#philintropy

Aziraphale keeps his gaze steadfastly ahead, even as the blush on his face starts creeping down his neck, even though Crowley is leering so closely that his breath is warm and incredibly distracting against the shell of Aziraphale's ear.

"Precisely," Aziraphale says, proud of the way he keeps his tone level. "These sorts of events tend to get out of hand."

"Ah," Crowley says, quirking a brow and tilting his head. "Killjoy cover - pretty good."

In his peripheral, Aziraphale sees him lick his lips. He fights the urge to shiver. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, nothing," Crowley says, slithering behind Aziraphale to his other side in a way that shouldn't be possible for his human-shaped body. "It won't be as transparent to them as it is to me. They don't understand these things the way we do."

Aziraphale stands straighter, looking dead ahead. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"I only mean," Crowley says, smirking, "that if anyone asked of your whereabouts tonight and you needed a cover story for indulging in a festival of intoxication and ecstasy, preventing humans from engaging in the more intense activities that can culminate of these events is... pretty good."

"But I'm not indulging, am I?" Aziraphale says, daring a glance at Crowley just to raise an imprudent brow at him.

A mistake, of course; the fire illuminating the grounds bathes Crowley in soft light, cheeks and nose rosy from the wine and warm weather. He's wearing his hair in plaits wrapped around his head like a crown, a fashion popular with the young women of Rome for now. Aziraphale admires the way Crowley attempts to keep up with their trends, taking bits and pieces of them that suit him and hoarding them like treasure; like the jewellery the Romans find so fetching this century, the same rich yellow as Crowley's eyes.

The Romans do so covet amber, he would say, if he were braver. Do they admire your eyes that way, the same way I do?

He swallows hard and looks away again with an odd, tight feeling in his chest. "I imagine you are? Indulging, I mean to say."

"In the drink, certainly," Crowley says. "The rich cult that throws the sex festivals makes the best vino in the country."

"But not...?"

Aziraphale's gaze falls on a couple getting amorous beneath a tree, hands roaming over each others' bodies and open mouths clashing together, and looks up and away with his face burning as if his interest is suddenly taken by the stars. He's not easily embarrassed, and certainly not by sex in general; it's trivial, it's human, until it's being discussed with the one being in all of creation who knows exactly how to get under Aziraphale's skin, who introduced him to the pleasures of a different kind of flesh, and who seems, for some reason, to have a vested interested in Aziraphale indulging.

"Nah," Crowley says, looking out at the scattered sea of writhing bodies partaking in the evening's festivities. "Demon, humans... just doesn't feel right. Tempter of the original sin, and all. Gets weird when I think about it too much."

"I suppose that makes sense," Aziraphale says, returning his gaze to the Earth and wishing for some kind of breeze to cool himself down; he ought to have brought a handfan, but he always forgets how balmy Roman summers are. "So you're just here drinking and..."

"Soaking up the debauchery," Crowley says, his grin renewed. He leans back and takes a deep breath in, finally giving Aziraphale more than an inch of space to himself again, and lets it out with a sigh of satisfaction; if it sounds a bit more like a moan than a sigh for a moment, it's really none of Aziraphale's business. He was probably imagining it in the first place. "Oh, it's like nothing else. You ever try opium?"

"Just the once. I wasn't a fan of the come-down."

"Remember those wavessss of euphoria," Crowley says, hissing as he tends to do when he's intoxicated and tipping his head back like he's basking in the indecency of it all, "that hit you at random? No rhyme or reason, just ecstasy - that's what it feels like here, if I let all wash over me properly. All of them, lost to pleasure, getting off on the idea of seeing each other get off."

Heat curls in the pit of Aziraphale's stomach and he swallows, mouth suddenly dry.

As if he can tell - good Lord, can he? - Crowley brings his head back down and smiles at Aziraphale, teeth showing in a way that ought to be threatening but only stokes the coals of Aziraphale's interest.

"But there can only be one weirdo lurking in the corner and watching at these things, you know," he says, stalking around Aziraphale and leaning over his shoulder to speak again, voice lowering. "Now there's two of us just standing about, sticking out like sore thumbs. Being the clothed ones at the orgy can draw unwanted attention."

Crowley's lips brush his ear with the final word and Aziraphale's heart thuds against his chest loud enough he's certain Crowley must be able to hear it. If he can, he doesn't comment on it.

"Over by that frisky trio in the bushes, see him?" he says instead, nodding toward the stranger in question, who's giving Aziraphale a suggestive look. "He's been eyeing you this whole time. If he thinks you're available, instead of just watching, he might come seeking your attention."

His hand comes up to skim a touch across Aziraphale's shoulderblades, a ghost of a caress where his wings would be, and Aziraphale realises he lost control of this interaction quite awhile ago and has no desire to get it back.

"How would you suggest I make myself appear... less available?" Aziraphale murmurs, tilting his head in the slightest, an offering he hopes doesn't go overlooked.

Crowley's hand drifts back from his shoulder to his neck and a pair of slender fingers curl around the collar of his tunic, gingerly pulling the fabric aside so Crowley can dip his head and press his lips to the base of Aziraphale's neck, hot like a brand against his skin. Aziraphale's eyes fall half-shut and he bites back a groan, head tipping further to the side as Crowley kisses his jaw, nosing at the tender spot beneath his ear.

"Something like this might help," Crowley murmurs against his skin. "Is he still looking?"

Aziraphale glances back to the stranger, who has decidedly lost interest and is now pleasuring himself to the sight of the frisky trio in the bushes.

"Yes," he lies, shutting his eyes.