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And if This Is Temptation, I Do Not Wish To Fight

Summary:

Crowley takes another sip of wine. Licks his lips again. Aziraphale shifts on his feet and directs his gaze pointedly down at his feet, and—and the floor is rather interesting. Yep. Very, very interesting.

Not as interesting as Crowley’s lips—

“So,” Crowley starts, swallowing down another sip of wine. Aziraphale’s head shoots up at the sound of Crowley’s voice, his gaze shooting right to Crowley’s face.

Aziraphale's first sip of wine comes alongside a few other firsts, it so happens.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Aziraphale indulges in food off and on, after Job—after the ox rib. It makes him feel rather guilty, really, but the taste of all these things is just incredible, and, well, Angels can’t be tempted, right?

But Angels can fall.

He shows up at a lovely little garden party hosted by some official that likes him for one miracle or another that he was ordered to do. There’s a lazy feel to it all, and there’s food all about; lovely, delicious things, and Aziraphale has indulged in quite a lot of it. There is no roof to the place, just rather high, terraced walls, with some windowed openings and pretty little vines all about. The majority of the humans are a lazy type of drunk, but he doesn’t interfere with any of it—he wasn’t told to, exactly, and he already feels a bit distant with all of that. He does what he’s told, but somehow, it all feels tainted, now. He feels tainted.

“Hello, Aziraphale,” he hears, and he immediately recognizes the voice—a little faster than he should, maybe.

Well. He’s an angel, after all—miraculous hearing, and all that. Obviously.

He turns around to Crowley leaning against a pillar, near the middle of the open garden. He’s right in the middle of the whole place, groups of people all around him. Like he’s the center of it all.

“Crowley,” he says, rather quiet. He hasn’t spoken all that much to Crowley since their conversation on the cliff, and, well—he’s been lonely. Aziraphale goes over to him, closer. He notices that Crowley has a goblet of wine in his hand and a dark and bright and altogether characteristic little smile on his face.

“Quite a party you’ve got going here, angel,” Crowley says, and Aziraphale scoffs. He moves to stand beside Crowley, looking out at the groups of people around them.

“Not my party, you know—” Aziraphale says, and when he looks beside him and at Crowley, there’s a smirk on his face. Sarcasm, of course.

“Very funny,” Aziraphale says, then sighs. He eyes a table full of food, just a bit away. He’s already indulged—too much, probably, definitely—but he finds himself already eager for more morsels.

He eyes the wine in Crowley’s goblet as Crowley takes a sip, and his eyes linger on Crowley’s lips as he sips, his lips wet and supple. He chooses to not further pursue that thought anymore, right now, but there’s such a strange feeling, deep in him, that tells him that he earnestly, truly wants to ponder that thought just a little bit more.

Crowley pulls his lips away from his goblet, then licks his lips. Aziraphale is failing miserably at not furthering his thought.

The thing is… he knows about what humans… do. Of course he does. He’s much less clueless about that than Gabriel is, certainly, although he would never admit it. He knows a reasonable, respectable amount of what leads to little, tiny children. Population and reproduction, and all of that. And—and he’s seen kissing. Yeah, of course.

It’s just, well. He’s not supposed to think about kissing. He’s not supposed to wonder about the technicalities of putting his human form’s lips onto another form’s lips.

(Particularly, specifically, Crowley’s lips.)

He doesn’t even know the specifics of how any of it works, honestly. He’s seen couples, men and women, men and men, women and women, together—at parties and the like—and he wasn’t instructed to stop them, and so he didn’t.

He probably wasn’t supposed to look, either, but… well.

Well, he still doesn’t know exactly how it all works, but he does know that Crowley’s lips look delightful, and that he has such an odd, but not unpleasant, feeling about… it. All of it—all of Crowley. It’s like a spark, he thinks.

Aziraphale doubts he’s supposed to feel anything of the sort, but he is the sort of Angel that goes along with Heaven as far as he can, right?

Crowley takes another sip of wine. Licks his lips again. Aziraphale shifts on his feet and directs his gaze pointedly down at his feet, and—and the floor is rather interesting. Yep. Very, very interesting.

Not as interesting as Crowley’s lips—

“So,” Crowley starts, swallowing down another sip of wine. Aziraphale’s head shoots up at the sound of Crowley’s voice, his gaze shooting right to Crowley’s face.

“How’s the, um—the food been going, Aziraphale? I see you eying all this food, now and again,” Crowley says, and Aziraphale swallows. If Crowley has noticed Aziraphale looking at the food, then he’s had to have noticed Aziraphale’s lingering looks. Maybe he’ll think it’s just about the wine.

