A/N: Hello old readers and new friends.

My Twilight peeps - don't worry. I'm still writing my Twi-fics.

Anyone who wanders over... nice to meet you! I hope I don't disappoint!

Rome, 41 AD

"Let me tempt you to … Oh, no. That's your job, isn't it?"

Crowley had been having a not great day to that point. He was off his game. His first attempt at his assignment hadn't gone well, and it had brought him to a neighborhood that, among other unpleasantries, wasn't connected to any kind of drain or sewer. He'd had an unpleasant encounter with flying human waste, and though he was miracle-clean, his foul mood lingered.

Until now.

He watched Aziraphale as the angel sipped daintily at his drink, his expression far off, even a little dreamy. It was a nice change up, now that he thought of it. Many of the times he'd seen the angel in the past, his face had been pinched in worry over his latest moral quandary.

Aziraphale was … sweet. He was so unlike the other angels, most of whom were complete bastards. Crowley still smiled when he remembered his absolute glee at the idea the Angel of the East Gate had given up his flaming sword to protect the humans who'd failed God's test. The same angel who tried to be so brave, looking at Crowley through tearful eyes when he expected to be dragged down to Hell. Sure, that angelic self-righteousness popped up here and there—"You're a demon; that's what you do"— but, mostly, yeah. Aziraphale was just very sweet.

In any event, he had nothing else to do that evening. The thought of just how many knickers would twist if the rest of Heaven knew one of their angels was spending time with a demon amused him.

"All right, angel," Crowley said, keeping his tone nonchalant. "Seeing as I'm the one who tempted you to sully your body with gross human matter, I suppose I'll allow you to tempt me back."

Aziraphale's head snapped up, and he did that wide-eyed double take he was so good at. "Tempt me?" His voice squeaked higher on the word me, and Crowley had to fight not to laugh. "You said … An angel can't be tempted."

Crowley shrugged and smiled lazily. "Well, not to wickedness. But to a side of ox dressed in oil and spices, cooked for hours over the fire?" He bit the inside of his cheek, watching Aziraphale's expression turn wistful and wanting. "There's no harm in that, clearly. Else you wouldn't be here tempting me to, er, discover what can be done with oysters."

Aziraphale furrowed his brow, watching Crowley as though he were up to something demonic. But, just as in the past, he clearly decided he could trust Crowley. "Yes. Of course." He nodded to himself. "Meet me just outside near sundown, and we'll find out what all the fuss is about then, yes?"

"Yes."

~*0*~

The oysters were delicious.

More than that, Crowley discovered Aziraphale was just plain interesting; fun to talk to. He'd known that to a certain extent. That night in Ennon's basement as the winds ravaged the home above, they'd had a very intriguing conversation indeed. It had amused Crowley then as they discussed just how demonic a demon could be when they were subverting orders that had come from Satan himself with a free pass from God.

Yet what Aziraphale failed to recognize while he was trying to convince a demon he was, in fact, good was that he'd been working very hard to find weak points in God's will. He'd taken a scroll signed by God herself up to heaven looking for a loophole.

And finding it in Crowley, whose will was his own, you know, as long as he didn't mind the torture Hell would put him through if they knew Job's children were newts and not ash.

That night, they spoke of Greece, Aziraphale recalling the hours he spent in discussion with the philosophers and Crowley recounting endless nights staring up at the sky with the men who would become the astronomers of the era. In his opinion, humans never spent enough time looking at the stars and what lay beyond them.

Aziraphale was the first one he'd ever told about the stars. He didn't remember; not really. It was just something he knew.

As they walked from the restaurant to the domus Crowley had appropriated for his stay, he had the angel convinced he was the reason the Greek god Dionysus existed.

"God of wine and pleasure? Why would that surprise you?"

"To even imagine yourself a god though," Aziraphale said as he sat on the stone bench overlooking the garden and fountain. It was a clear, beautiful night, and Crowley could see his knitted brow easily in the moonlight.

"A demon? Blaspheming? Whatever will Satan, our master, have to say about that?" He handed Aziraphale a glass, brimming with red wine from the jug he'd brought outside with them, and poured one for himself. "Besides, I didn't imagine myself a god. The wine was, eh … potent. I may have forgotten to be discreet with a demonic miracle or seven. And if I accidentally put the fear of a god into the humans …" He shrugged.

"Thus tempting them away from their one true God."

"I didn't create the culture, angel. None of us did. The humans are going to be who they're going to be at the end of the day."

Aziraphale just hummed his acknowledgement, sipping his wine with a thoughtful look on his face as he gazed up at the stars. "Didn't Dionysus take a lover? A boy who died, leaving Dionysus so heartbroken he cast him into the sky as the first constellation, Bootes?"

Crowley nearly choked on his wine. He found himself grinning as he looked at the angel whose face had flushed a very fine shade of pink. "Ampelos was a satyr," he said.

"Satyrs don't exist," Aziraphale returned. He tilted his head, his expression still thoughtful and just a touch forlorn perhaps? "He had other lovers."

"The fictional Greek god did, yes. As the current Roman god, Bacchus, does. However, Dionysus also knew how to sell a good story to gullible beings." He eyed Aziraphale over the rim of his glass. "Especially drunk ones."

Aziraphale made a face but continued to gaze up at the stars.

"Are you trying to ask me if I've ever taken a human lover?" Crowley asked, barely containing his amusement.

