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The first time nearly stopped Crawly’s heart. Only nearly, fortunately--it was early days yet and he wasn't quite sure how he'd have got it started again.
The village was small. All the villages were small; there were barely more than a handful and nearly everybody still knew Adam and Eve by name and by sight. Most of them still called her ‘Mother.’
So there was really no reason Crawly could figure out why, when Aziraphale pulled him away from the harvest festival, he should be so surprised.
They had both been enjoying the new beer that the humans had discovered. It didn't taste good, particularly, but it made him feel bubbly. The funny things were funnier, and the sad things were sadder, and when the angel grabbed his hand and hoisted him up he followed without resistance.
It was to do with the effects of the beer, Aziraphale exclaimed enthusiastically, and the effects the beer had later. But it didn't have to be that way for them, Aziraphale said. The humans would be sad and sick tomorrow, and he couldn't exactly fix that for the entire town, but he could at least show Crawly how not to be sad and sick with them.
It took a few moments. Watching the angel pull the beer from his system was entirely too funny for Crawly to stop laughing anytime soon. Just, just the angel's face, and that little wiggle that he did, and that little pink tongue darting in and out of his mouth like he had a bad taste there, and for a moment the angel had loosened up and forgot to be concerned and self-righteous.
So it was perfectly reasonable for him to not be paying attention. Reasonable to think that watching the angel exclaim and try to teach him was much more entertaining than losing this feeling that buoyed him. He hadn’t felt like this, not since he Fell, not before he Fell either, this was new and it was lovely--
“Oi, are you okay back there?” came a voice from around the corner, and suddenly Aziraphale had grabbed his robe and pulled him up, pushed him against a wall and was shoving those adorable pink lips against his own.
It did the work that the angel had been trying to talk him through for half an hour. All the beer vaporized out of his system, turning, as far as he could tell, into steam pouring out of his ears.
"Oh, sorry," he heard distantly. But all his attention was on this-- warmth and Angel-sunshine against his lips, soft and faintly stubbly, tasting of beer and honey.
Aziraphale pulled back. Crawly whined, deep in his throat, and tried to chase him.
"There then," Aziraphale said, smoothing out the wrinkles in Crawly's robe. "I knew you'd get the hang of it. Now you just need to learn to do it without the interruptions!"
Occasionally, over the millennia, Crawly wondered if he had dreamt the entire affair, lips and all. The angel continued to be fussy but sometimes there would be a look, and Crawly would remember the stone at his back and those lips on his. Sometimes humans would kiss him, but it was never the same--never so far off guard, never feeling so right and so deliciously wrong all at once. Some of the human kisses were quite nice, even, but they always made him think of that one kiss.
He daydreamed, sometimes, about it happening again. He might have made (but would never admit to) elaborate plans about what he would do if it ever did happen again--he wouldn't be caught off guard, he determined; he would play it cool. He would be suave and not surprised at all.
Which, of course, is why when Aziraphale did it again Crawly was completely unprepared for the reality of it.
She had decided on a new presentation, for a while. Wanted to change the way she thought, force people to see her differently. And she didn't feel that Crawly was the right name for her, really, but she hadn't decided what she wanted it to be, so switching up how people saw her would have to do.
It made her happy, made her feel like a different demon almost… right up until she crashed a wedding and ran smack into Aziraphale.
“Oh!” Aziraphale smiled broadly at her, and the room was a little lighter. Crawly wasn’t sure if it was wine that had so buoyed the angel or the general atmosphere of love and happiness--he always got a little tipsy at weddings, unless things had already gone very wrong--but buoyed he was, and Crawly caught the overflow like water in the desert.
“Angel,” she said with a grin. “Didn’t know you’d be in town!”
“Here to bless the union, of course!” Aziraphale gestured with his glass, miraculously not actually spilling any of the contents. “And of course the wine is lovely, so much better than the early beer, isn’t it?”
“Oh, very much,” Crawly said, working to keep her cool and not let scales erupt up her spine. A cheerful love-drunk angel was as good as a basking stone any day.