“Um, very well,” Aziraphale says, a bit too fast. Crowley looks at him oddly, like Aziraphale has just set off a little warning bell.

“’Very well,’ eh?”

“Yes, yes, um—”

“Would you like to try some wine, then?”

Aziraphale stares at him. Blinks a time or two. “Why would I—”

“Oh, come on, angel, you’ve been eating food like a madman, and you haven’t gotten yourself food-drunk yet?”

“Food-drunk?” Aziraphale repeats, gaping at him.

Oh. Oh.

That might explain the floaty, nice feeling he gets when he eats more than he should, but not quite enough to make his form nauseous, and—well, he hadn’t thought of it like that before. Food-drunkeness.

“I hadn’t—well, I hadn’t thought of it like that. You said that… you said that you couldn’t get drunk off of food, you know.”

“I know,” Crowley says. There’s something odd behind it, now—something a little bittersweet. “Maybe I lied.”

There’s a silence in the air, a heaviness, for just a moment, before Crowley says, “Right, well,” and picks up a jug of wine off the floor, just near him. He hoists it up, goblet in one hand and jug of wine cradled in the other, then starts walking off, towards the door leading to the proper outside street.

“What—where are you going?” Aziraphale says, and he starts walking towards Crowley as he speaks.

“To find a better place for your first sip of wine, angel; come along!”

Crowley walks fast, almost too fast for Aziraphale. He walks and Aziraphale tries to keep up, and they finally reach a small, rather isolated overlook. Aziraphale can hear the ocean lap at the cliff side that is reasonably far down, but the view is remarkable—the sun, now getting closer to setting, casts gorgeous hues over the ocean horizon.

Crowley sits down on the ground, atop a somewhat raggedy looking blanket laid down on the ground already, although the dye and sewing of the blanket has clearing been done with care.

Aziraphale is starting to think, just a bit, that Crowley planned this—whatever this is.

Crowley pats the space on the blanket beside him, looking up at Aziraphale from where he stands nearby.

Aziraphale contemplates all this, for a moment. Rejecting whatever this is only halfway crosses his mind, and after barely a moment, he’s sitting down beside Crowley, cross-legged, and looking out at the ocean and the horizon.

Crowley takes a swig from his wine jug. He’s sitting with his legs out, and his feet are ever so close to being just barely over the cliff’s edge.

Aziraphale can feel Crowley’s hip beside his, situated like they are, and it feels like that odd little spark gets a bit bigger.

Crowley hands the wine jug over to Aziraphale, motioning for him to take it, and Aziraphale half-reluctantly does. He sniffs at it, and it has a certain… smell to it. Certainly ‘alcohol-y,’ he supposes.

“You’ll like it,” Crowley says, and he sounds sincere.

“Trust me,” Crowley says, after a moment, and Aziraphale doesn’t say that he already does, far more than he should, as an Angel—but he doesn’t regret a single ounce, a single second, or a single moment of that trust.

Aziraphale takes a tentative sip from the wine jug. It’s sharp and strong, and it burns just a little, but he doesn’t hate the taste, really. In fact, if the humans keep getting better at making this, and he keeps drinking it, he can imagine that this will become just as pleasant and sweet of a vice as his eating habits are now, and a pang of guilt floods through him for it.

“Well?” Crowley says, after he’s taken a sip. He looks at Aziraphale rather expectantly, like he really, truly wants to know what he thought. It’s actually rather sweet.

“I—I might like it,” Aziraphale says. He tries to hand the jug back to Crowley, but Crowley pushes it back towards him, shaking his head.

“No, no—drink some more, Aziraphale, you’ve got to… feel it, you know?”

“You mean get drunk?” Aziraphale says, almost incredulous, and Crowley throws his head back and laughs. It’s a pleasant sound, Aziraphale thinks, and he likes getting it out of Crowley.

But there’s also the matter of how gorgeous Crowley’s neck looks like this, bared and open. Aziraphale suddenly can picture himself with his own lips against it, and the thought makes him shudder.

He doesn’t know what to do with these thoughts. They make him feel an uneasy kind of good—a guilty one—but it’s not an unwelcome feeling, really.

Aziraphale has never done anything like that before—never kissed anyone, human or angel or demon. Never, well—had relations, with anyone. Angels aren’t exactly supposed to do that kind of thing, he knows, and he should be, he wants to be, a good angel, but he’s already failing at that.

