Title: And the World Still Turns
Author: Macx & Lara Bee
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Fandom: Good Omens
Rating: NC-17
Series: 1) Whole, 2) Gravitation, 3) Undeniable, 4) Warmth, 5) One Man's Demon, 6) Millennium, 7) Convergence, 8) Adjustment, 9) Consequences, 10) Mimicry, 11) Modification, 12) Incomplete, 13) London - Indiana, 14) An Angel and a Demon Walk Into a Bar
Summary: Natural barriers fall and both Crowley and Aziraphale get to deal with the consequences... again!***
In a Las Vegas style casino bar, two men were sitting at a table, sipping cocktails, watching a show. One was dressed like a casino host, the other like a gambler of the old times.
"Tensions are rising," the casino host remarked, playing with a colourful umbrella.
"I noticed. I wouldn't have thought it possible, but it's now quite obvious."
"You wouldn't have thought it possible?" was the reply, followed by laughter. "Now there's something new."
"I thought they would need a few more centuries. As it is, a lot of things are off balance," the gambler said. "It's affecting them."
The casino host chuckled and ate the orange slice stuck to his cocktail glass. "What now?"
"We should give them relief."
"And you think they'd take the chance?"
A shrug. "It's a game I'm willing to play." Light coloured eyes smiled at the other.
The casino host smirked. "You willing to bet on it, too?"
"I'm not a betting person."
"Then you believe in your Plan?"
The gambler smiled enigmatically.
"This isn't part of it," the other said. "You said it yourself, things are off balance. Mostly because of those two we set free. Now we deal with the consequences."
The gambler shrugged. "I think it's a perfect opportunity to see how far they are willing to go."
"So you think they won't go past first base?"
Another enigmatic smile, but the gambler didn't answer.
"All right, I'll see your kissing and raise you by a blowjob."
"Let's see how it goes."
Glasses clinked.
And the curtain lifted for the next act.
* * *
No angel in his right mind would have come back here. Any archangel in his right mind would have forgotten the whole incident and gone on with his job. And his job required a lot of his time and attention. There should have been no time to think about…
… him.
Michael gritted his teeth and emptied his glass. He had been here for a while and gone through two bottles.
No, he shouldn't be thinking about that one shameful incident, that embarrassing loss of control, that moment he wanted to forget but couldn't.
He couldn't forget the seductive words, the glowing eyes, the lust in his voice, the sex radiating off the demon in waves.
"What is wrong with me!" he whispered harshly.
"Well, for one you're a stiff. And you're an angel. An archangel. And you're over-worked."
At the deep thrum of a voice, Michael looked up and to his horror right into a pair of amused, red demonic ones.
"Hello, Mike," Beelzebub drawled and smiled seductively at him. "Fancy meeting you here. All on your own, I might remark."
And hot damn, he looked downright… dear God!
Michael didn't want to think about how the leather-clad demon looked. How that black, sleeveless t-shirt clung to a well-defined body. How those trousers seemed moulded onto the long legs. How the skin was tanned just right and the black hair so sexy.
The angel clamped down on that thought.
No, no, no! Archangels did not think about sexy demon hair! Not even drunk archangels!
Beelzebub was holding a bottle of beer, sipping at it, and his tongue was doing weird things.
Michael gave him his best glare. "Shove off!"
"I just got here."
From the amount of intoxication, the Prince of Hell had managed to raise his blood alcohol level alarmingly in that short time.
"And I'm leaving." Michael rose
"Awwww," Beelzebub sighed, burping. "And here I thought we could share a drink, talk, have fun."
"I know your definition of fun."
The Prince of Hell chuckled. "I doubt it."
Michael heard something inside of him creak with the pressure he felt he was under. "What do you want?" he grated.
"Isn't it obvious?"
He gritted his teeth. "You really want that?"
Beelzebub leered at him, looking positively…
Michael pushed that thought aside, but it stuck. Like glue.
No, no, NO!
"You need to loosen up, Mike," Beelzebub drawled. "You're too stiff for your own good."
"That's what makes one Fall," Michael answered with clenched teeth.
"Having a few beers with an old pal? I doubt it. And has anyone of your boys Fallen lately?" Beelzebub grinned lasciviously, sauntering closer. "No, I don't think so. A little fun and a few drinks are not a sin. Talking to a former buddy isn't either."
Michael glared at him. "We are not buddies!"
"Former. I said former."
"And not former either!"
"But we could be now." Beelzebub was dripping sex in heaps. His voice was sultry and deep and hitting Michael's nerves juuuust right. "Close buddies. Really close. How about it, angel? You up for a round or two?"
Red eyes sparkled as the archangel fumed silently. He stood with his hands clenched at his sides, vibrating with fury and unreleased tension. It wasn't just too much work or ungodly, so to speak, hours. It wasn't just that the Prince of Hell and he had had a few drinks too many a few weeks ago, resulting in a rather spectacular scene in the end. No, it was everything with Beelzebub on top.
Michael felt his blood drain at the thought of the demon on top.
No… no nononono!
The volatile cocktail of emotions bubbled and fizzed, and finally spilled over. The archangel advanced on the demon, fury in every step, helped along by too much to drink. Then again, one could never drink too much when confronted by a demon. Beelzebub tilted his head.
"You couldn't touch me, even if you wanted to!" Michael snarled.
The Prince of Hell looked thoughtful. "Well, I sometimes have this masochistic streak. Not the last time, but maybe today." The smile was inviting and Michael felt a thrill course down his spine.
And it made him do something no archangel or angel for that matter should really do.
He went for it.
"You really want to touch me?" he challenged, entering the demon's personal space.
Beelzebub stood his ground.
"You want to kiss me?"
Now he began to move back as the presence of the angel became too much. Auras clashed and sparked against each other.
Michael advanced.
Beelzebub retreated more. An aggressive angel was not what he had expected.
"You want to touch me and kiss me?" the archangel challenged.
"Uhm, Mike…?"
"And more? You want more? You want to bend me over that table? I think you said something like that the last time."
Beelzebub bumped against the wall, red eyes wide. Michael was by now totally unbound. He had this heady feeling of power over his Enemy, that imminent taste of triumph, that sensation of superiority like never before.
"You really want to do it with an archangel? Do the nasty? Horizontal tango?"
Michael placed his hands left and right of the stunned demon's head with an audible thud. Their auras were sparking off each other wildly.
"Do you really want that?" he breathed, intoxication making him lean forward until their lips were just an inch apart.
Beelzebub was trembling from the sheer closeness and he seemed to be smouldering at the edges. There were fine whiffs of smoke…
"Uh… Mike… I…"
"Do you?" Michael breathed and no one who knew him could believe that the archangel could put so much raw lust and sex and challenge into two words.
Beelzebub stared, trembling harder. One hand rose shakily, as if trying to touch him.
There was a sensation like a strike of lighting hitting the building. Michael stumbled, off balance, and fell forward.
Their lips met, a collision of body parts, and hands suddenly clutched the other to keep from falling over.