“And what brings you? Wiling? Tempting?” Aziraphale’s smile was, if anything, even brighter. “What do I need to thwart?”
Me, Crawly thought hopelessly, you need to thwart me. Aloud she only said, “Just on my way through, but it’s all the town has been talking about. You know me and weddings--a bit of lust, a bit of jealousy, and if I’m lucky a nice helping of rage. Always good for a pick-me-up.”
“Oh, you silly demon. I’m not sure how you could reduce such a happy day to just that.” And he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in towards him.
Crawly had to stop for a moment--Aziraphale had put his arm around her shoulders.
Deliberately.
This was very nearly an act of snuggling, happening here, in broad daylight, under Heaven’s sky.
“I--” she started, and had no idea where to go from there that wasn’t going to devolve into begging for some quite personal acts in the middle of this crowd.
Fortunately, someone else broke in. “Ah, Mr Aziraphale! So glad you could attend! The scribe said you might grace us,” said an older, greying gentleman. “And who is this?”
“This? Oh,” Aziraphale said. “This is… my wife,” he finished with the barest hesitation.
Crawly froze, all possible responses fleeing from her numbstruck tongue. Had she really thought this interruption was fortunate?
“She’s been visiting her family, but now she’s back with me. Right, my dear?”
Crawly stared at him for a full three heartbeats before nodding. “Just got to town,” she managed, and hoped it was intelligible.
“Oh, lovely! I’m so glad you could make it--don’t they look radiant?” said the gentleman, and she followed his gaze to the newly-married couple and tried not to wish him into the deepest pits of Hell. What’s this one damned for? someone would ask her, and she’d have to answer, He made the angel call me his wife, and then didn’t go immediately away so I could properly melt into soup or possibly be ravished, and that simply wouldn’t look good tucked away in her file.
“Oh, they’re just lovely,” Aziraphale gushed. “I’m sure they’ll have a lovely, happy, blessed marriage!”
And Crawly felt the tingle of a wash of blessing leave the angel and flow over and around her, stinging against her skin but too good-natured to be anything harsh. She was quite sure there was no couple in a thousand miles so blessed as this one, and was fairly certain she was part of the cause--without as many distractions Aziraphale would have been more temperate in his blessing. “Perhaps we should go, though,” she began, wondering if she could perhaps steal some time with her angel when he was so generous.
“But you must stay!” boomed the gentleman, who she was beginning to slot into a father-of-the-celebrants role. She wasn’t sure whether he was the father of the bride or the groom, but he had a very proprietary air indeed about the newly wedded couple. “We have entertainments, and the banquet has barely begun!”
“Oh, now, Crawly, the banquet has barely begun,” echoed Aziraphale. “It would be in frightfully bad taste to leave now.”
“And it wouldn’t taste as good, either,” she murmured, and he laughed all out of proportion.
“And that! The wine is excellent, I look forward to the food!"
“So glad to hear it,” said the father, and took himself off to keep some other guest from getting something they hadn’t dared dream about that morning.
The next time that it happened was in Rome, of course it was in Rome. If anything deeply confusing and frustratingly carnal was going to happen to Crowley, it was going to be in Rome. He’d sailed through the entire Grecian age without his angel so much as hinting at anything risque and then Rome came along.
He really had been called to town for a temptation, and he had done his best right up to the point where he had to stop himself writing a screed to Below asking exactly what they thought HE was going to accomplish here that the humans hadn’t done all by themselves.
Dagon, he thought, would not have appreciated that, either. Emperor of Rome, sentenced to Hell for… okay, Crowley, either you’ve really outdone yourself or you’re making half these things up, because I live in the pits of Hell and even I can’t picture this. Do human bodies even work that way? he could imagine her saying. Get back up there and do some honest tempting this time. And quit handing me your weird fantasies!
So it wasn’t that unreasonable that he was in a bad mood, right? Tempting people was entirely unnecessary in this place, and he was going to have to write a report out on it that somehow made it look like he had instigated things but also that things were reasonable and believable things to have happened and at the end of the day he was just going to drink this entire jug of house brown and probably three more (the barmaid’s idea of what was drinkable didn’t entirely match with his, but he was sure the second one would taste better) and hope that drunken dreams gave him something he could put in a report.
