spirits. "Er, yes, absolutely. God blesses the Pope, I presume…" He trailed off and raised his eyebrows at Crowley.

Crowley smirked, "You, my dear angel, need to pay more attention to politics!"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, "Was that an invention of Your side or Ours? Depending on the day, it could go either way…"

Crowley shrugged, "I think it is just, you know, ineffable. Human nature and free will and everything."

"Oh, yes, of course. Free will." Aziraphale frowned, "So what does a church council have to do with you?"

Crowley leaned forward conspiratorially, and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I could hardly believe it myself, but the church fathers have voted to make clerical celibacy compulsory for everyone!" He sat back and grinned.

Aziraphale sniffed, "I don't think that is such a big deal. Bishops and monks have always been celibate, and there is a long tradition of heavenly marriages for nuns."

"I don't believe you, angel. Do you not realize what this will mean for every single parish priest in the whole of Christendom? No more married priests, no more family men – no more families! Every single man who is gifted with a call to ministry must now also either have the gift of celibacy – or else struggle with temptation all his life!" Crowley sighed rapturously, "Just imagine the scope for temptation right there! And that's even without the teaching that says mere lustful thoughts are sinful – when that news gets out there will be rioting in the streets! Angel, you have no idea…" Crowley raised his cup and bowed to an imaginary audience, "Yes, thank you, thank you. Yes, all my own idea. Genius? Do you really think so? Well, yes, perhaps…"

Aziraphale smacked Crowley's shoulder. "Don't be ridiculous. Humans are not sex obsessed to that degree!"

Crowley simply raised one eyebrow. "You are lucky that angels don't bet, or I'd be taking you for all you have." They both contemplated that thought for a moment, then Crowley went on hurriedly, "Anyway, you should come with me tonight to Westminster after the proclamation is read. You can witness my triumph – and be available for anyone who needs to repent afterwards, of course."

"My dear boy," said Aziraphale firmly, "I would like to hear the results of the council, of course, but I anticipate no such result."

Crowley anticipated a great deal more which he decided not to share with Aziraphale, or not just yet…

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The reading of the Council proclamations went exactly as Aziraphale had predicted. Long and very, very boring. After it was all over, Aziraphale said to Crowley as they were sauntering out of the church, "Well, that wasn't exactly the triumph you predicted now, was it?"

Crowley just smirked and said, "You'll see, just wait until tonight."

They walked along the river and back, and were by the wall of the church building as the bells chimed for Vespers. Crowley closed his eyes and extended his senses into the building to watch the monks retiring for the night. Oooh, yes. A delicious wave of temptation and despair was sweeping through the ranks of the men. This was going to be even better than he had thought.

"My dear angel," Crowley put an arm across Aziraphale's chest and stopped him from walking any further. "Just lean against this wall right here," he guided Aziraphale until the angel's back rested against the wall of the church and took up a deceptively casual pose leaning against the wall beside him. "Now listen to the thoughts of the monks as they climb into their beds…"

Aziraphale closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. His eyelids flickered as he searched mentally through the minds on the other side of the wall. "Temptation… lust… anger… regret… despair… " he murmured to himself. He frowned, his eyes still closed. "Surely not? Here in this holy place how can every mind be obsessed with what they cannot have? The service of the Lord is a joyous calling, and if there are sacrifices, there are compensations…"

Crowley leaned in close to Aziraphale's ear and whispered, "Go deeper and you will see. Mankind has always been obsessed with the forbidden. Just saying 'Thou shalt not' to most humans is the same as baiting a rat trap with cheese. Even when they know it will kill them, they can't help wanting it. And they do want it, just listen to their thoughts." Crowley was close, his shoulder almost touching Aziraphale's, close enough to lean over and kiss the angel on those delicious pouting (well, currently frowning but that's not very poetic) lips. He didn't do it though. There would be time for that later. Instead, he cast his mind loose from his physical body and followed the angel's thoughts.

