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The Black and White Ball had valet parking of course, but Crowley would brush his teeth with holy water before he’d let anyone else drive his Bentley. Instead he parked it on the side of the road a bit past the mansion, where the road turned into the sort of winding river of asphalt that swung about near the cliffs and provided pretty scenery to tourists. Tonight was dark and windy, and the sky was blanketed with clouds. Aziraphale couldn’t even see the moon. The Bentley would be perfectly concealed almost in plain sight, just moved off the track far enough that a passing motorist wouldn’t hit it.
The angel tugged at his gold cufflinks and brushed at his cream-colored tailcoat as he tried to keep up with Crowley, who was striding like a supermodel up the narrow drive to the gates of the mansion. Aziraphale’s tuxedo reminded him uncomfortably of Heaven, though he had gone against Crowley’s instructions and added a faint tartan pattern to the bow tie that nobody but him was likely to notice. Crowley was covered head to toe in a voluminous white cloak that covered everything from his hair to his ankles. All that showed were his shoes, which were black stiletto pumps almost invisible in the darkness. It felt like he was following an extremely sassy ghost.
“Why are we here exactly?” Aziraphale asked. He ran his fingers through his hair, fluffing it up properly. “At this ‘fashion gala’ thing?”
“I told you, it’s for work.” Crowley spoke without turning around. They slipped past the gates and the gatekeeper, who looked up briefly in confusion but otherwise took no notice of their passage.
“Right, but why am I here? You invoked the Arrangement, so I gather you need my help with a temptation, but I hardly see–oh good Lord.” A slender waif of a woman clad in a gown that was little more than two sequins and a suggestion had stepped out onto the terrace for a vape. After a moment Azirphale went on, “I hardly see what you need me here for.”
The front doors of the mansion were made of dark walnut, and they were flung open in anticipation of the arriving guests. When asked for their invitations, Crowley leaned forward and smiled wickedly, and the security guard nearly fainted. “Go on ahead, Ambassadors,” she murmured, sounding out of breath. “Enjoy your visit.”
They paused in the foyer to catch their bearings, and Aziraphale said, “Yes, you see, that’s my point. This is exactly the kind of work you’re best at. Why do you need me here?”
Crowley didn’t answer right away. He turned to face the angel, and Aziraphale took a moment to admire the way the blush and lip rouge he’d applied earlier brought out the delightful lines and curves in an already lovely face. It was like a frame for a brilliant work of art. Human men–the straight ones anyway–were really missing out by not adding a bit of colour, Aziraphale believed. He overheard them sometimes, banging on about “bitches” and being “maidenless,” but if they’d only put a little effort in…
Instead of his usual dark glasses Crowley wore a feathery black mask that concealed the upper half of his face. The eye holes were slightly tinted, so Aziraphale could almost see the lovely golden eyes behind them. Crowley looked up and gazed around them. “Have I ever told you how much I love these events?” he said dreamily.
It was truly a sinner’s paradise. The decor of the mansion seemed to scream excess: nothing but gold and glamour and crystal chandeliers as far as the eye could see. The walnut floor was waxed to a high polish, almost bright enough to see up the ladies’ dresses. And speaking of dresses, the theme was Black and White, but the lack of colour was barely a hindrance to the array of styles surrounding them. There were long flowing gowns and simple miniskirts, suit jackets and dinner jackets and strange fluffy confections that barely looked like clothing. All designed and worn to shout LOOK AT ME, NOTICE HOW SPECIAL I AM, KNOW HOW RICH I AM. Aziraphale could tick off at least three deadly sins just from standing next to the front door. When he saw the dessert table ahead of them in the main hall, he added a fourth.
“I can see why you do,” he said finally. And he waited for Crowley to get to the point.
“It’s not very challenging, that’s the only problem.” A waiter walked by, and Crowley snagged a glass of champagne. He offered it to Aziraphale, who shook his head. “As you pointed out, these people are halfway to hell just from walking in the door. It’s as easy as eating cake to tempt them. But Downstairs sends me here to secure souls, so here I am. The reason you’re here is because I want to try something a little different this time, and you’re going to watch my back. Keep an eye out for… unpleasantness. Warn me if you see anything, and get me out if things go pear-shaped.”
