Azirafell was bored. It was, admittedly, a familiar condition. Heaven had never given him all *that* many assignments. There had been a general standing order to “do good”, but he’d had long stretches with nothing much in them at times. Of course now he could fill much of those stretches with Crowley, and it seemed that Hell wasn’t giving Crowley—or Azirafell, for that matter—any assignments either. But however much you may love someone, there’s really only so much entertainment to be gotten out of cuddling, and after cuddling for hours on end, day after day, Azirafell was more than willing to consider other pursuits. He did, of course, still want to cuddle, it was only that an hour or two a day would probably suffice, in between other activities. On the topic of other activities, he had rather expected Crowley to have come on harder than he had so far. He knew perfectly well that Crowley had dallied with mortals before, so it wasn’t as though the other demon wasn’t interested in sexual pursuits. Yet Crowley hadn’t started anything, and had in fact seemed to pull away from a few of Azirafell’s tentative overtures, so perhaps Crowley wasn’t interested in sex when it wasn’t on the job. As much as Azirafell had entertained certain fantasies about romancing and bedding Crowley if they could only touch, he was hardly going to waste away from lack of sex himself. His rare liaisons with humanity had been centuries apart, so it wasn’t as if he had a libido as such. It was only that sex could be such a beautiful expression of closeness and affection, and the person he felt the most such things towards was definitely Crowley. But if sex was off the table, and having reached the limits of cuddling all day, Azirafell was ready to find some other source of amusement, however trivial or temporary. His usual go-to was books, of course. Reading books, seeking out new books, admiring books he didn’t own… Now there was an idea. Azirafell mentally flipped through the seven deadly sins. He’d managed gluttony, sloth, pride, greed, and wrath. Admittedly sloth could use revisiting—sleeping because he was in pain wasn’t *really* all that slothful—but he was too restless to sleep right now. That left lust, probably not an option, and envy. Envy would be just perfect. He strode into the back room where Crowley was lounging on his couch half-asleep yet again. Crowley had barely left the bookshop since Azirafell had started Falling. He nipped back to his apartment now and again to water—and shout at—his plants, but he was doing all his sleeping sprawled on the back room couch. Not for the first time Azirafell considered trying to miracle up an upstairs flat with an actual bedroom, but for now he only prodded Crowley’s shoulder and said, “How do you feel about an outing, my dear?” Crowley blinked drowsily up at him for a moment, them stretched with a smile. “Feeling peckish?” “I was thinking of dinner somewhere nice afterwards, but I wanted to visit the British Library. I haven’t been in years.” Crowley blinked. “The last time you were there you spent the whole time getting drool on the rare book cases, grousing about how Upstairs was too likely to check in on a miracle and you couldn’t justify using one to steal the books. Planning a heist?” Azirafell felt his ears heating, but he shook his head. “I do enjoy going, even if I do also get…envious of their collection. Perhaps I could justify taking just one now? Hell doesn’t seem to account for miracles quite like Heaven does.” Azirafell cleared his throat. “But no, the point is to do something besides rattle about in the bookshop, and to, well…” “To tick envy off of your little list, hmm? After that you’ll have what, pride and lust left?” “No, I checked pride off when I was showing you my feline forms. I was much too pleased with how handsome they are.” Azirafell grinned, still flushed but in a much more pleasant way. “They quite certainly are. But in that case it’s certainly high time you indulged in some envy.” He left the topic of lust unmentioned, and Azirafell wasn’t sure if he was grateful to be spared further blushes or sad to not have a chance to discuss how Crowley felt about such things. “It should be a nice break from the usual,” he said, unable to bring himself to bring it up either just now. “So, care to accompany me?” “It would be my pleasure.” The British Library was not exactly like the typical public library, so there were no checkout desks or public access computers. The library’s collection was, in fact, only available to those who had properly applied for a reading pass in advance, but a minor demonic miracle easily supplied the necessary credentials to give Azirafell and Crowley full access. But before they’d even gotten that far the pair were distracted for some time by an exhibit of Da Vinci’s notebooks. Crowley got more than a little melancholic looking over them; Azirafell knew he missed his old friend, even after all this time, but he prodded his fellow demon into telling amusing stories about things the curators would no doubt have given their left nuts to know, which broke