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Rome, 41 AD
Azra had just finished his third cup of whatever sludge this particular tavern was attempting to pass off as a drink when he noticed the faint glow of an angel nearby.
Not just any angel. The angel, and he was sitting down next to Azra.
“Hello, bunny,” Coriel– Crowley said, a faint grin playing about his lips. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Crowley,” Azra acknowledged. Just because he was in a bad mood, that was no reason to be rude. “You look well.” He looked a bit of a mess, to be honest, and his dress stood out as distinctly foreign here, but he was smiling, and didn’t look on the verge of a breakdown, which was more than could be said of the last time that Ezra had seen him.
“You look like someone’s pissed in your drink,” Crowley said bluntly. “What’s up?”
“Nothing is up,” Azra said. “I’m just… on assignment.”
“Rrright,” Crowley said. “That’s why you’re three drinks in at a seedy tavern halfway across the city from anything of importance.”
Azra sighed. “I’m trying to avoid Caligula. He’s not left me alone since I got to the palace.”
Crowley’s face went dark. “He hasn’t…?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” Azra said quickly. “He is… fond, of that sort of thing, but… no. He’s just… oh, he’s insufferable.”
“Careful,” Crowley said. “Don’t let him catch you saying that.”
“Oh, I don’t plan to,” Azra muttered. “It’s not as though anyone in that godforsaken family needs my help. I’ve spent the last three days as far from the palace as I could safely manage, trying to hide in wine and oysters.”
“Oysters? How do those help?” Crowley asked.
Azra sighed. “I’ve spent quite some time at Petronius’s new restaurant. He‘s simply remarkable.”
“Huh.” Azra wasn’t sure when Crowley had acquired his drink, but he took a sip from it then. “I’ve never eaten an oyster.”
“Oh!” Azra said, hope flaring in his chest at that. “Oh, well, let me tempt you to–”
Then he froze, horror at himself rising unbidden in his chest. “I– I mean, I wouldn’t– I would never tempt you, not like– I didn’t mean– I just–”
Crowley laughed. “I get it, bunny. Don’t worry. Where’s this restaurant of yours?”
Azra pulled some coins out of thin air, sure that they’d be sufficient to cover both his and Crowley’s tabs (and so they were), before pushing himself off the stool and taking Crowley’s hand so as not to lose him in the streets of Rome.
The city was loud and chaotic and stank of pressing bodies and waste and pain and sin. It was, frankly, fairly similar to Hell, only hotter and sunnier. Azra tugged Crowley along until they reached the restaurant. It was calmer inside, cooler, and the overwhelming sin here was the simple Gluttony of the rich, which in turn was tempered by the comfort and happiness of the patrons– things Azra couldn’t smell, but whose presence was easily detectable by the absence of anything darker. He relaxed slightly, squeezing Crowley’s hand, as they were seated with a large platter of oysters before them, at which point he promptly realised that he had been holding Crowley’s hand the entire walk and blushed scarlet, pulling his own hand away rather abruptly.
Crowley grinned at him. “So. How do these things work, then? I can’t imagine that the humans actually eat the shells.”
“No, no, of course not,” Azra said. “Here, let me.” He glanced around the room to make sure that no one was looking before pulling off one glove, picking up one of the shells, and carefully tipping the oyster into his mouth. He could feel Crowley’s golden eyes fixed on him, and he fought to keep himself from blushing again as he swallowed. A new scent, a new sin, filled the air around the table, warm and heady, and Azra wiped his nose as discretely as he could manage in a vain attempt to hide from it.
“Fascinating,” Crowley said softly.
“Try it,” Azra said, busying himself with the wine. “Ah. Um. What brings you to Rome, dear?”
“Just popped in for a quick blessing,” Crowley said, picking up one of the oysters and examining it. “You’re sure this is edible?”
“Quite positive,” Azra said. “Where have you been lately, then? Your outfit is, ah… rather foreign.”
“Yeah, see, I knew it looked off, but I wasn’t about to go ask Gabriel for bloody fashion advice,” Crowley said, before shrugging and swallowing down the oyster. “Mm. That’s… better than I was expecting. Still odd, but not awful.”
“What did I tell you?” Azra said. “Yes, I can see why one wouldn’t wish to approach Gabriel for anything so human. If you’d like, I could provide some assistance? Your colour palette is uniquely suited to this region.”
“I was wondering about that! The black robe is impressive, but you must piss people off with it.”
“Well, it’s not such a big deal when I’m in the Palace,” said Azra. “And, out and about, it largely keeps me from being bothered, at least. No one wants the trouble of fighting a rich man in a Roman court.”
“At least there’s that,” Crowley said, sitting back with a grin as Azra helped himself to another oyster.
They passed the next few hours like that, until the sky outside began to grow dark, at which point Azra dragged himself to his feet, holding out a hand to Crowley. “I’m afraid we’ve likely overstayed our welcome here, my dear. Shall we abscond?”
“As long as you don’t make me go away yet,” Crowley said, taking Azra’s hand again and letting him pull him to his feet. “Carthage is boring right now, I don’t wanna go back.”
