ESCHATOS
~ July 6, 2009 ~
Crowley moaned in delight as the
slick and skillful hands moved over his body. He was having a very hard time
deciding if the pleasure was sinful or divine.
Oddly enough, he’d never actually
gotten a massage before, and regretted having missed the experience all these
years. The young woman above him, taking him to the edge of bliss, was getting
one hell of a tip afterward. As the oiled hands pressed into his muscles with
such delicious precision, what was left of his mind wandered.
The demon was in Las Vegas, in
the plush and very pricey Four Seasons Hotel, enjoying the high life and taking
it even easier than he usually did. This was because it was nearly twenty years
past what should have been the End of the World, he hadn’t been contacted
even a single time by anyone from Down Below, and he was finally convinced that
they’d given him up for lost. Millennia of tension was melting away and this
fabulous profession of massage was making it all the better.
Three weeks he’d been in America,
and he was absolutely loving it. The weather in Vegas was far preferable to that
in London. And so was the entertainment. Adam Young may have said “no messing
people about”, but he probably didn’t mean “no subtly encouraging them to
do stuff they would have done anyway, any sooner than they’d have done entirely
on their own”. And since Crowley hadn’t had to lift a finger to enhance the
sinfulness in this town, it made not a whiff of difference.
He’d been giving serious thought
to relocating. He and the angel could just… call each other. Or visit sometime.
Or something. If the angel even cared anymore. That was the only thing still
bothering him, to be honest, which he was trying very hard not to be.
Ages of
working-against-but-mostly with Aziraphale had become a part of life. But the
Arrangement was unnecessary now, and without it they really didn’t have much in
common. Crowley had his car and clothes and people to not entirely mess with,
and the angel had his books.
Damned angel and his damned
books. Crowley frowned without realising it.
Best just to try and forget it
all. Another decade or so, and he probably would.
Anyway, being tied down to
anyone, especially a dusty old-fashioned prude of an angel… well, it wasn’t his
style. Vegas was his style. And it was bloody well time he’d gotten out of the
far too often cold and rainy British Isles and someplace better suited to a
reptile.
When his body was
finally pummeled into submission, he oozed off the table. The masseuse
left his 180 Degree Suite
● considerably
richer. Then Crowley soaked for an hour in his huge marble tub,
sipping margaritas. After that, he dressed in his finest, ready for an
evening out. The whole town was lousy with people to see, shows to
watch, casinos if he cared to gamble (possibly without cheating), and
fantastic restaurants from one end of the Strip to the other. And of
course reservations were still something that happened to other
people. Instant gratification every direction one turned. He didn’t
think Vegas would ever be boring.
For getting around
town, he’d rented a candy-apple red Mustang convertible.●●
American cars were a whole new breed to him, as was driving on the
right, but if he made a mistake in a rented car, he wouldn’t feel like
he’d damaged something precious.
The sun was fast going down and
he had cruised the Strip for about half an hour, when he sensed a presence that
he just shouldn’t have. He slammed on the brakes, leaving the driver behind
cursing, which was all right. And there it was, among the crush of tourists, the
source of the oh-so familiar tingling sensation.
A plump blond angel in
tweed, looking as out of place as, well, an angel in Las Vegas.●●●
“What the fuck?” Crowley
muttered, watching Aziraphale study a map so intently it might have been a
priceless volume. The angel glanced around in mild confusion, then sighed with
relief and walked into Caesars Palace.
Crowley gave a rare blink. Had
Aziraphale followed him for some reason? Or was it just the oddest vacation spot
the angel could think of?
After almost an hour driving up
and down the Strip, mulling things over, Crowley gave in to temptation. He
parked and went inside. The angel was nowhere to be seen but he could sense
trace amounts of nominal holiness in the aether. Aziraphale had gone through the
checkout area, and had taken the elevator to the Centurion Tower’s hotel rooms.
Crowley slithered down a hallway
and up to the correct room, scenting the aura beyond the door. And it seemed
somehow… furtive?
Whatever Aziraphale was
doing in there, it could be even more interesting than the Palomino
¹.
Maybe.
.......................................................................................................................................................
● So named for
the span of its view of the city, not for the temperature. That would have been
a bit hot even for Crowley.
●● The Bentley
was in storage. After watching it burn up during Armageddon, he wasn’t willing to
risk the slightest ding, even if he could miracle it away.
●●● Incredibly
ironic, since Crowley was instrumental in the development of a Las Vegas Tourism
Board advertisement campaign featuring an angel and a demon, both of whom
leeringly declared that “What happens in Vegas, stays here”. (1)
¹ Operating
since 1969, the Palomino is an all-nude strip club with both female and male
dancers, and is still decorated in its original
retro-red-with-sleazy-low-lighting scheme. It has a rather sordid history
including a murder-for-hire scandal. Crowley found it tackily charming, in its
way. Besides, it was the only nude club that served liquor.
(1) This
was a real ad, not making it up for the story. Go Google it.
╬
╬ ╬ ╬ ╬ ╬ ╬
╬ ╬
Aziraphale stood in the small
room, unsure what to do with himself. He didn’t even have a suitcase to unpack.
Not even a book. He’d left London at the drop of a very big hat, and there’d
been no reason to bring anything along. He would only be here a single night
anyway, and it promised to be long and lonely and a little scary.
He sighed heavily. Not because he
was horribly jetlagged, or even because of the shabby condition of the hotel
room or the noise of the partiers in the adjacent one. He sighed because his
last night on earth would be spent in such a place. And without even being able
to say good-bye to the one person who mattered to him in the slightest, because
he had no idea where said person was.
