"I could tempt you, you know," the demon said slowly. Consideringly, as he watched the angel over the rim of his wineglass. The angel looked back at him, blue eyes bright and knowing over flushed cheeks and an amiable smile.
"If you say so, dear," he laughed softly. Not quite dismissive. Almost a challenge, old and familiar, with absolute certainty of victory.
The demon frowned, a golden glitter, and leaned forward. Determined, this time. Oddly fierce. He touched the angel's throat, a pale fingertip laid over a pulse that didn't technically need to beat, focused now, intense. He crooked his finger softly, a little slide of nail along the vein, a little bite that almost threatened blood, and he looked up. Into those bright, knowing eyes, into the light of challenge there. So old, this game. So familiar. But now ... something new.
"I could tempt you," he said again, soft and so very serious. "You know me, angel. You've seen ... everything ..." A whisper, dark and ruined, and the fingertip moved, tracing the long column of an angel's throat, another, a third, moving to circle, moving to hold. So gently, for all a demon's strength. "I could ... tempt you ..."
The angel reached up, touching a soft finger to the demon's wrist. Not in warning. Not in violence. Not to pull the encircling hand away. In acknowledgement. A simple touch, to show how much he knew.
"I know you could," the angel said. I know you won't, his eyes whispered. Not victorious, not cruel, not contemptuous. But grateful, shining in the darkness like a faith in the impossible, endlessly loving.
"I know you could," the angel said, and the demon smiled, and let his hand softly slip away.