Aziraphale was currently watching one of the senior priests tossing on his lonely bed. The man had heard the injunctions against impure thoughts and was struggling mightily to refrain from his usual bedtime routine. Sleep was not coming however, and his thoughts were becoming increasingly lurid and perverse as he tried to suppress his natural impulses. What had been a natural physical urge was now in his mind becoming a devilish temptation. And the more he thought about being tempted by smooth, warm flesh sliding over his own, the more he tried to push away thoughts of wetness and heat – the more those thoughts obsessed his mind and the more his erection tented up the blanket and rubbed itself against the rough wool.

Aziraphale pushed his mind further into the man's to understand what has happening to him. Lust and temptation were at war within him – surely this was exactly the situation where angelic assistance would be helpful? The angel insinuated himself gently into the man's body and tried to stem the raging fire of lust which was flaming higher for all the man's attempts to suppress it. Aziraphale felt himself being overwhelmed by the man's urges, even though physically nothing had happened yet. The priest had a rock-hard erection, that was certainly true, but so far he hadn't touched it with even his own hand. He was rocking his hips involuntarily against the blankets, creating friction with the overlying rough wool, but that would not be enough to complete the act and soil him in spirit. Would it?

Just as Aziraphale was deciding that this man would be strong, and that angelic assistance would not be needed – he felt the blankets being lifted away and a heavier weight settling across the man's thighs. The man kept his eyes closed, so Aziraphale had no idea who it was, though he had a pretty good idea what was about to happen. Aziraphale in the man's body felt a line of kisses down his neck and across his collarbone. Steady pressure of a leg forced his own legs to open and immediately an opportunistic hand was massaging his balls and pressing just behind, causing a sweet hot tension to gather in his belly. He could feel blood rushing down to swell what was already swollen, making his hard-on weep a little at the tip. Fingers with a little bite of nail tweaked his right nipple until he groaned. At the same time a wet tongue traced a line down to his left nipple and circled it with ticklish flicks of a forked tongue?

Aziraphale forced the eyes of his host open. Both man and angel were shocked to see Crowley in his natural naked demon form (complete with bat wings and barbed tail) astride the man's lower body and sporting an enormous erection which he was even now bringing into alignment with the man's own rock hard flesh. Angel and man gasped at the contact as the friction of soft skin over hardness sent waves of pleasure through their shared body. Crowley smiled, baring pointed teeth, and bent his head to resume licking his way down the man's body.

Of the two, perhaps it was the angel who was most surprised. It had never crossed his mind that Crowley would ever carry out a temptation in his own demonic form! Not that there was anything wrong with that form, of course. Actually it was quite attractive in a dark, medieval kind of way…

The man himself was less astonished. It seemed to him not unreasonable that the urges of his body, suppressed and demonized, should take physical form in order to tempt him. A black leathery-winged scaled creature with a long tail which was even now stroking its way up his thigh – that was straight out of his fevered imagination and practically inevitable!

The insidious tickle of the tail worked its way up to the opening of the man's body, and started teasing and stroking him there. Waves of illicit pleasure were soaking the man's body already from the action of the tongue and fingers, and he groaned and parted his legs further to invite the invader to fill him and thrill him from the inside.

Sure enough, the blunt tip of the tail worked his opening, stretching him to accommodate the broad leaf-shaped head. He thrust his hips into the air to beg for more attention to his weeping cock, and was rewarded with a warm wetness engulfing him from tip to root. He felt the forked tongue dextrously stroking both sides of his cock and sending intense erotic thrills though his whole body. He thrust his hips faster, working his erection in the warm, wet haven until he could feel the tension gathering towards the climax. He was being filled, taken deeply, intimately and at the same time he was sliding in and out of lovely black scaly lips which were giving just the right amount of pressure and friction along his shaft. Then that amazing tongue flicked out and rasped across his tip, and he was groaning and coming, trying to choke back his cries of ecstasy.

Aziraphale snapped open the eyes of his own body, which was still leaning against the wall of Westminster Abbey. He found himself gazing from an inch away into the lust-filled yellow eyes of Crowley, who was still sporting an enormous and unfulfilled erection. Crowley leaned in to close the last inch of space between their lips – and Aziraphale vanished. Crowley collapsed across the suddenly vacant space and crashed into the stone wall of the church, cursing.