“Crawly? Erm, Crowley?” came a voice behind him, and it was all he could do not to spit out his ale. Here, the angel was HERE, why was the angel HERE? How on earth did the angel manage to be here and still--he turned, and oh, yes--still be his fussy, spotless self? How was it that this place didn’t just cover him with muck from the beginning?
Still, it was good to see him. Good to talk with him, be reminded that this past week wasn’t all there was, and his blackened heart gave a little thrill when Aziraphale tempted him to oysters. Petronius, Petronius, the name was somewhat familiar, but in the face of that bright angelic enthusiasm he couldn’t remember…
Oh, he realized as they got closer and Aziraphale took his hand to lead him to the bar. THAT Petronius.
I know I Fell. Fine. I asked too many questions. Okay. But why why why are you torturing me like this? he asked helplessly of the Almighty.
Somehow, in the midst of the press of writhing bodies, he couldn’t discern an answer.
His hand was grabbed and he pulled back before realizing it was just Aziraphale holding on to him. “Come on,” the angel said over the din. “I think the oysters are this way!”
No oysters were going to be worth this, Crowley thought, adjusting his tunic self-consciously. A hand groped out of the crowd toward him and he swatted it away, wishing he had whatever quality was making the crowd part for Aziraphale to walk through.
The oysters were worth it.
He really, really didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t even like the oysters, really; they were cold and mucusy and slightly fishy, although the lemon juice did help. He was cramped and eating things that felt like snot and his body was reacting in some mortifying ways and there was no place he’d rather be.
Aziraphale offered him the last oyster, then grinned delightedly when he shook his head no and pushed the platter back toward the angel. Blunt, neat fingers picked up the final shell and anointed it with lemon juice, then tipped the whole thing back into his throat. That pink tongue flicked out to lick at the soft curve of the shell, flattening and narrowing to pick it clean of juices.
Pale lips smacked around the liquid and then parted in a moan that rivaled the worst carnal excesses of those around them for sheer obscenity. “Ooohh, yes. Scrummy!”
Crowley might never stand up again, actually. And it would still be worth it.
“Would you like some more wine, my dear? Or something else to eat? I’m sorry the oysters weren’t to your taste--”
Crowley shook his head before he could overthink it. “No. ‘M fine. But, um, you can have more. If you want.” His entire body ached with need--some parts more than others--but he still found himself regretting that they were done here.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly. No, I appreciate you indulging me--”
Crowley wanted nothing more than to indulge his angel. For hours, even.
“--but you’ve been very patient and we should be going. I do have a lovely red back at my rooms, if you’d care to join me?”
The vision of Aziraphale’s lips rose in his imagination, wine-stained and gasping his name with breathless abandon. He swallowed and banished it. “Sure,” he managed.
“Excellent, I’m so glad to hear it! Let me just pay up and we’ll be on our way,” Aziraphale said, and rose to stride through the ranks of people who somehow parted before him.
Crowley sat very still at his table with his eyes closed and tried to ignore the debauchery nearby, thinking cooling thoughts.
It was working until a hand grasped his thigh, working under the fabric of his tunic and moving its way upward. “Left you all alone, did he?” came one voice, and Crowley’s eyes snapped open to look, only to feel more hands and hear another voice behind him hiss, “Morsel like you should be savored--”
“Pardon me,” his angel’s voice interrupted, and those hands stilled. “But this gentleman is with me. You may go find your own partners, of course, but this one is mine.” The last word rang like steel. The hands pawing him abruptly departed.
Crowley huffed out a breath. “Thanks, angel, I--”
Aziraphale pulled him up, pinned him with that blue gaze, and deliberately crowded him into a wall, not caring if there were people between him and it (there were. They got out of the way).
“Angel?” he whispered, eyes locked.
“Mine,” Aziraphale said again, and pressed against him into the wall, lips locked on his.
