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Their second kiss was different from the first. It was far less dramatic, for a start.
Before the first kiss happened, Crowley had spent a lot of time imagining what it would be like kissing Aziraphale. Being the only demon with a remarkable imagination also had its drawbacks.
He had pictured scenarios with positive outcomes. He couldn't resist. He pictured Aziraphale taking the initiative – grabbing Crowley by the hand, bringing him closer, smiling with sweet malice. He also imagined himself taking the initiative – inviting Aziraphale to a romantic dinner, walking him home, coming inside for a last glass of wine, receiving a smile of encouragement from Aziraphale before kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him.
He pictured the warmth of Aziraphale’s skin, his touch, his eyes. He pictured Aziraphale calling him dearest, calling him darling. He also pictured scenarios with negative outcomes. How could he resist? He pictured making missteps, reading between non-existent lines, kissing Aziraphale and: being laughed at; being rejected verbally by him, or by the holiness of the angel’s mouth and body, a holiness that would have blinded him, pushed him away, left him bleeding dry; being pitied; ruin everything.
Crowley had spent a considerable amount of time putting those thoughts aside. He knew that they wouldn't lead to anything good. And then he found himself appointed to a special delivery, and there wasn’t much space left in his mind to entertain worries that did not concern the Apocalypse. But then, after the Apocalypse that didn’t come, kissing Aziraphale has once again become an obsession, this time accompanied by the terrible hope, the terrible delusion, that maybe... Maybe... If he played his cards right... If he remained silent in all the right moments, if he dared to speak when the time came...
And then it happened. Oh, it was the worst thing, the cruelest act that could have taken place. It was the most beautiful, marvelous, tragic thing. It consumed Crowley to the core. It left within him a hunger that he had never known. It exhilarated him, made him, for just a fraction of a moment, the happiest he has ever been.
But it was, after all, a stupid thing to do. A human thing to do. He knew it would be useless. He couldn’t tempt Aziraphale into loving him. It would be ridiculous. It would be sacrilegious. It would be foolish. Aziraphale had always chosen Heaven over him. He didn’t know why he expected a different outcome this time.
After that, memory took the place of imagination in Crowley's mind. He no longer had to try to imagine Aziraphale's possible reaction. He no longer had to imagine Aziraphale's uncertainty in front of Crowley's feelings, his fingers that didn't know whether to hold him close or make him go away, his mouth opening – his weakest part – for Crowley, his trembling breath. He just had to remember.
That didn't stop him from replaying their kiss in his head, again and again and again. Days passed, and then weeks, and then months. Maggie gave him apologetic smiles, Nina tried to pat his back encouragingly a couple of times, Muriel asked him too many questions about the bookshop that he didn't want to answer. Meanwhile, Aziraphale, inside Crowley’s head, kept saying: Nothing lasts forever, and Come back, and I need you, and Then there’s nothing more to say, and the merciless of them all, I forgive you.
Crowley drove the Bentley in slow circles around London. He stood still in the bookshop while Muriel spoke to the sparse clientele (Can I please sell just one book? Muriel would ask him, whispering near his ear. Crowley would shake his head, taking a step back. Not yet.). He sat at a table inside Nina's café without ordering anything. He bought (three different times) a copy of an “Everyday” tape, by Buddy Holly, from Maggie, though he always left it in the Bentley for more than a fortnight before listening to it. He walked alone through St. James’s Park to feed the ducks. And, meanwhile, inside his head — I need you. Aziraphale’s lips, Aziraphale’s fingers. I forgive you. The fabric of Aziraphale's coat, creased by Crowley's grip. Oh, Crowley. Crowley. Nothing lasts forever.
Some days, he would take off his sunglasses to look up at the sky until his eyes started to burn.
Crowley was talking with Nina the day an Angel appeared in front of the bookshop. Well, Nina was doing most of the talking; he was just standing between her and her café without much to do. And, well, it wasn’t just any Angel.
“He came back,” Nina observed, her voice betraying an astonished feeling, her elbow finding Crowley's arm. “Shit. I mean, finally. Did you know?”