the mood nicely, and they were both smiling when they finally moved on. Installed in a reading room, and with the books he wanted to look at miraculously already ready for him, Azirafell sighed as he delicately turned the first page of his first selection. “What is it you’re reading?” asked Crowley, lounging in the chair beside Azirafell in a way that the chair had probably never experienced before, given the library’s usual serious scholarly visitors. He probably should have been drawing stares from the other patrons, or from the librarians, but of course nobody noticed, since Crowley didn’t want them to. “A rather nicely illustrated early edition of *Fanny Hill*.” Crowley blinked. “You’re in the place that has one of the best collections of illuminated bibles and historical texts in the entire world and you’re reading *porn?*” “My own collection is rather replete with bibles, but extremely lacking in the matter of erotica,” said Azirafell, almost primly. “And *Fanny Hill* is very much a classic. It was the first proper erotic novel written in English, you know.” “I don’t really read, angel.” “I could read some to you, if you like?” Azirafell’s eyes twinkled. “Ah…” To Azriafell’s delight, Crowley actually blushed. Azirafell grinned and pushed on. “*Fanny Hill* is considered particularly interesting for being a rare example of an early erotic novel in which a woman engages in sexual behavior and is not divinely punished by it. Quite a few of racier tales from that era kept themselves appropriately ‘moral’ by having everyone—but the women in particular, of course—suffer for their sins afterward. But Fanny gets herself a quite nice ending in the finish, despite what people at the time expected. I can rather relate.” Crowley’s eyes softened, and he put his hand over Azirafell’s where it lay on the table before them. Azirafell willingly let Crowley interlace their fingers, enjoying the moment. Though the probably demonic part of him that Crowley had called “just enough of a bastard” reared its head a moment later and he said, turning another page with his free hand, “Did you know that this is one of the editions that retains the homoerotic depiction of anal sex between two boys? Quite a few later editions omit it, although they include all the racy lesbian bits. Prudery always does seem to be a bit uneven between the sexes. It’s quite a shame, I’m rather partial to male on male pairings, for some peculiar reason.” “Angel!” Crowley’s voice was strangled. Azirafell tried to not laugh too hard, given that a library was hardly the place for it, but he couldn’t keep the laughter back entirely. “I am quite fond of the aesthetics of the male body. Or the man-shaped body, as the case may be.” “Is this…” Crowley seemed to be having difficulty breathing. “Is this your way of coming on to me? With Victorian erotica?” “Georgian, my dear. Fanny Hill is from the mid eighteen hundreds.” “Georgian, whatever.” Azirafell could tell Crowley was rolling his eyes behind his shades. Azirafell smiled gently and dared to begin running his thumb over the back of Crowley’s hand. He could see the tension that filled the demon as he did, and he almost sighed. Crowley was obviously uncomfortable. Still, Azirafell couldn’t resist lingering just a moment longer. He’d dreamed for so long of touching Crowley, and though his fantasies had ranged far and wide, they had so often centered on simply this, on their hands twined together and the cool feel of Crowley’s skin beneath his fingers. As Azirafell’s caress continued, though, Crowley said, “You *are* aren’t you?” His voice was almost wondering, and he straightened in his chair and pulled his shades off to stare at Azirafell. Now it was Azirafell’s turn to blink owlishly at his fellow demon. “I am? I am what?” “You *actually* are. Coming on to me. With bloody *Fanny Hill.*” “Well… Perhaps just a little. Are my…advances welcome? You seem a bit tense…” “Oh *angel.*” Crowley turned more fully towards him, his other hand reaching out to brush Azirafell’s cheek. “I’m tense because the moment you touch me like that I have the urge to jump on you and ravish you on the spot, and it’s all I can do to hold it back.” “Oh. *Oh!*” Azirafell felt his heart suddenly singing. Crowley was interested! That was the best thing since becoming able to touch without pain. Cuddling had been sweet, but the thought of having *more* was even sweeter. “Well, ah, this is hardly the place for it…” “I could miracle it so that nobody would notice.” Crowley’s voice was eager, almost desperate, and only the tiniest bit joking. “I’d think you’d like doing it amid all these rare old books.” Azirafell snorted. “I am *not* having sex with you for the first time in the middle of the British Library.” He smiled wickedly and added, “Maybe later, when we start to get bored and need to mix it up. Right now, though, I think dear Fanny can take care of herself, and you and I should be getting back home.” Crowley probably set some all-new city speed records for the Bentley as they drove back to the bookshop, and Azirafell kept his hand on Crowley’s knee