The kiss was everything and not at all what he had expected. He tasted the various drinks the angel had had, but also divinity. Purity. Cleanness. Heaven.
Beelzebub drew back, gazing into the dazed blue eyes, his fingers threading through the unruly, blond hair.
So short, he mused again. No longer pony-tailed. No longer long.
Cute.
Really cute.
Cute angel.
And then they were kissing again.
No melting. No rash. No blisters. No smouldering. No smoke.
Nothing.
Just their kiss.
And hands. Groping hands. Everywhere, Running up his leather trousers, suddenly underneath his shirt, skipping over his fluttering stomach. He felt the angel, full body contact, and it seemed to throw him off balance and complete him in one.
His world shrunk down to one particular sensation, one feeling, one need.
Michael. Kissing Michael. Touching him.
Everything else was… unimportant.
* * *
"Hah!" the casino host triumphed.
The gambler smiled. "Intriguing. It could be the alcohol."
"Yep, could be." The casino host sipped at a new cocktail. "You know, it's amazing. We've got one prime example of angel-on-demon smut and look what happens. Our very own seconds do it, too."
"Interesting, hm?" the gambler joked, raising the cocktail to his lips.
"Uh-huh. Interesting. So, what do you think? They do it all the way?"
"Not with the amount of alcohol, they won't."
The casino host smirked. "That can be remedied."
* * *
"Oh fuck, not again!"
Beelzebub squinted into the sunlight streaming through the mostly open blinds. With a wave of his hand the blinds closed, bathing the room in a much more acceptable twilight. Not because he was a demon, but because he had a killer headache.
Groaning softly, the demon concentrated on making the headache disappear, which was rather hard to do for some reason.
Well, some reason in the form of…
"Shit!"
He almost jumped out of his skin but left it at jumping out of the bed. Well, he tried. He actually managed an undignified slide that ended with a thump. Clutching the sheets, the naked demon sat on the ground, wide red eyes on the second occupant, who was now waking.
Michael moaned softly and rolled to one side, then those celestial blue eyes opened and met volcanic red ones.
There was a moment of stillness.
Then the angel gave an un-angelic squeak and scrambled as far away from Beelzebub as the wall of the room allowed. His back connected with the brick; hard. Wide-eyed, the archangel stared at his Enemy who was staring back.
And who was letting his eyes roam.
And who stopped the roaming down south.
A smirk was suddenly on the demon's lips.
"My, my, we are making an effort today, Mike."
The angel followed the appreciating look and his cheeks exploded into red. Wings simultaneously appeared on his back and curled forward around the naked body, hiding it. Well, not that Beelzebub had never seen naked bodies of angels before; he himself was a fallen one. But never of one who was making an effort so… nicely.
"W-what are you doing here?" Michael demanded, flustered.
"Well, last thing I remember is you getting totally piss-pour drunk, coming on to me, and then I had a black-out."
Michael groped for words, then just hugged his wings more tightly to his effort-making body. Interestingly, the tighter he hugged his wings, the more Beelzebub could see.
He smiled maliciously.
"You had a black-out?" Michael asked.
The demon frowned, then felt memories come back. It was the curse and the benefit of being a demon, or an angel. You didn't really have total black-outs.
The bar. Too many drinks. Michael being suicidal and coming on to him. More drinks.
Groping.
Kissing.
What?!
Both immortals stared at each other and Beelzebub concluded that his memories were shared by his Enemy.
"We didn't…" Michael stuttered. "We couldn't have… It's impossible!"
Beelzebub couldn't fault the archangel for his denial, but he remembered the kissing sessions quite clearly. It had been… hot. Very, very hot. As though on auto-pilot he got onto his knees, the flimsy cover sliding off his lap, and he poked the archangel with one clawless finger.
Michael's reaction was a yell and bolting forward, trying to get away from potential danger. It ended with the blond getting tangled in the sheet on the ground and tumbling over Beelzebub, who was smothered by feathers and naked angel body.
It was a nice way to be smothered, he thought faintly, feeling the full body contact quite clearly. Including the effort. Something sparked between them, but not literally as the barrier that had kept them from touching was gone.
Pushing himself off the demon, the archangel scrambled toward the door.
Beelzebub was entranced, the echoes of the body contact clear in his mind, suffused with pleasant memories of giving each other a tonsillectomy. Little Beel was by now quite active and announcing further interest in the proceedings.
Michael hammering against the door snapped him back to reality.
"It's closed!" he yelled frantically.
"Try miracling it open, angel," Beelzebub advised lazily, smiling like a big cat at the angel's panic.
"I did!" the other snarled, briefly turning to glare at him.
And such a nice glare it was.
"It doesn't work."
The Prince of Hell frowned and tried his own magic, but the door remained stuck.
"Huh," he only muttered, mystified.
Michael pounded against the door again, rattling at the knob. "Open up!"
"Calm down, angel," Beelzebub said, getting up. "It's no use."
The angel stood with his back to him, leaning against the locked door, his wings still wrapped around himself. The beautiful white limbs were slightly more open in his agitation to get out.
Apparently the room was angel proof. And demon proof.
Which meant only two beings could be responsible for it. Beelzebub didn't want to give that too much thought, especially the reason why.
'Why' was always a dangerous question, closely followed by 'How'.
Michael banged his head against the door, palms pressed to the wooden panels.
"What is going on here!?" he whispered harshly.
Beelzebub, still in his full naked glory, still making an effort, like the angel, walked toward the distraught celestial being.
"Beats me," he drawled.
Red eyes were drawn to the wings again, the roots, to be more precise. The demon had seen his share of angelic wings in the quarrels Above and Below had had. He knew just how sensitive they were, how much a demon strove to break them, especially at the roots. It would make an angel incapable of flying until he healed himself. And healing wings was the most difficult task. As a fallen angel and still winged, Beelzebub knew that, too.
Michael thumped his head against the door again, muttering angrily to himself.
Without consciously thinking about it, Beelzebub reached out and touched the wings. More precisely, the skin between the roots.
Michael inhaled sharply, stiffening.
Everything in the demon screamed to tear the wings apart, to follow age-old instinct, but something else, something that was still shivering with the novelty of being able to touch this archangel, made him stroke the silky skin.
So smooth.
So warm.
And the down…
… at the roots.
His body tingled with excitement and it had nothing to do with the thrill of a kill, of having his prey, though right now the predator was coming through.
Fangs extended.
Claws grew, tickling the delicate connection of wings to back.
"Beel," Michael managed roughly.
"Shhh," he whispered, as though hushing a frightened animal.
And that was what he was trying to do. He enjoyed the connection of his hand to the soft down and smooth skin, the way the angel shivered under his touch. Michael groaned softly, head resting against the door, fingers trying to bury into the wood.
"Does it feel good, angel?" the demon whispered, mapping, exploring, teasing.
The wings were beginning to unfold from where they had been held protectively around the naked body. They were huge, beautiful and Beelzebub's other hand caressed those divine feathers, delighting in their cleanness.
"Pretty feathers," he murmured.
"Stop… it," Michael pleaded weakly.
"I'm not hurting you, am I?"