“Well, then, you’d best come along,” Azra said, tugging Crowley along. “I’ve got rooms not far from here, but I wouldn’t recommend being out too late in my neighbourhood. Also, my dear, how on Earth is the entire city of Carthage boring?”
“You’re not there,” Crowley answered simply, and Azra tripped over his own feet, stumbling forwards.
“Careful, bunny,” Crowley said, catching Azra as he nearly fell.
“I’m all right,” Azra said, straightening up quickly and dusting his toga off. “Ah. Let’s. Um. This way.”
He led Crowley through the streets again, this time stopping in front of a modest little villa and unzipping the wards on it far enough to let Crowley in.
“Oof. Keep this place locked up tight, don’t you?” Crowley asked as he stepped inside.
“I can’t have humans stumbling in and noticing anything, and I’d generally prefer not to deal with angels of the variety who tend to visit Rome,” Azra said. “There’s not much that’s truly protective here, it’s largely cloaking, which means you’ll be able to come and go as you please, now you know where it is.”
“Will I?” Crowley asked, raising one eyebrow and grinning.
“You are utterly incorrigible, did you know that?” Azra said, leading Crowley into what passed for the triclinium.
“Proudly so,” Crowley said. “This place is a mess.”
“Yes, I’m well aware,” Azra sighed, clearing the triclinium’s benches with a snap and summoning his best wine. “Sit down, dear, I’ll pour.”
“How’d a guest of the emperor end up living in a villa in this neighbourhood?” Crowley asked, reclining on one of the benches, as Azra focused carefully on pouring the wine.
“Head Office doesn’t know one end of Rome from the other, and so long as the emperor is doing terrible things, He hardly cares for the reason why,” Azra said. “As I said before, I’ve spent most of my time avoiding the palace as much as I could.”
“Yeah, no, I get why,” Crowley said. “I had to drop by earlier, try and provide some ‘divine inspiration’ to that Nero kid?”
“Oh, dear. How did that go?”
“Surprisingly well, actually. Kid seems to like the lyre.”
“Well, that’s refreshing,” Azra said. “Now, if you could use the lyre to convince Caligula of anything…”
“Man’s mad as anything, bunny, there’s no stopping him,” Crowley said. “Least he’s basically doing your job for you.”
Azra sighed, closing his eyes. “All those… all those people around him… I know I’m not meant to, but you know… I hate watching them die, and for such stupid, pointless reasons, too. I… tried, for a few days, but… well, I couldn’t risk being ki– discorporated, myself. And what with Naberius popping up in the palace–”
“Oh, shit,” Crowley said, sitting up quickly. “You didn’t mention him earlier!”
“I’ve been trying not to think about him,” Azra admitted. “I’ve avoided him thus far, but I think he might be looking for me, which… well.”
“Can’t you ask your boss to tell him to fuck off?” Crowley asked.
Azra fixed him with a look that he hoped conveyed just how terrible of an idea that was.
Crowley slumped back. “Fair enough. You okay?”
Azra blinked. “I’m– fine. I’m fine.”
“Sounds like you’ve got plenty of reason not to be perfectly fine right now, bunny,” Crowley said, leaning forwards again and placing a gentle hand on top of Azra’s. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to pretend. Not with me.”
“Oh, Crowley,” Azra said softly, turning his hand to lace his fingers with Crowley’s. “You’re too kind, my dear.”
“Yeah, well, m’an angel,” Crowley said, squeezing Azra’s hand. “Part of the job description.”
“You know as well as I do that that’s not true,” Azra said. “Thank you, Crowley.”
“‘Course, bunny.” Crowley tugged gently on Azra’s hand, pulling him closer, and Azra obliged, moving so that he and Crowley were both sitting upright on the same bench, rather than lounging across from one another as was usually proper. He could feel the warmth of Crowley’s body next to his, hot as the stars he helped to build, could hear his breathing, his entirely unnecessary heartbeat, could smell the same warm, heady scent from the restaurant rising up between them again.
“Azra…” Crowley breathed, shifting so that he was facing Azra properly, and his nearly-golden eyes were wide and dark.
“Crowley,” Azra said, letting his eyes fall closed, taking a deep breath–
And then Crowley was kissing him, and his mouth was warm and soft and tasted of wine and oysters and sunlight, and Azra kissed him back, almost desperately, his hands rising to clutch at Crowley’s frankly terrible toga in some vain attempt to ground himself. In four thousand years on Earth, he’d never felt anything like this, and he began to lose himself in it.
Crowley made a noise, a quiet sort of groan, his hands coming up to cup Azra’s face, to tilt his head gently to get a better angle on the kiss. Azra followed his lead, letting Crowley manoeuvre them, letting Crowley gently tip him backwards until he was lying on his back on the bench, until he could feel Crowley’s lithe form pressed upon against his, until he could taste the Lust in the air in the breaths between kisses.
“Tempting me again, are you?” Crowley murmured against Azra’s lips, so that he felt the words more than heard them. “Wicked thing, you are.”
And then, like a wave crashing into him, Azra remembered who he was. Who Crowley was.