the whole way there. If he hadn’t very much wanted Crowley’s attention on the road he probably would have slid his hand up and done quite a lot more, but he didn’t fancy being discorporated. He now knew that Hell’s paperwork was even worse than Heaven’s, after all. “I’m sorry for not realizing your interest sooner, my dear,” said Azirafell as they drove. “I should have said something. I was only nervous about going too fast for you again. I figured we’ve got all the time in the world now, and there was nothing wrong with taking it slow.” “No, I suppose there’s not, but on the other hand I’ve waited for six thousand years to get my hands on you, and there’s no reason to wait now, is there?” “None I can think of,” said Crowley. Then, “What, you’ve wanted me for six thousand years?” “Oh, not exactly. I’ve thought you were handsome as anything for that long, and fascinating in all kinds of ways, but the actual, ah, sexual thoughts started sometime around Rome.” Azirafell felt himself flushing at the memory. “I saw you at an orgy once, did you know that? I was so dreadfully jealous of the mortals there. I couldn’t even *touch* you and they were getting to do such delightful things to you. It was deeply unfair.” “*You* were at a Roman orgy?” Crowley glanced away from the road to give Azirafell an incredulous look, which was alarming enough to make Azirafell grip Crowley’s knee rather harder than was likely to be romantic. “I was assigned to make one of the senators feel guilty enough about it to reform,” said Azirafell with a shake of his head. “I think I ended up doing shockingly well by channeling my own guilt at the thoughts I had looking at you. You looked…” Azirafell trailed off, unable to sum up the sight of Crowley in the throes of passion. Perhaps, if he were very, very lucky, he’d be able to find words for it when he saw it again shortly, which he was very much hoping to do. Just then the Bentley pulled up in front of the bookshop. Crowley came around and got the door for Azirafell, as if they’d been on a date. Azirafell took his arm, then frowned as he noticed that the bookshop lights were on. He was certain he’d turned them off before he left. Oh dear. He pushed the door open—it was already unlocked—and was displeased but not exactly surprised to see Gabriel set down a dusty volume and turn around. “Aziraphale! Long time no see!” Crowley’s fingers tightened on Azirafell’s arm, and he let out a soft hiss, eyes narrowed behind his shades. “I’ve got this,” murmured the former angel, not wanting Crowley to start a fight with an archangel. Crowley hissed again, but let go of Azirafell’s arm and let him step forward. “It’s Azira*fell*, actually,” he said with a small, dark smile. A confused frown creased Gabriel’s face. “That’s what I said.” Azirafell chuckled. “No, it’s not. But never mind. What brings you to my shop today?” “I wanted to check up on some paperwork. The initial papers were properly filed in Heaven, but the final notification of severance hasn’t arrived from Hell.” His eyes flicked over Azirafell, taking in the darker tone of his clothing, settling on the cat-slit eyes. “Looks like it did get through to Earth, though.” Azirafell narrowed his eyes, his tone hardening. “If you mean my Fall, why yes, it did.” The frown vanished, and a broad, gloating smile spread across Gabriel’s face. “Excellent!” Azirafell didn’t have to turn around to know Crowley had a hateful snarl on, he could *feel* the other demon glaring. His own mouth twitched upwards at the corner, though. So. “Papers were filed, you said. I don’t suppose I could ask just *who* filed them?” “Oh well, it’s my duty to make sure that proper rewards and proper punishments are meted out to those I’m responsible for.” The gloating grin was still in place. “I see. And now, of course, you’ve come here to enjoy my suffering, I suppose. Typical. You’ve also managed to annoyingly delay my planned evening too. I really hadn’t expected to be cock-blocked by my former boss tonight.” Azirafell put in the minor crudity quite deliberately, and was rewarded by a flinch and an expression of disgust that replaced the smug grin on Gabriel’s face. “What, you and *him?*” Gabriel looked at Crowley with a sneer. Crowley bristled, but didn’t say anything. “Why yes. One of the many benefits of my Fall.” Azirafell’s marginal smile broadened. “I suppose I should thank you. I’ve always been quite fond of earthly pleasures, you know, and being a demon has freed me up to enjoy ever so many more of them, including all the *fun* sexual ones.” Azirafell’s smile spread further, grew positively lascivious. Gabriel recoiled. “That’s disgusting.” “You should try it some time,” broke in Crowley finally, wiggling his eyebrows outrageously. “It’s quite the experience. Though you’re not my type, even without all the holy burning and such.” “And here I thought you liked angels, my dear,” said Azirafell teasingly. “Satan, no.” Crowley sounded nearly as disgusted as Gabriel looked, though Azirafell knew him well enough to know he was poking fun. “I liked you in spite of the angel business, not