Crowley could barely hear her. “Ngk,” he muttered, or something like that. Then he crossed the street.
Aziraphale was staring at the bookshop’s closed door.
“It won’t open by itself,” Crowley said, without looking directly at Aziraphale. He was brighter than Crowley remembered. “You have to push the door to go inside.”
Aziraphale turned to look at him. He was smiling. Crowley felt his heart aching.
“Crowley!” He kept getting brighter. Bless him. Damn him. “Oh, Crowley, how lucky I am to find you here. I hoped you were...” He looked at the bookshop, looked back at Crowley. His smile started to fade. “Inside.”
Crowley lifted a disinterested shoulder. “Not my bookshop, is it? Muriel’s.”
“Right. But you were... You know. Familiar with it, before.”
“Before. Yes.”
Aziraphale fidgeted. He seemed nervous. “Why don’t we talk inside?”
“Talk,” Crowley echoed again. “Nah. I’m busy.”
“Are you? Doing what?”
“My things. Bad things. Nefarious things.”
Aziraphale tilted his head. He was staring at him as he used to do when he sensed that Crowley was lying. He opened his mouth, but a pair of customers interrupted him. They were leaving the bookshop, each with a book in their hands.
“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale muttered, looking at them with a crease on his forehead.
Crowley had the same expression. “I told Muriel not to sell your books.”
“You did?”
Crowley shrugged, trying to appear cool and disinterested in the matter. It wasn’t his strongest suit. “Ngk.”
Aziraphale's hand tentatively approached Crowley’s elbow before falling between their bodies without reaching him. “Please come inside with me.”
Crowley closed his eyes for a moment behind his dark lenses. He nodded.
Muriel was rearranging some books in a corner of the shop. Aziraphale’s face twisted. He looked pained.
“Aziraphale!” Muriel greeted him with a friendly smile. “I didn’t know you were coming down! Wait.” Their voice took a formal intonation. “Is this perhaps the case of a surprise inspection?”
“It is, yes,” Aziraphale said with a clipped smile. “If you could just excuse us a moment. I will be, uhm, inspecting you in a jiffy.”
Crowley slowed his pace to stop by Muriel. “Did you just sell two books?” He asked, lowering his voice.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Muriel said, with an excited smile, lowering their voice in response to make him happy. “They were very old copies, and the first pages were all scribbled! Practically worthless!”
Crowley hoped that Aziraphale hadn’t heard that. “Sure. Nice job. We’ll talk about that later.”
Muriel beamed.
Crowley followed Aziraphale into the backroom and closed the door behind them.
Aziraphale was scrutinizing the room. There were more things than he remembered; among which were three different tartan blankets, his angel-wings cup, and his favourite Victorian loveseat.
Crowley cleared his throat. “I didn’t know what to do with the things that made me think of you the most,” he admitted reluctantly. “I couldn’t look at them every time I came here.”
“Crowley—”
“Speaking of which, why are you here?”
Aziraphale took a deep breath. “I need your help.”
Crowley lifted his eyebrows. “If you need help, you should ask Muriel, they’re still an angel,” he hissed, his anger simmering under the surface. “Angels love helping fellow angels, from what I hear.”
Aziraphale’s face shattered.
“I don’t need generic help, I need your help, Crowley.”
“I don’t care!” Crowley snapped, looking somewhere near Aziraphale’s left eye. “You shouldn't have left in the first place.”
“Crowley...”
“I ’ve tried to warn you!”
“I know!”
“Could you at least,” Crowley started, then paused to conjure the courage to add: “Say that you’re sorry,” he continued, biting out the words. “For how you — for how you left ... Me. Could you?”
He finally looked at Aziraphale’s face. He was frowning.
“What difference would that make?”
“Why don’t we find out!”
Aziraphale sighed, looked down, and then at Crowley again. He took a step toward him. “I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was trembling. “I’m deeply sorry that I had to make you suffer. Now I don’t have the time to explain, but — please. Please, Crowley, forgive me.”
Crowley laughed. With horror, he realized that he was holding back tears, again.