“Yeah,” Crowley says, airy and light and still tinged with a bit of laughter. He brings his head back up, his neck no longer arched backwards. Aziraphale notices his lips again as Crowley darts his tongue out to wet them just before he speaks. “Yeah, I mean ‘get drunk,’ Aziraphale. It’s fun, trust me—”

“I do trust you,” Aziraphale says, without really thinking it through. Crowley abruptly stops starting, clearly partly from the interruption and part from general shock at Aziraphale’s admittance.

Crowley swallows, like there’s a lump in his throat. He nods, but he doesn’t speak. He shoves at the wine jug lightly, it having been a bit forgotten there between them, and Aziraphale takes it in hand again.

He takes a swig, fast and rough, because he can’t really think of enough reasons to not do this. Not enough to outweigh the reasons that he should.

Aziraphale takes another swig right after, all while Crowley watches. He hands the jug back to Crowley, emptier than before, and Crowley takes it without complaint this time.

They spend a few moments passing the jug back and forth, and Aziraphale starts to feel fuzzy.

“Oh,” he says, then, “Is this—this is being drunk?”

“Yep,” Crowley says. He looks fuzzy too. Like he feels fuzzy, like this.

It’s not unpleasant, actually. Aziraphale still feels reasonably in control, but he feels a bit… lighter. Like things feel easier to go about and think about and just generally feel.

His thoughts about Crowley’s lips and Crowley’s neck feel a bit less guilty, right now. Aziraphale isn’t quite sure what to make of it.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, and even though all he’s gotten out so far is Crowley’s name, he knows, somehow, that he’s starting something that he won’t be able to easily take back.

“Hm?” Crowley says, looking over. Crowley has deposited the now-empty wine jug off to the side, forgotten.

“Have you ever—well, have you ever had… relations, with—”

“You mean have I ever had sex, Aziraphale?” Crowley says, and the way he just comes out and says it makes Aziraphale’s stomach twist in a not exactly unpleasant way.

He swallows, then speaks. “Or kissed, I—I guess. I just—do you have… experience?”

“Should I have, you think?” Crowley says, and it’s rather noncommittal. It doesn’t really sound like he’s flat out saying that he has or hasn’t done anything.

“I don’t know, I mean—if you have, it’s alright, I was just… wondering,” Aziraphale says, and ‘wondering’ comes out sounding far too interested.

“Yeah,” Crowley says, rather quiet. Aziraphale looks at him, curious and a bit unsure.

“Yes you… have, or yes that I was wondering…?”

“Yeah, I’ve—I kissed, once. At this big orgy that I was made to go to, to help stir up some trouble, y’know. But I didn’t—I was rather drunk, and I didn’t know them, and it was—it wasn’t very pleasant, really. I don’t know if that’s how it’s… supposed to be done, if there is a way it’s ‘to be done.’ So.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale says, after a moment of silence, because he’s not sure what else to say. It doesn’t exactly bother him that Crowley has kissed someone, but he doesn’t really like it that it wasn’t pleasant for him.

Aziraphale wonders if it would be pleasant for Crowley if the two of them kissed.

“Have you… done anything before, then? Kissing, sex—”

“No,” Aziraphale says, rather abruptly. “No, I—I’ve seen a bit of… others, together. But, um. I don’t know all the… technicalities, really.”

Crowley nods. He doesn’t say anything, and he looks out at the horizon again. Aziraphale feels like he could go wildly, incredibly mad with this tension, this feeling, that laces through the very air.

Crowley turns his head to look at him, but he does it rather slowly. Like he’s hesitant about it, almost, or a little bit shy, and he says, “Would you like to… kiss, then? Since, well—since I’d like to give it another go, and you never have, and the humans seem to like it, you know, and—”

“Yes,” Aziraphale says. “Yes,” he says, again, like it’s for good measure. Like it’s a promise. Like it’s saying, again, I trust you.

Crowley comes closer, turning to face him instead of them being side-by-side. He keeps coming ever so close, leaning in, and he keeps flicking his gaze between Aziraphale’s eyes and Aziraphale’s lips, and Aziraphale does the same to him.

Crowley’s lips meet his, stiff and unmoving, and this doesn’t feel earth shattering, exactly, but he can smell Crowley, thick and heady, and he can almost taste his human skin, and these are his lips, and all of that makes it—at the least—very, very nice.

Aziraphale opens his mouth, just a bit. He isn’t quite sure why—it just feels like the right thing to do, for some reason. Crowley tilts forward a bit, his mouth moving into the space now left, and his tongue dips into Aziraphale’s mouth.

