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"I have a surprise for you."
Those words from anyone else would've had Crowley already heading for the next continent. But Aziraphale offers them with a nervous laugh, hands clasped together, looking more cautiously excited than tense.
"A surprise?"
Aziraphale nods, and Crowley lets him catch hold of his elbows and slowly ease him back onto the sofa. He's wary but intrigued, the angel rarely plans things and he can't help wondering why the sudden decision to start. But Aziraphale smiles and moves behind him, his large, warm hands briefly squeezing Crowley's shoulders, as if to ask him to stay there, to wait, before slipping away. There's a long moment of nothing, and then the angel's aura twists sharply, the shape of it changing and stretching in a way that feels vaguely familiar. So much so that Crowley almost turns around, until there's a pushing, sliding curl of strange pressure over his left shoulder. He looks down instinctively - and feels all the breath lodge in his throat.
Aziraphale slithers awkwardly into view, moving in slow, inexperienced clenches and squirms until he's an untidy sprawl of white scales between Crowley's chest and thighs.
"Ta Da." There's a hiss of laughter.
The transformation is skilfully done, suggesting that Aziraphale has practised it a few times already. He's a long stretch of shining, serpentine loops, the faintest hint of powder blue to his underbelly. The diamond shape of his head is raised to see Crowley, waiting impatiently for his reaction.
It's hard to find words for a second, because the sight of Aziraphale in snake form is a little overwhelming.
"Oh, angel, look at you."
Aziraphale is beautiful like this, he's kept the exact shade of his eyes, and the same air of amused delight. He sways gently, his whole form clearly pleased by Crowley's reaction, and it's so familiar, so Aziraphale that he has to laugh. The angel moves around a little, as if to show off his skills at slithering, which are as adorable as they are inexperienced. His nudges are curious and exploratory, his long forked tongue flickering in excitement. Crowley falls in love with him a little more.
"I confesss, thisss isss harder than it looksss." Aziraphale gives an amused wriggle in Crowley's lap that punches all the breath out of him.
"You're not used to changing form," he offers through a dry throat. It occurs to him suddenly that Aziraphale did this for him. He's obviously been practising this transformation in secret, for Crowley, and the thought leaves something warm unfurling in his chest.
"Heaven did frown on it terribly," Aziraphale admits.
Heaven did a lot of frowning. Judgy bunch of pricks up there. Crowley gives in to the urge to touch him, to lay fingers on those glossy scales that flex and pull, expanding into his touch in surprised pleasure.
"Oh that's lovely." Aziraphale's tongue slides out in his direction, wraps around Crowley's gently smoothing fingers - and Crowley's blood goes hot at how obviously flirtatious that is.
The angel doesn't even know.
There's a tug at his shirt as Aziraphale climbs him. His tongue continuing its fascinated tasting of the world, and when his body twists - on a stubborn fold of Crowley's shirt - it flutters, long and warm, straight across Crowley's mouth.
"Oh, terribly sssorry, thisss thing'sss hard to control." If a snake could blush, Aziraphale would manage it.
Crowley can taste the angel's joyful affection, and his whole body is vibrating.
"Would you like to change too?" Aziraphale asks tentatively. The slow weave of his head and the 'flick, flick' of his tongue read so clearly as enthusiasm, as excitement. He doesn't know how to hide his feelings in this form, everything's new and different like this. "I'd appreciate your direction."
Crowley immediately considers it, considers letting himself uncoil and sink down onto the floor with him. To slither close to Aziraphale's pretty, shining scales, and clumsy, serpentine body. His brazen, flirtatious wriggles proclaiming he's available, and receptive. He imagines the angel could even be persuaded to let Crowley twine around him, to wrap his more experienced length over and under his stretched, scaled form, coiling upwards until he could press the underside of his snout down on top of Aziraphale's head, pin him to the floor and coax him to lift his tail -
"That'sss probably not a good idea," he says hurriedly.
Aziraphale's long body curls inwards, a protective movement that feels so obviously hurt and disappointed.
"Of courssse," he says, as if to dismiss the suggestion entirely. "Sssilly of me to expect you to - ah, but I'd appreciate the odd hint though, maybe you could jot a few thingsss down?" There's a hopeful flutter of tongue, and a wiggle of the angel's body across his thighs.
Crowley makes a decision - it's probably a stupid decision, but he makes it.
"Alright, fine, get on the floor. I'll take you on a few laps of the flat."
Aziraphale rears up, neck curving as he gives a wobbly sway of excitement, and Crowley will not laugh, this is a terrible idea.
"Oh, would you?" Aziraphale squirms sideways, briefly slithering over himself in his attempt to turn around. He looks down over Crowley's knee, tongue lashing quickly - Crowley doesn't know if he can judge the distance. He's damn sure he isn't experienced enough to give a dangling sway to check. "How do I - do I jussst fall?"
"No, Aziraphale, you don't just fall." Crowley carefully collects the angel's surprisingly light body and deposits it on the floor, to his obvious amused embarrassment.
"Oh, yesss, that's definitely easssier, thank you very much."
Crowley sighs and transforms as he slithers his way off the sofa. He's a snake before he hits the floor, and he curls his much larger, red and black scaled body into a loop around the angel, who's still curiously tonguing the floor, probably overwhelmed by all the scents. Before he can say anything, Aziraphale slithers in close, tucks his head under Crowley's snout and gently rubs it against the small, sensitive scales there. All Crowley's higher brain functions abruptly shut down.
Aziraphale sways back and he's so obviously smiling, even without the right equipment.
"Oh, that was quite affectionate. Is that a greeting?" he asks curiously. "It felt like the way I should say hello."
Crowley is going to die. He's actually going to die.