“I’m serious!” Aziraphale insisted, coming closer. “What do you want? Do you want me on my knees?”
The laugh choked inside Crowley’s throat. “What?”
“I can ask for your forgiveness on my knees if it’s what you want.”
Crowley swallowed. “That’s, well, that’s not really...” He muttered, but Aziraphale didn't seem to find him convincing. Crowley instinctively grabbed his arm when he made the motion of kneeling before him.
“Don’t.”
Aziraphale straightened. He took the opportunity to place a hand on Crowley's.
“I need your help,” he said again. “I need you. Please, Crowley, just listen to what I have to say. We don’t have much time. The next step of the Great Plan is in motion already. It’s about God’s son. An awful mess, I tell you, we don’t want innocent people caught in this. Let me explain from the beginning—”
“Not our Beginning,” Crowley interrupted him, a traitorous smile forming on his lips. He was looking at their hands. “I hope. We would be here all day.”
Aziraphale huffed a surprised laugh. He tightened his grip on Crowley’s hand.
“Not our Beginning,” he confirmed with a timid smile. He resumed his speech.
Aziraphale talked. Crowley listened. Then: “Oh. Fuck,” he said.
“Quite right,” Aziraphale agreed. “Will you help me?”
Crowley took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest.
“What happened to The Side of Truth, Light, and bloody Good?”
Aziraphale shook his head. “I thought I still had a place by that side. I thought that we both could have one. I was... Wrong. And you were right. As I said, I’m sorry, Crowley.”
Crowley nodded slowly. He wasn’t ready to accept his apologies, but they could work with that.
“We have our side,” Aziraphale said. “At least I... Hope that we still do.”
Crowley sighed. He conceded a small, encouraging smile, partially hidden in a corner of his mouth. “We do, angel.”
“Oh, Crowley...”
Aziraphale’s mouth opened in a smile, his cheeks flushing.
“What?”
“I’ve just missed you, calling me angel.”
Crowley averted his eyes. “What else should I call you,” he mumbled, fighting against embarrassment and longing, fighting against the urge to say I’ve missed you too, angel.
“Don’t mind me, I’m being silly.”
Crowley shrugged. “We should think about a plan, anyway.”
“Right! Yes. Of course. Before we start, though...”
Crowley looked at him. Aziraphale was still blushing. It was a mesmerizing sight.
“Yeah?”
Aziraphale approached him again. He placed both hands on Crowley's arms, this time. Crowley had to tilt his head down to hold his gaze. Aziraphale was getting brighter again. It was an insufferable, beautiful sight. He slowly leaned towards Crowley's face to leave a feather-light kiss on his mouth. “I haven’t stopped thinking about our kiss since it happened,” he said in a rush. “I thought you should know. Thank you.”
Crowley was blushing too, now. His dark shades were starting to slide along his nose. “You’re, uh. Very welcome.”
Azirphale caught his eyes without the barrier of the sunglasses and smiled broadly. Crowley’s heart shook violently.
Aziraphale cleared his throat. “What about Nina and Maggie?” He inquired as he headed towards the door. “Did they get together?”
Crowley tugged himself away from Aziraphale’s lips, Aziraphale’s warmth, Aziraphale’s words. “Ngggh. Sort of. They’re working on it.”
“They’re smart girls. They’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah, yeah. Balance each other. ‘S a good pair.”
Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully.
Their third kiss was tender.
Seven days after Aziraphale's return, they were sitting close on the sofa inside the A. Z. FELL & Co. Aziraphale raised his glass of wine in a toast to Crowley's direction. “To humanity.”
Crowley mirrored his gesture with a lifted eyebrow. “To have taken your bookshop back.”
Aziraphale giggled softly. “Our bookshop,” he corrected him absently, after a sip of wine. “Oh, how I’ve missed being here with you.”
Crowley hid his contented smile in his glass. “Humanity saved itself again. They’re resilient, you have to give it to them.”
“Oh, come on, we helped. It’s what we do.”
“Did we?”
