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    Summary

    “You are,” Crowley agrees. Because he kissed Aziraphale, damn it, and he’d been rejected. It’s not fair for him to keep coming around like this, like he can jerk on Crowley’s chain and he’ll come running back, a pretty demon pet for the Supreme Archangel. “You are incredibly selfish, Aziraphale, always asking for more than I’m willing to give. I’m not some pet you can keep on the end of a leash. You made it clear that you don’t love me, so get the fuck out of my life.”

    Aziraphale’s head snaps up, eyes blazing, and Crowley has exactly two seconds to think oh, fuck –

    In an eerily familiar move, Aziraphale crosses the floor, seizes him by the lapels of his jacket, and pulls him into a desperate kiss.

    Crowley flounders for all of three seconds before he kisses back, anguish and pain giving way to bone-deep pleasure and rightness.

    When Aziraphale does pull back, gasping for breath, he doesn’t go far. Just pants, open-mouthed, against Crowley’s lips. “Don’t… you… ever,” he gasps, “think that.”

     

    Five times Aziraphale and Crowley argue, and the one time they don't.

    Language:
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