Aziraphale hesitated. “Even if they’re halfway to hell, you know that I can’t–”
“You don’t have to hurt anyone. Just stop people from getting hurt. That’s what you’re here for. All right?”
Aziraphale studied Crowley for a moment. The demon drank his champagne down slowly, and he kept his eyes on Aziraphale’s the entire time. When the glass was empty, he licked his upper lip delicately with a tongue that was just a bit forked.
“All right,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley smiled like a snake.
“Where do you want me?” the angel asked.
Crowley’s smile widened for a moment, then he said, “Just mingle, and stay within sight. In about two hours we’ll meet up in the library to debrief. It’s past the great hall down that corridor on the left, see it?”
Aziraphale did. He nodded at Crowley and wandered off, rather stiffly. The great hall seemed like the best place to linger without being noticed, since it was where the bulk of the food and the champagne fountain were located. The dessert table he’d noticed earlier was dominated by an enormous white wedding-style cake and surrounded by black and white biscuits. Aziraphale decided that he would look least noticeable with something in his hands, so he collected a small crystal plate full of cheese and other nibbles. As a precaution he avoided the oysters; food poisoning wouldn’t actually hurt him, but it would create a temporary problem that could interfere with his surveillance of Crowley.
And speaking of Crowley, he looked as though he was getting on just fine on his own. He was out of earshot, but through the telepathic bond that most lifelong friends have, he could almost hear the demon’s words as he mingled and chatted.
What a lovely frock, I remember wearing something just like that last season, how quaint of you to try and bring it back… Dear, you must be very proud of your husband. Not many men are secure enough in their sexuality to stand so close to their male friends and embrace them like that… Oh you must have another cream puff, they’re delightful. Are you sure it’s the last one? Surely the kitchen staff has more that they’ll be bringing out any moment… Mr. Dowling! Lovely to see you again. I just saw your lovely daughter a moment ago, chatting up that handsome young waiter with the dark hair. Oh–that young lady who arrived with you wasn’t your daughter? Oh dear …
Aziraphale thought he’d figured out why Crowley wanted extra security. He seemed to be going heavy on the Wrath this time. That “Mr. Dowling” was turning an interesting colour that Aziraphale could see from across the room.
He nibbled on warm cheese and watched the pretty people mill about, and out of the corner of his eye he watched Crowley’s flowing cloak move back and forth through the crowd like a pacing tiger. There had been an undercurrent of sin flowing through the ball since they’d arrived, but now the atmosphere was becoming distinctly tense. Aziraphale couldn’t analyse it the way Crowley could; the demon could pick apart the various flavours and scents like sin was a fine wine. But the angel knew that Crowley’s work here was almost done, and he was a bit relieved. His starched shirt itched, and he wanted to go home.
“Lovely party, isn’t it?” said a voice near his elbow.
Aziraphale turned to see a handsome bald man in a black tux smiling at him. “I suppose it is,” he said. “It’s quite–striking. The black and white, against the gold background.”
The man blinked. Then he rallied and pressed on. “Are you here alone?” he asked.
“No.” Aziraphale looked away. “I’m waiting for my partner.”
“Yes, mine is around here somewhere too, I’m afraid.” The man chuckled. “I fear we have been abandoned. That’s a lovely suit. Is it Armani?”
Aziraphale looked down at his cream-colored tux, which seemed to glow under the sparkling chandeliers. “Ah, no. My own design, actually.” ( Came with the body , he didn’t add.)
“Brilliant! What’s your name? Have I heard of you?”
“Oh, I’m a very small operation. Really only make clothes for myself and my– partner .”
“Fine, then.” The man rolled his eyes and strolled away. “Keep your secrets, mysterious stranger. Perhaps I’ll see you in the ballroom later, for the dancing.”
Aziraphale sighed. Well, there was one potential complication on the horizon. Where was Crowley? He wished he could spend the evening by his side, but there were a dozen reasons why that was a terrible idea.
The demon wasn’t in immediate view, so Aziraphale began a slow circuit around the chamber. Finally he spotted him with some American senator’s wife at the dessert table. They were laughing and daring each other to steal fingerfuls of icing off the huge white cake. Aziraphale shook his head. Minx , he thought. The road to Hell was paved with buttercream icing, apparently.
