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The phone call had been strange.
Well, strange for Crowley, anyway. He rarely called, rather preferring to simply pop up, and half of Aziraphale was sure that Crowley only did so because he liked to see the surprise on his face.
This time though, Crowley had called him. His voice had had a nervous quality to it, like something was pressing down on his throat. He hadn’t told him if there was anything wrong, only told him to be there at his flat at eight p.m. sharp.
As soon as the clock struck half past seven, Aziraphale hurried to Crowley’s flat.
It took a few long moments standing in the empty hallway in front of the door, his thoughts racing a mile a minute – what if Hell had paid Crowley a surprise visit? What if their ruse was already up, what if this was all the time they were given? Anxiously, Aziraphale turned the ring on his pinky. No, this couldn’t be all there ws! He still had to-
Footsteps came closer and then the door opened, revealing Crowley in one piece, safe and sound. His hair looked dishevelled and he wasn’t wearing his glasses, his black dress shirt had the first two buttons opened and was stained at his breast pocket. Something smelled burned.
„Angel,“ he said, as if surprised to see him.
„It’s eight,“ Aziraphale said. „You told me to be here?“
„Uh, yeah, yeah, I remember,“ he mumbled as if he didn’t remember at all. „Shit, right on time, not that that’s a bad thing, it’s a good thing, generally. Uh, come in, will you?“
Aziraphale frowned. Crowley was always brimming with energy, but something about the situation seemed unusual. Something had Crowley on edge.
He looked around the flat. It was mostly empty as per Crowley’s usual style, but as he crossed the threshold he spotted a piece of furniture that he was pretty sure hadn’t been there the last time he’d been here.
It was a table.
Placed a little off the middle of the living room (or whatever Crowley usually used it for), two chairs with elegantly swung backrests on either side. The table was set for one person, one plate, one spoon, one dark red napkin. The only thing there were two of were the wine glasses, one placed to the right of the place setting, the other sitting innocently on the opposite side.
Aziraphale stroked over the soft, clearly handmade upholstery of the chairs. They looked as if Crowley had pinched them straight from the Queen’s Palace, the stitching fine and the wooden frame intricately carved, and knowing the demon, maybe he had.
Crowley had vanished off to somewhere, so Aziraphale followed the clatter and cursing coming from another part of the flat.
„Shit, fuck, where did I put the-“
Aziraphale crept closer. Something smelled like – butter?
„Bollocks, what’s it doing over there? I didn’t put it over there!“ Crowley muttered as Aziraphale entered the other room and stopped dead in his tracks.
He’d never been to Crowley’s kitchen. Wasn’t even aware that Crowley had a kitchen. The only things he’d seen in Crowley’s flat were the ridiculous throne-like chair he liked to lounge on, an unnessesarily expensive looking TV and a four-poster bed he liked to sleep in for days or even weeks if he was feeling bored. Oh, and the room full of tortured house plants of course. Poor things.
The kitchen was a mess. The countertops were buried under heaps of pots and pans, an open and partly used stick of butter, and Crowley was standing in front of the stove, cursing while he furiously stirred the pot.
„S’not gonna burn, not gonna burn-“
„My dear, have you – invited me to dinner?“ Aziraphale asked, the corners of his mouth quirking up.
Crowley jumped. Aziraphale could almost see the hair on his neck rise like that of a startled cat.
„What are you doing in here? Y’re supposed to stay in the – the other room! Here!“ He swept the wine off the countertop and pushed it in Aziraphales hand. „Go and and and- have a glass, relax, I’ll be with ya in a minute.“
He pushed at him, and Aziraphale mercifully let himself be ushered out of the kitchen.
A few minutes later, Crowley reemerged. He’d vanished the stain from his dress shirt and hovered in the doorframe for a moment, a single plate in his hand.
Crowley had cooked for him.
Aziraphale didn’t know what to do with that information. No one had ever cooked for him – sure, he’d been to plenty of restaurants, but no one had prepared a meal with him in mind. That Crowley had done so, even though he rarely ate himself, made his stomach flutter.
Crowley placed the plate in front of him, then plopped down on the opposite chair and grabbed the wine glass Aziraphale had filled for him like a lifeline.
„Go on, then.“ Crowley swirled the wine in his glass. Aziraphale noticed that his hand was shaking slightly while he did so. „It’s not gettin eaten by being stared at.“
The plate was filled with risotto. It was a bit too soggy, too much broth for the amount of rice or maybe Crowley hadn’t let it cook for long enough. Small bits of porcini mushrooms stuck out from under a fine layer of grated Parmesan.
