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Aziraphale stiffened, the garden gate squeaking loudly from disuse over the years as the area around it fell to the wilderness and natures own plans. Ivy weaving through the fence and weeds and wild lavender nestled on the ground.
“Good thing there’s no one else here, Angel.” Came the familiar voice of Crowley, Aziraphale turning to his left to see the demon lounged on the garden bench that they use to sit in over 100 years ago. Memories of the last time they were here flooding his mind and sending him into a maddening blush.
“Yes well, that is quite fortunate I suppose.” He replied, letting the gate close behind him, a miracle working into the metal and hinges to allow it a silent return journey into the latch. Crowley made space for him on the bench, and Aziraphale was quick to sit down, allowing their sides to touch, and he could glow with happiness at how Crowley shifted into him.
“Heaven doesn’t suspect, I take it?” He asked, Aziraphale shaking his head.
“Told them I was personally seeing to plans. We have a few hours before they become suspicious.” He replied. “Really was a great plan of yours tho,” Aziraphale nervously added in, “When you kissed me and…” he trailed off, the secret conversation that took place between their shared lips. Crowley had known the Metatron was watching, and what better way to formulate a plan than to pretend they had a falling out.
But oh , the kiss was ever so lovely. And Aziraphale had spent so long ruminating on the lingering feeling of Crowley's mouth against his kissed swollen lips. Aziraphale secretly hoped it would happen again. That they would have the opportunity to it right .
“Right,” Crowley began, startling Aziraphale from his daydream, “Stop the end of the world again.” He turned to Aziraphale, a blinding smile on his face, “But first.” He continued, leaning into Aziraphale’s space, the Angel couldn’t help but lower his eyelids and lean his face closer.
“Yes?” He asked, daring the demon to do something .
“Well.” Crowley whispered, their breaths heavy and lips oh so close together. “I thought perhaps I might ask you…” he tried, face contorting and words catching in his mouth.
“Yes?” Aziraphale teased again, a hand coming up to rest against Crowley’s cheek. He paused, their eyes meeting and Crowley turned darker than the wine they always drank in the shop. “Crowley, my dear.” Aziraphale whispered, his voice soothing over Crowley in ways he didn't know possible. “Of course you may.” He consented, and that was all Crowley needed before brushing their lips together in a soft kiss, a hand rising up to grip Aziraphale’s lapels just like he had done before. But there was no real urgency in this kiss, no desperate attempt being made for Crowley to beg the Angel. Not a testament to himself or them.
After all, Aziraphale had chosen their side.