Stop thinking about him, and
about your fate. Distract yourself. Perhaps some television, to drown out
both background noise and worrisome thoughts.
He rarely watched television, and
had to examine the remote control carefully to understand how to turn the set on
let alone change channels. Then he flipped through them, uncaringly. Sports.
Music – bebop, mostly. Movies, some of them classic at least. News. Game shows.
And then – good Heavens –
naked bodies engaged in brazen acts of carnality.
He blushed furiously and
scrabbled with the remote to change the channel quickly. What on earth was such
a thing doing on a television in a hotel? Perhaps he ought to call down and
complain to the management. He fumbled with the booklet near the television,
looking for a phone number, and discovered that it wasn’t a mistake at all.
Apparently the hotel offered adult films for rent, and the snippet he’d seen was
the free two minute “teaser”, meant to entice the viewer into renting. Leave it
to “Sin City”.
Aziraphale sighed again. And
flipped through the channels once more. Boring. Tedious. Mindless. Crowley’d had
a hand in most of this banality. One more sigh as he thought, unavoidably, of
the demon, wondering where he was and what he was doing. Aziraphale hadn’t heard
a single word in weeks. Of course it wasn’t as though they were bound to one
another, not that they had the Arrangement anymore. Keeping in contact was an
option, not a necessity, and had anyway become increasingly rare. Apparently it
was something he ought not to consider at all.
Once more the television reached
the adult film, and Aziraphale blushed, but was a little slower to switch the
channel.
Why on earth was he blushing? It
wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen a human body naked. He was inside one, after
all. And it wasn’t even as though he’d never seen acts of intercourse. He’d
lived a very long time and it was impossible to avoid seeing such things
forever. It happened. Actively watching wasn’t exactly social etiquette,
of course, but the act itself wasn’t supposed to be a shameful thing.
Besides… the people in these
sorts of movies were performing for the express purpose of being watched, and
closely. He’d avoided deliberately observing such things even though the shop
next door to his own purveyed wares of this very nature. That sort of shop
nearly filled his entire street, most of his neighbourhood. He’d barely noticed
them, really, because such things just didn’t hold any interest. Well, not
prurient interest. Of course he was interested in understanding the human
race and its needs, and intercourse was certainly high up on the list. It could
be said, then, to be part of his duty to comprehend this aspect of humanity more
fully, if not in any participatory capacity, then perhaps from a merely
observational post, merely for edification…
He realised he was rationalising
doing something that he ought not to do. But he only realised it after he’d been
watching the film for about a minute and a half. And after two minutes he would
be charged for viewing. He changed the channel.
Really, it hadn’t been
so very interesting after all. It was only two people having sex.●
They’d been making standard sex noises. They’d been posed in standard
ways. No, not so true. Aziraphale’s limited knowledge on the matter
could only envision a couple of variations, and he was pretty darned
sure that what he’d just witnessed didn’t match up. Now his curiosity
was piqued, but not quite enough to switch back to the channel yet.
He considered. Angels weren’t
supposed to experience sexuality, it had been outlawed back in the days of the
Nephilim. Some naughty apples, er angels, had spoiled the barrel, so to speak.●●
He shouldn’t even be contemplating watching... But it wasn’t an actual
sexual experience, just doing the watching. It certainly wouldn’t incite him to
lust after a human woman, nor attempt to breed with her. If he knew one thing
was irrevocably true, it was that. So, watching a show, made to be
watched, wouldn’t be a sin or anything…
Especially if he didn’t actually
pay for it.
So he retrieved the small bedside
alarm clock, put it atop the television, set the timer for two minutes, and
flipped the channel back to the film. He stared at the twisting and turning of
bodies, observed the insertion of body parts and other objects into numerous
orifices, listened to the grunts and squeals and badly forced attempts at
dialogue. He puzzled vaguely over the seemingly cookie-cutter aspect of the
females, with their long bleached hair, overly painted faces, clearly malformed
breasts, shaved genitalia, and long fingernails that simply could not be
comfortable used in the manner they were used. And the males were no more
distinguishable. Each one was muscled and gleaming and had erections that
architects would have been proud of.
He watched with bemused intrigue.
And whenever the alarm sounded, he changed the channel. He managed to get most
of the way through an hour-long movie in this manner.
And would have continued watching
in peace, with minimal guilt, had the door not suddenly burst open and a
grinning demon not declared with the most lascivious glee, “If you want a
real show, you should come with me to the Cherry Patch
²
instead of watching that crap. I’ll even pay.”
..................................................................................................................................................
●Actually four,
but Aziraphale hadn’t paid attention long enough to notice. So many bodies in
porn look so much alike that, to a casual observer, they might as well be
completely interchangeable. Which, in a way, they are.
●● Funny how
apples caused so much trouble, right from the dawn of time…
² One of two
licensed brothels in Nevada, the Cherry Patch boasts a sexual “menu” with items
you wouldn’t believe (and a few things you possibly wouldn’t want to). Crowley
was light years away from prudish, but he still marveled at what some humans
could imagine to be sexy. For more details, take thyself Googling.
╬
╬ ╬ ╬ ╬ ╬ ╬
╬ ╬
Aziraphale’s face nearly
combusted from the ensuing blush. He squawked and threw the remote at the
television, somehow successfully changing the channel before the alarm sounded
again. He leapt to his feet and struck a battle stance, looking for all the
world as if he would gladly run Crowley through had he had more than an ice
bucket within easy reach.
