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Crowley was looking at him like he wanted to kiss him. Aziraphale knew the signs. Crowley was trying to act like everything was normal, but he was spiky with nerves. He kept looking at Aziraphale for a few seconds too long, then looking away a little too quickly to seem casual. Aziraphale wished he would bloody well do it already.
He’d wanted terribly to kiss Crowley since the church bombing. There, he’d admitted it to himself. He’d almost done it when the demon had rescued his books, completely unharmed, from the smoking wreckage. He’d almost done it again, backstage after the magic show, the image of Crowley standing over a smoking rifle fresh in his fevered mind. But he’d never initiated a kiss, not once in their long history. It was always Crowley who started it.
Crowley seemed more than ready to start it, now. Since the strange little demon in the dressing room had declared it their last night on Earth, Crowley had been eyeing Aziraphale With Intention. He didn’t know about the successful photograph switch the angel had made. He didn’t know the amazing Mr A.Z. Fell had been very clever and fixed it all. Aziraphale was just about pleased enough with himself to burst. Needless to say, he and Crowley left the Windmill Theatre together, but in very different moods.
“Let’s go, Angel,” Crowley said, heading for the Bentley.
“It’s such a beautiful night!” Aziraphale trilled. “Why do we have to sit in your stuffy old car?”
Crowley stared at him for a few seconds too long, then looked away a little too quickly to be casual. Aziraphale crowed internally.
“Fair enough,” Crowley said. “I’ll walk you home, then.”
They fell into step together. Crowley rolled and slithered along beside Aziraphale, reeking of grim desire. He was like a walking stormcloud. Aziraphale couldn’t resist pushing him a little.
“Don’t you think it’s just the perfect temperature, Crowley?”
“We don’t have to talk, you know,” Crowley hissed.
Aziraphale ignored him, as usual.
“You were brilliant tonight.”
“Just did what you told me to, Angel.”
“Well, you did it brilliantly.”
“Cheers, I suppose.”
Another block passed in silence. Aziraphale could feel waves of Not Looking at Him rolling toward him from Crowley. It was unbearable. He couldn’t contain himself a moment longer.
“Crowley, I have to tell you something.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I really do. You’ll like it.”
“I won’t.”
“You don’t even know what it is!”
Crowley was walking faster and faster. Aziraphale tried to keep up without tripping.
“Listen,” Crowley said, “I have a guess what it might be, and I’d rather you just didn’t. There’s no point. We don’t have to have some grand conversation just because it’s our last night on Earth. We can just-”
“But it isn’t!” Aziraphale interrupted. “Our last night on Earth, that is!”
Crowley stopped walking without warning, going from a sinuous slide to a sceptical stand. Aziraphale pattered on a few steps, then realised he’d stopped. He turned around to face Crowley.
“Just what are you on about?” the demon demanded.
Beaming and quivering with excitement and pride, Aziraphale brought out the envelope. He opened the flap slowly, unable to resist a bit of showmanship. With a flourish, he brought the photograph out and displayed it. Crowley hissed in surprise.
“The little demon doesn’t have it,” Aziraphale said. “I do.”
There was a beat where neither of them spoke or moved. Then Crowley surged forward, seized Aziraphale by the shoulders, and kissed him. The demon moved so quickly and suddenly that his hat flew off. The photo was crumpled as the space between their bodies went from some to exactly none.
Aziraphale’s hands, too, were pinned between their bodies. He found he could do nothing but stand there and kiss Crowley back. It was quite enough to be getting on with. Crowley was so hot, and prickly, and strange, and comfortable, and familiar, and lovely. If this really had been their last night on Earth, Aziraphale could’ve happily discorporated right then and there.
Crowley’s hands moved down his arms, always tugging, pulling them somehow closer together. He found Aziraphale’s waist, fingers digging in like he feared he might be dragged away at any moment. Aziraphale’s heart was beating at a speed that surely couldn’t be safe for a mortal body. Crowley hauled on his waist. The lower halves of their bodies met.
Aziraphale stopped kissing Crowley to give a little cry as light and heat shot through him. Crowley growled, properly growled, like a dog. Aziraphale shook like a leaf. He caught Crowley’s lips again, wanting more of his sulphurous kisses, sweeter than any fruit. Crowley did something with his hips that made stars explode behind Aziraphale’s eyes. An entire nebula formed, just for him to get lost in. He broke the kiss, mewling desperately. Crowley’s lips landed on his jaw. The serpent rolled his hips again.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped.
The demon responded by kissing him on the throat, just above his collar. His stubble scraped against Aziraphale’s soft skin, a thousand points of contact sending a thousand tiny shivers down the angel’s spine. He threw his head back with a moan. Crowley sunk his teeth in. Aziraphale jolted so hard it was a wonder Crowley didn’t fly off in the direction his hat had gone.
It had never been like this before. Something was shifting between them, and it wasn’t just Crowley’s hips, or Aziraphale’s hands wriggling to break free and hang on. Neither of them was holding back anymore. Some test of trust had been passed, and they were rushing headlong into whatever came next.
Crowley left bright red bite marks all along Azirphale’s jaw. His hips were finding a rhythm, pushing into Aziraphale relentlessly. The angel was lost in a world of sensation, shaking and whimpering in a most encouraging fashion. Before long, his whimpers began forming words.
“Crowley, don’t stop,” he moaned. “Oh! That’s very-oh! Crowley, do that again!”
Crowley obeyed, grinding against Aziraphale hard and fast. The angel became aware that Crowley was watching him closely through his dark glasses. He wanted terribly to meet the demon’s eyes. With a final effort, he managed to pull a hand free. Without thinking, he snatched the glasses off Crowley’s face.
There were tears in Crowley’s beautiful yellow eyes. Aziraphale stared. Crowley stepped back, pushing him away. Why was he crying? Was it because Aziraphale had saved them from the nasty little demon’s nasty little plan? Or was it something else? Something personal? Aziraphale’s mind flashed to that graveyard in Edinburgh, to the three words a laudanum crazed Crowley had said to him.
The angel and the demon faced each other down, both panting and shaking. Aziraphale felt he ought to say something, but he couldn’t think what. Or perhaps he could, but those three words had gone so badly when Crowley had said them. He was too afraid of what Heaven might do. Of what Crowley might do. Of what it might all mean for the two of them.
Instead, he held the glasses out. Crowley seized them with a jerky motion, slamming them back over his wide, wet eyes. That felt a little safer. Aziraphale caught his breath.
“Thanks,” Crowley said shortly.
“Don’t mention it,” Aziraphale said.
There was another long pause.
“Right,” Crowley said.
He turned on his heel, picked up his hat, and started off down the road. Aziraphale’s heart sank. He’d hoped they were past this whole business of Crowley running away every time they kissed. Surely the demon knew Aziraphale could be trusted to keep mum. True, this had been rather a steamy one, but still. He wasn’t about to press the matter. He just wanted to be with his friend.
“Where are you going?” he called after Crowley, without much hope.
“Bookshop,” Crowley said over his shoulder. “Aren’t you coming, Angel? I need a drink.”