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There are just some sensations you have heard about, read about, seen on film and in person, and you build up the theories and mechanics of it in your mind. You do this; it’ll feel like that. That sort of thing.
It hadn’t been the first time Crowley’s fingers twisted themselves in his jacket collar. It was a sensation he knew well enough, though it still got him to suck in a breath. Aziraphale recognized that pull of his collar at the back of his neck as Crowley brought him closer, but Aziraphale’s breath in was the same type of different it had been for many years now. It wasn’t just for surprise or shock. It was preparatory, as if he’d lose the chance to breathe, not that that would be an issue for an angel.
Yet, at the point Crowley would usually pull him into, Aziraphale was pulled further, and, considering everything, he tightened his lips together. He wanted to relax into that sensation he had heard about, read about, seen on film and in person, and built up theories and mechanics of it in his mind. When he was without Crowley and without a focus, Aziraphale drifted ever so briefly to the thought of it, pushing it away before his partner fully took form in his daydream.
Still, he found himself frozen, lips shut, eyes wide, when Crowley pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s own. It wasn’t the way he’d thought about it, daydreamed about it. He wasn’t doing what he wanted. He was stuck in place, fingers opening and closing aimlessly. He couldn’t see Crowley behind the sunglasses. He was having trouble processing what he was looking at. What did he look like right now? What did Aziraphale look like in his eyes?
Crowley yanked him impossibly and imperceptibly closer, and Aziraphale shut his eyes like a child praying away monsters. That let him feel like nothing else was happening. Just this. He felt the slight cushion of those lips that spent more time smirking or wrapped around some sarcastic remark than in a genuine smile.
The curve of Crowley’s lips was now in a frown. Aziraphale had never considered that you could feel a frown during a kiss. He didn’t like it, and his hands sought out a familiar bony back on instinct. This back and the waist his hands found first were rarely in his grasp, but he knew their curves and dips so easily, like a book he’d read a thousand times. Hands sliding up, Aziraphale found his fingertips running along Crowley’s shoulder blades.
Some humans call them angel wings.
Aziraphale removed his hands, and a sense of doom swirled and grew within him. He didn’t want Crowley to stop, but he also did. If they did this any longer, it’d all be too late. Aziraphale the angel kissing Crowley the demon. Aziraphale in his moment of forgiveness and promotion that he couldn’t let slip away.
Crowley would surely change his mind and apologize, and Aziraphale needed the power to return him to his angelic status. They were going to be good and follow God. No more of this third side nonsense. They needed to get this right, do this right. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t the right thing. Doing this, it should feel right. It shouldn’t be tearing him apart. Crowley surely knows this isn’t right for right now.
It took a moment for Aziraphale to process that Crowley had pulled away, tearing at something within Aziraphale as he did. He felt like something was missing, even though it was all right there. He could grab it with his hands, but he felt delirious and tired and lost. Unsteady, Aziraphale found his mouth saying the sensible thing.
“I forgive you.”
He saw and heard what happened next, but Aziraphale immediately boxed it away for when he can piece it together alone, when something feels less broken. His shaky fingers found his lips, the extra warmth like a burn. He pushed his fingers into his lips, but there was no possible recreation of the kiss. A space that should be occupied was now empty.
Aziraphale had heard so much about kissing in songs on his record player and from hushed conversations at neighboring tables as he and Crowley dined or drank somewhere. Plenty of his books were full of kisses. Aziraphale had seen kisses in movies, in alleys as he walked by them at night, and in quick pecks between lovers on the street or in doorways to say hello and goodbye.
Aziraphale had his theories of how lips would feel when they meet, what he’d feel, and if and when he might experience it. If he opened his mouth during a kiss, he thought things would deepen, although he wasn’t quite sure what deepening would feel like. He was just sure that it’d be a bit wet. He’d played it out in his mind, all the things he could do, more than he’d like to admit. Aziraphale does this; it’ll feel like that for himself… and feel like that for Crowley. That sort of thing.
Unfortunately, it was all a sensation that was nothing like he expected. Aziraphale doesn’t think he’s ready to feel it again, nor much of anything at all, anytime soon.