„What has this brought on?“ Aziraphale asked.
Crowley shrugged his shoulders.
„S’nothing. Just felt like it.“
„Ah.“
Well, he really didn’t want it to get cold, so he took the spoon in his hand and gently dug it in. It smelled heavenly. He scooped a little bit on the tip of his spoon and then slowly brought it up to his mouth, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Crowley was wearing his glasses, so he couldn’t be sure what he was looking at, but if he had to guess ...
Aziraphale put the spoon in his mouth.
The risotto was nothing to write home about, except for the fact that it was Crowley who had cooked it. He let the rice sit on his tongue, letting the flavours develop. It was a tad too salty, and the rice was slightly undercooked. But other than that, it was surprisingly good. Certainly a higher quality than he’d expected from someone who didn’t work in a restaurant. With a bit of practice, he was sure Crowley could become quite a decent cook.
„How is it?“ Crowley asked.
Aziraphale ate another spoonful. Dabbed his mouth with a napkin. Crowley watched him through his dark glasses.
„It’s good.“
Crowley scrunched his eyebrows together.
„Good,“ he said.
„Yes.“ Aziraphale took a sip of the wine – an off-dry Chardonnay, an excellent choice.
„Just ‚good‘?“ Crowley made an aborted noise which he then drowned in a big gulp of wine. „You love risotto! What is it, then? Wrong kind of mushrooms? Too much Parmesan? Not enough?“
Aziraphale wasn’t sure what exactly had brought this behaviour on. Maybe now that they were free, Crowley wanted to give other endeveaours a shot? He’d always had a bit of a proud streak. Even while he hadn’t had his heart in all this demonic business, he had often enough told Aziraphale about his complex schemes, proud of all the little details and multilayered facettes his fellow demons couldn’t hope to follow.
He set the spoon down.
„Well, if you must know, it’s got a bit much salt in it. But really, Crowley, it’s quite excellent.“
The frown on Crowley’s face didn’t disappear.
„That’s not what you said. You said ‚good‘.“
„What’s the difference?“
„The difference, angel, is that good’s not good enough.“
Crowley filled his glass up again, this time to the brim, and then immediately drank half of it.
When Aziraphale left for the evening, belly full and head pleasantly buzzing, he thought how this had just been one of Crowley’s one-off ideas, just like when he bought that state-of-the-art espresso machine and then never used it again.
One week later, Crowley invited him to dinner again.
Aziraphale hadn’t expected another invitation and so he didn’t quite know what to tell Crowley. It was clear to him that for some reason, this was really important to Crowley.
Maybe he was simply bored now that the immediate threat of the Apocalypse had been dealt with and he was out of a job. He still did a little bit of wiling here and there, same as Aziraphale did a few miracles, but it was not the same when no one was looking. Not that Aziraphale needed his good deeds to be acknowledged in any way. Those were rewarding on their own. But it took the pressure of it. He knew he felt bored sometimes, so Crowley most likely did, too.
The invitation was for the same time as last week.
Wanting to acknowledge Crowley’s culinary efforts, Aziraphale had put in more effort than usual in his appearance: He’d put on his best waistcoat and polished his brogues. He’d even put on a dash of perfume. The London wheather was particularly cold and rainy today, so he’d grabbed his coat from its hanger.
Standing in front of his door again, he brushed a tiny bit of lint off his coat, then touched his hair to make sure it still looked the same as it had when he’d left his bookshop and wasn’t all higgledy-piggledy by the wind.
Maybe the perfume was too much. But now it was on him, and the only way to get rid of it was by miracling it away, and that would be a waste, wouldn’t it?
Really, he didn’t know why he was so nervous. It was just Crowley. They’d known each other for such a long time, and Crowley always spoke his mind around him.
Maybe that was precisely why.
He lifted his finger to the doorbell, but before he could press it, the door was wrenched open.
„What are you doing there, standing around without knocking? The neighbors will get the wrong idea,“ he hissed, then stepped aside to let him in. Flustered, Aziraphale followed him into the flat.
„I was just about to,“ he said, even though his mind fixated on what kind of idea Crowley meant. „Where might I hang up my coat?“
Crowley grumbled, then made a grabby motion with his hand.
„Just give it to me, c’mon,“ he said.