Crowley laughed uproariously and
plopped onto the bed, quite at home. “Not only did it shock me to find you were
in Vegas, but catching you watching a porno has to be the most amazing sight
since… since…” He waved his hand, searching for an example. “Since nothing else.
There isn’t anything to compare. Didn’t think you had it in you, honestly.”
Aziraphale was breathing heavily,
eyes wide and desperate, still not ready to accept that Crowley was here. Or
that he’d been caught.
“Oh, calm down, would you?”
Crowley sighed. “You’ll give yourself apoplexy. In your current state, that
might even be possible.”
Relaxing only a tiny bit,
Aziraphale demanded, “What in the world are you doing here?”
“I was here first. Extended
vacation,” Crowley smiled easily. “I’ve earned a little trip around the globe.
What’s your excuse for being in town? Doubt there’s a book convention.”
“Er.” Now Aziraphale’s face
ceased blushing and went very pale. He slumped as he remembered all too well why
he was here. He sat on the edge of the bed.
Frowning in real concern now,
Crowley said, “What is it?”
“I’ve been… summoned.” The
angel’s eyes went flat as he mumbled, “I received a message from On High…”
“Your people contacted you?”
Crowley choked. “Fuck. And they sent you over here? Did they know I was here?
Did they send you after me?”
Aziraphale turned, his gaze
refocusing. “What? No! I doubt they really care, actually. And I’m not sure… I
don’t really think they care what happens to me, either.”
Seeing the returning daze in the
angel’s eyes, Crowley felt a little jump in his chest. “What does that mean?
What did they say?”
“They sent a letter… Here…”
Aziraphale rummaged through his coat pocket and produced a piece of parchment
that glowed faintly white. Though he’d already memorised its contents, he read:
“Hasten thee this instant unto
the City of Sin in the desert of the New World. Upon the following morn, the
seventh day of Julius’ month, at seven of the clock, approach humbly to the Port
of the Airships at the Seventh docking in the berth of Chi. Therewith thee shall
meet a Great Host and His Holy retinue. Bring the Host forth unto the Palace of
Caesar. Thy final duty for all of time is thereby fulfilled, whereupon ye art to
be discharged in all fullness.”
“…”
“I know.”
“…”
(Sigh)
“Boy, they just cannot
bring their language up-to-date, can they?”
“Crowley…”
“What a bunch of gibberish. Can’t
they just say ‘Vegas, airport, July 7, 7am, Gate 7-C’, for crying out
loud?”
“Crowley!”
The demon blinked at him.
“Don’t you see?” Aziraphale said
softly, but sternly. “My final duty. For all time.” He hung his head
morosely, saying, “I… think… they’re sending someone to get me. I think they
might be punishing me for the Apocalypse.”
Crowley frowned, slowly catching
onto the line of reasoning. “You really think they would—“
“Dispose of me. Yes. I really
do.” Aziraphale stared blankly at the floor.
“But they can’t – they wouldn’t
really – I mean, okay, sure, you showed up your people by stopping
Armageddon and you’ve been colluding with a demon for a thousand… years… and…
Oh.”
The very demon bit his lip. He
dithered internally. No. This wouldn’t do, he refused to accept it.
Aziraphale had done his job regardless of their personal association, and his
intentions had been good. But of course, good intentions were paved over with
frozen door-to-door salesmen, so it really wasn’t much help.
Aziraphale said softly, “At
first, I thought it might mean they were bringing me back, relieving me of duty.
But on the flight over, I had a while to think about the words… and… They didn’t
actually say I was going back Up. Nor that I had been felled, or anything like
that. So they probably don’t intend any sort of torment for my misdeeds. I
expect I’ll just… cease to be.”
Crowley was speechless. The idea
of there being no Aziraphale just didn’t register.
“So you see, that’s why I’m here
in this Godforsaken city, in a rather squalid hotel room next to another room
containing what seem to be a herd of tone-deaf elephants, and watching bits of a
gratuitously sexual and extremely poorly-made film.” Aziraphale muttered numbly.
“This is almost certainly my last night on earth. Why worry about possibly
sinning? I can’t enjoy anything anyway.”
Crowley desperately tried to
think of something to do. But there was nothing. He knew it. Aziraphale knew it.
There was no comfort he could offer, especially being what he was. His presence
was pointless.
But he didn’t want to leave.
Swallowing, he reached out,
placed his hand on the angel’s hand, giving a small squeeze. “I -”
Aziraphale removed his hand and
said, quietly, “Please. It’s all useless. Just… I’m sorry… but, I think I would
prefer to be alone… for a bit…”
Crowley, helpless and frustrated
and a little angry, rose and walked slowly out of the room. Closing the door, he
wondered if the sight of a forlorn Aziraphale, sitting on the edge of the bed,
was to be the final one.
╬
╬ ╬ ╬ ╬ ╬ ╬
╬ ╬
Crowley entered the elevator
again. He made sure he was alone, of course, because if smoke started coming
from his ears he didn’t want to explain it to any humans. Fuming, mind racing
for any option however small and unlikely, he punched the down button.
No way. That letter has to
mean something else, and Aziraphale’s just jumping to conclusions, that’s all.
They’d both been edgy off and on for the last two decades, but you’d think
if something was gonna happen it would have done so long ago. Especially with
the angel’s people. Now Hell, they loved keeping you paranoid and wondering just
when they might change their minds…
The elevator music ceased being a
vapid but popular song as a deep voice let Crowley know, without a shadow of
doubt, that every move he made, every step he took, they were, apparently, still
watching him.
