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‘An olive tree, angel?’ asked Crowley with a smirk.
Aziraphale turned round to see the demon walking across the Acropolis Hill to join her. ‘Oh yes, it's a symbol of peace you see, a reward to the humans for their advances in “civilization.”’ (Yes, the angel used air quotes) ‘Upstairs are very keen on this new democracy-thing they have developed, much better than simply having the strongest in charge.’ Aziraphale nodded happily.
‘Oh, they're in favour of debate now are they?’
‘Well, for humans anyway.’
The two figures stood for some time, admiring the gnarled trunk and spread branches of the olive tree, its leaves providing much needed shade on the hot afternoon. They were both dressed in the loose fabrics favoured by the most aristocratic women of the age, both with long curling hair–red and blond–beyond their shoulders and arranged and styled with elaborate pins.
‘Bit on the nose, don’cha think? Athens, the philosophical city that prides itself on its intellectual prowess is rewarded with a new tree, when the last humans who sought knowledge were punished for taking a fruit from a tree.”
‘You know I can’t question Heaven's directives, my job was simply to plant the thing.’
‘And a very fine job of it you made too.’ Crowley winked and Aziraphale wasn’t sure if she should take it as a compliment or if she was being sarcastic. You never could tell with demons. ‘Y’know I’ve heard they are thinking of renaming the city because of it… Renaming it after you, angel.’
‘After me? Oh no, that simply will not do. Heaven won’t like that.’
‘Oh yes, the poets are already spreading their versions. A bloke I met in the pub said he heard an epic poem about the competition between the Gods, Poseidon produced sea water wells, but you, my beautiful Goddess Athena gave them the olive tree. They got the name wrong, but I knew they were talking about you.’
‘Oh dear, oh dear… Blasphemy, false idols, oh Heaven will not like this one little bit.’ The angel was spiralling, Crowley had seen it before. What the humans would one day call a panic attack. She was breathing far too fast, wringing her hands and now pacing up and down.
‘Calm down, you know these lot are superstitious, they'll attribute every little thing to the "Will of the Gods", and you were only doing as you were told.’
‘The Gods?! Pleural? oh no, no, no!’
Crowley had only wanted to reassure her, but she seemed to be getting herself even more worked up. Hysteria the quack medics called it, but Crowley didn't much care for what they thought. They'd probably recommend a quick slap or a sudden shock, something to pull her out of it. Crowley pulled off her dark glasses and threw them to the ground, she stepped forward and grabbed the fretful angel by her robes pulling her in for a (with hindsight) forceful kiss.
Aziraphale paused in her panic and melted into the embrace. She had, in her more idle moments, wondered what kissing Crowley would feel like. Humans seemed so very keen on the act, she supposed it must be pleasant. In her daydreams they would edge ever closer, both of them by unspoken agreement would bring their lips to touch, gentle and delicate.
This kiss was nothing like that. It was like a bolt of lightning or the spark of flint on steel. It was passionate and devastating and Not Enough. Aziraphale moved her hands to warp around Crowley's shoulders, pulling her closer and then pulling them both down onto the dusty ground. They landed with a humpf in the shade of the olive tree, and recommenced snogging again.
Aziraphale couldn't get enough. The sweet, smokey taste of Crowley was like nothing she had ever sampled before. And the fact the demon seemed to want her too, wanted to explore her, to touch her just as much as she wanted to touch, made her feel giddy with happiness.
...
Crowley gestured to the painting, “that's surely one of your favourites, angel?”
“Our first kiss? Oh yes my love, but look at this one…” and she turned the album page over.