They both gasp at that, and pull away just a bit, rather unsure, but Crowley comes back in after just a moment, his mouth open and his tongue pressing at Aziraphale’s mouth. Aziraphale isn’t quite sure if this is how the humans do it, or if this is how it’s supposed to feel, but it feels nice and it feels like Crowley, and so he opens his mouth on a gasp at Crowley’s exploration.

They find a rhythm rather quickly. It’s almost like it’s instinct. Crowley ends up accidentally pushing Aziraphale over, and now he’s laying over him and on top of him, and he’s apologizing and Aziraphale is begging him not to apologize, and so he shuts him up with another kiss.

It’s sloppy, tongues and a little bit of teeth. When they pull away for breath that their human bodies need, Crowley’s lips look red and a little sore.

“I’m sorry about, um—do your lips hurt?” Aziraphale asks, and Crowley laughs again. It makes Aziraphale think of his neck yet again, and so he kisses Crowley’s neck.

He kisses Crowley’s neck lightly, using flicks of his tongue here and there, and Crowley moans. Aziraphale hasn’t often heard him do that, and certainly not in this context—beyond the muffled, lovely moans he managed to get during their fumbling kissing mere moments ago—but he finds that he very much likes the sound.

There’s something hard against his thigh, Aziraphale notices, and he looks down to see that Crowley’s cock is situated against his thigh, and his cock is situated against Crowley’s thigh, too.

Oh. So that’s part of what that… spark, is.

Crowley seems to notice it at about the same time that Aziraphale does. He moves himself a bit, so that his cock moves against Aziraphale’s thigh, and he lets out a choked-out moan at the action.

It looks like it feels nice, Aziraphale thinks, and so he tries it himself, and oh, lord, it does. It does feel nice, so, so nice, and if this is temptation, he does not wish to fight against it.

Crowley moves again, moaning again, and his face twists up in pleasure. Aziraphale thinks he looks positively ethereal.

Crowley puts more of his weight into it, now that they both seem to have discovered how this friction feels. His cock is heavy on Aziraphale’s thigh, hot and heated, even through their clothes, and Aziraphale shifts his hips against Crowley’s thigh, wedged right between his legs.

It all feels positively delicious. He isn’t quite sure if this is how they’re supposed to be doing things, or exactly how the humans do it, but sod all of that, because this feels marvelous, and because it feels like Crowley—and he wouldn’t have it any other way, proper or improper or otherwise.

He still feels rather floaty, fuzzy from the alcohol. He’s not sure if it impacts how this feels to him, really, but he would like to do this with Crowley sober and drunk and anywhere in between.

The alcohol has absolved him of some of his guilt for the moment, it seems. There’s a flicker in his mind, somewhere in the back, that worries that it will come back, now and again, but he keeps it there, shelved in the back, because he has much, much better things to focus on, right now.

Aziraphale’s mouth rests against the column of Crowley’s throat, but he’s not been doing much with it other than gasping, because he’s been a bit more focused on this newly discovered feeling between his legs, and the feeling of Crowley’s cock against him.

Crowley moves, faster now, rutting against him. He drops his head to Aziraphale’s shoulder, and Aziraphale can feel Crowley’s hot breath on his shoulder.

Aziraphale puts his arms around Crowley’s back, like he’s holding on for dear life. There isn’t really a rhythm to their movements—all Aziraphale knows is that shifting himself against Crowley’s thigh adds fuel to that fire inside him with every movement, building and building, and every time that Crowley pants in his ear, moaning and gasping, it all just rages on.

He likes this fire. Considerably. It wasn’t exactly like he wasn’t aware that cocks could be used for pleasure like this, but, well. Technicalities, and all.

This does not feel like a technicality. It feels like a discovery—like food or wine, but… different. The feeling is nice, so very nice, but it all feels so wildly amplified because it is, specifically, Crowley that he is doing this with. Because he trusts him.

Crowley keeps going, getting more and more frantic in his movements, and Aziraphale stops moving his hips, now. He wants to watch Crowley come undone, and so he stops moving and props himself up lightly to watch Crowley.

Crowley is dressed in long clothing, but the skirt of his dress has come up, revealing a naked buttock. Aziraphale gasps, like it’s so much lewder than what they’ve already been doing—but it sort of is, isn’t it? It’s Crowley’s form—Crowley’s partially naked form and naked body. Aziraphale’s chest pulls tight. This all feels like he’s discovered a divine secret.