Oh can’t you seeee, you belong
to HELL-O, CROWLEY...
His heart nearly exploded, and he
wondered if clawing his own vocal chords out so he couldn’t reply, or rupturing
his eardrums to pretend he hadn’t heard, would excuse him. But of course it
wouldn’t. And that would really hurt, besides.
“Um, yes, hello,” he answered
meekly, cringing into the corner of the elevator, which he barely noted had
stopped dead.
WE’VE BEEN LOOKING FOR YOU,
CROWLEY. AND HERE YOU ARE, IN LAS VEGAS. OF ALL THE PLACES ON EARTH, THAT IS ONE
OF THE EASIEST IN WHICH TO TRACE YOU.
Oh fuck.
WE ALSO SEE THAT YOU ARE NEAR
YOUR… FEATHERED FRIEND.
Oh fuck oh fuck.
SOMETHING VERY SPECIAL IS COMING,
CROWLEY. AND IT’S GIVEN US A SINGULAR OPPORTUNITY TO DEVISE YOUR NEXT
ASSIGNMENT. OR, SHOULD WE SAY… YOUR LAST. EVER.
Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfu –
And then the voice told him what
he was to do.
And Crowley, when the muzak
started again, fell to his knees and put his curled fists against his face as if
to claw his eyes out instead.
… Every single day, every word
you say, every game you play, every night you stay, I’ll be watching you ...
He was doomed, truly, utterly,
and with total finality.
╬
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╬ ╬
Aziraphale was still sitting on
the edge of the bed, staring at the wall and trying – and failing - not to
think, and feeling very very alone.
When the door slowly opened again
and then shut very quietly, he smiled, feeling a wave of gratitude.
“Crowley, I was just—“ Then he
turned and saw the demon’s face and his second of happiness fled.
Crowley was white as paper and
actually looked as though he would faint. Aziraphale made to rise, but Crowley
had already staggered over and joined the angel on the bed. He didn’t seem to be
breathing at all, but he was definitely sweating.
“What on earth—?“ Aziraphale
began.
“What in hell, actually,” Crowley
rasped. “Oh fuck. Aziraphale. Fuck it. I’m fucked. Fuck.”
“What? Please, tell me!”
“They contacted me. Down Below.
They did it just now. They gave me an assignment.” Crowley shook his head in a
futile attempt at denial, his voice a low monotone. “No coincidences, none, all
of it planned, both sides planned this…”
“What are you talking about?”
Aziraphale demanded, more afraid than ever.
“Apparently whither thou goest,
angel…”
The moment of confusion gave way
to terror. “You… they… same place and time?”
Crowley nodded.
“Same assignment?”
“So it would seem. And it’s
pretty clear they want me dead. If I’m lucky, haha, I’ll go the same as
you think you will, just – snap – wiped out of existence. Won’t have to go back
Downstairs for more torture. I think that’s what they mean. You’re right.
Nothing matters… It’s all useless…”
Aziraphale’s heart felt squeezed
in a vise. No, no coincidence at all. Ineffable. Insidious. Both sides in
agreement about their executions. And in full view of one another. It was
absolutely the most horrible thing they could have come up with. He found
himself actually fighting back tears. He hadn’t even been this scared during
Armageddon, perhaps because, deep down, he’d somehow known it wouldn’t be the
end. But this time… oh God, this time...
For many long minutes they sat
side by side, alternately staring at the wall, the floor, each other’s hands,
and finally each other’s faces.
And eventually Crowley, having
reached some sort of internal conclusion, removed his sunglasses, very
deliberately laid them on the bed, and spoke.
“Aziraphale, I… I’ve got a
question. And if you really feel offended by it, then you can smite me all you
want, doesn’t matter…”
“What is it?”
“Have you ever really been
interested in sex?”
“… What?” Aziraphale twitched in
surprise.
“Because I’m just wondering,
since we’re both doomed anyway, it won’t matter what we do or don’t do before we
die, so maybe we ought to make the best of things and just enjoy what’s left of
it and get laid.”
Aziraphale gawped. “Get – Wh-- If
I were even interested, what good would that do?”
“Clearly you do have some sort of
interest. You were watching the film.”
“Out of mild curiosity, nothing
more!”
“You had an erection when I first
came into the room.”
“I most certainly did no– “
“Did. Even if you weren’t paying
attention consciously. You did.”
“Well, it must be just a natural
reaction. Human bodies—“
“Sure, you wake up in the morning
and it’s just there of its own accord. Sometimes it pops up just because it
wants to, sure. But when you’re watching something like that film and you’re
getting stiff, it’s because you’re interested. Denial doesn’t always
equal river, angel.” Crowley managed the tiniest half-hearted smirk.
Pursing his lips, Aziraphale
grumbled. “Fine, yes. I was intrigued. But I ask again, what good would
it do?”
Speaking softly and seriously,
Crowley said, “To get laid before you die? Well, if you want to spend
your last hours in misery, thinking about your imminent demise with nothing to
distract yourself, to miss out on one of the finest pleasures in the physical
world and the last chance you’ll ever have to enjoy it, then be my guest.
Myself, I’d rather spend my remaining time drowning in pleasure, and I sure
as hell don’t think a nice meal and a few hundred drinks will be enough to keep
my mind occupied. I want sex. And I want it very soon.”
Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed as he
looked back at the wall. “Well, fine. Go on then,” he muttered, jaw tightening.
Go ‘get laid’, as you put it. I’m not stopping you.”
And then Crowley’s hand was
suddenly there. There. On his… Through the trousers, but still… There.
He sat perfectly still for a
moment, eyes straight ahead, bright with shock, not breathing. He didn’t dare
look down, because it was simply too much to encompass and looking down might
fry his mind. But when Crowley’s hand began to slowly move, he did turn toward
the demon. Crowley’s golden eyes were already upon Aziraphale’s face rather than
what his hand was doing. They seemed very intent indeed, as though he was trying
to read Aziraphale’s thoughts. Aziraphale wasn’t sure he had any actual thoughts
to translate.
Crowley squeezed gently but more
firmly, still watching Aziraphale’s face. There was reaction there – eyes
twitching, searching his; lips slightly parted, breathing shallowly; cheeks
bright pink. There was astonishment and confusion, yes, but nothing yet to
indicate the angel was going to say “stop”.
Neither of them said a single
word. It seemed neither of them could find a voice to say anything with. So
Crowley decided to keep going until one of them did, or until he was brutally
discorporated for what he was doing.
He groped with sincerity now;
fingers curled below, cradling and massaging the softness, and thumb above,
rubbing firmly over the increasing hardness. Aziraphale’s breathing was unsteady
but he kept looking into Crowley’s eyes, though his own had gotten a bit glazed.
The demon went on for a moment or two in this way, then got more bold and
quickly unfastened the angel’s trousers, zipped them down, and shoved his hand
past the underpants to grip what turned out to be a surprisingly thick cock.
Amazed as he was, Crowley didn’t look down or say anything, even when Aziraphale
finally let his eyes nearly close for just a moment, breath hitching sharply.
Stroking gently, Crowley wondered
how long it would take before one of them cracked and spoke, or at least looked
away from one another. Though Aziraphale was now struggling to hold still,
biting his lip, his eyes increasingly foggy, Crowley continued. It was a miracle
the angel was still sitting upright. The white-knuckled grip Aziraphale had on
the edge of the bed was, indeed, the only thing preventing collapse.
Crowley’s hand now moved rapidly
and insistently, and when it was obvious the angel was going to climax, he
opened his mouth as though to speak. But he remained mute in awe at the sight of
Aziraphale’s face. As tremours snaked through the angel’s body, the gleam of his
half-closed eyes shining with pleasure and wonder, mouth opened in a silent
shout…was something Crowley simply couldn’t interrupt with words. It would
profane such a moment.
Aziraphale shuddered repeatedly,
at last looking away from Crowley’s face and toward the wall. The demon released
his grip, tidied up with a mere thought, and was trying to refasten Aziraphale’s
trousers when the angel finally spoke.
“No… no need to bother. I… think
I feel rather tired, actually. Perhaps I’ll just… lie back for a bit…”
Crowley felt incredibly guilty,
which he hated to feel at any time but more so because of what he’d just done.
The angel seemed to be dismissing him, and might even be angry but just too
embarrassed to say so.
But when he tried to rise from
the edge of the bed, Aziraphale’s hand on his arm stayed him.
“Would you… stay here? We both…
there’s no reason not to… I don’t mind, really. I’d like...”
Looking back into the angel’s
eyes, Crowley saw they were still aglow. He nodded, inwardly grateful that he
wouldn’t be alone for his last night on earth.
They both stripped down to
underpants (Aziraphale seemed just a bit reluctant for complete nakedness even
after what had occurred, but Crowley didn’t complain), and slid underneath the
bed covers. Before long they were spooned together, Aziraphale holding Crowley
tightly as the demon drifted into light sleep.
The angel lay afloat in his own
thoughts, and rubbed his face in Crowley’s soft hair, careful not to wake him.
He gently kissed the demon’s sharp shoulder, tasting warm skin that he realised
now, when it was virtually too late, he would like to explore in detail. If he
wasn’t terrified to do so. At least they were together.
Crowley stirred fitfully in his
arms, whimpering. Aziraphale stroked his cheek and murmured something, but
Crowley awoke and turned his head. “Can’t sleep?”
“It’s just wasting time,” Crowley
whispered, “don’t have much left, so… I’d rather spend it awake.” He wiggled
around until they faced one another.
Eyes met eyes in a way they never
had before. There was desperation, fear, longing, and too much knowledge.
The only time that existed was
now, for as long as they could make it last. Their world was nothing more
than the tiny bubble around them at this very moment. And they wanted to draw it
in tightly, hermetically seal themselves away from the universe.
Hands began to stroke. Arms,
necks, faces, chests. Lips grazed lips. Tongue glided against tongue. Legs slid
together, between and around one another. Hips pressed, twisted gently. And
eventually remaining clothes were discarded.
Time vanished entirely. Neither
had the slightest conception of how long they spent touching and kissing and
whispering of pleasures given and received.
Flesh so hot and moist. Tiny
gasps escaping with shallow breath. Mouth swathing velvet-hard cock. Wordless
begging groans. Lithe body sliding atop softer one. Slippery. Pressure.
Admission. Heat. Clench. Gasp.
Aziraphale watched, through a
fevered haze, Crowley’s slithering form riding his cock. The demon writhed so
very slowly. Climbing and descending the mountain of pleasure thrust within him.
