Chapter Text
Crowley is not a virgin.
After all, being a demon has its requirements, and sex, while not necessarily being mandatory for a demon to be bad, was still one of the big sins, so he had tried it a few times over the ages, if only to prove that he was so bad. He had even tried an orgy, once, in the middle ages.
He just hadn't much enjoyed it.
The acts had each felt insincere, uncomfortable, mechanical and monstrous . No sooner had he ever taken his clothes off and laid upon another did he feel as if he was in the wrong room with the wrong person, making the wrong choices. Even when he had genuinely had an interest in the human. And even in the twenty-first century with all of its personal hygiene and lubrication and interesting little toys and even more interesting sexual orientations. Still, he had found that, even though he regretted it as soon as it started, he couldn't stop. Once the proverbial switch was flipped, he found himself ravenous and desperate enough that he couldn't stop until the switch had been, er, relieved . Although, even the eventual climax - which, seemingly depending on the gender and sexual anatomy of his chosen 'partner', was sometimes extremely evasive, or came about all too soon - was always followed quickly by frustration and regret and disgust and hatred and a million other nasty emotions that the demon decided, you know, sex just wasn't worth it, regardless of how objectively, physically pleasurable the act may have been. His skin would crawl, his lips would curl, and he would hunch in on himself and his shame, quickly covering himself and fleeing because he couldn't look at the person who had seen him in such a state without realizing how incredibly awful it had been.
Crowley kept finding himself in those situations, regretfully - in another's bed, chasing a climax that he knew he would only enjoy shortly before regret crashed upon him - because times change, and he changes, and he was incredibly curious and self-destructive. New people come about, new curiosities are born, and he's always been a bit impulsive.
But it didn't matter who he went to bed with. The consensus was always the same.
He just doesn't enjoy sex.
In fact, he absolutely loathed it, and had since decided never to engage in anything of the sort again.
As time went on, he found himself increasingly disliking of being touched, or sought after, or flirted with, or talked to, or given any attention at all, by anyone other than Aziraphale. He refuses to even interact with the waitstaff when they go to restaurants, or actors when they go see plays, or anyone, truly. He had shut himself off from the people of the world. Perhaps it has gotten worse over the millennia. He had simply decided that interpersonal relationships were not his thing, save for his friendship with his angelic counterpart, of course, and wanted nothing more to do with humans and all of their messy interactions. He certainly had no desire to seek out another stranger to invite into his being and fall into their bed ever again.
But he had rather enjoyed kissing.
He had gotten quite good at kissing, he thought. There was something about kissing - the right kind of kissing, anyway - that was comfortable and safe, artful and heartfelt, and it took real emotion and craftsmanship . There were a few chosen humans over the years that he'd actually enjoyed enough to lean in and capture their lips with raw feeling rather than simple demonic curiosity for the sake of life experience. But they had always wanted more . They always wanted something he couldn't give, and so, as soon as they started reaching for him, sliding their hand up his thigh or down his chest, he jumped up and left, and never saw them again. He couldn't go further with them. They weren't the right partner. No one seemed to be.
But the act of kissing had been enjoyable. The emotions that made him want to kiss had been pleasurable.
Crowley had often thought of kissing Aziraphale.
He had often wondered if Aziraphale was the right partner. If they kissed, would he feel whole and satisfied and wish to continue kissing him until the sun went down and the city went to sleep? Or would Aziraphale want more - more than he could give - and would he have to run and never see him again? Would it ruin what they have?
Aziraphale was so innocent, though. He had never met another's lips in a dance of passion and love. He'll read heated scenes in his books and blush and hurriedly turn the page. He'll make a surprised, embarrassed little sound and avert his gaze when they walk by a couple sharing even just a brief peck on the lips in public. The act daunted the angel, clearly, but kissing wasn't like sex, he wished to tell the angel. It didn't have to be a sexual thing. Kissing was... something else entirely.
Crowley wouldn't mind showing his angel what it was like.
Only, he hadn't wanted this to be Aziraphale's first experience.