They shared a knowing look. Aziraphale took a moment to study Crowley’s face, and his expression morphed into curiosity.
“What’s on your mind, my dear?”
Crowley finished his glass of wine before answering. “While you were — away,” he started with a grimace. “I talked a lot with Nina and Maggie. Well, mostly with Nina. She talked a lot with me, actually. And she said that we have a, uh, history of miscommunications between us, and unspoken words. And. Unspoken feelings.”
Aziraphale, at the corner of Crowley’s eye, nodded pensively. “She’s right. We have a lot to talk about.”
“We do, yeah.”
“Do you want to start tonight?” He asked, passing him their shared bottle.
Crowley refilled his glass. “I don’t know. I’m pretty tired.”
“I feel knackered too, dear boy.”
Crowley rested an arm on the back of the sofa, leaning his body towards Aziraphale's. After thinking about it, he quickly took off his sunglasses, tossing them onto the coffee table in front of them. “I really thought I lost you. You know?”
Aziraphale cast his eyes toward the floor. “I thought the same,” he murmured.
His voice sounded guilty and sad. Crowley sighed. He nudged his right hand toward him, placing it on the sofa with the palm facing upwards. His thumb grazed Aziraphale's leg.
Aziraphale glanced at his open hand. He covered it with his right one. Their fingers intertwined in mutual agreement. Aziraphale's thumb stroked the back of Crowley's hand three times. Aziraphale tilted his head up to meet Crowley’s gaze.
“Could you ever forgive me, my dear?”
“What a world we live in, if a demon is given the power to forgive an angel...”
“Crowley.” Aziraphale admonished him in a whisper.
Crowley’s expression softened. His eyes, unknown to him, were twinkling like beautiful stars — at least that was what Aziraphale was thinking, looking at them.
“‘Course I forgive you, angel,” Crowley sighed. “Do you really think I’d care for you so little?”
Aziraphale's eyes filled up with tears. Crowley freed his left hand from the wine glass with an absent thought to bring it to Aziraphale's cheek, caressing it with adoration burning under his skin.
“Can we kiss again?” Aziraphale asked, his voice uncertain but full of desire.
The demon’s lips curled in a smile before they brushed the angel’s mouth.
Their fourth and fifth kisses were pretty chaste.
The fourth happened while they were in St. James’s Park, in front of the lake. Aziraphale had wrapped his left arm around Crowley's right arm as the demon threw frozen peas at a black duckling. After running out of peas, Crowley turned his face towards Aziraphale's to ask him something, and Aziraphale took the opportunity to press his mouth on Crowley's. It was a quick kiss, a simple I'm-so-happy-to-be-here-with-you type of kiss. Crowley flushed and forgot what he wanted to ask him.
The fifth happened while Crowley was helping Aziraphale inside the bookshop. Aziraphale was sitting in his armchair with a cup of tea in hand, while giving him directions to arrange the books so they would return to be hard to find. Crowley had been pacing back and forth with his arms full of books for more than two hours. He had lost count of how many times he sneezed.
“Can we take a break, angel? The dust is killing me.”
Aziraphale smiled. “Of course,” he said, placing his now-empty cup on the same cabinet that Crowley had placed his glasses on. “Come here. Rest a bit, dearest.”
Crowley almost dropped the books on the floor, but a stern look from Aziraphale convinced him to place them carefully on the soft carpet. He reached the angel with long strides, perching on one arm of the armchair.
Aziraphale smiled at him again, broadly, sweetly, joyfully. “Thank you for your help,” he said, lifting up his face.
Crowley leaned down to place a kiss on his mouth without even thinking about it.
Their sixth kiss was more passionate.
They started the kiss in front of the bookshop’s door. It was a warm summer evening. Aziraphale was laughing and fumbling with his keys. Crowley was supporting himself against the front door and playing with the hem of Aziraphale's vest, a distracted smile on his lips.
“If you don't move from there, we'll never be able to get in, darling.”
“You're always complaining about something, aren’t you?”
“And whose fault is it!”