Aziraphale hesitantly gave him his coat, feeling strangely bereft without it. While Crowley hung up the coat, he tentatively sniffed the air. What did Crowley cook today?
It smelled – like the ocean, a bit salty, and a bit like algae and fish, but not overwhelmignly so. His eyes lit up.
„Did you make sushi for me?“ he asked, turning to Crowley with a sparkle in his eyes. Crowley stuck his hands into his jeans pockets.
„’s nothing special,“ he grumbled. „Just felt like it today.“
„Oh, how delightful!“ Aziraphale gave a wiggle and made his way over to the table, which was already laid for one, complete with small dip bowls for soy sauce, ginger and wasabi. Crowley had paired it off with a fine Sauvignon Blanc Malborough. „Don’t you want to eat, too? It would be a shame if I was the only one to benefit from your cooking.“
„Isn’t a shame at all,“ Crowley grumbled, then disappeared into the kitchen. Aziraphale sighed, then took a seat at the table. Something was clearly bothering Crowley, but he knew from experience that pressing him on those matters wouldn’t be well received.
The sushi was divine.
Aziraphale sighed and moaned throughout the meal, delighting in the different flavors of sashimi and rolls coated in black sesame. The ginger was fresh, the wasabi flavorful and spicy, and the tart sweetness of the Sauvignon complemented the fine flavors of the fish.
Except for the wine, Crowley didn’t partake in the food. That in itself was nothing new; Crowley rarely ate food, and in much smaller portions than Aziraphale did. It simply didn’t do it for him that much. But he still felt that Crowley should at least sample his own food. He felt bad thinking about him slaving away in the kitchen for hours on end and not getting anything out of it.
Aziraphale picked up a sushi roll, one with a bit of tuna, avocado and cucumber. Gently, he dipped it into the soy sauce, then held it out over the table. Crowley blinked owishly at him.
„Here, try one,“ Aziraphale said. „It’s really delightful.“
„Wha- but that’s yours.“
„I know, but I want you to taste it.“ Crowley still looked hesitant, his eyes flicking from the sushi roll between his chopsticks back to Aziraphale’s face and down again. Aziraphale smiled tentatively. „Do it for me, please?“
Crowley groaned.
„Ugh, fine, you nag!“ Leaning forward, he chomped down on his chopsticks a bit harder than necessary, then began to chew more vigorously than was strictly necessary, looking at Aziraphale as if he wanted to say, See here, I’m doing what you want me to do.
„And?“ Aziraphale took a sip of wine. „How is it?“
Crowley chewed, then swallowed. His eyebrows furrowed even deeper.
„Fine. Tuna’s a bit too much, I think. Maybe I’ll add a bit of seaweed next time.“
„Always so critical,“ Aziraphale said. „Well, I enjoyed it.“
Crowley grabbed his glass and took a big gulp.
„Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it.“
It continued like this.
Aziraphale was baffled by Crowley’s behaviour, but seeing as he got increasingly good food out of it, he didn’t think too much about it. After sushi followed Beef Wellington, then lobster, a plate of oysters which Aziraphale still couldn’t get out of his mind, lemon pepper chicken, a mushroom galette, and, on a drizzly but otherwise fine morning, Eggs Benedict paired with roasted asparagus and champagne.
Crowley only ate if Aziraphale insisted. Otherwise, he was content to sit opposite of him with a glass of wine, chin in hand. Watching him. Of course, that was nothing new. Crowley was often lost in his thoughts like this, but lately, he’d foregone wearing his glasses while doing so, and the intense stare of his yellow eyes made Aziraphale squirm in his seat.
Crowley’s cooking was steadily improving. It appeared that he had a talent for it, and while the kitchen was usually a right mess after he was done and Aziraphale wasn’t allowed to even peek into it, his food evolved from good to outright divine.
At least Aziraphale thought so.
Crowley, on the other hand, was never satisfied. Whenever Aziraphale could get him to eat a morsel, he would scrunch up his eyebrows and find something to critizise. It wasn’t healthy to be so critical of oneself.
It was for this reason that whenever Aziraphale complimented his food, he laid it on thick.
It wasn’t lying per se. But he took even greater care to compliment Crowley’s cooking than before and knew when he’d succeeded by Crowley’s furious blush and incoherent mumbling – the only way he was able to accept a compliment.
It was a rainy day in November.
