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“We don’t have to try it,” Aziraphale said. Now that the idea was on the table, he found himself strangely shy. “I would understand if you didn’t want to try it. It’s all a, a bit human, I know that, and it’s certainly not anything that either of us need—”
Crowley made a sharp gesture. The sound of the rain all around them died as the raindrops stuck in mid-air, paused like everything except them. “Did you mean it?”
“Mean which? That we didn’t have to do it, or—”
“That you want to kiss me. With tongues, like the humans do.”
“I—” Aziraphale started to lock his hands behind his back, and then remembered that he didn’t have to do that with Crowley, that Crowley didn’t mind if he appeared nervous. "I did."
Crowley put down his umbrella. The droplets that had been bouncing off it were frozen in an arc above where the umbrella had been, forming a jeweled canopy. “I wouldn’t mind,” he said. “Ever done it before?”
“Er. Not as such. But it can’t be that hard, can it?” Aziraphale looked away. “I suppose you’ve probably done it any number of times. Temptations, that sort of thing. You must tell me, Crowley, if I bring up anything that might dredge up unpleasant memories—”
“Never done it,” Crowley said, slightly hoarse.
“Ah. Well, then. Does either of us know how to start?”
“I assume,” Crowley said, stepping close, “that we kiss, and then—open our mouths.”
“Bit obvious, when you put it like that.”
“Bit obvious. Yeah. So, do you want to—” Crowley took off his glasses, and tucked them in his pocket, and then they came together. Hesitantly, with Crowley murmuring, “Is this okay?” against Aziraphale’s lips, and Aziraphale affirming that it definitely was, feeling ever-so-slightly breathless.
And then Aziraphale opened his mouth, and Crowley did likewise.
Aziraphale felt himself press closer to Crowley as Crowley dipped his tongue tentatively into Aziraphale’s mouth. This, oh, this was lovely. It reminded him of the first time he had tried fresh fruit—Crowley had been there too, come to think of it, teasing him into it, holding out a fig and looking debonair, and oh, he wasn’t sure how he could have gone so long without touching Crowley. Without holding Crowley. Without kissing Crowley—the point was, the point was that like fresh figs, this was one of those Earthly pleasures, something that could never be mistaken for Heaven, something warm, something delightful—
Crowley broke away first. “Is it okay?” he asked again.
It took Aziraphale a moment before he could collect his thoughts and answer. “You have definitely done something slightly nonstandard with your tongue,” he said. “Yes, it was—it was lovely.”
“Because you didn’t put your tongue much in my mouth, and I was just wondering—if you weren’t enjoying it, if you didn’t like it—”
“I did. Did you like it?”
“Yeah.” That was definitely more hoarse than usual. “Yeah. I did. It felt like—I don’t know—I don’t suppose either of us need it, but we don’t technically need music, either. I liked it. Liked it a lot Wouldn’t mind doing it again, if you wanted.” That sounded like he wanted it to come out casual. It only missed the mark by a mile or two.
“Well, I’m not sure I did it right, with my tongue, earlier,” Aziraphale confessed. “I kept worrying that, well, that you wouldn’t like it. That it would be—invasive. But it certainly didn’t feel that way with your tongue, and—well, what I think I’m trying to say is, I need practice. To get it right.”
“Well, then,” Crowley murmured, and touched his lips to Aziraphale, and opened his mouth to him.