Crowley and Aziraphale had been enjoying a take-out sushi meal (or, in Crowley's case, enjoying watching Aziraphale enjoy his sushi, while he nursed a glass of wine appreciatively) for the past three-and-a-half hours whilst talk of sea creatures filled the air. They shared curiosities upon the depths of the sea and whether or not they truly knew every strange creature down there, and did so until the bell jingled in the main shop, signaling the arrival of a customer.
Aziraphale's excitedly dramatized description of what new sea creature he wanted to see ("-squid brain and octopus arms, and feathers! ") was cut short at the sound of the bell, and both he and Crowley sighed. "Just a pop," the angel said regretfully before carefully folding the napkin from his lap. He set the napkin neatly upon the table and dusted off his shirt and pants in the practiced motion of one who did so each time they stood from a table, whether they had eaten or not. Then, Aziraphale cleared his throat and made his way to the front shop.
Crowley sat back in his seat heavily, the dull thump of his back against the cushion being the only sound in the suddenly silent back room. He slid back on his sunglasses with a soft sigh, and eyed the remaining sushi rolls in Aziraphale's plate. He wondered if he should try just a lick. He's not very into eating, but tasting never hurt anybody.
He was just about to lean forward to dip his finger in a spot of soy sauce for a sample when he heard from the front room a tone come from Aziraphale's voice. It was the eerily familiar tone of distinct distress, and it had Crowley jumping to his feet in an instant.
The demon wandered his way into the main room in faux innocence, slinking around the corner to listen from just out of sight behind a bookcase.
"I-I'm sorry," Aziraphale said kindly, but no less troubled. There was a tightness in his voice that made Crowley's teeth grit together on their own. "This one isn't for sale. I-I can introduce you to some other books you may be interested in, if you'd like?"
There was a chuckle that Crowley could only describe as 'sultry' . "Oh, sweetie," said a silky-smooth, provocative female voice, "Are you sure you won't take anything for this book? Perhaps we could... come to some sort of... agreement?" The voice was trying its best to sound seducing, but to Crowley's ears, all he heard was the sharp, concealed blade of emotional manipulation. And typically he'd appload the performance, but Aziraphale was not to be made the fool in the main act. Not by anyone other than him.
He stepped around the bookcase just in time to see a long-haired, well-dressed, voluptuous young woman step up to Aziraphale and run her hand down his front alluringly.
A burning hot rage quickly boiled underneath Crowley's skin and his eyes blazed from behind his tinted glasses. A growling hiss was already building in his chest, but he didn't strike fast enough. He was left to stare as the woman wound her arm around the back of Aziraphale's neck and pulled him in, attacking his mouth with a poisonous kiss of deception. The angel let out a yelping sound of surprise and stumbled back, hands flailing and trying to push her off, but she only pressed herself against him, assaulting his mouth with foul intent, stealing away his long-upheld innocence and invading his body with her own.
The snarling hiss that left Crowley's mouth as he charged at the affronting woman was loud and absolutely inhuman. It was enough to bring anyone's hair to its end. The sound made the woman jump and jerk away from Aziraphale, looking over with surprised, frightened eyes. The demon took dark, sick pleasure in grabbing her by her upper arm hard enough to bruise her instantly, to throw her across the floor, away from his angel.
The indignant gasp she let out was enough to make him itch to take away her ability to breathe ever again, and he was more than prepared to do just that, but as he lifted his hand to snap his fingers and make it happen, Aziraphale called out his name in that ' please, Crowley, don't you dare!' tone of his.
Crowley growled and stalked over to loom above her as she scrambled to get her hands beneath her. She stared up at him, and he wanted to turn her thieving lips inside out. He wanted to know she couldn't ever walk this earth again, after she'd had the gall to assault his angel!
"Crowley!" Aziraphale called out again, and the demon hissed, descending upon the woman.
"If I see you," he snarled at her, stepping closer to her every time she scrambled back, "darken this doorstep ever again ," she yelped in fear when he lunged closer. "I will use more than words to describe how completely, absolutely, utterly fucking livid I am!" Her back hit the front doors and he lunged at her with one last loud snarl, and watched in dark vindication as she screamed, scrambled to her feet and finally fled from the shop.
"Don't!" Aziraphale called after him in alarm as Crowley reached for the door, but the demon didn't chase her down and rip her to pieces as he would've liked to. He only slammed the door shut, threw the lock, and turned over the sign so that no one would set foot in the shop again for the rest of the damned evening.