He knew he wasn't.
"No," was the breathy response.
Claws combed through the wings, without any intent to injure. Beelzebub moved closer to his Enemy, leaning down, kissing the skin.
Michael shuddered violently, the wings splaying with excitement. Angels groomed their wings for each other, but Beelzebub doubted they did it with such sensuality.
It was a novel experience, a wonderful, heady sensation, and he wrapped an arm around the angel's waist, feeling the flutter of the firm stomach, the heartbeat, the pants. Michael was really making an effort here, and his own was hard and painful.
"Mike," he whispered softly, finding a spot on the left root that had the angel cry out. "Angel…"
Part of Beelzebub suddenly understood what had made Crowley do this, had made him choose an angel. Just feeling this sensual being under his touch, the pulses of divine energy, the warm body reacting to his ministrations, it was making him feel humble and powerful in one.
"I could hurt you so much right now," the demon whispered roughly. "You turned your back to me."
The shudder was mixed with arousal and fear and longing.
"Never turn your back on a demon," he breathed and his fangs nipped at the exposed neck.
"Beel! Please, in God's name, stop!"
Beelzebub shuddered, too. "You had to mention Him, did you!" he growled and nipped harder, leaving a mark.
The angel whimpered. "We can't do this! Stop. Beel, please…"
The Prince of Hell rested his forehead against the smooth shoulder, breathing harshly. He smelled the angel and it was like an aphrodisiac. He wanted him, wanted to be close, touch him, run his hands over the warm skin, feel the muscles twitch, listen to every whisper of breath, every beat of his heart, every moan and whimper.
"I can't but want to do it, angel. You feel… absolutely, demonically divine."
"This is wrong!"
No, it felt right. It felt perfect. It felt… absolutely… unmistakably… positively…
Beelzebub tightened his hold and groaned against the divine skin.
The angel was breathing hard, trying to control himself, but he was aroused. As was the demon. Their auras fed off each other and it was terrible and wonderful in one.
"Please," Michael begged.
"Any other time I would have loved to have you begging for mercy," Beelzebub whispered into the ear closest to him. He nibbled it gently. "On your knees. My prey."
Michael tilted his head, exposing his neck, and Beelzebub shivered. Did he even know what he was doing to the demon? Self-control was going out the window fast.
"You're not making this easier, angel. Not at all!"
"I can't stop it," he managed. "Let go of me, Beel. Please!"
It was hard. Loosening his embrace, Beelzebub tried to make his muscles obey, but he had the same trouble as Michael, who didn't seem very much inclined to move away. When he finally did, the demon pushed him with his back against the door and captured the panting angel in a hard kiss.
The world didn't stop, but it creaked on its axis. Michael instinctively wrapped his arms around the other, opened up, kissing back, their meeting wild and dominating, and being both predator and prey in one. Neither surrendered, neither stopped, until both pulled out of the harsh encounter. Blue eyes glowed and red eyes sparked.
"We need to stop this," Michael repeated weakly. "We can't go on!"
Beelzebub traced the contours of the pale face. "Maybe it's the only thing that would stop this," he murmured.
Michael shivered hard. "No… There must be another way!" He closed his eyes, trying to control himself. "This can't be happening. Not so suddenly!"
"Who says it was sudden? We've known each other since the beginning of time. Even before that."
Blue eyes were filled with confusion and longing and need and outrage and embarrassment.
"Beel, we can't," he pleaded. "This has to stop. We need to handle this."
Beelzebub kissed him again, then drew the desperate archangel into an embrace. His hands slipped over the muscular back and encountered the wings again. Michael drew in a sharp breath as the claws raked through the feathers, as his tongue was deftly guided away from the sharp fangs.
"How do you want to handle this?" the Prince of Hell finally asked, feeling breathless, even though he didn't really need to breathe at all.
"We're not the first," Michael managed, voice rough. "Maybe they can help…?"
"Crawly and his angel? News flash, Mike: they're doing what you refuse to do with me! And they've been doing it for years!"
The desperation rose.
Beelzebub finally sighed and nodded. "But we're not going like this."
"Like what?"
He gestured at Michael's rather straining effort. "Let me at least do that for you. It wouldn't be like the real thing."
Michael was hard pressed to say no and when the demon's hand closed around him, he could only whimper in need. Beelzebub smiled at the sound and nuzzled the exposed throat.
It was over fast.
For both of them.
Michael panted hard, eyes screwed shut, head thrown back against the door. He was trembling badly, just about able to keep himself on his own two legs. Beelzebub was resting against him, panting, feeling his body vibrate with the power of the release. He could smell it on the archangel, on himself, in the air around them, and their auras fizzed wildly.
He finally withdrew far enough to look at the other immortal, meeting bright blue eyes. Wordlessly, they looked at each other, then Beelzebub leaned forward and kissed him.
"Was that so bad?" he whispered.
The angel was silent, then looked away, still radiating his pleasure. Beelzebub smiled to himself, needing no answer. Michael could deny himself and his needs, but he couldn't deny his body.
White wings folded and disappeared, and the demon sighed mournfully. They were quite… fascinating. Michael miracled some clothes on and whether it was by choice or chance, he was wearing those sinful jeans again, a white t-shirt and sneakers. Beelzebub opted for the traditional black. From the way the blue eyes were on him, truly checking him out, he knew it was the right choice, in colour and size. Body contour hugging…
Beelzebub reached out and tried the door knob. It wasn't a miracle for either of them that the door opened without a problem. They exchanged silent looks.
Neither of them wanted to give the 'how' a deeper thought. Because if they did, they might come up with strange reasons. Like their bosses being involved in this, setting them up, giving the door a trigger that involved either of the two immortals satisfying the other.
No, better not to think about it.
* * *
Aziraphale hadn't really expected much of this day. It was a day like every other. He opened the bookshop almost on time, he had no customers for the first few hours, a visit from an elderly lady with a penchant for romance novels that he had crammed in one corner of the usually all antique books, and the postman, of course. Crowley had made up camp in the back room and was reading the daily paper, sometimes reading out an article for the angel.
It was just before noon that the door to the bookshop banged open and two auras blasted in, followed by the owners of those auras. Aziraphale's mouth dropped open as he took in the Prince of Hell and the Archangel Michael. Both looked positively… not like themselves. Dishevelled, was more like it. Without physically being it. Their auras were frazzled, spiking in places, and… no, no way, Aziraphale thought. Not that way. It couldn't be that way!
But it apparently was, because Beelzebub's aura was a lot like Crowley's when he was aroused.
"Oh dear," he whispered.
Crowley had been out of the back room and by his side the moment the two powerful beings had entered, and he was bristling. Aziraphale placed a hand on his lover's arm, calming him.
Crowley hissed softly.
"Uh," the angel stammered. "What can I do for you?"
Michael looked around the shop, then his blue eyes came to rest on Aziraphale and Crowley.
"We have come to request your… assistance," he ground out.
Two pairs of eyebrows rose.
"Uh?" Crowley managed.
"We are in… err… some kind of situation," the archangel went on, "that requires your… expertise."