because of it. You’re far too sexy to be a proper angel, my angel.” Gabriel was actually blushing now, as well as looking utterly appalled. Azirafell thought he’d never had so much fun in Gabriel’s presence in all his eternal life. “Really I must thank you, Gabriel. If you hadn’t put in to have me Fall, I’d be missing out on so much.” “It’s supposed to be a fucking punishment!” snapped Gabriel finally. “Didn’t it hurt? Doesn’t being cut off from the grace of God make your soul want to wither away?” Azirafell put on a gentle, saintly smile. “Oh Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel. You truly don’t understand, do you? Of course it hurt. But much as I do miss the grace of God, it’s a very distant thing these days, isn’t it? Meanwhile love—and lust too, which really *is* quite fun—are right here.” He cast a knowing glance over his shoulder at Crowley, then looked back at Gabriel. “But you’re not capable of understanding love, are you?” “I’m an *angel*, I’m a being of pure love,” snapped Gabriel, irritably. Azirafell just shook his head sadly. “Not capable of understanding love at all. It’s tragic.” “So is the way I’m missing out on your devastatingly sexy body right now, angel,” said Crowley. “Can we hurry this along?” Gabriel shuddered. Both demons grinned. Gabriel shook himself and scowled. “Well… Since the paperwork hasn’t been properly filed, we *could* possibly reinstate you, Aziraphale,” he said. Azirafell snorted. “Gabriel, I wouldn’t go back to Heaven unless God herself popped out of a burning bush and delivered an engraved invitation, and even then I’d need a few specific guarantees first. Now, why don’t you fuck off back to Heaven so that my love and I can fuck already? I’ll file the proper paperwork eventually so your books can all be sorted out, I promise.” Gabriel hesitated, looking shocked and confused and also more than a little angry. Crowley slunk up behind Azirafell and draped his arms over him, nibbling his ear. Azirafell let his head tip back and made a soft but quite clear and quite lewd noise of appreciation. “Ugh. Fine, fine, I’m going.” Gabriel snapped his fingers and vanished in a flash of light, leaving an air of ozone and palpable disgust behind him. Crowley waved a hand. “Blech. The stench of him has nearly ruined the mood.” “Well, why don’t we go to my bedroom and get away from it?” Crowley blinked. “I thought you didn’t have a bedroom.” “I didn’t. Past tense.” Azirafell grinned. Crowley laughed. “Sounds good to me.” Azirafell’s newly-miracled bedroom was a small, cozy space, with the tartan-quilted bed taking up most of it. There were bookshelves on the walls—though they held no books yet, he wasn’t going to just miracle up *books*—and pale blue curtains were drawn over a bay window with a reading nook built into it. He smiled in satisfaction on seeing that it had come out right, but Azirafell wasted no further attention on the room, all his attention was on Crowley. He pushed the lanky demon up against the bed and kissed him soundly, reveling in the little gasp of pleased shock that escaped Crowley. It was so wonderful. He’d been content with what they had, as he might have been content with a gourmet dinner he’d ordered, but having this with Crowley, this love and lust blended, was like that little something extra, sent on the house from the kitchen, just because the chef knew and appreciated him. Crowley knew and appreciated and wanted him, and it was more than he could possibly have hoped for. Azirafell’s tongue demanded access to Crowley’s mouth, and Crowley gave it willingly, parting his lips and meeting it with his own interestingly forked tongue. Crowley’s arms were tight around Azirafell, his hands wandering freely, the cool fingers good against Azirafell’s heated skin when they slipped beneath his shirt. Crowley certainly knew what he was doing, which Azirafell didn’t mind at all. He knew what he was doing too, and his mind was full of plans for what he might do to and with his dearest love. And yet… “I hope it doesn’t bother you that you aren’t my first, my darling,” said Azirafell, breaking off the kiss to murmur the nervous question into the air. He regretted it as soon as he spoke, he probably should not have brought up past lovers. “You don’t mind that you’re not *my* first.” Crowley’s expression was amused, though his cheeks were still flushed. “No, not at all.” Azirafell couldn’t keep from smiling contentedly. “I minded when I couldn’t be with you, when I could do nothing but envy those others. I suppose I don’t need to check *that* sin off, I did so long, long ago. I don’t mind now.” “I don’t mind either. Though you know that’s why I never liked Wilde’s poems. Bloody git got to kiss you before I did.” Azirafell laughed, then kissed Crowley again, pushing him back down onto the bed as he did. There followed a great deal of hurried clothing removal, with much awkwardness and laughter, but also much eager touching as skin was revealed. “I’ll refrain from reciting Wilde at you in bed,” Azirafell murmured, and pressed their bodies together, skin to skin, relishing the sound of Crowley’s helpless, undone moan. *He* had done that to his demon love. Not some Roman senator, not some mortal lover, but Azirafell himself. The feel of Crowley as they found how their bodies might fit together was beyond amazing. Azirafell felt his blood rushing with it, his mind singing with it, his very soul crying, *I love you, I love you, I love you,* and *more, more more.