Aziraphale finally managed to snap the key inside the lock as Crowley's hand rose from Aziraphale's vest to reach his neck. Aziraphale shivered under his touch, moving his gaze from the door to Crowley's face. The demon grinned and leaned in for a kiss.
They continued the kiss inside. Crowley ran the tip of his tongue between Aziraphale's lips for the first time. Aziraphale melted against him, but he broke their kiss to delicately take off Crowley's sunglasses, placing them on a windowsill.
“God, I love your eyes,” he mumbled, his lips touching Crowley’s. Crowley trembled and kissed him harder.
Aziraphale’s mouth was hot and holy – as Crowley had always pictured – and Aziraphale’s fingers were running, eager, through his hair. Crowley's fingers were unsure whether to rest on Aziraphale’s face or unbutton his vest.
“Wait,” Crowley gasped. His hands pressed gently onto Aziraphale's chest. “Wait. I’m sorry, angel, can we slow down a little?”
Aziraphale took Crowley's hands and squeezed softly. “Of course, dearest,” he said, his voice a bit strained. “Of course. Don’t be sorry. We can take it slow as much as... Why are you laughing? Oh, you serpent, you’re mocking me.”
Crowley was indeed laughing. He brought Aziraphale's hand to his lips to place an apologetic kiss on his open palm. “I am mocking you,” he admitted with a grin. “I couldn't resist.”
Aziraphale laughed too. “Come here, you fiend,” he sighed, capturing his mouth with ease.
Their seventh kiss was perfect.
It took place on a Sunday morning. They were sitting on a bench in St. James’s Park, as they usually did on Sunday mornings. Crowley was absently following the bickering of a couple near the lake. Aziraphale had a poetry book open in front of him, but Crowley could tell that his mind was elsewhere.
“I wanted to ask you something.”
Aziraphale closed the book. Crowley turned his head to look at him. He had lost interest in the couple, anyway. They both seemed to have suddenly forgotten why they were arguing. Life’s funny like that, sometimes. Especially if you have a smitten angel or demon on your shoulder.
“Ask away, angel.”
“What are your thoughts on the countryside?”
Crowley pondered. “Fewer people to annoy. More quietness. Better air. More bugs? I don’t like bugs.”
“You could have a garden.”
“I could have a garden,” he conceded with a shrug.
“Wouldn’t you like having a garden?” Aziraphale insisted, split between amusement and annoyance.
“Yeah, alright,” Crowley admitted, glancing at Aziraphale’s nose to avoid his eyes. “Everything but — you is superfluous anyway, but, yeah, I’d like that.”
Aziraphale found one of his hands and held it gently.
“I think we should retire.”
Crowley let out a surprised laugh. “That’s a human thing to do.”
“I believe it’s established at this point that we have gone native.”
Crowley agreed with him. “Retirement. In the countryside.”
“I was thinking South Downs. We could share a lovely cottage.”
Crowley frowned, holding back a smile. “Hold on. Are you asking me to live together? Like a...”
“Couple, yes,” Aziraphale confirmed. He was fidgeting under Crowley’s eyes. His hand was sweating. They truly had gone native. “We are a couple, aren’t we?”
Crowley smiled. “We are.”
Aziraphale looked relieved. Crowley’s heart clenched in his chest.
“What about your bookshop?”
Aziraphale nodded. “I’ll have to bring the books with us, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“Some books. Not all of them. I think Muriel quite liked running the business,” he said, gesturing absentmindedly with his free hand. “And, anyway, everything but you is superfluous, my love.”
Crowley kissed him. It was the right thing to do. Aziraphale smiled against his mouth, his fingers caressing his cheek like Crowley was the most precious thing in the world.
“A cottage in the South Downs,” Crowley murmured. “It’s not great for a demon's reputation.”
“Ah.” Aziraphale’s eyes were gleaming. “What about a retired demon’s reputation?”
“Hmm. Yeah, alright. I can work with that.”
They shared a smile and another kiss. They lost count after that. When they got up from the bench, their hands were still intertwined.
“The first thing I’ll plant in the garden will be an apple tree, by the way.”
“Oh, you old serpent, you.”