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Aziraphale was standing in the warmth of the eternal fire, lost in his thoughts. The war, angels, rebel angels, generals, swords, smiting, darkness... God.
He pressed his eyes shut, trying to steady himself by taking a deep and unnecessary breath when he felt something... no, someone...
It all happened so quickly and in all fairness, he was too exhausted to react anyway and before he could reach for his sword, he had a knife against his throat and a warm whisper against his ear.
"If you shout out or do anything to attract attention, you will be a dead angel. Do you understand?"
The attacker was standing behind him, so he couldn't see his face, but despite the situation, the voice felt almost familiar, almost melodic, almost soothing under the ridiculous circumstances...
"Do you understand?" The warm voice repeated against the back of his neck.
Aziraphale gave a slight nod but didn't trust his own voice to speak. Maybe he wanted to get away from the pressure against his neck. Maybe he wanted to relax his tense corporation. Maybe said corporation went to autopilot and moved in spite of said angel, but he slowly tilted his head backwards, leaning into the body standing right behind him.
Aziraphale's cheek brushed against the cheek of the rebel who immediately tensed behind him. Was that a sigh he heard of more like felt in his hair?
Very slowly, the sharp object left his neck and he heard it discarded on the ground. Maybe it wasn't a knife after all, judging by the sound of it. Interesting.
"General Aziraphale." He heard a low whisper against his cheek, goosebumps tingling his skin.
"I know who you are. I saw you on the battlefield." The too familiar stranger continued and a realization started to dawn on the angel, his head still thrown back and resting on someones bony shoulder.
"I have a lot of... questions." The rebel lips almost touched the skin of Aziraphale's exposed neck, just above the collar of his uniform.
"Don't ask those questions." He replied, finally finding his shaky voice, turning his head ever so slightly to plant a ghost of a kiss on the cheek he would recognize anywhere.
"Because the answer is we shouldn't. We can't. Not now, not ever. And I don't want to hear..." He was cut short by lips claiming his in a clumsy yet desperate kiss.
It tasted of smoke and salt and sweat but it felt right. It was the first thing in God knows how long that felt so right and perfect and Aziraphale couldn't get enough. Nevertheless, he broke the kiss to turn around and look into those eyes he'd grown to love before everything went pear-shaped. The eyes staring back at him were wide and unblinking, but shey soon fluttered shut as the rebel angel laid a hand on Aziraphale's chest and closed the distance for their second kiss.
Only God herself knows how long they were standing by the fire, hungrily tasting each other, humming with pleasure, neither one of them willing to let go, to break the spell. Until in simply wasn't enough. Aziraphale, ever the general, took charge and clinging onto the other angel's cloak, moved to pin him against one of the collumns surrounding the fire. Or at least that's was he was trying to do when said rebel angel winced in pain and stumbled to the ground.
"What's wrong?" Aziraphale exclaimed, terrified, noticing a huge gaping wound. How had he missed that?!? He immediately rached for a piece of linen cloth on his forearm.
"It may hurt, but it'll help to staunch the wound a little." He explained, wrapping it around the bleeding thigh.
"I've spent the war smiting rebel angels. I've never done this before."
"Have to say... I'm... I'm quite... smitten." The rebel breathed in pain, reaching for Aziraphales face. They shared one last kiss and the general was the first to move away.
"We shouldn't. We can't. Not now, not ever again." He rasped out, feeling hot tears rolling down his cheeks, their foreheads still touching. Deep down he knew that if they continued, he wouldn't be able to stop and the pain it could cause to the only being he cared about...
"Should I say thank you?"
"Better not."