Aziraphale was in a good mood because Crowley had invited him to dinner again – a five-course dinner, he’d said, a slight tenseness in his voice. No wonder, considering that the most he’d done in one sitting were three courses. Five was a challenge.
Aziraphale was looking forward to it.
He felt a bit anxious as he arrived at the door of Crowley’s flat. He still wasn’t sure what exactly had brought on this new hobby – every few weeks, Crowley would invite him, but when Aziraphale arrived, he always acted frazzled and grumpy, never really relaxing even during dinner. Aziraphale had tried everything – he’d asked him, of course, had complimented his food, had eaten everything down to the last speck, had offered to clean up the kitchen. It would be only fair seeing that Crowley was spoiling him so much.
But every time, Crowley would deny him and become even more grumpy.
Yes, Aziraphale was looking forward to it, but he was still worried about his dear friend.
Crowley answered the door a bare breath after he’d knocked.
„Hello, my dear,“ Aziraphale smiled shyly at him. „Thank you for the invitation.“
„’s nothing to say thank you for, angel,“ Crowley waved him off. „C’mon, don’t just stand there as if you’ve been turned into a pillar of salt.“
Aziraphale did. He hung up his coat, hat and scarf on the coat rack in the corner. The motions were familiar by now, as was Crowley’s flat.
Quiet music came from somewhere in the dining room, even though there was no record player to be seen.
Of course, it smelled heavenly. Though the scents were so many-faceted that he’d have trouble picking up a single one – fish, perhaps? And something citrusy.
Knowing better than to follow Crowley into the sanctuary of his kitchen, he instead sauntered through the flat, inspecting the sparse decoration. Crowley kept his flat mostly devoid of any clutter, and so the dark walls were bare and the dining room empty except for one table and two chairs.
He’d sometimes wondered why Crowley chose it like this, but then he remembered going to Hell – disguised as his hellish friend – and the sheer chaos down there. Maybe it was easier this way.
Crowley had set the table as always – no, not quite, he noticed. Yes, the table was set for one as always, only a second wine glass for Crowley on it. But this time, he’d placed a single, dark red candle in the middle of the table. The flame was flickering slightly.
Well, it was a nice touch.
Something clattered in the kitchen. Aziraphale twisted the ring on his finger. He wanted to go and help Crowley, but he knew that his help wouldn’t be appreciated, so instead he carefully slid out the chair situated in front of the tableware and sat down.
A few minutes later, Crowley emerged from the kitchen, holding a plate.
„First course!“ he announced as he placed the plate in front of Aziraphale. „Scallops in a reduction of avocado and bergamot. Tug in, angel.“
„Oh, my.“ Aziraphale looked down at the presented food – five scallops, glistening in a yellow sauce with little drops of green – the avocado, surely. Aziraphale had been sceptical when he’d been first introduced to them, but then had taken a liking to their versatility. „Thank you, this looks delicious.“
„Don’t give out compliments until you tried it,“ Crowley grumbled before he plopped himself down opposite of him.
Aziraphale knew better than to argue with him by that point – and he also didn’t want the food to become cold.
He selected the outermost cutlery, then gently speared a scallop and wiped it through the sauce which was thick enough to cling to the scallop. He led it to his mouth, then gently slid the scallop from his fork.
Oh, it was heavenly – the bergamot had a slight sting to it, perfectly balanced with the scallop’s sea aroma, and the fat from the avocado enhanced the entire taste. Unwittingly, Aziraphale closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he found Crowley had been watching him, but quickly looked away. Aziraphale chewed, swallowed, then dabbed his mouth with the tablecoth before saying, „It really is delicious, my dear.“
Crowley flushed.
„Wasn’t that hard,“ he said, fumbling with the tablecloth.
„I doubt that. I would have no idea how to even begin cooking something like this.“
„There’s plenty of videos on YouTube,“ Crowley said, then abruptly got up and vanished into the kitchen again. Aziraphale, having no idea what a YouTube was, had no other choice than to finish his food.
In the past few months, Crowley had developed his culinary skills to a next level. Aziraphale was impressed by the dedication he’d shown for cooking, a dedication he’d previously only shown for doing mischief and booze.
Shortly after he’d finished his scallops, Crowley emerged with another plate of food, swapping it out with his empty one. This time, there was some kind of meat wrapped in a thin, crimson red band.
„What’s this?“ Aziraphale asked.