A pale young man with a perfectly styled blond head was at the champagne fountain, filling two glasses. He glanced around briefly and pulled something out of his pocket. Aziraphale glanced at it with a touch of angelic sight, more out of boredom than anything, and froze. It was a tiny white vial, small enough to fit in the palm of a hand. He passed it over one of the glasses and put it back in his pocket.
Then Aziraphale watched in horror and gathering rage as he brought the drinks over to a pretty young woman. “Here,” he said. “I brought you this. You looked thirsty.”
She looked down at the drink and then up at him. She opened her mouth, but she never got a chance to say a word because the champagne glass exploded in a tinkling sparkle of glass. The young man cursed and shook his hand. There were flecks of red. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry. I–must have been holding it too tightly.”
He turned back toward the champagne fountain and came face to face with Aziraphale. “Excuse me,” he said politely.
“You’re going to leave now,” the angel said quietly. “You’re going to go home, and you’re going to think really hard about what you just tried to do. You might pray on it.”
“Look mate I don’t know what you thought you saw–”
Aziraphale’s wings brightened just a bit. Not enough to fully manifest, but enough to get the boy’s attention. He opened his other eyes and fixed the boy with angelic sight. Full force this time. “I said, you’re going to go home. Now .”
The boy’s eyes were like those of a rabbit in the headlights of an oncoming motor car. “Yes sir. Yes Father. Forgive me. I'm so sorry.” He rushed past the angel, mumbling what sounded like the Lord's Prayer. By the time Aziraphale had closed his eyes and settled his wings back into place, the boy was gone. Nobody else at the ball had noticed anything out of the ordinary. Several waiters were sweeping up the shards of glass, and the young lady was now talking to an older woman who might be her mother. She had forgotten all about the blond boy as though he had never existed.
Aziraphale looked over at Crowley, only to find the demon staring directly at him from his place at the dessert table. His mouth was open somewhat. Then he mouthed, What the heaven?
Sorry , Aziraphale mouthed back. He realized that he’d just dropped a small angelic miracle on a demonic playground and had probably erased an hour's worth of progress. But he wasn’t all that sorry. There was sin, and then there was evil.
*****
An hour and several unpalatable snacks later, Aziraphale slipped through the door Crowley had indicated earlier. He touched the keyhole as he closed the door behind him and wondered if he ought to lock it with a miracle. He decided not to. He would try to behave himself and keep his powers under wraps for the rest of the evening.
The library was dark, all the lights off except for one security light in the ceiling overhead. Aziraphale was briefly distracted from his search for Crowley by the shelves of books, most of which he discovered were disappointingly modern. They smelled of paper, but not old paper, not that lovely dusty vintage that permeated his own shop. Along one wall he found a set of encyclopaedias that were fairly old, and he leaned forward to take a whiff. Antique leather covers, lovely.
The smells of woodsmoke and cinnamon caught in his nose just a second before he found himself spun about and shoved against the bookshelf by a pair of strong, satin-clad hands. Crowley leaned forward and hissed, “What the heaven were you playing at out there? Using divine light at my work site?”
He was still wearing the voluminous white cloak that covered everything but his face and his scarlet-gloved hands. Those hands were sliding over his chest, stroking him, making it hard to concentrate. “There was a young man, and a girl–”
“I know. I sensed what happened when you went off on him. He won't be able to get off his knees for a week.”
Crowley’s hands were on Aziraphale’s hips, nudging at the waistband of his trousers. Aziraphale closed his eyes. “You're lucky you're so fucking hot when you use that divine anger of yours on a human that deserves it. Do you have any idea,” the demon murmured, leaning forward to breathe in his ear, “what kind of trouble you’d be in if either side found you here?”
“It’s not suspicious. I’m supposed to be thwarting you.”
Crowley’s breath was hot on his neck. “That’s not what I mean. I have plans for you tonight, angel, and I’ll be very disappointed if those plans are… thwarted.”
Crowley unbuttoned his trousers and tugged them down. “Is this meant to be a punishment?” Aziraphale asked breathlessly as the demon’s hand closed around his stiffening cock. He reached out to caress Crowley’s cheek.
“No.” Crowley grabbed his wrists and shoved them against the shelf behind him. Automatically, Aziraphale’s hands closed around it, gripping the hard wood. “This is. No touching. You touch, I stop.” Then he dropped to his knees.