Why this could never, ever happen, not without putting Crowley in an absolutely unconscionable risk.
“W-wait,” Azra gasped, pushing against Crowley’s chest, wriggling himself out from under the angel, panic flooding him. He’d– he’d almost– and worse, Crowley had–
“Shit, Azra– I’m sorry,” Crowley said immediately, backing away. “I didn’t– I’m sorry.”
“No, you– you didn’t do anything wrong,” Azra said, hating the worried look on Crowley’s face, hating that he’d been the one to put it there. “I… I want to, I want– but, I just… Crowley, we can’t. You know we can’t.”
Crowley’s frown deepened. “What do you mean, we can’t? What’s stopping us?”
“You know full well what’s stopping us,” Azra said, sighing. “I just… Crowley, dear–”
“You can’t possibly get in trouble for seducing an angel,” Crowley said. “I don’t understand–”
“It’s not me I’m worried about!” Azra said sharply. “You must know that.”
“What I know is that I can sense love,” Crowley said bluntly. “What I know is that you’ve got to be fully aware of how I feel at this point, I’ve never hidden it, not from you. What I know is that, if you don’t want this–” he gestured between them– “I will never try to push you into it, but, bunny, if you do… do you?”
Azra couldn’t lie to him, not even if he’d wanted to. “I… yes. I do. God, Crowley, I want this more than anything.”
“Then why?”
“It isn’t safe!” Azra cried. “Crowley, if the Archangels found out–”
“Oh, bugger the Archangels!” Crowley snapped, throwing his hands up in the air. “Since when have you ever known me to care what they think?”
“It’s not about what you think of their opinions, Crowley, it’s about what they can do to you.”
“I don’t care what you think they can do to me! Azra, I lo–”
“Stop! Crowley, please.” Azra said, feeling the hot burn of tears welling up in his eyes, unable to do anything about it.
“We could do it!” Crowley said. “Just you and me. We could go off together. Fuck Hell, and fuck Heaven too–”
“Crowley, just stop–” Azra began.
Crowley didn’t even seem to notice. “I don’t care what the stupid bloody Archangels think, Azra! I love you, and I don’t care who–”
“I refuse to be the reason you Fall!” Azra cried, squeezing his eyes shut.
Crowley fell silent. Azra could feel his stare, but he didn’t dare open his eyes.
“I… I won’t Fall,” Crowley said. “You can’t Fall for love, that would be– that would be absurd.”
Azra laughed at that, a dark, bitter, angry sort of laugh. “My dear. Every single demon I know Fell for love, in some form or another.”
“Azra, if I was going to Fall for loving you, it would have happened already,” Crowley said. “I mean– She has to know, doesn’t She? How could She not?”
“She might know, but the Archangels don’t. And they never can, Crowley.”
“Bunny…”
“This isn’t– this isn’t some sort of game,” Azra snapped. “This isn’t– you could Fall. I won’t… I can’t tempt you into that.”
“Tempt me, really? Is that what this is to you, just a temptation?”
“Why can’t you see that I am trying to protect you?”
“Oh, because that went so well all the other times you’ve tried it,” Crowley scoffed.
Azra flinched as though Crowley had struck him. “That is exactly what I’m trying to prevent! If you would stop being so bull-headed for just a moment and let me help you–”
“I don’t need your help, Azra! I don’t need your bloody protection! I don’t need you!” Crowley shouted.
Azra froze, all of the breath in his body rushing out of him in a single gust.
Crowley stared down at him, his eyes going wide, his jaw falling slack. “Shit. Bunny, I– I didn’t–”
“I think you should go,” Azra said softly, jerking his gaze away from Crowley’s face to stare resolutely down at his hands where they were folded in his lap. He was still wearing the gloves that Crowley had made for him, after his burned away in Alexandria. They felt cold, now, like the angelic warmth of them had been sucked away.
“Azra–”
“Go!”
Azra heard Crowley’s footsteps, slow at first, and then faster and faster, retreating from the villa. He heard the door slam behind the angel, felt the flare of power that meant that Crowley had teleported himself away. He sat there, his hands clenched together in his lap, his breathing ragged and uneven, for a long, long moment, waiting, almost hoping that Crowley would come back. That any moment, he’d hear the angel’s voice, that he’d have a chance to apologise, to make this right. That this had all been– been some sort of bad dream, brought on by too much wine, or off food, and any minute he would wake up by Crowley’s side to lament their hangovers together. That anything, anything but what had just happened would come to pass.
That he hadn’t ruined the one good thing he had left.
But Crowley didn’t come back.
After what could have been ten minutes, or could have been hours, Azra felt something inside him crack. With it, he crumbled, burying his face in his hands, as sobs wracked his body. He’d ruined it. He’d ruined it all. Oh, how could he have been so stupid–
It’s not all bad, a voice in Azra’s head whispered. This way, he’s safe. This way, you can’t hurt him. This way, he never has to Fall.
That’s what you wanted, after all, isn’t it?
Azra just curled further in on himself, shaking and crying with breathless, soundless sobs, until the sun began to rise around him.
Crowley was gone.