„Uh, it’s pigeon. The, uh, dark stuff around it is port jelly. I’ve experimented a bit, y’know, with the thickness and how much port, but I think you’ll like it.“
„Thank you, my dear.“ Aziraphale felt his crows feet wrinkle as he smiled up at Crowley. „It looks like you went through a lot of effort for today.“
„Gnnh ... ’s nothing, really.“ Crowley shifted on his feet.
He seemed uncomfortable – why, Aziraphale had no idea – so he decided to break the tension by trying the second course. Of course, it was even more delicious than the first one. The dish looked simple, but the spices and port that had gone into the dish made for a remarkably deep flavor.
Crowley had sat down opposite of him and sneaked a few glances between sips of wine.
„Won’t you try it?“ Aziraphale asked when he’d only had a small piece left.
„Nah, I had plenty in the kitchen.“
„Please? You should also reap the fruit of your labour.“
„Already doing that, angel,“ Crowley muttered under his breath, but then, louder: „Alright, fine.“
He reached for the fork, apparently expecting Aziraphale to hand it over, but Aziraphale had already picked up the last bit of the food and now held it out to him. The fork was hovering between them. Crowley went unnaturally still. His eyes flicked a single time over to Aziraphale, then back to the fork – and then he leaned forward and closed his mouth around it.
„How is it?“ Aziraphale asked.
„’s good,“ Crowley said with full mouth. „’m gonna get the next one.“
And so it continued. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he should be worried or just enjoy how much effort Crowley had gone through just for him. From fish basted in butter, lemon and rosemary to a veal sweatbread with parmesan and truffles, each course was accompanied by Crowley sipping his wine while watching him eat. He would’ve felt uncomfortable if he wasn’t accustomed to Crowley’s strange habits.
„Mhhm, this was delicious.“ Aziraphale, short of dipping his fingers into the truffle sauce, scraped the remnants off the plate with his fork. „Really, Crowley, don’t you dare make inviting me a habit; I might become a glutton.“
„As if you weren’t already, angel.“ Crowley watched him, head propped up by one hand. They had finished the bottle of wine between them. The candle had burned down to only a few inches, bathing Crowley’s face in low light. Outside, the sky had darkened. It must be quite late.
Aziraphale had continued to compliment each dish in excess – and meant it every time. He felt quite well cared for, and a bit spoiled. Especially regarding the fact that Crowley hadn’t eaten anything on his own except for a bit or two. After a while, Crowley had seemed to become relaxed, and his mouth had done that little smile which was so small others might miss it.
Aziraphale folded his hands over his full stomach and sighed.
„This evening is quite a treat, my dear,“ he said.
„There’s still one course left,“ Crowley said, a tinge of smugness in his voice. Aziraphale blinked at him, surprised.
„Really?“
„Oh yes. Or d’you think I would let you leave without any dessert?“
„My dear, you spoil me! What is it?“
„Wait and see, angel.“ With that, Crowley disappeared into the kitchen again.
Aziraphale hummed. Yes, he was quite full, but there was always a special place in his heart for dessert. That Crowley had not only cooked him several courses, but also remembered his sweet tooth put the cherry on the cake.
He glanced at the open kitchen door where he was hearing the noises of Crowley bustling about. What had really brought this on?
Come to think of it, this wasn’t the first time Crowley had done something nice for him. Crowley was, even if he didn’t like to hear it, a nice person. Well, demon. But the nicest one he knew. But that niceness usually extended almost exlusively to Aziraphale.
Had he ever done something nice for Crowley?
He couldn’t remember.
What would that look like, anyway? Aziraphale had plenty of vices to indulge in – good food, books, and music – but Crowley? Yes, he appreciated a good bottle of alcohol, but apart from that?
Oh, yes – of course! Even if he was harsh with them, Crowley definitely loved his plants.
He was still thinking about what kind of plants Crowley would prefer when said demon came back into the living room, holding a plate in one hand and a bottle of port and two dessert wine glasses in the other.
„This looks superb,“ Aziraphale said as the plate was placed in front of him. „What is it?“
„Hazelnut ice cream. Not too sweet, I think.“
„I bet it’ll taste divine,“ Aziraphale said, nearly wiggling in his chair in anticipation. Crowley sat opposite of him, pouring them two glasses of the heavy dessert wine.
„Made it first, so it had plenty of time to cool in the freezer,“ he said.
Aziraphale dug into the ice cream with the last remaining piece of cutlery, a small spoon with a long handle. The ice cream was a rich brown, with small hazelnut chunks sticking out of it, coated in thin stripes of honey.