Air wavered in the heat around his body. Eyes all but closed, rolled back and
glittering. Sinuously rippling torso and hips, hypnotic, serpentine. Slender
hands roaming up his own chest and throat, back down, over his own cock, over
Aziraphale’s stomach, up to the angel's lips, back again. Never enough touch, impossible
to feel enough.
Crowley’s ecstasy astonished
Aziraphale. His own pleasure astonished him. Screw watching porn, the
real thing was far more engrossing.
They had moved slowly together
for an eternity but Crowley felt climax nudging inside him, and began to ride
more quickly as it approached. Aziraphale’s hand found his cock and pushed him
higher. The orgasm rose and rose, crested achingly slow, stretching him nearly
to the heavens, and finally released him to fall spent and gasping on the
angel’s body.
Aziraphale was stroking
fingertips gently along his spine, kissing his hair, whispering in wonderment.
Crowley felt all this in a dazed delight, but also felt the solid weight of the
angel’s erection inside him. He felt incomplete. Wiggling his hips, he made it
obvious without words that Aziraphale had left a job unfinished. When the angel
failed to coordinate his thrusts from below, inexperience frustrating them both,
Crowley slid off his body and tugged him over and up and above.
Long legs were wrapping around
Aziraphale’s hips and he was slipping into soft, slick fire. He had banked his
own fire before, content to feel Crowley’s pleasure, but Crowley’s whispers blew
across the coals and now his cock was the fire, the demon’s body wrapped around
it for warmth in the darkness.
He wanted to ride slowly as he’d
been ridden. He wanted to fall forever into this beautiful Hell, burn forever
inside the Pit that was his lover’s body. Arms were grasping him, pulling him up
instead of down. Hell was upside down, fire in every direction. It flared bright
as lightning in his eyes, his ears, his flesh, and he rode it to Heaven. Incinerated by orgasm,
he clenched and spasmed and shattered.
Aziraphale collapsed entirely
upon the demon, mind wiped clear. Just as he had done earlier, Crowley was now
placing lips gently upon his face.
Then Crowley whispered, “At least
now… I have something of you to take with me.”
The words smashed into
Aziraphale’s mind with the force of a hammer. He raised his head suddenly, and
saw the demon’s pale face, the stiff and unreal smile. “Oh, Crowley… oh God.”
“I have this much of you,” he
said of the melting heat inside his body, “I’ll have it with me until they
destroy me. I’ll have it to the last second.”
Aziraphale stroked the demon’s
cheek, which was growing cold so quickly. He had no words. Words did not exist.
But time had begun to
exist again, had crept into their world on tiny sharp claws that broke the
bubble.
The clock declared it was
morning. The final one.
With silent resignation, sated
bodies and shuddering hearts, they rose, dressed, and left.
╬
╬ ╬ ╬ ╬ ╬ ╬
╬ ╬
~ July 7, 2009 ~
Gate 7-C was entirely empty of humans, of course. The angel and demon stood
numbly together and stared out the windows at the runway.
Precisely at seven o’clock, a
large silver plane – or something that at least appeared to be a plane -- it was
enormous and it had wings – descended from the sky, circled once before landing,
taxied up to the boarding bridge.
They stood before the doorway
that would soon reveal their fates.
Out stepped two very tall,
muscular angels. They weren’t blatantly angelic – they wore black suits, white
shirts, black ties, and dark glasses, and had communication earpieces – but they
were definitely angels. The aura of smug divinity hovering around their inflated
heads was unmistakable. And they were glaring at Crowley with undisguised
hatred.
Blinking stupidly, Aziraphale and
Crowley felt their numbness fading rapidly.
The two angels tapped their
earpieces as they listened to orders, and stepped to either side of the doorway,
waiting at stiff attention.
Then, quite without fanfare, a
short human in rumpled tan slacks, white shirt and scuffed sandals, sunglasses
pushed atop a shaggy dark head, stepped out. The man looked around briefly, then
turned to the demon and angel, and through a short beard beamed a bright smile.
The smile reached out and
embraced them both, and told them exactly Who He was.
“Oh my dear Lord,” Aziraphale
breathed.
“Yes?” Jesus asked with a wry
grin.
Two more angels had come up
behind him, identical to the first two. There stood the Christ Himself, small
and casual and unassuming, surrounded by tall, dark, over-starched pillars of
clichéd angelic security.
Aziraphale could only goggle,
until Crowley tugged gently on his sleeve. He looked away from the Lord to see
the demon had all but turned transparent from lack of blood.
“They really do mean me to die,”
the demon croaked, “and they want it to be in unspeakable agony.”
“What do you—“
“My orders were to…” Crowley
shuddered, gathering his words. “I was told to meet whomever you were meeting
and to… strike him in the face.”
Five angels turned toward him
now; one with a gasp and unutterable disbelief on his face, the other four with
flaming menace. The security entourage were reaching into their jackets, but
whatever weapons they actually had there were surely not pistols. Crowley
cringed and closed his eyes.
“All right, all right, it’s
fine,” Jesus said gently, waving the angels back. They reluctantly stood aside
as he walked toward Crowley. “Ah, the Serpent, is it? Well, if those are your
orders, friend, then you’d better follow them.”
Aziraphale’s mouth was flapping
wordlessly. A tiny squeak fluttered out before he finally said, “No, you
can’t—“
“I know,” Crowley murmured, “one
touch and I’ll be obliterated. It’ll be worse than a holy water enema. With
that, my guts would just boil and I’d feel like piranhas were eating me from the
inside out and eventually I’d melt into a puddle of blistered glue after
screaming my throat to bloody shreds. But with this… This might actually hurt.”
