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Angels, for all intents and purposes, do not kiss. It’s rare they find themselves in a position to, unless it’s some profound moment of compassion or distress, perhaps even to comfort a human whose entire perception of the world and their place in it has been turned on its ear then, yes, they might kiss the other’s forehead, or even their lips in a classic sign of trust and intimacy. By and large, however, angels do not kiss.
It stands to reason then that Aziraphale loved kissing.
Specifically he loved kissing Crowley.
It didn’t happen often, or at least not as often as he would like, but when he had the chance, when the two were alone in a dim corner of his book shop or behind the closed doors of Crowley’s flat, Aziraphale would seize upon the chance to—gently—corner the demon or crowd him against a wall and pepper his face and lips with many passionate and adoring kisses. Crowley, in turn, would often grab his arms or his face and keep him steady to drag these kisses out into blazing, breathless snog that left Aziraphale weak on his feet. But that was also just the effect Crowley had on him.
He drove him absolutely wild in so many ways but especially when his forked tongue would swipe into his mouth for just a moment. Aziraphale, without fail, would moan brokenly and all but collapse against the demon, whose skin burned ever hotter through the layers of their earthly clothes. As much as it burned, Aziraphale craved it all the more, though he would never permit them to go much further than they were now, presently, as this is being written; crowded together in the back office of Aziraphale’s shop, the door sign just having been flipped Closed after a long day of last minute Father’s Day shopping. It was then, for once, that Crowley initiated this, pulling the angel back by his wrist toward the office, to the point that Aziraphale assumed the demon must be angry with him over something; maybe for being too much of a pushover with clients and customers, offering discounts for no reason other than they looked distressed about the fact they’d forgotten the parental holiday and had no idea what their father would even read.
Perhaps something about history? It’s usually a winner. In fact, we’re having a sale on books on World War II; memoirs and the like. It’s that stack over there. I can help you look personally if you’d like—
Crowley had long given up trying to talk Aziraphale out of being a doormat for humanity; some things would never change. Instead, he stood idly by and kept an eye out for manic shoplifters, cursing the books to burn their hands should they start making a break for the door. Aziraphale had no idea about this, being far more concerned with his more honest shoppers having mild crises about how well they did or did not know their dads.
Mind racing to come up with explanations and defenses should the demon begin to lay into him, Aziraphale began to sputter as Crowley closed the office door behind them, though the sentiment died on his lips as he was pushed against the far wall and Crowley pushed his tongue into his mouth. Instantly, Aziraphale’s anxiety melted away as he, too, melted against the demon. His hands flitted nervously over Crowley’s shoulders and chest, unsure of where to find purchase on the black-on-black-on-black of Crowley’s clothes. They eventually settled for the fabric of a thinning and well-worn V-neck beneath his outer clothes, scandalous as it may be. Crowley wasted no time getting straight to his point, pushing his hips to Aziraphale’s and nipping cheekily at his lips. The angel gasped sharply; this was simultaneously new and familiar territory. They had flirted with this sort of thing before but it had always intimidated Aziraphale. Angels, as stated previously, did not kiss and they most certainly did not fuck. Demons, however, did whatever they pleased.
Oh, Heaven help him.
He should’ve expected this. One can only expect to be burned after dancing with the devil. And right now, Crowley’s hands were practically leaving scorch marks on his stomach, having untucked the hem of his dress shirt underneath his vest. His stomach jumped and hitched as Aziraphale struggled to breathe under the onslaught of both Crowley’s hands and lips; of course, he didn’t need to breathe, but it suddenly felt like he was choking, being so overwhelmed by Crowley.
But when wasn’t he.
Suddenly their trousers were open and Aziraphale couldn’t help the pathetic sound that escaped him, looking down between them and seeing the evidence of their excitement pressing together. He looked back up to Crowley, slitted eyes still concealed behind his dark sunglasses and in a moment of boldness that surprised even himself, Aziraphale removed them. Crowley blinked, clearly as surprised as he was, but it didn’t last long. The demon smiled almost wickedly at the angel before attacking his collared neck with nips, licks, and kisses, all of which prompted embarrassing noises and moans from his partner. Aziraphale fisted both hands in Crowley’s hair, gasping and rolling his hips to the other celestial being’s.
“We shouldn’t,” Aziraphale finally gasped, head back and nails digging into Crowley’s scalp. He could almost feel the points of Crowley’s horns, though he knew, on some level, they weren’t really there.
“We never should’ve started,” Crowley countered. Aziraphale couldn’t argue with that.
Luckily (or perhaps unluckily) for Aziraphale, Crowley knew exactly what he was doing. The angel barely had to do anything at all, just encourage his partner with his pleasured sighs and allow him to take the lead. Perhaps that was what temptation was like for humans; not a willful rebellion but complacency in evil. Not that what Crowley was doing to him could be considered evil, necessarily. In fact, it was amazing , and it wasn’t long before Aziraphale found himself braced against the upper wall, held up by Crowley’s hands, hips, and thighs, holding onto his still-clothed shoulders for dear life as he thrust into him.
“O-oh! Oh my goodness,” Aziraphale moaned, eyes rolling back. His hands scrabbled, unsure where they should be as Crowley growled adoringly against his neck.
“D’you have any idea,” Crowley panted, almost growling, “How long I’ve wanted to do this?”
“I have an idea,” Aziraphale whimpered in reply. If it was anywhere near like how long Aziraphale had been wanting it, it was almost too long to remember. Almost.
He had long since convinced himself that kissing Crowley would be enough to satisfy this lust he’d always felt towards him; Aziraphale figured he had to call a spade a spade now, with the demon being as much inside him as he would get without a full-on possession. And he was right, somewhat, because kissing him had been marvelous, exciting, and delicious every single time. But then it would come to that point where temptation, lust, and desire would overwhelm him, when Crowley would push back just enough, and Aziraphale would all but flee. Some things seemed too unholy to even flirt with, which he knew frustrated Crowley but he was used to that. So they had to come to an agreement, more or less; an unspoken rule of this far, no further that seemed to work for some time now.
But Crowley hated rules.
Now, today, for whatever reason, the rules were broken. Crowley’s thrusts were getting harder and faster, all but bouncing Aziraphale against the wall while the angel held on for dear life and let pleasure and sensation overwhelm him. He was getting louder, he knew it, but he couldn’t stop crying out. It was all too much. Hundreds, if not thousands of years of wanting were coming to a head, as were the two celestial beings. Aziraphale’s thighs were shaking, his breath was coming in shallow pants, and he felt like he was about to discorporate at any moment. But in a good way.
Then Crowley kissed him.
The two came to their climax almost simultaneously, shaking and groaning against each other like the world was ending. Aziraphale whimpered into Crowley’s mouth, shaking like a leaf as he ruined his trousers, still more or less around his thighs. Crowley sighed, again and again, and peppered the angel’s face, lips, and neck with passionate and adoring kisses.
It felt like an eternity before they were able to come down from the high, but they were used to that sort of thing. Eternity, anyway. The pleasure was almost entirely new.
“That was…” Aziraphale attempted to describe it but found himself at a loss for words, both due to the ineffability of the experience and the fact he seemed to have screamed himself hoarse. Crowley watched him curiously as he righted their clothes, looking for something—anything at all—before pulling the angel close for one last kiss.
“Can I ask why?” his voice was soft; curious more than anything. Why today? Why now, after so long? And when can we do it again?
Crowley shrugged, smirking like nothing else.
“Why not?”
Bastard.
End.