“Oh…” You fiend , he thought but could not say because words had temporarily escaped his mind, along with his capacity for higher thought as Crowley took his cock in his mouth.
It was most exquisite torture to lean against the bookshelf, clinging with both hands, as Crowley’s head bobbed up and down on him, surrounding him with warmth and wetness. Every so often Crowley would pause and look up at him, smiling with his head cocked in a way that showed off his lovely jawline in the dim light. Aziraphale had to close his eyes to resist the urge to stroke that jaw, pull off that silly mask, run his fingers under the hood of his white cloak to grab his hair. Crowley’s fingers dug into his hips, and he groaned pleasantly around the angel’s cock. Aziraphale leaned his head back and focused on his breathing as he felt his orgasm gathering strength.
Don’t move , he begged his hands, which were clamped around the wooden shelf so hard he was afraid it might crack. He’s not bluffing, he really will stop, so please don’t move . This was one of Crowley's favorite games: to invent a "punishment" for a non-existent offense that usually had Aziraphale wailing with pleasure by the end of it. The desire to touch was so strong, filling him with need and driving the pressure in his cock to new heights of ecstasy.
Faintly he heard voices outside the door and he thought, Oh I never locked it –
And then his mouth opened and a moan of purest release escaped him as he fell apart around Crowley’s mouth and hands. He came in hot, pulsing bursts, his grip on the shelf the only thing holding his body upright as Crowley hummed with pleasure and sucked him dry.
Crowley released his cock excruciatingly slowly and helped him tuck back into place. He stood up and whispered, “You can touch now.”
Aziraphale threw his arms around Crowley’s waist and smothered his mouth in a kiss. He could taste himself on the demon’s tongue, and he broke away to whisper, “Let me.” He reached down and tugged at his white cloak.
“Not yet, angel,” Crowley murmured against his mouth. Despite Aziraphale’s best efforts, his makeup remained impeccable, though his mask had shifted slightly. “I told you, I have plans for you.”
Aziraphale whimpered as Crowley pulled away. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be home with Crowley, ideally with a lot fewer clothes on. “Patience, angel,” Crowley smiled, a real, proper smile. “On the floor just above this library is an office. It will probably be locked, but you can get in any way you see fit. Meet me there at midnight, and after that we’ll leave. All right?”
“All right.” Midnight was less than two hours away. He could wait that long.
*****
Aziraphale orbited the gala, keeping an eye on Crowley and the rest of the attendees as well. He found the ballroom where half a dozen couples were slow-dancing to “Every Breath You Take,” a song which the angel moved from “bebop” to “creepy bebop” in his lexicon when he stopped to listen to the lyrics. The DJ looked very bored and very drunk. The bald man from before was there, scanning the couples, and Aziraphale moved on quickly.
Eventually he found himself on the upper level, looking down at the main hall. The office where he would be meeting Crowley was right behind him, and he’d already picked the lock. Crowley was nowhere to be seen, but Aziraphale was unbothered. He’d figured out that the demon didn’t actually need him here for security, but for another purpose. Aziraphale’s stomach tingled at the thought.
And speak of the devil, there he was.
He still hadn’t removed his hood, and all that Aziraphale could see of him from here were his satin-dressed hands. He strutted to the centre of the room, spun about dramatically, and announced, “Can anyone give me a match?”
His voice rang out as though he were on stage, and there was an uncomfortable silence. Finally one of the waiters said, “There’s no smoking on the grounds, miss.”
“Oh very well. I’ll make my own light.” Crowley snapped his fingers with a little upward flourish, and his white cloak burst into flame. The humans closest to him fell backwards, and there were a few shouts and calls for emergency assistance. Then the flames vanished as quickly as they had appeared, and there Crowley stood in a long crimson gown that almost shouted against the stark background of the Black and White Ball. One shoulder was bare, and Aziraphale leaned forward and thought about biting that shoulder. The bodice fit snugly across his chest, and the lines of the satin gown accentuated his slender waist and hips. There was a slit up one leg that Aziraphale wished he could explore up close.
Most startling was what he had done to his hair. It was thickly layered, expertly teased, and parted down the middle. One half was dyed stark white, the other jet black. The waves and jagged edges made Aziraphale think of feathers.
