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They sit in St James' Park, on their usual bench, a shared bag of bird seed open between them. The birds would be fed but that wasn't the point of this at all.
They catch up on the news of the day first, of course. It's Aziraphale who reaches for the bird seed first, curling his fingers and falling silent as he looks into Crowley's eyes. As he lets himself fill with emotion, Aziraphale's gaze overflows with warmth and affection.
And then it's time. Crowley reaches into the bag, not holding Aziraphale's hand so much as curling his onto it, closing his eyes as an intense wave of divine love flows into every part of him. Aziraphale doesn't take his eyes off Crowley; he's always preferred to watch. His lungs fill and his muscles ripple with the force of it. For a moment, he belongs again; there's no loneliness or darkness in all the world and it's all he can do not to get lost in it entirely.
When he's clawed himself back down to reality, Crowley returns his hand to his lap and they're quiet again for a moment while he gathers himself, collecting all the pieces of himself that now taste of the divine.
Crowley can't summoned the love of heaven anymore, of course, but he has other talents. As he looks over to Aziraphale, he focuses, imagines the taste of his skin, fisting his hands into his hair, channels all the carnal lust he can summon then puts his hand into the bag between them, waiting.
Aziraphale's eyes dart downwards as though he's suddenly become modest after all these centuries, but he rallies, smiles to himself and curls his hand into Crowley's. Crowley catches a quick glimpse of the whites of his eyes all they roll back before closing completely.
Crowley watches in rapture as lust plays out over Aziraphale's whole body, in the creases around his eyes, the creeping red flush of his neck, and the hand which grips the park bench as though he might fly off it at any moment.
Aziraphale keeps his hand there for longer than Crowley managed. Ever the glutton, he gorges himself on the thrill of Crowley's demonic desire.
Humans were so bound by the physicality; a forbidden love affair would be something for behind closed doors. But ethereal beings had no such restrictions.
Not that they called they would call it a love affair. If you don't put words to something, then no one needs to see what's between them for what it really is. If no one makes an effort, then no lines are crossed. Right?
It started entirely by accident. Back in Rome a long time since, a kiss on the lips was everything and nothing; hello, goodbye, thank you, a deal agreed upon.
That had been the first time they'd touched, really touched, skin on skin. The first time they’d discovered it. It seems strange now that they'd been in each other's orbit for thousands of years without ever really touching skin. Or maybe the time and place were important too? It doesn't really matter now, anyway.
He said oysters had brought him there. Oysters! A chance encounter in an ale house had led to dinner. Dinner led to wine and at the end of the evening, spirits were high. When it came time to part ways, Crowley was positively ebullient and Aziraphale's eyes shone with joy and affection.
And then it happened. A casual kiss goodbye while full of love. Their lips pressed lightly together and the energy crackled between them, vibrant and alive and spreading through Crowley's body in a delicious wave, thrilling as oysters but sweeter. He felt as though a wave of pure love had crashed over him and left him dazed on a shore.
That was the first time.
Before they knew. Before they had figured it out. Before they could control it.
That took them over a thousand years. Well, they were never ones to rush.