Bafflement rose.
"Our what?" Crowley finally asked.
"You heard him, Crawly!" Beelzebub snarled.
"What happened?" Aziraphale wanted to know.
Beelzebub reached out and poked the archangel.
Crowley tensed. Aziraphale looked quizzical.
Nothing happened.
"And?"
"You… touched him?" Crowley said slowly.
Beelzebub held up his finger. Smooth skin, unharmed. No blisters. Then he patted the archangel on the back and played with the short, spiky strands.
Nothing happened – again.
"I… see," Aziraphale murmured. "But… I doubt we can help. I mean, we didn't do it."
"I know you didn't do it, angel," Beelzebub snarled. "It's not why we came here."
"Then why?"
"We had a few pints," Michael finally sighed after a lengthy silence. "I think we got drunk."
"Really?" Crowley muttered nastily.
"Next thing I know, I wake up right next to him… in bed… naked…"
Aziraphale's mouth formed an 'o'.
"And he was making an effort," Beelzebub added nastily.
Crowley stared at the slightly squirming archangel. "He was?" His eyes were automatically going to the angel's crotch.
"So were you!" Michael shot back, looking uncomfortable, shifting a little.
"Hey, I'm a demon."
"So?"
Beelzebub just snarled. "You were the one getting a hard-on!"
"I was not!"
Aziraphale cleared his throat. "And what does it have to do with us?"
"You know how to handle this!" Michael declared.
"We do?" Crowley murmured, mystified.
"You and that vile spawn of Hell have… you are… you do…" Michael spluttered.
"Erm, excuse me, but I'm actually a spawn of Him," Crowley pointed out with a tilt of nastiness.
The archangel glared. The lower demon glared back.
"Making an effort could be just the result of the alcohol," Aziraphale drew their attention to him.
"Oh, I don't think so," the Prince of Hell replied nastily, shooting a smirk toward Michael. "He's been acting strange all day."
"I haven't!"
"You were the one coming on to me!" Beelzebub argued hotly. "You positively threw yourself at me!"
"Because there was no way it could work!" Michael shot back hotly. "We were unable to touch!"
"Then why did you do it?"
Michael's aura flared. "Because!"
"That's no answer."
"It is!"
"You were out for revenge!" Beelzebub triumphed, grinning maliciously. "You wanted to get back at me for teasing you. Oh, this is good!"
Aziraphale frowned, but he didn't comment. Crowley looked like he wanted to, but he pulled himself together.
"Angels do not do revenge!" Michael declared.
Beelzebub showed him a pair of leering fangs. "But they do lust," he snickered.
Michael blushed.
"And I think you want it just as badly as I do!" the Prince of Hell added.
"We can't do it!"
"Why not?"
"It's wrong!"
Beelzebub gestured at the still rather stunned demon and angel watching the argument. "They are doing it! The world hasn't ended because of it."
"No, because they stopped The End!" was the snarl.
"Uh, we didn't have sex before the Near-Apocalypse," Aziraphale pointed out, quite unhelpfully.
"Shut up!" Michael muttered. The archangel was rather agitated.
"You want it!" Beelzebub repeated. "You came on to me. You wanted to touch me even before we could do it without melting each other! And you kissed me. Quite hotly, too."
Crowley blinked. This was getting stranger and stranger.
"I didn't know what I was doing!"
"You sure did! You moaned my name, angel when I brought you off!"
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
"Did not!"
"Too!"
"NOT!" Michael thundered and the bookshop's window panes rattled.
The angel stopped, looked embarrassed by his outburst, and coloured a little.
Beelzebub grinned. "You did. Don't tell me you couldn't tell from my aura that it was a demon you were snogging. You did. You turned your back to me and you let me touch your wings!"
Crowley's eyebrows almost disappeared in his hair. "Wow," he murmured.
Aziraphale, who was hard-pressed not to miracle them a bowl of popcorn – because this was better than any soap opera on the telly – looked equally astounded. For an archangel to let the Prince of Hell near his wings…
"And you were that close to shooting!" Beelzebub crowed delightedly.
"I was not!"
"You were and you did. Stop denying it, angel!"
"You manipulated me! You tempted me!"
"Temptation? Yeah, that's me. Manipulation? Angel, all I did was caress those wings and pet you."
Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged looks. They knew about those 'caresses'. Crowley could have his angel in a puddle if he just did it long enough. But for the second most powerful beings in Heaven and Hell to touch like that… And it meant Michael had turned his back to the demon, too!
"And a bit of kissing and nibbling," Beelzebub added as if in an afterthought.
"Stop it!"
"You still have the mark."
"Oh?" Aziraphale blurted.
"I do not!" Michael argued, but it was weaker than before.
"Do too. You loved it."
Michael groaned and shook his head. "We can't do it!"
"Why not?" Aziraphale piped up. "It's not that bad."
"Oh, thank you!" Crowley hissed. "I feel so appreciated."
Aziraphale patted his arm. "You are. And I didn't mean it like that. It's not bad to sleep with a demon, Michael. They are fallen angels, after all. Beelzebub was one of us."
"You are no longer one of them," Beelzebub muttered.
Aziraphale just shot him a cool look that said 'Up yours' and the Prince of Hell smirked at the courage this lower angel, ex-angel, showed by now.
"What I mean is, you were given the ability to touch each other for a reason."
"Are you saying He wants me to sleep with a Hell spawn?" Michael blurted, aghast.
Beelzebub sighed. "Well, you kissed one and we fumbled around, I think that's the next step, huh?"
"I think He's giving you a choice," Aziraphale just pointed out.
"Why don't you just try it and see what happens?" Crowley threw in.
Michael shook his head, but it was a rather weak denial. "I… can't. I mean…"
Aziraphale smiled calmly. "It comes naturally, Michael."
If the archangel was thinking about it, they were almost there.
Beelzebub smirked. "I think I can give you a few pointers."
The glare was feeble.
The demon's hand suddenly reached out and grabbed the angel's chin, pulling him into a kiss.
"How about you try it once and we'll see what happens? I'm all for it," he whispered seductively.
Michael was trembling, but not just with fear. It was arousal, Aziraphale saw. Pure and undisguised arousal. It was pouring off him in waves and the angel shifted, feeling his own body react. A quick glance at Crowley told him his lover was feeling it, too.
Suddenly the archangel pulled away, shaking his head violently. "No!" he announced resolutely. "This was a mistake!"
And then he was gone.
The demon who remained behind looked both mystified and slightly disappointed. "It had been his idea," he muttered defiantly.
And then he was gone, too.
Crowley was totally still for a moment, then Aziraphale was grabbed and had the living daylights kissed out of him. The angel didn't fight it, just went with the flow. He got a 'bed' between the possessive, needy kisses, stoking his own fires.
Crowley just rumbled but complied.
* * *
Things could have ended there, but they didn't. Not for Aziraphale, nor for Crowley, and definitely not for one very distraught archangel. Neither of the first two would have thought much about events, aside from discussing the topic after having a very wild night in bed due to so much sexual tension all around them, if Michael hadn't shown up three days later. Aziraphale was in the middle of figuring out how the palmtop Crowley had given him worked, and the demon was lounging behind the counter, smiling, watching.
