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Crowley’s slamming his lips against his, and it’s all so sudden that Aziraphales mind can only remind him of a time when they had been so close to this exact moment.
1941, the week of the bomb-nazi-mishap and the Miracle block that caused Crowley to shoot Aziraphale in the face for some lousy party trick on the west end stage. A crazy week, that ended with the two drinking oodles and oodles of alcohol. They were very drunk, and everything was fuzzy, and the only way else to describe it was that both of their lips were loose, and Crowley let it spill - as he spilt his down down himself in the process - that he had never been as close with anyone as he was with Aziraphale.
He had been too drunk himself to answer properly, but was himself enough to realise none of that would have been said if neither were completely out of their own heads, and Aziraphale said all that finished with “but me too.” And they had smiled, softly, secretly, to each other.
At that moment, neither cared for their higher ups, or lower downs- the people who had their say. Neither cared for what anyone else would think.
Crowley had ended up in Aziraphale’s lap, sat limply and comfortably. Their faces mere inches away. Aziraphale couldn’t remember quite feeling Crowley’s nose, but he was close. They were loose, they were close, they were comfortable.
They were electric.
It almost happened. What’s happening now. Their lips had brushed, but they both came to themselves and decided, that this probably wasn’t the best thing to do. Crowley had left, at his own command, and Aziraphale didn’t stop him.
Like now. Aziraphale did nothing. He stayed still, barely moved an inch. An electric current flew from their connected lips down to his stomach. It stung, it left a lump in his throat. His eyes stung. His hands raised themselves slowly, tentatively shaking behind Crowley’s back, he didn’t touch the other.
He stayed completely still.
Crowley’s lips were surprisingly smooth, soft to the touch, although their noses were smushed against each others and pushed at odd angles. Nothing hurt, nothing bad came.
Crowley’s grip on Aziraphales lapels tightened. A desperate, dying man’s grip. Crowley’s hot tears flood down his cheek, and touched Aziraphale’s own.
Crowley was crying. He had never cried, not once. Not during their last moment, not during Armageddon. He wasn’t sure if Crowley cried when he thought he was dead, but he didn’t think so. Crowley was crying.
Crowley was desperate. His grip and his tears begged “Please. Please, Aziraphale, kiss me back.”
Aziraphale’s had never kissed anybody before. He had seen it, obviously, with his long time on earth. Human love was passionate, it was sweet, if his campaigning for Nina and Maggie’s relationship was proof enough, Aziraphale adored human ability to love someone. He wasn’t sure if Crowley had kissed anybody either, and hoped selfishly that he hadn’t so he didn’t appear like an amateur as he puckered his lips and finally rested his quivering hands on Crowley’s back.
Crowley held him tighter, taking a deep breath through his nose as he practically melted into Aziraphale further. Their fronts pressed together now, as their lips made off shapes whilst they were so pressed together. Their noses still squished, not like the last time.
It was as if they morphed into one. Crowley made a deep agonising sound in the back of his throat, quiet yet so loud to Aziraphale. He instantly held the demon tighter, wrapping his arms around the red head without fear anymore.
He was kissing a demon.
A demon, who was crying in his arms, leaving Aziraphale breathless between their pressing lips. His lungs burnt, his own tears streaming. Each salty tear mixed with Crowley’s, leaving wet patches on their merges cheeks. It was as if they became one, so intimately close.
Aziraphale loved it. He hated the deep fear that stung his lungs, but his heart was so full.
Crowley was filling his heart.
At some point, they had to break away. They couldn’t be together forever, because nothing lasted forever. But Aziraphale, who had known Crowley his near entire existence, felt as if he had just met Crowley. He never wanted to end the kiss.
Neither pulled away, for a long time. Aziraphale was sure days, weeks, months and years had passed before Crowley finally backed away, only the tiniest inch. Their lips were connected, but Aziraphale still had Crowley in his arms. Crowley still gripped the front of his shirt. Aziraphale’s hands weren’t shaking anymore.
Their nose tips still brushed one another’s.
“Crowley.” Aziraphale was the first to whisper. It seemed they weren’t very good at communicating. There was a six thousand year build up to this, after all. Like most times he was around Crowley, and the demon just seemed so impeccably too-much, he was left speechless. “Oh, Crowley…”
“Angel…” Crowley pulled back a little, to let his glowing yellow eyes glance across the entirety of Aziraphale’s face. The angel’s eyes blew themselves wide, tears springing again. No. He couldn’t leave. Not after that.
“Don’t-“ Aziraphale began to beg, before was he being embraced tightly. Crowley wrapped and squeezed his arms around the angel, under the arms and across his chest to reach at the back. Aziraphale let out a sob, each others faces buried in the others neck. Crowley more nestled into Aziraphale’s hair because of his larger height.
“I’m not going to leave you.” Crowley reassured in a gentle, shaking whisper. “You can’t leave me, either.” Crowley demanded, as his tone shook more than Aziraphale’s silly hands.
“Of course.” He nodded, feeling his head clear with realisation at how stupid he had been. Fear settled in, that they almost lost each other. A deep fear, that they almost broke up what they had for something silly and stupid.
It hurt, and it was scary. The fear scared Aziraphale and all of it all added up caused deep hurt in his chest. A burning, rapid fear that screamed “you almost lost him.”
“I don’t want to lose you.” Aziraphale sobbed, stroking Crowley’s back with rapid hands, as if to make sure he was still there. Like this wasn’t a dream of some sort, that he had been foolish enough to leave Crowley.
“I’m here. Angel, I’m here.” A gentle peck was felt on the side of his head, and Aziraphale felt his legs give out from under him. Crowley startled, and they slowly sunk to the floor.
There, they huddled as one lump. As one person. As one thing. Together, regardless of what anyone else thought they were or wanted them to be. They were together, comfortably together, in each others arms.
Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s back in a patting motion, self soothing himself at the constant reminding that the demon with the arms wrapped around him was in-fact his demon Crowley.
Crowley, who created nebulas and planets and all things bright and pretty in the sky.
Crowley, who tempted Eve as Aziraphale gave away his flaming sword. The snake transforming demon who he held his wing over to protect from the first rain.
Crowley, who years later would save him from nazi’s and an impending bomb, who saved precious books too, who near shot him in the face for a magic trick.
Crowley, who always managed to appear wherever Aziraphale went. Always there to help.
Crowley, who Aziraphale had almost left, for a lousy job promotion. How stupid he had been, not thinking clearly in the head.
“I’m here, my angel.”
Crowley, who was here.