Crowley raised one hand, put the other against his hip, and struck a pose as the hostess and a pair of security guards approached. She was almost as tall as Crowley, clad in a gold confection that glimmered under the chandeliers, and Aziraphale wondered if he would need to protect Crowley after all. The guards held their hands close to their hips and waited.
“Well this is something,” said a voice to his right.
Aziraphale didn’t have to turn his head to know that it was the persistent bald man from before. “Quite the show,” he agreed without looking.
“I still don’t see your partner,” the man went on. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you. You’ve been alone all evening.” He stepped a bit closer.
The hostess was speaking, and Aziraphale gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the man. “I never invited you,” she said. “Who are you, really?”
“My name is Estella,” Crowley said, projecting his voice like a theatre performer. “I'm a fashion designer like yourself. Unlike yourself, I have new ideas, fresh designs, and… a fully working staff.”
“Not interested,” Aziraphale hissed at the bald man. Crowley was in his element now, teasing the human, drawing out her baser instincts. So far he’d identified Greed, Pride, Envy…
“What do you know about my staff?” she demanded.
“I know that someone paid them all handsomely to break their contracts and leave for a better job. Good luck keeping your business afloat without anyone to steal ideas from.”
And there was Wrath.
“Get that–person–out of my gala!” the hostess shrieked. The security guards stepped forward, and at the same time a large, heavy arm slung round Aziraphale’s shoulders. He could smell cheap champagne.
“I said I’m not interested!” he snapped, and he grabbed the man’s arm, twisted it hard enough to hurt, and shoved the bald man away. The man fell backwards against the railing and then, slowly, he toppled over it.
Directly beneath him was the dessert table with the enormous white cake.
The drunken cad smashed into it, breaking his fall and splattering cake and icing across the hall. Aziraphale took a moment to ascertain that the cad would survive and hurried into the office behind him.
Nobody knew exactly how a six foot person in stiletto heels with black and white hair wearing crimson red was able to disappear in the ensuing confusion, but disappear he did.
*****
The office was cool and dark, a blessed relief after the chaos outside. Aziraphale locked it behind him, knowing that when Crowley wanted in, he would get in. He leaned against the door and breathed slowly, in through his nose and out through his mouth. The air felt fresher in here, as though there was an air purifier or air conditioner running. Aziraphale ruffled his hands through his hair and took a moment to appreciate the peace. He’d forgotten how exhausting it was to be around so many humans, especially with Crowley there to wind them up.
The room was dominated by an enormous wooden desk with brass accents: truly the pinnacle of expensive but tacky. A hand rubbed over the wood confirmed what Aziraphale had suspected: the wood was mostly fake. It was some sort of pressed compound painted and prettied up to look priceless. The angel sniffed at it. If he tried to bend Crowley over this worthless thing, it would snap in half.
The desk was mostly empty except for a blotter, a few pens, and a framed photograph. The photo was black and white and fairly grainy, as though it had been restored and reproduced. Aziraphale squinted at the image and wondered why it looked familiar.
"She had several aliases," Crowley said from behind him, "but you knew her as Rose Montgomery."
Aziraphale half turned, distracted somewhat by the warmth of the demon's presence. "A relative, then? A descendant?"
"The Baroness is Montgomery's great-granddaughter." Crowley was still wearing the crimson gown, and his freckled shoulders were very close as he leaned forward. "She actually admires that Nazi twat, thinks she was martyred for a great cause."
Aziraphale turned around to face Crowley, who was only inches away. "Is that why you trashed her party?"
Crowley made a noncommittal noise. “Downstairs sent me here for a few well-placed temptations, but I thought I’d make the evening a bit more… exciting.” He lowered his chin and looked at Aziraphale sidelong.
“And the reason I’m here…?”
“Is to make it even more exciting, of course.” Crowley put his hands on the edge of the desk to the left and right of Aziraphale’s waist and moved in for a soft kiss full of promise. Aziraphale shivered and took hold of Crowley’s slender hips. The satin gown was as delicious to touch as he’d hoped.
“I’ve missed you tonight,” Crowley whispered. “Working with you right there made it so much more fun. You should have smelled the lust in the air, and the envy. I saw the fool who tried to touch you. He won’t do that again.” Crowley’s hands were on his waist, slipping inside his jacket to squeeze his hips.