“Crowley! You cannot strike
the Lord in the face!” The idea was so beyond conception that Aziraphale was
on the verge of hysterical laughter.
Jesus shook his head. “No, he
must do as he was told. He was ordered.”
Crowley shivered.
“So come.” Jesus motioned him
forward, and Crowley felt himself unable to resist. “Strike me.” The Christ
offered his cheek with a soft smile. “Obey your orders. To the very letter.”
And suddenly, as though a warm
breeze wafted through his mind, Crowley understood. He stepped close, drew his
hand back, and then moved it forward. His palm landed, softly but firmly, flat
against the Christ’s cheek, and brushed across it in slow motion.
A strike, as defined by
the dictionary, “to come into contact with”, from the Latin stringere,
meaning “to touch lightly”. His orders, obeyed to the letter. No one had
specified how hard the strike needed to be.
Jesus smiled, and turned his face
the other direction. “Care to try the other side?”
Crowley laughed weakly, staring
at his hand in amazement. He was alive, he was whole, he had struck Jesus Christ
in the face. Shit.
Aziraphale gaped. “Oh my dear
Lord,” he wheezed.
“Yes.” Jesus said again, grinning
broadly. “The Principality, I presume. Well, come along. You’re my escort to
Caesars Palace. Busy day ahead, so lead the way.”
Blindly, angel and demon walked
out of the terminal. There was a limousine waiting at the front of the airport
(Crowley’s rental was too small for everyone), and they all piled in. Two of the
security angels got in front, one as chauffer, and the other two in back,
watching Crowley and Aziraphale with confusion and distaste.
Aziraphale and Crowley sat in
silence, waiting for what they couldn’t even fathom anymore.
Jesus chuckled. “Oh, man.
Aziraphale, didn’t they tell you anything about what to expect?”
Aziraphale cleared his throat,
and said, “Er, I was sent a missive. It was rather—“
“All flash and no substance.
Yeah, I was afraid of that when I tried dictating the note.” Jesus rolled his
eyes, then offered them both a drink.
Crowley bit straight through the top of a
bottle with his teeth and downed half the liquid before anyone could even try to
pour a him a glass. He grimaced. Water. With a small gesture, he turned it into
champagne.
“Thought I held the patent on
that trick,” Jesus laughed. A wave and there was wine all around.
“So,” Aziraphale said after a
hefty drink of his own, “what is actually going on?”
“I have returned, of
course,” Jesus smiled. “Don’t worry, it’s not the Apocalypse again. We
decided that John’s prophecies ought to be edited. Heavily. Should’ve been done ages ago, but
you know the bureaucracy Upstairs.”
“Indeed,” Aziraphale sighed.
“Well, the whole book was a
nightmare of loopholes and contradictions and, poor guy, hallucinations. Told
him to lay off the ‘shrooms, man.”
Crowley gave a short bark of
laughter, then bit his tongue when the two big angels glared at him.
“Then what is left?” Aziraphale
asked, fingers fiddling with his refilled glass. “What are we to expect?”
“You, my friend, can expect to
finish your job of escorting me to Caesars, then off you go on your merry way.”
Aziraphale’s brow creased. “I’m…
dismissed, then? That’s it? No… smiting?”
“Smiting? Hah, poor angel.
They really have messed this whole thing up. Don’t let an angel who’s never
even been
to earth write a letter to one that lives there.” Jesus shook his head, took a
sip of his own champagne, and explained. “Okay, here’s the deal. I was getting
set to return and Father, with His sense of humour, thought Sin City
was hilariously appropriate for the first stop. And being taken to Caesars
Palace, how ironic. Arriving on July 7, at 7am, at Gate 7-C… my number, you
know, 777, then an extra 7 for good measure and the C for Christ. Should
have heard Him giggle over it. But there is something portentous to it all, I
suppose, so I’ll go along. These guys,” he thumbed at the huge angels, “are here
to make sure no unfriendly types make life any harder. Makes me look like some
big-shot, which kind of negates the good old humble aspect, but Father insisted.
“Anyway, as a sort of protocol,
you were called so I’d be met by Heaven’s ambassador on earth and escorted to my
first destination.” He looked at Crowley now. “And seeing Hell’s agent on earth
alongside wasn’t much of a surprise. You don’t really belong to Hell anyway,
Crowley. Certainly not anymore. They may have wanted you dead… but they didn’t
count on loopholes and contradictions.” His grin was borderline diabolical.
“Both sides are far too literal sometimes.
“So,” he said, waving all that
aside, “the point of my being back is to remind people that the Old Laws were
meant to be set aside when the New Laws were handed down by me. They never did
figure that out and it’s been two thousand years. Mucking it all up, misquoting
me, twisting everything around and making themselves completely miserable.” He
sighed, shaking his head. “And Father told me it would be rough the first
time. I’m hoping now, with the faster communication of this new world, that I
can get the message across more clearly. And of course, hoping that people will
listen a little harder.”
He smiled at the demon and angel.
“Not many of those laws ever applied to you two, but you’ve wound up trying to
live by most of them anyway. That’s pretty special.”
“Uh. Thanks,” Crowley said. He
frowned into his bottle. “So… speaking of me, what happens now? Downstairs is
bound to notice I’ve not been turned into vapour.”
Jesus shrugged. “Won’t matter
what they notice. You are no longer in their jurisdiction. Lines cannot be
crossed to bring you back. You are free. Your job is over.”
The demon gaped.