Crowley stills, suddenly. His clothing has fallen down slightly, and Aziraphale no longer has the view he quite appreciated. Crowley’s mouth is near Aziraphale’s collar bone, having slipped down with Aziraphale moving back slightly, and with Crowley’s frantic movements.

Aziraphale watches intently, and Crowley shakes lightly, shuddering. He lets out a loud moan, mixing with a gasp, before he falls down onto the ground beside Aziraphale, boneless.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asks, rolling over to face him. Crowley’s eyes are closed, but there’s a blissful little smile on his face. Crowley nods, albeit almost imperceptibly.

Aziraphale just now notices the wet spot on his leg, and the wet spot on Crowley’s front. Ah, he thinks. This part was not exactly clear to him, but he had some… semblance of an idea.

So that’s what an orgasm looks like. What Crowley’s orgasm looks like.

Beautiful.

Crowley opens his eyes, then glances down at Aziraphale’s crotch, studious.

“You didn’t…?”

“I—I was watching you… I—sorry, that might be—”

“No, no,” Crowley says quickly. He props himself up slightly. “No, it’s… I like that. I liked that, I mean. You watching me. It was, um. Nice.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says. “Oh, good, then, I—"

“Can I touch you?” Crowley says, his face entirely serious, and Aziraphale stares at him, obliviously obtuse.

“You’ve—we just touched each other, didn’t we?”

“Oh, angel,” Crowley says, and there’s a little laugh mixed in, like Aziraphale isn’t quite getting the picture. “Can I touch your—your cock, Aziraphale,” Crowley says, and Aziraphale swallows. He looks down at his still-clothing covered groin like he’s making sure he still has one at all.

“Yes,” Aziraphale says, quietly. He brings his gaze back up to Crowley’s face, and Crowley moves to sit in front of him, leisurely cross-legged. He puts his hand on Aziraphale’s still clothed thigh, like he’s asking for permission again—making sure.

“Can I, um, under—”

“You can—yes, go ahead,” Aziraphale says, and this should be awkward, he thinks, but it doesn’t feel all that awkward at all, really. Crowley is being so gentle, even though they’ve just kissed and rutted against each other, and Aziraphale probably wouldn’t mind it all that much if Crowley wasn’t being so careful, but… It’s so endearing that he is. That he wants to be careful with him. It’s not like he’s treating him like he’s fragile—no, it’s like he’s being so careful in making sure that he is respectful.

The demon being respectful and gentle to the angel, Aziraphale thinks, and it truly isn’t even ironic. No, it just feels in character.

Crowley swallows like he’s got a lump in his throat—like he’s nervous to do this, just a bit. He traces the edge of Aziraphale’s tunic with his fingers cautiously.

Aziraphale pulls him in by the front of his dress, putting their lips together. It’s rather chaste, after their more experimental kisses from before, but when Aziraphale pulls away, Crowley looks calmer.

Crowley looks down at the edge of Aziraphale’s tunic, his hand finally disappearing under it. Aziraphale watches, too, waiting.

He almost wants to tell Crowley to just pull the blasted thing up and off of him, but he doesn’t, because somehow, the unrevealing-ness of it is quite tantalizing.

Aziraphale’s cock is still hard, throbbing with his pulse. Crowley’s fingers slide up the inside of his thigh, oh so slowly.

Aziraphale lets out a quiet gasp as Crowley’s fingers finally touch his cock. He feels at it, his fingers running down the length of it and rubbing softly at the tip. Aziraphale watches Crowley’s hand move under his tunic, obscene, even in the way it is all covered up.

It’s incredible, Crowley’s hands on him and touching him like this. He looks up at Crowley’s face, curious as to his reaction, and Crowley looks like he has just experienced the most beautiful, incredible thing in the entirety of God’s creation.

Crowley encircles his cock with his hand, then runs his hand up and down, from shaft to tip. Aziraphale leans into him, stifling what almost feels like a sob into Crowley’s shoulder.

“Is this—” Crowley starts, but Aziraphale doesn’t let him finish.

“Don’t stop, oh, don’t—” Aziraphale gasps out, and Crowley doesn’t. He keeps going, and it feels so, so good, and that building feeling explodes inside Aziraphale.

His vision gets floatier, more so than the alcohol caused. He can hear himself moan, far too loud, but he thinks he hears Crowley moan, too. It’s a starburst of pleasure; like Crowley created a nebula right inside him.

When he’s come a bit closer back to earth, the pleasure waning but a satisfied, blissful feeling taking its place, he brings his head up from Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley’s hand is still around his cock, but he’s not moving it.