The entrance of the archangel wasn't as glorious as before, but it was like a slap for Crowley and the demon sailed off the chair in an undignified heap.
His curses weren't undignified. They were downright rude.
"Dear," Aziraphale chastised softly.
Michael didn't even flinch at the foul words.
The archangel looked… bad. Aziraphale had no other word for it. His short, blond hair spiked in every direction, looking like a wild styling experiment with some very hazardous-for-your-hair gel. His skin was pale, there were circles under his eyes – and angels didn't even sleep – and the blue orbs darted nervously around the room.
"I need to talk to you," was all the normally so regal being said.
"Uh," Aziraphale stuttered, exchanging a quick look with Crowley, who was on his chair again, looking miffed.
Michael followed that gaze and gritted his teeth. "Alone."
"No chance," was the demon's reply.
"Crowley, please," Aziraphale begged softly. "Just today."
Two very different eyes met and Aziraphale pleaded silently.
Crowley muttered another curse and rose, grabbing his keys. "Have fun," he grated.
Aziraphale wasn't sure he would.
Closing the shop, he looked at the distraught archangel, his superior. "Tea?"
Michael just nodded and followed him into the back room.
*
Aziraphale regarded the archangel over the rim of his cup, through wisps of steam rising from his Earl Grey. Michael was sitting on his battered sofa, apparently lost in thought, his cheeks a bit more flushed from the heat of the tea, but otherwise he looked more like something a cat had dragged in than the highest archangel of the lot.
"You have no obligation to help me," Michael finally said softly.
Aziraphale tilted his head. "I know. I still would like to know what happened."
Michael pursed his lips, still staring into his tea. Finally he looked up, the azure eyes filled with regret.
"First of all, I want to apologize for what happened when you came to Heaven the last time."
Aziraphale stiffened.
"It was never my intention to send you back with such a time gap between your arrival and departure. Something went wrong and we had a glitch in the system. I didn't discover it until much later."
"I see."
"It wasn't meant to harm you or…him."
"His name is Crowley."
Michael nodded. "I know."
"Then please use his name," the angel replied formally. The events of so many months ago were still raising bad memories. He had nearly lost Crowley over this 'glitch'.
"I'm not a vengeful being, Aziraphale. Nor are any of the others. They might have misgivings over your decision to love a demon, but He showed them that there is nothing sinful about it. He blessed you in His own way."
"I know, Michael. And thank you for the explanation. Now, why did you want to talk to me?"
Michael sipped at his tea and finally started, and Aziraphale listened, stunned, bemused, bewildered and slightly mystified.
* * *
It wasn't the last time they saw the archangel. Crowley could understand that Aziraphale, as an angel himself, wanted to help his fellow celestial being, but Michael was… beyond help. The angel needed a psychiatrist! The demon could suffer sudden blasts of divine power, mainly because his system was getting used to it. He wasn't swamped by the energy surrounding the much higher angel, but he also couldn't say he was free of pain or feeling perfectly fine on occasions.
Bottom line: it was getting on his nerves.
"Michael is confused," Aziraphale told his lover one evening over a drink. "He feels something for Beelzebub, but it's nothing he can work with."
"You mean he feels something besides disgust and righteousness?"
"He isn't in love, Crowley."
The demon snorted. "Never said that, angel. I doubt he could be."
Aziraphale's eyes narrowed a little. "Angels love."
"Yes, everyone."
"I love you," the other pointed out.
"You are special," Crowley told him and his eyes softened. "You're not like him."
Aziraphale sighed. "For Michael I seem to be what he doesn't want to be."
"Good."
"But he wants answers from the one angel who can love a demon and does."
Crowley emptied his glass of red wine. It refilled automatically and he gave it an appreciative look.
"There are no answers. He either does it or he doesn't. What's keeping him from just forgetting the whole incident if he's too holy to admit he might be interested in a little shag-the-demon?"
Aziraphale elbowed him. Drawing a mock protest. "Michael is an archangel, His second. Beelzebub is his equal in Hell. It is difficult to forget who you are, to trust in your feelings."
"You did."
Aziraphale shrugged. "It took us long enough, and the Almost-End of the World."
"So… extreme situations and extreme reactions and all that crap?"
"For us? Yes and no. I love you, Crowley. I did for a long time and I was afraid to show it, afraid to Fall. For Michael it's not love. He and Beelzebub have known each other for much longer than we, but they are still Enemies. Michael… he wants something he believes is a sin, forbidden, wrong…"
"Love is no Sin."
"It isn't love, Crowley. It's lust."
The demon sighed and sank deeper into his couch. "He should just make up his mind and stop whining to you about it."
"He doesn't whine."
"Yeah, right…"
"Okay, so a little."
Crowley grinned. "I knew it. Why does he have to come to you anyway? He has enough buddies up there to talk to!"
"You know he can't do that. He's considering having sex with the Enemy, Crowley. It's nothing you talk about with your fellow angel."
The demon muttered something under his breath and slid against the angel. "Stupid moron. Coming to us, making our lives hard, thinking you have all the answers."
"I might not have the answers," the anger confessed, "but I listen. He has to make up his mind all on his own."
"Well, hopefully it happens soon or I'll start having nightmares about Beelzebub coming to me for the same advice!" He shuddered.
"Yes, he does have to make a decision," Aziraphale conceded.
It was the whole dilemma. On top of that, both Michael and Aziraphale had touched a delicate topic several times: why had this happened? Why were the barriers between the two Enemies down? In a brief, rather reluctant experiment, Crowley had touched the archangel and had come away with an angry rash that had taken hours to heal.
It was just them.
Michael and Beelzebub. And all bets were off.
* * *
Michael knew he was no good for anything any more. He was distracted, his thoughts tumbling over each other, and he spent a lot of time alone, thinking. The others contributed it to too much stress and quirks. Every angel had them. No one thought of it as an angel, their leader actually, wondering whether to start something with a demon. No one knew about that particular tid-bit when it came to Michael.
Only Aziraphale did and the lower ex-angel was at the end of his wisdom, so to speak. All he told Michael was to either do it and accept the outcome, or stop thinking about it and never bring up the topic again. The problem was, he couldn't forget it. He couldn't ignore the tingle racing through his divine form when he recalled what had happened in the hotel room.
And that the door had been locked until they had found their mutual release.
Michael groaned and buried his head in his hands.
Why do you want this? he thought desperately. Why do you torture me like this?
There was no answer and he hadn't expected one. The Lord was up to something and it was up to Michael to find out what it was and why it involved him and the Prince of Hell.
Speaking of which…
The image came back; the image of the slender form with the blood red eyes, the sexy hair, the more than sexy body and those hands on his…
Michael inhaled sharply and pushed away from his desk, trembling.
He was running deeper and deeper into uncharted wilderness here. He was thinking about Beelzebub and it was interfering with his life. Aziraphale was right, he knew. He had to get a handle on it, one way or the other. It was either confront the demon and get it over with, or wipe everything from his waking mind, shove it off into a dark corner.
