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Crowley looked at Aziraphale in the low light of the back room, his eyes roaming all over his love’s face. Finally, finally, he was going to kiss him. After six thousand years, the moment was now. And he was ready.
Aziraphale made a little sound in the back of his throat, a sound of welcome, Crowley thought, and his eyes fluttered closed. Crowley closed his own eyes and lowered his head, finding Aziraphale’s mouth instinctively. His fingers threaded through Aziraphale’s cottony hair with one hand and the other slid around his back, holding him close.
And oh, it was brilliant. Crowley’s world exploded into sensation, every positive emotion in the world bombarding him. He felt love. He felt peace. He felt gratitude. He felt pure, unadulterated joy. He felt everything all at once, and feared his emotions may bury him. It seemed like lifetimes since he’d wanted to do this, to have Aziraphale in his arms, so he could kiss him the way he deserved, the way his heart screamed to kiss him. And now he did. Now he was holding his love close, letting his mouth tell Aziraphale how he felt without uttering a word.
Aziraphale’s short nails scratched his scalp and Crowley whimpered a little, in spite of himself. The angel’s lips parted beneath his at the sound. Crowley was no fool; he seized the opportunity to deepen the kiss and did so gladly. It was the kiss of lovers, the joining of two people who knew each other intimately, better than any other soul, and reveled that intimacy. There was no challenge, no demand, no battle. Only pleasure, love, and a little game of chase between his tongue and Aziraphale’s.
Aziraphale pulled away from him slowly, but Crowley followed him, unwilling to let go of the contact just yet. He found himself kissing Aziraphale’s smile and decided that that was just fine with him - knowing that he had brought that smile to his face was a heady feeling.
The angel tasted faintly of mint, a detail Crowley noticed and almost immediately dismissed as unimportant. The only important things were the way Aziraphale’s hand was playing with the little strands of hair at the base of Crowley’s neck and the way his very soul seemed to luxuriate under every touch of skin against skin.
Crowley inhaled sharply when Aziraphale nipped his lower lip, then groaned a little when his love’s tongue took advantage of the situation and slipped inside his mouth. He opened to Aziraphale, his blood on fire and his brain shutting down bit by bit, focusing itself solely on this angel, his angel, snogging him senseless.
After a moment, Aziraphale gave him the most gentle of pushes, setting him back a couple of inches. Crowley refused to let him out of his arms, though. Aziraphale brought his hands down to rest on Crowley’s chest, the heat from his hands radiating through the layers of fabric and bringing warmth to the blackened, damned heart they covered.
Aziraphale looked up at him from beneath his lashes, his blue-grey eyes shining. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long, long time, dear.”
“Me too, angel. Longer than I can tell you. And I want to do it again. And again... and again… over and over until the end of time.”
“I think I’d like that, too.”
“Then why are we talking?”
“I don’t know,” Aziraphale answered, then Crowley covered his mouth again.