Aziraphale looks at him, and his mouth is agape, and his eyes are wide, staring down at Aziraphale’s groin. It’s like he’s in shock.

“Are—are you alright?” Aziraphale chokes out, breathless. Crowley jerks his head up abruptly, looking Aziraphale in the eye. He closes his mouth, then nods slightly. He tries to say something, it seems, but it comes out more like a squeak.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale starts, but Crowley seems to get his voice back. He moves his hand to rest on Aziraphale’s thigh instead, his hand still under Aziraphale’s tunic.

“Yep, yep—I’m alright,” he manages, this time. He absently traces circles on Aziraphale’s thigh with his thumb, like it’s already a habit.

“That was, um—that was nice,” Crowley finally says, and Aziraphale laughs, this time. Crowley looks at him a bit bewildered, but rather amused, as well.

Very nice,” Aziraphale says. He leans in to kiss Crowley, a bit of tongue in it, this time. Crowley takes his hand away from Aziraphale’s thigh, pulling his hand out from under Aziraphale’s tunic, and Aziraphale rather mourns the loss.

Crowley gently grabs Aziraphale’s jaw with both hands, cradling him to his lips, and Aziraphale moans into the kiss at the tenderness of it all. He runs a hand through Crowley’s long hair, and it earns a soft, gorgeous little sound from deep in Crowley’s throat.

Crowley pulls away, gasping for human-breath. He runs his hands down to gently rest on Aziraphale’s neck.

“Was all this a good ‘first’ then, angel?” Crowley asks, and Aziraphale smiles softly.

“Yes,” he says. He rests a hand on the back of Crowley’s neck. “Yes, it was, Crowley, and—was it… that was your first, too, wasn’t it?”

“Nah, I’ve drank before, Aziraphale,” Crowley says, a glint in his eye and a smirk on his face. Aziraphale looks at him, fake-terse, and Crowley lets out a little laugh.

Crowley lays down again, falling back dramatically. He faces toward the horizon. Aziraphale lays down behind him, facing his back.

He tentatively wraps an arm around Crowley’s middle, and Crowley decides to slot his leg between Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale gasps softly, and Crowley lets out a quiet, soft little hum.

“Was this… well, it’s not like it is important that you were a virgin, or all that ridiculousness, but, um… was this your first time, excluding the kiss you mentioned, then?”

Was I your first?

“Yeah,” Crowley says, rather quietly. “You were my first, angel,” he says, like he can read Aziraphale’s mind.

“And you were mine,” Aziraphale says, soft and quiet. He nuzzles his face into Crowley’s neck. He can smell him; his hair, and the sweat that lingers on his skin.

“Is that alright?” Crowley asks. Like he even has to ask it.

“Of course it is,” Aziraphale says, pressing himself up closer against Crowley’s back. He’s quiet, for a moment, then says, “I wouldn’t have it be anyone else, you know.”

“Ever, or for the first?” Crowley asks. He’s still facing towards the horizon and the overlook, and Aziraphale can’t tell the expression on his face.

“Ever,” Aziraphale says, so quietly he almost doubts that Crowley heard it. He’s not sure whether he truly wishes that Crowley hears it, or if he truly wishes that Crowley doesn’t.

Crowley doesn’t say anything more, except for the hand that he moves to clasp Aziraphale’s, settled over Crowley’s midsection.

Aziraphale knows, drunk or sober, that this is not what a ‘good angel’ does. He doesn’t much care, right now, with Crowley in his arms.

I could get used to this, Aziraphale thinks. He wonders if he should get used to it or not. Because, what if Heaven finds out that he’s in love with—oh, Lord—a demon, and that he slept with a demon? Will they consider him Fallen, and cast him out?

You would hate it—being fallen, he thinks, but also, Crowley is fallen. Would it be so bad?

He pushes those thoughts away, for now. They make him feel guilty, thinking about falling. He knows they won’t stay away, of course, but he can stay in this, stay with Crowley, in the here and now, and deal with those things… later.

So for now, for this moment and this discovery and this point in time, Aziraphale snuggles in closer, clasps Crowley’s hand in his, and breathes him in while he can.

Notes:

Apologies for any historical inaccuracies or errors. This was also edited/fixed up rather quickly, so additional apologies for any errors of that sort as well.

Hope you enjoyed! :)

Addendum to A/N August 12th, 2023: Recently realized that Crowley’s name was probably not Crowley at this point, and was probably Crawly/Crawley. Not gonna change it, but ah well lol.

De-anoned on August 12th, 2023