Trouble was, he didn't want to shove it off. He wanted to remember. He wanted to recall the warmth pressed against him, the claws at the roots of his wings, the pleasure spreading from there, deeper and harder and more intense and…
Michael screwed his eyes shut.
Oh dear God…
Why was he so attracted to the Enemy? When had it started? When was an angel so influenced by the raw sexuality a demon could exude? And why him?
Because you've known Beel for so long, have watched him, have noticed things, his subconscious supplied with a vicious little smile. You noticed, Mike. You noticed! And you know that the Balance has been upset ever since the Near-Apocalypse. Things happen. Are allowed to happen. Live, angel.
He thudded his head against the wall and groaned.
I'm the Prince of Light, he's the Prince of Hell. We're Enemies. We're supposed to dislike each other.
Even that didn't work.
Finally he turned back to his computer and brought up the email program.
Get it over with, he thought dimly. Go through with it. Just once. Then you'll know. And you'll know the consequences.
He couldn't go on like this. He just couldn't.
* * *
The coffee shop resided in the back of a house. It was small, rustic, with wooden floor, handmade tables and chairs, equally handmade cushions, and the best apple pie in the whole of London. Few people knew the place existed. It was a top secret insider tip among those with the right tourist guide.
Michael had no tourist guide, just a penchant for homey tea or coffee shops that hadn't been taken over by huge chains. Shops where the pie still tasted like pie, had no artificial flavouring or overdone colours. He liked the selection of fine teas and exquisite coffee, mixing with the normal brews.
Sitting on a cushion that was so threadbare, it would probably give up the ghost soon, but still so very comfortable, he turned the stone mug around and around in his hands. The smell of cinnamon milk coffee was soothing on his nerves. An untouched muffin lay on a multi-colour plate.
Opposite him, on an equally threadbare cushion, sat the object of his recent musings. Beelzebub had dressed down for the occasion, though nothing he did could tune down the pure sex the demon radiated. Red eyes were hidden behind blue-tinted glasses, making them a weird pseudo-violet. The black hair was in total disarray, though with style, and the simple, grey shirt fit nicely to his slender body and the blue jeans had been washed so often, they appeared butter soft.
Michael inhaled the cinnamon smell. Something was happening to him, something he couldn't control. Something had been unleashed and it was begging for completion.
"So?" Beelzebub asked curiously. "What's this about?"
"Us."
Delicate eyebrows rose. "Us? As in, you and me, Mike?"
The blue eyes closed like in pain. "Yes," he managed.
The smile on Beelzebub's lips was a mixture of amusement and a malicious leer. "You've been thinking about it, haven't you? Bad angel."
He shivered. Yes, he had, and yes, he was. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"Ex-cuse me? Me? I haven't done anything, Mike. Well, I teased a little, but the last time I checked, you were coming on to me like you needed it badly, here and now."
He sighed. "Yes," he confessed.
Beelzebub leaned forward. "You did it because it was safe."
A nod.
"And now it isn't any more, because we can touch. They took away the last obstacle."
The archangel bit his lower lip.
"You're still wondering, angel, right?"
Another nod.
"I won't bite," Beelzebub added calmly. Then he smirked a little. "Much."
He looked into the violet-tinged eyes. "I'm an archangel, Beel. I cannot give in to temptation! It would be my Fall!"
The Prince of Hell snorted. "As if. You think anyone will Fall for sleeping with a demon? It's impossible in the first place. And highly unlikely it would happen. If demons could have sex with angels, how many do you think would take up the opportunity? None, I tell you. It's not high on our list of Things to Do."
Michael grimaced. The demon shrugged.
"It wasn't high on mine either, until we actually touched. Right now… I wouldn't turn you down."
Michael stared at him. "Why?"
"Because you feel good, angel. You feel very good. Touching you is like touching Heaven, and despite what you think, I still remember it."
"You Fell! You turned away from Him!"
"Yeah, I did. Like many others." Beelzebub looked thoughtful. "And you know why? I couldn't accept His ideas, His Plan. Neither could Lucifer. He didn't want to usurp His place. Lucifer had his own ideas how to run things, and so we founded a new business, not as opposition but as competition."
Michael sipped at his coffee. Back in the Old Days, a lot of concepts had been perceived wrongly, like Heaven and Hell. The lower ranks still saw Hell as the Enemy, while the archangels knew that it was a rival, a competition as Beelzebub had so nicely put it, for the souls of humans. Hell had different ideas, different ways of approaching things, while Heaven followed His Plan. In the Old Days, the ranks had split. Today… well, Crowley had been the last to Fall, and Michael sometimes wondered what He had planned with the serpent. Now he knew. Well, not everything, but the archangel could see some results.
"Mike?"
His eyes met Beelzebub's.
"Why did you ask me to meet you here?" the Prince of Hell wanted to know.
"I have to make a decision," was the soft answer. "But whatever I decide, it will be wrong."
"How do you know?"
"How can I not know? Having sex with you… it might be the best thing or the worst thing to happen now."
"If you don't try it, you'll never know."
"Or I might forever regret it. Tell me, Beel, why are you attracted to me? Why would you consider me as a bed partner?"
Beelzebub leaned forward, elbows on the table between them. It was a small barrier, not enough to keep them apart for real.
"Like I said, it's like touching Heaven. I never knew or imagined what it would be like. Mike, you are divine, in every sense of the word. I desire you because it feels so perfect."
"To defile me?"
The raven wing eyebrows shot up. "Defile you? My dear angel, defiling you is the last thing on my mind. To say it clearly, I want to fuck you blind. I want to see you writhe and moan and pant my name when you come."
Michael shifted, feeling the effort rise. He had been making an effort a lot lately. It felt… weird but so good.
"Beel, stop it," he murmured.
"None of them can hear us." He gestured at the other visitors of the coffee shop. He grinned, sex dripping off him. "Or is it that I have an effect on you?"
"You know it. And judging by your attempts, I have one on you, too. You could just take your frustration out on whoever you have Down There to be your willing mate." Michael's hands dug into the stone mug.
"Common misconceptions aside, we don't have Hellish orgies," Beelzebub pointed out. "Well, we had them, but after the first decade, people got bored. Now it's a 'you got time, you got me' principle. Much more fun. Speaking of which…?"
Michael placed the mug on the table, thinking hard. "I know I'm going to regret this…" he muttered.
Beelzebub reached across the table and placed two clawless fingers under his chin, raising it. He leaned over and brushed his lips over the very willing ones of the archangel.
"I'll make sure you won't," he whispered, swiping the tip of his tongue over the slightly open lips.
When Michael inhaled sharply, he sealed their lips together and kissed; really kissed. Michael felt the world shrink down to that intimate contact, that dreamed of, wanted, wished for, needed contact. He answered it.
They pulled apart, both breathless, the blue tinted glasses askew on Beelzebub's nose. The red eyes were glowing from deep within.
"This can be good for both of us," the Prince of Hell whispered.