“Are you the reason he fell into the cake?” Aziraphale’s voice was not quite steady.
“I needed a distraction, and you know he deserved it. He’ll survive.” Crowley’s mouth was on his neck, and his warm kisses were sending clear signals to all relevant parts of the angel’s body. Then Crowley pulled away, making Aziraphale whimper a little. The demon grinned. “Come on. I think the stars are out.”
Crowley took him by the hand and led him through the sliding door onto the balcony. The wind had died down, and the clouds were gone. The air was crisp but not too cold, and the stars shone down like diamond blades.
They stood at the railing and looked out over the gardens below, which were dimly lit with ground-level lanterns along the walking path. Crowley moved in again and started stroking Aziraphale’s hips, but Aziraphale turned away for a moment. “Over here,” he murmured, indicating a sturdy chaise lounge that looked to be of sterner stuff than the cheap desk inside. “I’ve had enough of railings for the evening.”
“Have you though?” Crowley grinned.
Aziraphale slapped his arse lightly. “Minx.”
Crowley slid onto the chaise and turned sideways, exposing the slit in his gown and the long, slender leg beneath. He kicked off the stiletto heels and wiggled his toes invitingly.
Aziraphale knelt and kissed those toes, then that ankle, then the leg. He kissed his way up Crowley’s hip, waist, arm, shoulder, and neck. Then he ran one hand through the thick mop of Crowley’s black and white coiffure.
“Fix this, please,” Aziraphale whispered.
“You don’t like it?”
“You look incredible. But you don’t look like yourself. You look like someone else, like a beautiful actress perhaps. And I only want you.”
Under Aziraphale’s hand, Crowley’s hair smoothed out and lengthened, changing back to its original red. Aziraphale smiled and stroked it. “There you are. My Crowley.”
Then he sank his fingers deep in Crowley’s hair and gave a slight tug. “Mine,” he repeated, his voice heavy with promise.
Crowley whimpered under his breath, and Aziraphale could feel his body relaxing beneath him. Crowley took off his mask and dropped it on the stone tiles with a clatter. He rested his head on his outstretched arm, face half-turned to look up at the stars. “They’re lovely,” Aziraphale murmured as he ran one hand over Crowley’s smooth back. “Almost as lovely as you.”
“I’m just your mirror, angel.” Crowley took his hand and slid it down to the slit in his gown. His thigh underneath was warm and soft. “Love me. Let me feel some of that lust that’s been building up all night. I can feel it inside you, like a fire to keep me warm.”
Aziraphale’s fingers slid up under Crowley’s dress and gently squeezed his hip. He found the waistline of Crowley’s panties, just a scrap of something soft and lacy, and followed it round to Crowley’s hardening cock. Crowley’s eyes half-closed as Aziraphale took him in hand and gave a gentle squeeze. Crowley shifted until he was on both his knees facing the back of the chaise, and his hips moved slowly as he pressed forward into Aziraphale’s palm. Aziraphale half-closed his eyes and leaned forward to kiss Crowley’s shoulder. A familiar, pleasant hunger was awakening below his waist.
After centuries of skillful subterfuge, Aziraphale was an old master at unfastening his trousers with one hand. Soon his erection was free and pressing hungrily against the back of Crowley’s gown. Aziraphale tried to pull it up and out of the way, but there was too much material. “Here, just rip it,” Crowley said, and did it himself, tearing the slit further up and shoving the annoying material out of the way. The panties were black, as Aziraphale had expected, and so sheer they might as well not be there. He let go of Crowley’s cock just long enough to take the material in both hands and tear one side off, letting the useless thing drop down Crowley’s thigh. Crowley gasped and gave a little noise that sounded a bit like a purr.
Aziraphale pulled Crowley’s thighs apart and pressed up between them. “Is this what you want?” he whispered in the demon’s ear. His desire burned hot within him in a way that was almost painful. He squeezed Crowley’s hips with both hands and ground his erection into his perfect arse.
“Yes,” Crowley whined. “Yes, always.”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes.” Breathless, eager.
“Do you know that I love you?”
Less certain this time. “Y-yes.”
“I hope you do.” Aziraphale pulled a packet of lube out of his tailcoat pocket. Never leave home without it. He tore it open and poured a little on his hand. “If all of those stars vanished tonight I probably wouldn’t notice, because all I can see is you.”
