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It wasn’t subtle, Crowley thought as he followed Aziraphale into the restaurant. The patronage made it even less so. There were an awful lot of men there, men with other men in ways that even an angel should have been perfectly clear on – beings of love, and all that. It wasn’t obscene or anything. It was a restaurant, after all. But Crowley recognized the closeness of lovers in the way pairs lounged together, and he was sure Aziraphale must have recognized it too. After all, Aziraphale had asked him there. To the restaurant of a famously (or so the rumours went) gay man, to eat oysters of all things. Crowley wasn’t interested in food the way Aziraphale seemed to be, so surely if Crowley knew the connotations of that particular food, true or not, Aziraphale was bound to have heard. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Could it?
They found a secluded corner for themselves, reclining together. Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind the closeness, Crowley all but plastered against his back and side, leaning into the angel more than was strictly necessary for the seating arrangements. His black toga looked so nice nestled into the folds of Aziraphale’s white one, he decided.
Aziraphale ordered for both of them, and then, shockingly, relaxed back into Crowley’s near-embrace. He tilted his head back a little to look at him. “Interesting spectacles. Are they new?”
“What? Oh.” Crowley pushed the glasses a little higher up his nose on reflex. “Yeah. Few years, anyway.” People were starting to get a bit uneasy, seeing men with snake-slit pupils wandering around. Covering them was practical.
“And you cut your hair.”
“Er, yeah.” It was the fashion here. He missed the long silken locks, the neat braids that cascaded over his shoulders, but he liked being fashionable. Aziraphale, on the other hand, looked the same as he always did.
“Shame,” Aziraphale murmured, surprising Crowley. “I did so like it long. It suited you.”
“You think so?”
“I do.”
“Huh.” Crowley sat back a little, and Aziraphale moved with him. Unsure where to put his arm, Crowley settled for stroking it along Aziraphale’s side, toying with the folds of their clothes. After a minute, he added, “You look good too.”
“Thank you.”
They lapsed into silence. Aziraphale seemed unperturbed, but it ate at Crowley. He cleared his throat. “It’s been what, ten years? Give or take?”
“Eight, I believe.”
“Right. How, er, how are the blessings going?”
“We needn’t talk about work,” Aziraphale said kindly. Or perhaps he was remembering the last time they’d met up for work. Crowley didn’t blame him. That whole business with the carpenter and the crucifix…the image and the accompanying nausea had put him off sleep for over a year, lest the images creep into his unconscious mind. But he wasn’t sure what else there was to talk about.
He was saved having to decide on something by a plate of oysters being delivered to them, along with a jug of wine. Two cups were set beside it, and Aziraphale poured them both, handing one to Crowley. It occurred to him only after the first sip that this whole scenario could have been a trick, a way to get Crowley to let his guard down so Aziraphale might discorporate him, or worse. He looked into the cup. It didn’t taste like it was poisoned, and if there had been holy water in it – or if it had been sacramental wine – Crowley’s tongue would have been burning by now. He took another sip. It was good wine.
Aziraphale sighed happily. “I do love a good vintage. Lovely stuff, wouldn’t you agree?”
“It’s good,” Crowley acknowledged. He watched the angel pick up an oyster off the plate and slurp it down, sucking the juices from his fingers for good measure. “Supposed to be a sin, isn’t it? Gluttony?”
Aziraphale paused, lips still wrapped around his index finger. He pulled it free with a pop, and Crowley belatedly realized the sensuality of the gesture. The angel’s eyes were wide, like the thought hadn’t occurred to him before. “Oh…” he said slowly, and Crowley’s heart sank unexpectedly at the guilty expression dawning on Aziraphale’s face. There was a mournful look in his eyes as he regarded the plate of oysters. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Then again,” Crowley offered quickly, “I don’t think it’s really gluttony to enjoy food. In moderation. And there’s probably something, I dunno, divine about appreciating the labours of Her creations.”
It wasn’t reassuring the angel, he rationalized. It was just…finding a justification for the angel to keep giving in to temptation, that’s all. And it was worth it, as Aziraphale instantly brightened again. Crowley was glad he was wearing sunglasses, because he was half-convinced the angel was actually glowing. “That’s it, of course,” Aziraphale preened. “Appreciating their labours. In moderation, naturally.” He slurped down another oyster, with entirely too much grace. This time, Crowley actually paid attention to his lips, and found the sight was…intriguing. Attractive, even. Especially when Aziraphale licked them afterwards.