He took a bite.
And nearly spit it out.
Something was wrong with this dish – it wasn’t sweet at all, but salty! His eyes watered. The salt stung on his tongue, but now Crowley was looking at him in concern.
„What? What is it? It’s not good?“ he quickly asked.
Aziraphale forced himself to swallow.
„N-No, not at all! I was just surprised at the, ah, flavour!“
„You hate it,“ Crowley stated flatly.
„I do not.“
„I can tell when you’re lying.“
„But I’m not!“
„You don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it!“ Crowley hissed.
„But I do like it, here, I will eat it-“ Aziraphale made to eat another bite, but then Crowley snatched the ice cream laden spoon and chomped it down instead. Their eyes met.
Crowley spat it out.
„Ugh, what the hell? I mixed up sugar and salt!“ With a snap of his fingers, he vanished the mishapen dessert. There was only a little bit left on the corner of his mouth. „Like an amateur, how could that happen? – And you,“ he narrowed his eyes at Aziraphale, „why didn’t you wanna tell me, huh?“
„Ah ... I didn’t want to ruin your good mood.“
Crowley narrowed his eyes.
„Does it look like I’m in a good mood now?“
Oh, this was rapidly going pear-shaped! And he loved pears.
„Please, Crowley,“ Aziraphale held his hands up placatingly, „You must believe me that the rest of the food was good! Excellent even! I didn’t want to discourage you. I didn’t know you liked cooking so much.“
„I don’t like cooking.“
Aziraphale stared at him.
„What?“
„Nothing.“ Crowley looked away. „It’s late. Better get back to your bookshop, angel. I gotta clean up the kitchen.“
Aziraphale miracled the kitchen clean with a thought.
„There, all done. Now, would you like to tell me what this really is about?“
„There’s nothing about.“
„Crowley.“
„’s just a waste of food, isn’t it? All that stuff, all this preparation, for n’thing.“
„But it wasn’t for nothing!“ Aziraphale „What you did today is amazing. You worked so hard to prepare this meal for me. I really enjoyed this evening, Crowley.“
Crowley looked at him.
„You did?“
„Yes.“
„Even though I messed it up?“
Aziraphale smiled slightly.
„I wouldn’t change a thing.“
Crowley’s face was awfully red. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets, and his spine was doing that thing where it had apparently forgotten that it didn’t belong to a snake anymore.
He still had bits of ice cream at one corner of his mouth. Aziraphale stepped close to him.
„You have something here,“ he said, and only then noticed how Crowley’s pupils had suddenly doubled in size. Nevertheless, he took the napkin from the table and wiped the ice cream off. „There, all better.“
„Aziraphale,“ Crowley said in a faint voice.
„Hm?“ Aziraphale gently folded the napkin and set it aside.
„You really liked it?“
It really was a shame about that dessert. He could have gone for something sweet right now. He blinked at Crowley’s question.
„Yes, that’s what I just said.“
And then something extraordinary happened.
One second, Crowley looked at him as if he’d hung the stars in the sky, and the next one his hand touched his cheek, slid through the fine hair on his neck, and pulled him close until their lips touched.
They kissed. Aziraphale knew it was a kiss, he was an angel after all, but he’d never done this before in the 6000-odd years he had been alive.
Crowley made to pull back, so Aziraphale did the only sensible thing and kissed him back. Their lips moved against each other slowly, carefully, exploring the new sensations. Aziraphale’s eyes had fluttered close at the first touch. It felt electric, every sense enhanced, the slight pressure of Crowley’s hand against his neck, his warm breath, the smooth texture of his lips, still salty from the failed dessert. Everything made sense now. No wonder Crowley hadn’t wanted to eat any of his own food when he’d been starving for something else.
Finally, they parted, but still remained close together, sharing their breath in the miniscule space between them.
Neither of them said anything for a moment.
„I have a proposal,“ Aziraphale said eventually.
„Anything, angel.“ Crowley’s voice was hoarse. Aziraphale gently took his hand between his own.
„Tomorrow, I’ll come back here. Same time as usual. And then you’re going to show me how to make that dessert.“
Crowley made a series of unintelligible sounds, blushing even harder than before.
„Ngh fine, yeah. Sounds good.“
„Very nice. It’s a date!“ Aziraphale clapped his hands together.
And when Crowley blushed the most beautiful red, Aziraphale kissed him some more. He found that he’d developed quite an appetite for it.