Seething through clenched teeth, chest heaving and eyes still burning, he slowly turned around and stared at the angel, who was still standing right where that woman had left him, disheveled and stunned and upset. Crowley's gritted teeth spawned no words. He didn't even know what to say. He wasn't sure he was capable of words at that moment. Not human words, anyway.
Finally, Aziraphale got a hold of himself, and with jerky, displeased movements, he smoothed back out his jacket once more and wiped at his lips with the back of his hand with a disturbed grimace. He took a deep breath and took a few hesitant steps toward the enraged demon.
"Well," Aziraphale said lightly, chuckling weakly, in the tone of voice he used whenever the demon was particularly pissed, and he just wanted things to calm down a little with a bit of misplaced humor. "My first kiss. Not... quite how I had expected it."
"That!" Crowley spat. "That was not a kiss! That was a disgusting manipulation tactic!" Spittle flew from his mouth as he snarled, but he didn't much care. He was busy refraining himself from stomping over there and grabbing the angel by his stupid lapels to shake him until he realized how disrespectful and bad that entire ordeal had been.
Aziraphale looked away, hands nervously smoothing out his clothing. "Well. Harmless, nonetheless."
" Harmless- "
"I'm not fragile , Crowley." The demon flinched, and some of his anger was wisped away only to be replaced by regretful, sorry shame. "I'm-I'm not a damsel in distress. She..." His cheeks were red, and he looked off with a deep frown. "She kissed me, and... and that was it. I'm fine, really."
" Angel ." Crowley growled and forced himself to release some of his tension. Aziraphale may have gotten quite used to Crowley's more unhinged moments, but he still responded better when the demon was at least calm enough he wasn't seething through his teeth. "Angel, that's not the point. That was not-... You-..." He made some noises of wordless frustration and pulled at his hair. "That wasn't a real kiss!"
"What... what makes a kiss real, then?" asked Aziraphale, shyly.
Crowley had told Aziraphale about his thoughts on the humans' invention of kissing before, some three-thousand years ago. He'd told him that he thought it was brilliant. In not so many words, he'd told him that he thought it was the only intimate act two people could share. More intimate than sex, being just a tasteless, frantic race toward release. But kissing was pure. It was blissful and sinful and nasty and beautiful all at once, and he'd told the angel that... sort of, in a way.
But how does he tell Aziraphale that, while he knew the angel probably didn't feel quite as strongly about kissing, he had at least wanted him to have a good first experience to build off of.
And he had wanted his first experience to be him .
"That wasn't your first kiss," Crowley settled on. He said it with an amount of finality that he might as well have erased the moment from time itself. "Got it? That was not your first kiss. That was nothing other than assault and that woman should be punished." She did deserve to be punished, he decided, and with a vague flip of his hand, her punishment was made to come upon her quite soon.
"Crowley," the angel sighed. "Really."
"She brought it on herself," the demon replied curtly, finally feeling the red-hot anger starting to subside. Aziraphale was okay, even though he was sorely misinformed about the 'harmlessness' of non-consentual advances. He took back off his glasses and stared down at his reflection in them. His blazing golden eyes slowly eased until they no longer glowed, and he glared at his own face. He should've hurried out there and put a stop to the whole thing the moment he heard the tone of unease in Aziraphale's voice. This was his fault. This happened because he hesitated.
The angel cleared his throat softly, and clasped his hands together. "Well, then. Shall we get back to our evening?" he offered, desperately.
The two made their way back to their seats and found themselves back to the topic of sea creatures, and the disaster from earlier was (mostly) forgotten about.
The siren of a police car passed the front of the shop during a heated debate upon the existence of the Loch Ness Monster, and the last of the demon's tension finally melted away.
The woman that tried to take Aziraphale's first kiss would be amazed to find that the car that she had climbed into to leave wasn't, in fact, hers, and was instead the civilian car belonging to the head of the Soho Police Department. She'd be more surprised, as the police pulled her over with guns at the ready, to learn what they found in the trunk. The police could pick her punishment accordingly (5-8 years in prison, if she has a very good lawyer), and Crowley could finally wash his hands of her.