“Anyway, we’ve got to blend in,” Crowley said, taking another sip of his wine. He still wasn’t sure he put much stock in eating, but drinking on the other hand, he was quickly warming up to. “You spend enough time around humans, they’ll probably start wondering why they’ve never seen you eat.” Maybe. So far, in Crowley’s experience, humans were either to self-absorbed to notice, or too polite to comment.
“Quite true,” Aziraphale agreed. He picked up a third oyster, but this time he offered it out to Crowley instead. “Would you like to try? They really are quite remarkable.”
“Live up to the hype, do they?” Crowley eyed the oyster. It was a squishy thing, dripping with juices that slid down the angel’s fingers, and it was not a particularly appetizing colour. He glanced at Aziraphale’s face, and took in the angel’s hopeful expression. He sighed internally, and then leaned forward, accepting the oyster from Aziraphale’s fingers with his lips, chewing briefly and then swallowing it down. “Hmm.” It wasn’t actually half bad.
Aziraphale beamed, and warmth washed over Crowley. “Scrumptious, aren’t they?”
“They’re pretty good.” Crowley licked his lips, tasting something on them that wasn’t oyster or wine, and then blinked. He was tasting the angel, where his lips had touched Aziraphale’s skin, and that tasted better than the oysters and the wine together. He resisted the urge to lick Aziraphale’s fingers for him, lapping off the liquid that still shone there. He cleared his throat again. “I’ll, uh…I’ll stick to the wine, I think, though.” He drained his cup and poured another one. “Since you seem to like them so much more.”
Aziraphale shrugged. He took a sip of wine himself, and then went back to picking at the oyster plate. Crowley watched him, feeling slightly feverish. If this was a seduction attempt, it was working. Crowley’s earthly vessel had never really responded to another being before, but he was certain his heart rate was up, which was especially impressive because Crowley didn’t often use his pulse to begin with. Pressed against the plump, comfortable cushion of Aziraphale’s body, Crowley was having a hard time not wrapping himself thoroughly around the angel and drinking the wine from his lips.
Except, Crowley was increasingly realizing, it wasn’t a seduction attempt. Aziraphale appeared entirely oblivious to his effect on Crowley. Maybe he hadn’t known about oysters and Petronius. About how Crowley would take it, what he would assume. Or maybe he had known the connotations, but he’d thought that Crowley, as a demon, and himself, as an angel…surely they wouldn’t…
“Are you alright, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked. He realized the angel was watching him with open concern.
“Fine,” he said, and drained another cup. Aziraphale poured him a third without question.
“You went very quiet.”
“Just thinking.”
“About anything in particular?”
Crowley blinked at him. He lowered his glasses a little, enough for Aziraphale to see the yellow of his eyes, and blinked again. “Nothing much. Just about demons and angels and oysters and wine.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” Crowley studied Aziraphale’s eyes. Then his lips. Then his eyes again. “You like books, don’t you?”
Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “Books?”
Crowley made a vague hand gesture around the restaurant. “His book. The Satyricon or whatever. Read it?”
“Er, yes. I did.”
“Like it?”
Aziraphale blushed, and something dark and hopeful sparked in Crowley’s chest. He leaned forward over Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Did you like it?”
“It was…interesting.” Aziraphale’s cheeks were so pretty when they were bright red. It made his complexion positively rosy. “The descriptions…”
A slow grin spread across Crowley’s face, egged on by the alcohol in his blood. Their faces were so close, close enough that Aziraphale was nearly cross-eyed trying to look at him. Close enough that Crowley didn’t even really need to lean forward to kiss him.
“Oh!” Aziraphale yelped, and Crowley practically hit the wall as he flung himself backward. His lips tingled where they’d touched Aziraphale’s. He sat up from his sprawl and blessed softly.
“Shit, angel, I’m sorry.”
Aziraphale was staring at him. For a moment, so were several people in their vicinity, but they quickly went back to being preoccupied with their own lives. Aziraphale’s gaze didn’t waver. He reached up a hand, brushing his own lips with tentative fingertips. “You kissed me.”