Michael gazed at him, lost, wanting, needing to know… and finally he kissed him again, taking the initiative. If the demon was surprised, he didn't show it.
"Your place or mine?" he just asked huskily.
"I'd prefer neutral ground," Michael answered.
Beelzebub nodded, having expected nothing else. "Your choice."
* * *
The world shook. It was a seismic event never experienced in the City of London before. People stopped their work for a moment, unsure whether this was structural instability of their respective homes or office buildings, or a true earthquake. Geologists were stunned and baffled, staring at their seismographs.
In a flat above a quaint little bookshop, a demon turned to an angel.
"Finally," he murmured sleepily.
"We never made the world move," Aziraphale muttered thoughtfully.
Crowley chuckled. "It moves for me every time, angel."
Blue eyes lit up and Aziraphale kissed his lover. They snuggled together in their bed, quite sated and pleased.
Throughout the next days, London was witness to several unexplainable events. Big Ben didn't strike upon the appointed hour, the Tower Bridge got stuck after raising the bridge, resulting in total chaos for the normally already choked up City of London, and all parking meters refused to work for a whole day.
* * *
Somewhere else, two beings shared Irish Coffee in an Irish Pub. Between them on the table was a game of Draughts.
"You owe me twenty," one of them said, eyes sparkling.
"I thought we weren't betting," the second remarked mildly.
"Oh, we were. You owe me twenty."
A note was pushed over to him and the dark-haired man took it, letting it slide into his sheepskin coat.
"So, now that it happened, what should we do?" the one in the tweed coat asked.
"Beats me." The beer was emptied. "I say let them have some fun."
"They already are."
Dark eyes sparkled. "Oh yes, they certainly do. Make the world move. Your boy is a quick learner."
He answered that with a chuckle. "They both learn something here." He moved one of the game pieces. It was a white one.
"Well, whatever. I've more urgent matters on my desk than my second banging your second senseless."
A black piece took two white ones.
"True. It's not like it'll be news all over the realms."
"Not likely."
The game continued, more coffee was consumed, and the hefty dose of alcohol in the beverages was a given.
Despite many pieces being taken by the opposite side, the game didn't end. For some reason, the pieces rematerialized somewhere else over and over again.
* * *
Beelzebub lay on his back, red eyes aglow with the emotions racing through him, the bliss, the pleasure, the satisfaction, and a sated smile was on his lips.
"Shit," he whispered hoarsely.
Now he understood Crowley's fascination with his angel. Now he understood why the lower demon would actually have sex with one. It had been… incredible. Michael was far from the timid, shy angel, and the past hours… uh… days… had been.. an eye-opener. He had never felt so sore, so limp, so completely relaxed, so… fucked, than now. They had progressed from trial sex to full-blown hardcore porn.
Gazing at the dozing angel, the blond strands standing up in every direction, the head resting on Beelzebub's chest, the demon couldn't but run his fingers through the silky strands. Down the neck. The shoulders. The back… to where the wings normally were.
Claws peeked out as he remembered those wings. Oh frigging Hell, yeah! He had driven the angel insane with pleasure by just burying his hands in those wings, at the roots, finding wonderful trigger spots. His own wings had quivered with the breathy moans and pleas. Still, he hadn't been able to trust Michael enough to return the favour, or get it returned. Demons never turned their backs to another demon – or an angel. Never.
They had had sex with and without wings, top and bottom, left and right, on the bed, the table, the floor, the bed again, against the wall, and when his demonic mind had finally caught up with the matters at hand, it had become quite… creative.
As a demon he liked to see an angel twisting under his ministrations, but for the first time he hadn't inflicted pain. He had given pleasure. The image of the slender form arching into his touch, a hoarse voice pleading with him for more, would forever be lodged in his mind.
Beelzebub felt a new wave of arousal and he bit his lower lip.
Michael murmured softly.
His last bite mark was still quite visible and it filled him with pride.
Clawless fingers touched the red scar, tracing over it.
Blue eyes cracked open, looking sated and relaxed, too. A smile curved the sinful lips.
"Still not enough?" Michael whispered roughly, the voice filled with so much sexual power Little Beel was standing to attention. "Apparently not," the angel answered his own question.
Beelzebub flipped them around, straddling the pliant form. Michael smiled lazily.
"You are bad, angel."
"Isn't that an oxymoron? I'm an angel. I can't be bad."
He caught that mouth in a kiss. "You are," he whispered against the familiar lips. "And you drive me mad."
"Good," was the breathy reply and those nimble fingers were places that ached for more.
Beelzebub gave up and just followed his instinct.
As did Michael.
And the world creaked on its axis.
* * *
Michael stared at the blank screen with an equally blank look.
He had touched a demon.
He had kissed a demon.
He had slept with a demon.
He had taken the final step and done it with Beelzebub.
And damnit, it had been good!
His body tingled with the memories and he buried his head in his hands.
An archangel had slept with the Prince of Hell, and there hadn't been a thing they hadn't tried out. Michael had never felt like this, so unleashed, so free, so wild, so unbound… so… so… un-angelic and divine in one. Memories of the demon arching into his touch, of Beel's rough voice announcing his completion, echoed through his mind, and he was glad he wasn't making an effort at the moment, though he had been doing it quite often since then.
Pleasures of the flesh.
A sin.
But he hadn't Fallen.
Michael didn't want to think about it too deeply, but sometimes he drifted off, pondered the topic.
He had given in to his desire, to the pressure he had been under the past weeks, ever since Beelzebub had come on to him. He still had no idea why he had reacted so strongly to the temptations, why he had sought out Aziraphale for help, for guidance, to tell him what to do.
The Lord had given them the chance to do this – why? The angel had no doubt that He had something to do with it. No one else could take away the barrier that prevented angels and demons from touching like this otherwise.
Why?!
It wasn't that he was madly in love with Beelzebub. It wasn't even that he felt more than… Michael shuddered… Oh please, no. He couldn't feel lust, right? It was a sin!
But he hadn't Fallen.
He had been totally unleashed, as though separated from his former self, and he had done it with the second most powerful demon Below, and it had… opened his eyes.
What was this? Why had he been set up like this?
Michael was one of the few who knew that not everything was as it seemed. The lower ranks might believe in the eternal struggle of Good vs. Evil. Archangels knew better. They knew it was not that easy, not that defined. But only Michael knew about the regular meetings, the pleasant tea parties, the chats. Beelzebub did, too. They were their seconds.
Why? he asked himself again.
There was only one answer and it was terrible: it had been a test. And he had failed.
He had slept with the Enemy. And it had been good.
Michael groaned softly.
There was a shift of power and the angel's head snapped up. Fear lodged inside him as he took in the figure that had appeared in his office without using the door.
"Metatron," he whispered.
The Voice of Good smiled pleasantly. "Hello, Michael. I hope I'm not interrupting something?"
Just my fantasies about a demon, he thought glumly. And my desire to meet him again, to repeat this experience.
I'm so going to Fall…
"No," he just muttered.
"Good. I gather you're doing well?"
He shrugged, then sighed. "Cut the crap, okay?"