Unfortunately, it still didn't stop the thoughts of kissing Aziraphale from swimming around in Crowley's noisy mind. All while they talked, he caught himself glancing down at the angel's lips, wishing he could magically rid them of the onslaught they'd suffered from their attacker. Wishing he could prove to him that kissing was a wonderful thing that demanded real feeling and emotion. Wishing he could kiss him well enough to erase the tarnish that she had done.
And he noticed, once or twice (or, rather, exactly six times, because he had been counting) Aziraphale's hazel eyes also dipped to stare at Crowley's lips whilst they moved as the demon went on about tortoises. Aziraphale wasn't as good at quickly looking away. He stared, and it was distracting.
"Oh, my," Aziraphale eventually said, glancing over at his small cog clock on the table. "It's late."
Crowley glanced down at his wristwatch and grumbled. His least favorite time of the day. Time to leave the cozy bookshop and go back to his miserable flat with his miserable plants and marinate in the feeling of loneliness until he either drinks himself to sleep or stomps off to prowl the streets all night just to keep himself busy. Oh, what a wonderful night it would be, indeed.
"Right." He stood and picked up the almost-empty bottle of wine. Aziraphale wouldn't mind if he took it to go. "I'm just saying," he continued, wrapping up their debate, ever the one to need the last word. "Sea urchins." He slid on his glasses and smirked when Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Then headed regretfully toward the front shop. "Night, Angel."
"Uh- Crowley?" the angel called out quietly, getting to his feet and taking an aborted step after him. Crowley stopped and turned to look at him curiously, though the anxious, skittish sort of expression on his face made the demon wonder if it would be better if he just kept walking. "I was thinking. About the kiss... Or, rather, the not-kiss... heh..." The angel wound his fingers together nervously. "Well, I mean... It's just that... I-I-I just mean..."
The demon couldn't handle having this conversation right now. Not ever. He's not sure he'd even know how to have this damned conversation even if he had all the time and all the booze in the world. "Good night, Angel."
"Oh. Ri-right. Right. Good night, Crowley..." The demon nodded and turned back, and made it exactly two steps before he heard, "It's just that I want to know. What it's like. To have, you know. A real one."
Crowley stopped and hung his head, sighing. What has this become? "Aziraphale." He twisted back around.
"I mean... Six-thousand years and I still haven't... But you... "
Crowley stared at him. Aziraphale winced. "If I kissed you..." Crowley asked, carefully, "wouldn't it bother you?" The angel had never been much bothered when Crowley pushed him up against walls or cars or bookshelves to press in nose-to-nose, chest-to-chest, and hiss angrily at him, and that was practically all the heat and emotion and lack of physical space of a passionate kiss. But would Aziraphale take a kiss differently? Or, worse, would he take it to mean nothing, while Crowley took it to mean everything ?
"Um. No...? No, well, I'm not sure- er, well, I don't think so, I don't think it would, no." Crowley was regretting asking. He was regretting bringing any of this up in the first place. He was regretting ever telling the angel that he had an apparently strange appreciation for the act of kissing all those years ago. Maybe that's why Aziraphale seemed so curious about it. Maybe he'd planted the seed of curiosity all the way back then. And he really should make him stop reading those young-adult books with all their in-detail scenes of unreal passion.
Aziraphale stood there during Crowley's internal crisis, and stared at him. And the demon thought it was maybe as if he expected Crowley to walk over there and kiss him there and now.
"A real kiss isn't just... manufactured," Crowley said, with slight difficulty. "If you want me to... show you what it's like..." Oh, he's just truly fucked, isn't he? "It'll have to come about naturally."
"Of course." Aziraphale nodded and ducked his head, fiddling with his fingers again. "Right. Jolly good." There was a beat of awkward silence. "Well, you, erm. You have a lovely night, Crowley."
"And you," the demon bit out, and all but scurried out of the shop.
He couldn't stop thinking about it all the way home, and he shouted at his plants about how he keeps getting himself in stupid situations and why did he choose the most infuriating angel to become friends with, and they were friends damn it, he couldn't just kiss him, surely! He tossed and turned in his chair, tossed and turned in his bed, glared endlessly at his walls and ceilings, yet didn't have the energy to go out and do something for the rest of the night.
What a mess this was, already.