“I’m so sorry,” Crowley said again. He leaned back into the wall, giving Aziraphale as much space as possible. What had he been thinking? Well, he hadn’t been thinking, but that was no excuse. Aziraphale was an angel. Angels didn’t kiss demons. It was a rule. It was probably written down somewhere.
“I won’t do it again,” Crowley promised. “I wasn’t…I’m not trying to tempt you or anything, honest. It was a mistake, an accident.”
“An…accident?” There was a peculiar look on Aziraphale’s face. He was still touching his lips.
“Exactly,” Crowley said. He glanced towards the door and wondered how undignified it would be if he made a break for it. “Just an accident, that’s all.”
“I see.” Aziraphale dropped his hand in favour of setting it on the floor, scant millimetres from Crowley’s. He edged closer and looked at Crowley tentatively. Their togas spilled across the floor, in overlapping puddles of black and white. “Would you…that is…would you mind recreating the accident? For explanatory purposes, of course.”
Crowley goggled. His mouth went dry, and he swallowed. “Yeah. I could do that.”
Gingerly, Aziraphale reached for him, cradling Crowley’s cheek in his hand. He leaned in, and Crowley met him in a soft, brief kiss, a chaste press of warm lips that set Crowley’s blood singing. They parted and stared at one another.
“I see,” Aziraphale said eventually. “Interesting.”
“Like the book?”
“More so.” Aziraphale tongue darted out, wetting his lips, and Crowley mirrored him without thinking, tasting the angel and rich wine and salt, possibly from the oysters, or possibly from Aziraphale’s skin.
And then they were kissing again, and Crowley allowed himself to tangle his fingers in the fluffy curls at the nape of Aziraphale’s neck. He gasped in surprise as Aziraphale tongue traced his lips, seeking entry. “Angel-“
“I’ve…I’ve never done this,” Aziraphale breathed against him. Up close, his eyes were bluer than the sky. “I’ve seen humans…is that not correct?”
“I’ve never done this either,” Crowley admitted, “but I think that’s right.”
“May I try again?”
Crowley nodded, and welcomed Aziraphale’s tongue into his mouth, twining his own around it in a way no human tongue should have been capable of doing. Aziraphale gave a little moan of pleased surprise, and Crowley grinned into the kiss, pulling the angel closer and wrapping him up in his arms.
From somewhere above them, there was a quiet cough, and they broke apart. A server smiled indulgently down at them. “I hate to interrupt, but there are rooms next door if you’re done with your meal.”
They got the hint. They glanced at each other. Doubt flickered into Aziraphale’s eyes, and Crowley said smoothly, “Thank you. Everything was delicious.” He found a few coins from somewhere in his robes and handed them over. He took Aziraphale by the hand and tugged him up and out of the restaurant.
Under the sunlight, Aziraphale shone. Crowley didn’t let go of his hand. “What do you think?” he asked softly. “Want to go next door, get a room?”
Aziraphale looked down at their joined hands, then at the street around them. He looked back at the restaurant and at the place next door. Then he looked at Crowley. Slowly, he extricated his hand. “I don’t think that’s a wise idea.”
“Oh.”
“Opposite sides and all.”
“Right.”
“It was nice, though. The kissing.”
“It was.” Crowley couldn’t even find it in himself to sound irritated. He felt wretched, and Aziraphale didn’t look much better. “And, er, thank you,” Crowley said after a moment. “For the oysters and wine and…everything.”
“The pleasure was mine.”
It was both of theirs, Crowley thought privately, and neither of theirs as well. He gave a half-hearted smile. “I’ll see you around, yeah? I’m in Rome for a little while longer. Don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t.” Aziraphale hesitated, like he was about to say something, and then didn’t. Finally he took a reluctant step back. “Well, I should be going, then.”
“Yeah. Me too, probably.”
They each took another half step backwards. Then Aziraphale turned and walked away. Crowley stayed where he was, and waved a little when Aziraphale glanced back over his shoulder. Aziraphale gave him a look that was half smile, half grimace, and gave an aborted wave back. He hurried on.
Crowley stayed standing. He licked his lips absentmindedly. He could still taste salt, and oysters, and wine.