Delicate eyebrows rose.
"I've failed, haven't I? It was a test and I failed."
The Metatron gave him a quizzical look. "Test?"
"I said, cut the crap! I know He tested me, wanted to see if I would fall for the temptation, and I did!"
The Voice of God grabbed itself a chair and sat down, folding its hands on the desk. The infinite eyes seemed pleasant, calm, almost amused. "It wasn't a test, Michael."
"It wasn't?" he echoed stupidly. "But…"
"He does not test His own like that. He knows you would never forsake Him, Michael. But He also saw your dilemma."
"I had no dilemma!"
"You were confused over Beelzebub's advances. You were wondering, thinking, fantasising."
He swallowed. "No…" he protested weakly.
"Look at it as a kind of earned vacation, really. A few days off, time for yourself, to do what you want. As long as it doesn't involve Humanity we can talk about arrangements like that."
Michael knew he was gaping at the Metatron like an idiot. "What?" he blurted.
"Your bonus for the last millennium of good work." The Metatron smiled.
"But.. I slept with the Enemy!"
A shrug. "True. And normally that would be a Sin, but Sins usually involve humans doing something or other, or angels doing it with humans, or demons doing it with humans. There never was a rule forbidding angels and demons to… copulate." The Metatron grinned a little. "Normally there is the natural adversity of both sides for each other, as well as the fact that touching a demon usually results in blisters or molten fingers."
Aziraphale and Crowley never had that problem, Michael thought faintly. And He probably hadn't taken away their natural shields. He had done it for only one of His archangels.
"It's permanent?" he asked, fear and elation battling for dominance.
"As long as you want it. You can always ask Him to reverse the effects."
No! No, not really. Michael's body thrummed with the excitement, dampened only by the reminder that he was an angel, a regal, divine being who shouldn't be excited like a teenager over the prospect of another roll in the hay with a demon.
But he was.
Oh dear God, he was.
A feeling suffused him, of His Presence, his Voice, without hearing the words. He closed his eyes, every molecule of his being shivering.
And he understood.
As long as it didn't interfere with his duties, He would turn a blind eye on proceedings with Beelzebub. Michael might even view himself as an ambassador for good relations with Below. After the Near-Apocalypse, things were changing.
He swallowed, doubt racing through him.
The reassurance was gentle, wordless, complete.
When the archangel opened his eyes again, the Metatron was gone, as was the Presence.
And on his screen blinked an email, containing an invitation to join him for lunch. Or dinner. Michael's finger trembled as he sent the reply.
came back.
He swallowed. he typed back.
He was already there most likely.
An address followed and Michael hesitated, then acknowledged.
Another thrill raced through him, quickly smothered by his sense of duty. He wouldn't let this influence his work, he vowed. What he did in his off time or as so-called diplomatic relations was one thing, what he did up here another.
Shutting down the program he left the office, intent on making his rounds. He needed to take his mind off tonight – even if it was hard to do.
*
Somewhere Below, a red-eyed Prince of Hell smiled at the reply on his computer screen. The hellishly expensive and huge flatscreen had all kinds of windows open, but only the email program was important to him.
Something shivered through him at the thought of seeing the archangel tonight.
No one had looked at him twice after returning from his days on earth. There had been no summons to see Lucifer. His boss was treating him as usual. It was as if a blind eye had been turned to his actions, though tempting an archangel to have sex with a fiend of Hell should probably rate a top notch success. Aside from Crowley, no other demon had ever had intercourse with their celestial Enemies.
Beelzebub leaned back, unconsciously wetting his lower lip, biting it at the memory of the encounter. He shifted a little bit.
No, no one was mentioning his meeting with Michael. He was sure Lucifer knew. His boss knew everything and Beelzebub was convinced this had been a set-up.
But why?
Why let him tempt an angel? Or let the angel tempt him. Beelzebub was under no illusions that he was unaffected by all of this. He was very much affected. Michael was occupying part of his waking mind.
Shit, he thought. Blessed angel! And I want to see him again. I really do.
It wasn't love.
Demons didn't love.
Aside from Crowley, but Beelzebub had scratched him off the list of 'typical demon, 100% purebred' a long time ago. Whatever Crowley was, the Prince of Hell wasn't it. He didn't know what 'love' meant, but he knew lust, and he could work with that.
Lust was good.
Lust was demonic.
He smiled more, leaning back, legs spreading a little.
Yes, lust was good, and if he judged the archangel right, Michael had nothing against a little lust.
Beelzebub smirked and felt a new thrill at the thought of meeting his Enemy.
Tonight.
For dinner.
And then some.
* * *
In his bookshop in Soho, Aziraphale stared at the first edition Bible of the Weird and Wicked, speechless. It had come wrapped in simple, brown paper, delivered by mail just a few minutes ago. A letter accompanied the delivery.
"What's that, Zira?" Crowley asked and leaned over his shoulder, then grimaced. "Another one?"
"Uh, yes."
"And a first edition?" He whistled. "Where did you find it?"
"I didn't. It's… from Michael."
Crowley blinked. "Michael? Archangel? The guy who kept crying his heart out for weeks?"
"Yes. He says 'thank you' and that matters are now resolved."
The demon smirked. "We know that, angel. We actually saw it in quite a few manifestations."
Aziraphale nodded, still a bit stunned. Finally he took the precious book and carried it into the back room where he kept all the rare and personal items.
* * *
Above, Gabriel was shooting his fellow archangel strange looks. He wasn't the only one as the others noticed the changes, too. Michael was… loosening up. He was getting easier to work with, looked less stressed, and he smiled a lot. The lower ranks no longer cowered in fright when the archangel and second in command strode by, afraid that whatever they had done had called his wrath down on them.
Michael was… radiant. Of course, he was an angel and angels were by nature radiant, but where his aura had been harsh and hard to bear for the lesser ones when he was in one of his moods, he was now relaxed and warm and balanced.
Yes, balanced.
He even hummed to himself!
It was like a miracle all by itself.
Gabriel shot Raphael a questioning look, but the other just shrugged. Haniel had done the same and muttered something about 'enjoy it while it lasts', going back to work immediately. Uriel was more along the lines of 'he finally found some kind of stress relief'.
"Whatever it is, he should keep doing it," the archangel had joked. "Think he'd tell me the secret recipe for happiness if I ask?"
The others had shushed him, telling Uriel to keep his mouth shut. Something made Michael very happy and relaxed and satisfied. Better not jinx it.
Whatever it was, Gabriel hoped it would hold for a while. Michael needed it, they all needed it.
It was about time.
Even if the satisfied grin disturbed him a little now and then…
None of them were aware of similar thoughts going through the heads of their fallen relatives, the Dukes of Hell, who were watching Beelzebub with astounded eyes, wondering when their commander in chief would revert back to his stressful self.
In Hell, a smiling demon was a plotting and scheming demon, but right now, none could think of how to approach the Prince of Hell and inquire about his good mood.
Good moods in higher demons were something so rare, they had to be cherished.
For as long as they lasted.
***
Next story in series - What's in a Name.