* His wings came out without him even meaning to manifest them; the things that were body and soul both mantling over Crowley. Crowley’s wings appeared in turn, his jet feathers brushing Azirafell’s inky plumage, wings pressing close, seeking that *more* that rushed through Aziafell’s veins. Their feathers met and their natures met and their bodies met, and everything began to blur, to blend, to mingle together. Crowley was within Azirafell, joined to him, part of him, his body within but his soul too, for the cry of *I love you* that echoed in Azirafell’s being was answered with *Yes, I love you, I’ve always loved you, since Eden I’ve been yours, my angel, my demon, my love.* *Wherefore, they are no more twain, but one flesh.* They were, the thing between them uniting them, bodies seeking an ancient rhythm, souls finding its answer. *Oh don’t quote the Bible at me while we’re fucking, angel.* *It’s right, it’s good, it’s blessed; us two together, and I will if I want.* Pleasure spiraled upward between them, wild and wonderful, and Azirafell couldn’t help the poetry that spilled from him. *Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine. In one spirit meet and mingle. Why not I with thine?* *At least it’s not bloody scripture. But oh yes, angel. Oh yes, and yes I said yes I will Yes.* *Yes!* both their souls cried together, and their bodies too, and they were perfectly one in bliss. ----- It was a very long time later when the tangle of dark feathers and pale limbs in Azirafell’s bed stirred. “I must say,” said Azirafell, managing to be something close to coherent again at last, “that the whole thing about ‘not my first’ has proved completely nonsensical. That was nothing like having sex with a mortal.” He frowned and added, “Perhaps a bit like, since the bodily bits happened too, but…” “‘S jusssst lovely,” said Crowley, drowsily content, relaxed enough to not mind the hissing. “All the you and me and usss and all that.” “Indeed. Yet another reason to be glad I Fell, I believe, for trying to mingle our souls like that were I still an angel would probably have blown up the room.” He chuckled. “Would probably have blown up half of Soho, though I’ve no idea what ethereal explosions look like on the material plane, it hasn’t really come up.” “I could make something come up,” said Crowley, his tone turning lecherous. Azirafell laughed. “No you couldn’t. Not after *that*.” “Well… Give me fifteen minutes?” “Sounds delightful.” Azirafell grinned, wrapping arms and wings both around Crowley. Crowley yawned and burrowed into Azirafell’s embrace. The way he was nuzzling at Azirafell’s chest did rather spark a few tentative tingles that suggested that round two might be looming on the horizon, but for now he was much too spent. Mere bodily exhaustion had nothing on what his soul had just been up to. “Angel?” The voice was a bit muffled against Azirafell’s chest, but otherwise clear enough, and only mildly curious. “Hmm?” “Are you actually going to fill out that paperwork for Beelzebub and Gabriel? I’m not saying you should or shouldn’t, but I’m honestly a bit curious about what happens if you don’t. Always was full of questions, you know.” Azirafell chuckled. “Oh, my dear Crowley. No, I won’t fill it out. It’s absolutely ridiculous. I refuse to even consider bothering with that load of complete bollocks. Maybe if the forms were sensible and useful, but as they are? No.” “You lied to Gabriel, then.” “Me? Lie to an archangel of the Lord?” Azirafell grinned, knowing that he was probably showing fangs. “Well of course I did. I’m a demon, aren’t I?” Crowley let out a long, happy sigh that Azirafell felt as much as heard. “Oh, Hell yes you are. Best demon there’s ever been, if you ask me.” “Why thank you. Encouraging me towards pride again, I see.” Azirafell nuzzled the top of Crowley’s head. Crowley didn’t reply, he only let out a contented murmur and started kissing his way across to Azirafell’s nipple, which he’d found was very sensitive. Azirafell didn’t reply either, though not long after there was poetry again, he simply couldn’t help himself. Nor could he help when it came to the urge to use his feline fangs—it was so stupid that angels were expected to ignore their animal aspects, why was Heaven so pointlessly repressive?—on his demonic lover. He gave himself over once more to Crowley—himself in full, all that he was—and he got all that Crowley was in turn; serpentine and demonic and human and wonderful. It was a love that no angel could ever have allowed its like. A love that no mortal would have been capable of. A love that no other demon would have trusted or risked. It was a love that was theirs and theirs alone, and it was perfect.