"No!" Aziraphale snapped, clearly offended. The offense slipped almost instantly as his look turned furtive. "No. Well." He drained the last of his wine—what Crowley counted as the ninth or tenth of the evening. "I suppose I was curious."

"Now why in heaven would you think I did that?"

"You're a demon."

"Well spotted, and?" Crowley hefted the jug from where it sat at their feet and poured Aziraphale another glass.

Aziraphale's nose scrunched. "I suppose I've heard some gossip that demons … Iniquity and all that. But you don't …?"

Crowley shuddered. "Doesn't seem like that would be worth the mess." He gestured vaguely at his body. "Or the effort, for that matter." He arched an eyebrow and smirked at the angel. "Why? Have you?"

"No!" Again the offense. "That's meant for the sanctity of the marriage bed in any case."

"Hah. Have you thought to tell the humans that because a great many of them don't listen to that particular rule." Crowley smirked at him. "Besides, those rules don't apply to you. An angel can't marry a human, so if the sanctity of a marriage bed can't possibly exist, you're free to do as you like."

For a moment, it looked like Aziraphale was actually considering the validity of Crowley's statement. Then, he shook his head vigorously. "No. No. That kind of thinking is exactly how one ends up …"

"A demon?" Crowley suggested.

Aziraphale grimaced. "Well, you didn't get to where you are by following the rules, is all."

"There's no rule about angels not taking human lovers." Crowley leaned closer, dropping his voice though no one else was there. "And I know what the Greek philosophers got, eh … up to when they weren't philosophizing."

Aziraphale flushed scarlet. "So they did, but not with me." He huffed and took a deep pull of his wine.

They'd had a lot of wine.

And the angel was fun to tease.

Crowley scooted over another inch, draping an arm along the back of the bench. "Are you sure? You know your secret is safe with me."

"I have no … there are no secrets." Aziraphale stumbled over his words and his indignation. He straightened up from his drunken slouch, squaring his shoulders.

"Only makes sense, is all. When in Rome. Or Greece, as it were." Crowley smiled serenely.

"There are orgies in Rome," Aziraphale muttered, distracted.

"You've been to an orgy?" Crowley let his eyebrows arch all the way up. "Oh, you naughty angel."

"I didn't!" Aziraphale shot straight to his feet. Too quickly. His arms pinwheeled, and he would have fallen if not for Crowley. His hand darted out, fingers wrapping around Aziraphale's wrist. Not quite balanced either, Crowley tugged Aziraphale a bit too hard as he tried to keep himself steady. Aziraphale fell back to the bench, so close now that even Crowley was a bit shocked.

They blinked at each other. Aziraphale seemed quite out of breath. His voice was thin as he spoke. "I don't … orgy." He closed his eyes, giving his head the tiniest of shakes. "I don't any of it. This is ridiculous. I'm an angel."

Crowley had forgotten to let go of his hold on Aziraphale's wrist. Aziraphale had forgotten to pull away. He moved two of his fingers just the slightest bit in the barest of caresses. "You brought it up, after all. There's no shame in it."

"So says the demon." It was clear Aziraphale was aiming for derision, but he wasn't getting there. His tone was too gentle, and he was still so close. Crowley could feel his quick pulse beneath his fingertips.

"What's wrong with any of it, hm? It's an expression of emotion or just, you know, something to do." His eyes, quite without his permission at this point, darted down to Aziraphale's mouth. The angel wet his lips, and suddenly, Crowley wasn't quite sure which of them was doing the tempting in this little game.

They were teasing.

Well, he'd been teasing. Having a spot of fun with a fussy but sweet angel.

Right?

"Human emotion," Aziraphale said, his voice quiet. "Human things to do."

"Like food?" He quirked an eyebrow. "Or wine?" He raised the glass in his free hand to his mouth, his eyes not leaving the angel's.

Aziraphale's eyes followed Crowley's hand and the glass at his lips. When Crowley lowered the glass, Aziraphale let out a shuddering breath and surged forward those last few inches.

It was the barest hint of a kiss. Not even a peck, really, but a brush of lips.

Crowley had never spared much more than a passing thought about kisses. There had been a moment or two when a human found him alluring, but it hadn't ever been difficult to avoid, and he'd never even thought about being interested.

But here Aziraphale—a bloody angel of Heaven, for somebody's sake—had given him barely a hint of something and …

Well.

If that was what kisses were all about, Crowley had been missing out, was all.

But most of him, to his endless shock, knew that it wasn't kissing that was doing this to him, that had him frozen where he sat with the feeling of lightning flowing through him like rain under his skin. It was kissing Aziraphale that felt like this.

He's an angel. An angel.

The glass in his hand fell and shattered against the mosaic tile.

As suddenly as it happened, Aziraphale was standing five feet away so quickly he might have actually teleported. He'd gone pale as death, his eyes popped wide, and a hand went to his mouth.

"I …" The angel took a gulp of air like he was choking. "I—"

"What … in Satan's name … is this?"

Both Crowley and Aziraphale's heads snapped up at the sound of the new voice. Crowley got to his feet, his throat tight. A large part of him wanted to panic, but what good would that do?

Instead, he bowed, somewhat theatrically. "Lord Beelzebub. Something I can help you with?"

A/N: SO.

Many thanks to May and Julie for reading. Sally for editing. And Tiffany for being just as obsessed as I am.

This fic is finished. It will be uploaded as chapters are edited. :)