Title: This Is How the World Ends
Author: barrowdowns
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Fandom: Good Omens
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Good Omens belongs to the geniuses known as Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.
Note: I feel like I should say a few words here: When I wrote this, I didn't think that Crowley was trying to bring about Aziraphale's downfall, it's more like temptation is part of the job (and he's oh so good at it), he knows what he wants (Aziraphale), and Aziraphale should know by now that there are some risks to being around Crowley for too long. Poor dear. I think after 6000 years, there comes a point where you say "bugger it all".
Summary: To Crowley, temptation comes naturally. Aziraphale wonders if it might be worth Falling. Inspiration drawn from The Last Temptation of Christ.***
This is how the world ends
Not with a bang, but a whimper.
--TS Eliot - The Hollow Men***
Aziraphale wonders if this is how Christ felt in the desert.
It's a different type of hunger that he feels now, has felt for longer than he'd like to admit. Certainly longer than forty days and nights.
It burns in him, a screaming in his veins, tearing at his insides and for a moment, he forgets that he doesn't need to breathe.
"Don't tempt me, you old serpent," he murmurs, barely audible, but Crowley quirks an eyebrow and regards him with a smirk.
"Whatever are you talking about, angel?" He hisses, a glass of wine clutched delicately in his long slender fingers.
Aziraphale closes his eyes. When he opens them again, Crowley is perched in an armchair across the room, a smirk still turning up the corner of his lips as he watches the angel.
Bare skin is again covered by a dark silk shirt, and the temptation is gone.
Aziraphale has passed.
This time.
***
"Angel, why do you still resist me?"
Aziraphale takes a deep breath, not meeting Crowley's eyes. "Oh, my dear." He smiles, keeping the demon at an arm's length. "Our night was going so well. Must you do this now?"
Crowley grins, his forked tongue snaking out between his sharp teeth. The angel makes a soft noise in his throat and Crowley moves behind him, breath warm against Aziraphale's neck.
"You want it."
The angel frowns.
"You can't lie."
"I can."
Crowley presses closer, flicking his tongue against the sensitive skin just behind Aziraphale's ear.
"You won't."
"Serpent"
"Just take what you want." Crowley hisses. His fingers slip up under Aziraphale's shirt, sliding over the soft skin there. "I could make it everything you've ever imagined it to be."
All this could be yours.
Aziraphale is back in the desert.
Everything you see.
He wonders, briefly, if it would be worth the Fall.
***
Crowley pins Aziraphale to the wall, sending books flying from a nearby shelf.
"Angel" his voice is low and dangerous, yellow eyes smouldering as they stare into blue.
Aziraphale is standing on the edge of the cliff. He's allowed this to go too far this time.
"Aziraphale." He has to bite back a moan at the sound of his name. Crowley's mouth is on his neck, biting and sucking, leaving dark marks on the pale skin.
Beneath him, he can see the rocks.
"Crowley." The word is breathless, and though he presses his hands to the demon's chest to push him away, he doesn't move.
Aziraphale knows there is no one to save him from dashing himself upon the rocks.
Deft hands slide under his clothes, slide down and stroke him. Aziraphale's head lolls back and his eyes close, dizzy from the heights.
Crowley forces himself closer, pressing a knee between the angel's legs. Sharp teeth catch Aziraphale's skin again, drawing blood. Slender fingers slip into blond curls, pulling hard. His breath is hot as he whispers as he whispers in the Angel's ear:
"Jump."
Aziraphale takes a breath.
And steps off the edge.
***