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Aziraphale sat in his favorite armchair with a book open on his lap, but he hadn't turned a page in five minutes.
He couldn't concentrate because his demon had just entered the room and was impossible to ignore.
Crowley said nothing.
He walked around the armchair where the angel was sitting and leaned over him, burying his face in his hair. Taking a deep breath, he whispered, "You smell really good today, angel."
Aziraphale closed his eyes and thought to himself, for the fourth time that day, "This is it."
He tilted his head back slightly, opening his mouth invitingly.
But Crowley pulled away, smiling as if he hadn't seen anything. He asked, before heading for the kitchen, "Would you like some tea?" "
Aziraphale let out a barely audible grunt as he slammed the book shut on his lap.
The first time had been after breakfast while he was washing the dishes. The second time was mid-morning, when Crowley returned from the garden. A third time occurred just before lunch while Aziraphale was setting the table.
Each time, the ritual was the same: Crowley came up to him, kissed him somewhere on his face, complimented the part he had just kissed, and left as quickly as he had arrived, leaving Aziraphale unsatisfied.
But next time, it wouldn't be like that.
Word of a frustrated angel!
Later that evening, while Aziraphale was listening to music in his armchair, Crowley approached him again. The angel didn't move, but he was prepared. The demon stopped behind the angel's chair, wrapped his arms around his shoulders, and kissed him on the neck.
Crowley stood up and began to speak as he circled the armchair. "Your skin, angel, is..."
He didn't have time to finish because Aziraphale had turned and grabbed his lapels. He pulled Crowley toward him with force, unbalancing the demon, who fell onto the angel's lap.
At first surprised, Crowley did not react.
Then, Aziraphale kissed him.
He crushed his mouth against Crowley's, putting all the hunger and frustration he had stored up during the day into the kiss.
Crowley made a sound between a laugh and a moan, willingly submitting to the kiss. His hands found Aziraphale's waist and clung tightly to it. He moved to settle more completely on Aziraphale's lap, pressing his thighs on either side of him.
Aziraphale's fingers tangled in Crowley's red hair at the nape of his neck. He pulled Crowley closer and tilted his head to deepen the kiss.
Ultimately, they were forced to reluctantly separate just enough to breathe, their foreheads pressed together and their eyes closed.
Crowley chuckled, panting, “That took you long enough, Angel...”
Between ragged breaths, Aziraphale replied, "I knew it. I knew you were doing it on purpose! You little—"
Crowley interrupted him with a light kiss.
"Of course I was. The look on your face every time...it was priceless."
He ran his thumb over Aziraphale's swollen lips, then continued, "But I thought you'd give in after the third time. Maybe even after the second.”
Aziraphale shook his head.
“There's no doubt which one of us is the demon.”
"But I am your demon," Crowley replied, leaning down to gently nibble Aziraphale's lower lip and eliciting another soft moan.
Aziraphale pulled back slightly as if to evade him and playfully said, "You do realize you're going to have to make up for messing with me like that, don't you, my dear demon?"
"Oh?"
Crowley raised an eyebrow.
"How exactly do you propose I do that, angel?"
"Easy. A kiss for every time you tormented me today. Real kisses.”
Crowley chuckled softly, thinking that it really wasn't much to ask.
However, he couldn't resist teasing the angel, asking in a challenging tone, "What if I refuse?"
With his hands on the demon's hips, Aziraphale gave him a suggestive little hip thrust.
"Then I'll do it myself."
"You almost make me want to refuse, angel." Almost.”
But he didn't.
Leaning forward, he pressed a deep, unhurried kiss on the angel's lips.
When it ended, he gave him another.
And then another.
By the fifth kiss, they were both breathless again. Aziraphale's shirt was half unbuttoned, and Crowley's mouth had moved down his neck.
There was no more frustration; nothing was left to forgive.
As Crowley's mouth moved lower, Aziraphale's last lucid thought was that being teased by his demon wasn't so bad after all.