Crowley groaned as Aziraphale rubbed at his entrance and carefully slipped one finger in. “Fffuck, angel, fuck me you’re good at this–”
“I should be, after all this time.” Slowly, slowly, he stroked Crowley inside and out, and then he added another finger. Crowley groaned and bucked his hips, and Aziraphale felt dizzy with want.
There was shouting from somewhere down below. “Are they still looking for you?” Aziraphale murmured.
“Might be,” Crowley responded. “They could find us. Any minute now.”
That had its desired effect. Azirphale groaned and removed his fingers. He slicked himself up impatiently and pressed against Crowley's arse with a breathless grunt. "Fuck yes angel, please," he chanted as Aziraphale slowly slid inside. The warmth and tightness were almost too much, and Aziraphale had to pause a moment to catch his breath.
" Angel ," Crowley groaned, grinding back against him.
Aziraphale sank his fingers into Crowley's perfect hips and began to fuck slowly into him. Crowley's arms were slung over the back of the chaise, his head turned to the side so Aziraphale could see his perfect profile, smiling vacantly, blissed out on Aziraphale's thrusting cock. As tension mounted and Aziraphale moved faster, Crowley's eyes turned up to smile at the stars.
"So fucking beautiful," Crowley murmured. "So fucking–ffff–oh fuck angel, yes fuck me, FUCK–"
He grabbed himself and fucked his fist as Aziraphale pounded harder and faster, snapping his hips in frantic, desperate need. This was desire, this was need, it was something this human body craved but his angelic nature was supposed to scorn. Or so he'd been told.
This is love , Aziraphale thought, just as the whiteness overtook him and he lost the ability to think, this is no sin this is love
Vaguely he heard Crowley cry out to the stars as his body shook and fell apart.
They lay together for a moment, panting. Aziraphale’s face was buried in thick, red hair.
"I need to take you with me to work more often," Crowley mumbled. He lifted his head and brushed sweaty hair out of his face.
Aziraphale chuckled unsteadily. He carefully disengaged and tried to put his tux back in order. Crowley pulled his torn panties down off his leg and tossed them aside. He picked up his mask, frowned at it until it became a pair of sunglasses, and tucked them into the bodice of his gown. "You're a bit hard on the wardrobe, though," he added, looking at the jagged tear that ran from his hip to his lower back.
Aziraphale chuckled again and pulled him to his feet. They were both a bit wobbly, and Aziraphale had never felt less like walking back to the car. "How are we getting out of here without being spotted?" he asked.
Crowley pulled him in for a long, lingering kiss. Aziraphale's eyes closed as he felt the demon's love flicker and burn against him. Crowley’s love felt like nothing else on Earth. It was sharp and fiery, almost painful but not quite. "We'll take a shortcut," he whispered in the angel's ear.
****
Brian didn't believe that the gatecrashers could have gotten into the Baroness's private office, but the Baroness (she wasn’t one of course; she literally just called herself that and everyone played along because she was the one with the money) swore she'd heard voices in there, so he decided to check it out just to be thorough. He used his master key card to open the door, reassured by the little beep that told him the lock was still working.
Nothing has been touched that he could see. He clicked on his torch and flicked it this way and that, looking for signs of intrusion. If someone in here were up to no good, surely the desk would be pilfered, but nothing was out of place.
He glanced through the sliding glass door at the balcony beyond, and that was when he saw the tall beauty in the red gown and the blond fellow in white who had thrown the Baroness's personal assistant through a cake. They were leaned up against the balcony railing, kissing as though they hadn’t a care in the world.
Brian almost hated to interrupt them, but he did have a job to do. He ran to the glass door and shoved it open. "Hey, you there!" he shouted.
They turned to face him, and the taller person in the red gown grinned. Their hair was red now; the black and white puff must have been a wig. They waved and wrapped both arms against the fellow in white–
Then, to Brian's dismay, they flung themselves off the balcony and into the darkness below.
Brian ran to the balcony with an incoherent cry, expecting to hear screams, see blood and carnage. But all he could see was a vague black shape, like a spreading parachute, gliding away across the garden. There was a flicker of fluttering red, a flash of white, and then it was gone.