“Both of you, in fact. You’ve
worked long and hard, together. Helped prevent Armageddon. Deserves a medal, let
alone a vacation. Dismissed with honours.” Jesus raised his glass in toast, a
huge grin on his face. “The force is with you both. Live long and prosper.”
Demon and angel gaped in unison.
“Wow, he’s like super-nerd,”
Crowley whispered.
Aziraphale’s elbow nearly broke
his ribs.
Jesus laughed and the champagne
flowed like milk and honey, though it tasted better and got one far drunker.
╬
╬ ╬ ╬ ╬ ╬ ╬
╬ ╬
Two hours later, Crowley and
Aziraphale were lying on their stomachs in Crowley’s suite at the Four Seasons,
being massaged by attractive young females. It had taken nearly that long to
convince the angel it was far less sinful to enjoy someone being paid to rub
away the tension than to fuck a demon for over five hours, as he’d already done.
Said that way, Aziraphale had to agree, and was now finding the sensation of
warm oil and firm hands digging into his back to be very nearly as pleasurable.
Though he wouldn’t say so to Crowley.
“Can’t believe it,” Crowley
grunted, “sending His kid to-ooh Caesars. Coulda sssstayed here, ‘s much
nicer.”
“’S the humbler cho-oooo-ice,”
Aziraphale sighed, “gotta keep uuuhn-up the image...”
“Yeah, guessss so. But th’ bad
jokessss. Stayin’ in the new Octavius Tower-rrr, room 665
³. Neighbour of the
Beast, hah!” Crowley gave a short laugh, then groaned again in pleasure.
“True, that wa-aaah-s rather
tacky. Still, it’s cosmic resonance, I think. Sympathetic magic, if one can use
that term-mmmm…”
“Suppose so-ooooohh…”
The girls finished their work,
accepted the generous tips, and giggled as they left the two consenting
Englishmen to their own devices.
Angel and demon enjoyed another
few hours in the suite, with brunch, drinks, and a leisurely spell in the
jacuzzi. Aziraphale initially declared the jets to be unnecessarily erotic but
Crowley demonstrated exactly why they weren’t unnecessary, for
another twenty minutes, and eventually they dragged themselves from the water, exhausted
and possibly pruned for life.
As they stretched out on the
enormous bed, Aziraphale sighed. Crowley had always been a special thing in his
life, without question, but also without answers. Now he realised Crowley had
been feeling the same way. Demonic pride, or just demonic nature, had prevented
him showing it clearly. The last ten hours now filled in for the last several
hundred years.
Whatever Crowley’s thoughts were
now, they weren’t nearly so profound. He was playing absently with a damp golden
curl across Aziraphale’s forehead, smiling mischievously, at the same time
playing with damp golden curls elsewhere. Cheeky thing. Aziraphale gently
removed the demon’s lower hand. For the moment.
“Mm,” he mused, stroking
Crowley’s lip to remove the pout, “I wish I could be there at his first meeting,
to see what he’ll do…”
“I’m sure there’ll be other
chances.” Crowley nipped at the fingertip. “He said he’d be on earth for years.”
“But today is the start. A new
beginning, instead of the end.”
“And you were there to meet him.
The first at the gate. Hell of an honour, don’t you think?”
Aziraphale smiled. “It was.
Almost as much as what he said when we left him at Caesars…”
Crowley smirked, recalling how
Jesus had placed their hands together, enfolded them with his own and declared
they were well-matched.
So he was bound to the angel
after all, as if he didn't know it anyway. Looked like Vegas was only going to
be a vacation spot instead of home. Wherever Aziraphale was, that was home. And
all the sentimental drivel was making his brain feel like syrup.
And so he quipped, "All he was
missing was an Elvis costume. Then it would have been perfect.”
Aziraphale sighed with fond
indulgence. “You are insufferable, and I shall of course live to regret being
stuck with you for eternity.”
“Tell me that when the world
really ends and I might believe it.”
They kissed, slowly, savouring
each tiny second. Time rippled around them, only daring to graze their edges.
Fingers drifted over skin. Breath flowed into breath. Crowley had just rolled
atop Aziraphale, and they had just established a pleasant rhythm rubbing
together... when time did a strange little dance.
A rush of unnameable energy
pulsed through the aether, through their bodies, through their true selves. It
was hot and cool and fresh and ancient and new and pure and colorful and real
and laughing. They shuddered violently, pieced back together almost before they
were torn apart. Their bodies lifted a full foot off the mattress, and dropped
down again in a sweating heap. They had also both climaxed, mostly out of shock.
“What the fucking hell—?“ Crowley
gasped.
“Him,” Aziraphale breathed. “His
meeting with… those businessmen, the heads of global corporations… the thing he
was telling us about… the ‘subtle influence’ he would exert, to encourage
mankind…”
“Oh. I didn’t realise his
subtlety would be so un-freaking-subtle.”
“And that was just the first
wave. He’s got more meetings… in more cities… with governments…”
“With Adam,” Crowley chuckled.
Aziraphale groaned. "Strangely, I
think they'd get on rather well.'
“I wonder if each of those
meetings be this rough on us.”
The angel groaned again. “I
wonder if we’ll survive after all.”
Crowley mopped up a salty puddle
from Aziraphale’s stomach and put his finger in his mouth.
“If we don’t, we’ll definitely go
out with a bang.”
The pillow over his face didn’t
quite smother the laughter.
........................................................................................................................................................
³
Fact. It happens in 2009. See here -
http://www.vegas.com/resorts/caesars/