It had been… it had been too damnably long, is what, and Crowley breathed into it, lungs stuttering as the wind was knocked out of him by sheer force of lust. The angel’s lips moved warm and soft against his for just a moment before pressing in with surprising force, his head pushing against the wall.
He couldn’t help it--he parted his lips and licked out with his tongue. Aziraphale tasted of sunlight and brine and lemon and wine and the oyster-taste that had done nothing for him on the shell was suddenly unbearably erotic when tasted off the angel’s lips.
Aziraphale growled at him and fisted a hand into his collar when his knees threatened to give out. That warm angelic mouth was suddenly hot, demanding, pushing into his and taking.
His body burned like a brand wherever the angel touched, and the angel was pressed against him everywhere. He sank into softness and felt the iron underneath, in the angel’s bones and muscles, in his grip in cloth, in… In….
He refused to classify the sound coming from his throat as a whimper.
Aziraphale must have heard it, though--must have realized how close Crowley was to overload, because in a staggering display of doing exactly the wrong thing the angel pulled back abruptly, with a little shake like he was settling his wings.
“Ah. Hmm. Yes. I--” the angel stammered, meeting Crowley’s eyes with his own darkened and lust-blown gaze. “I should be off, I think?” And his voice strangled to a squeak on that last word.
“I’ll come with,” Crowley managed, trying to make his knees hold him up without wall or clutching fist.
“Hmm. Yes, Probably--” Aziraphale loosened his grip experimentally, allowing Crowley to stand unaided. “Probably we should… we should go. Yes. Go.” He turned and started to walk off, unsteadily. Whatever power had people getting out of his way was still in force, though, and Crowley shoved himself upright very quickly before he could be left behind.
His hips were less than usually compliant as he swayed behind his angel, trying to take advantage of the wake. The display had been somewhat effective, at least; only one hand reached for him on the way out and it retreated when he hissed at it.
He found Aziraphale leaning against the wall outside, eyes closed and gulping air like a near-drowned man.
“Angel.” he said with feeling. “What--”
Aziraphale’s eyes flew open. “Oh, good! You’ve escaped!” he said jovially, not quite meeting Crowley’s gaze. “I’m so sorry, dear boy, I’ve utterly forgotten a… thing. Across town. Dreadfully late already, must be off. Mind how you go!”
The last was called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the crowd, faster than Crowley could begin to keep up with.
Crowley stood there for a moment, baffled and aroused and bereft, staring after his angel. “What the hell was that?” he finally asked the air.
A couple heading into Petronius’ place paused by him. “If you’ve been left all alone…” one of them started.
“Fuck off,” he snarled, and stalked back to his rooms to try to do something with the day’s utter confusion.
There was no good way home from the airbase, Crowley thought dejectedly, thinking of the burned-out husk of his beloved Bentley as they jostled in the back seat of Dick Turpin. The ride was appreciated, certainly… or so he’d thought, until Aziraphale, who had been growing more and more visibly agitated as they went through town, suddenly cried out, “Stop! Oh, look, a chemist, exactly what I needed, thank you my dears for the ride and all the help, don’t hesitate to call, Crowley wouldn’t you like to come along?” and took his box and himself off out of the car.
Crowley stared blankly after him for a moment before his brain caught up and he moved to climb out of the car. “Book girl,” he nodded. “...Book Girl’s boyfriend. Ta.” And he rushed out after his angel.
Aziraphale could move quite quickly when the mood took him, and apparently it had taken him now. He was already at the door to Boots and well inside by the time Crowley caught up.
“Angel--Angel!” Crowley caught Aziraphale’s arm, pulling him back. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Aziraphale turned to look at him, box under one arm, standing in the aisle surrounded by crisps and snacks. “Oh, Crowley, I--” he said, and broke off, panting.
“Hey--you can talk to me, okay? You can always, always talk to me.” He stepped forward, closer in, dropped his voice. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going--”
Aziraphale lunged for him.
They both stumbled back, knocking into a rack of crisps and hastily correcting as packets and the box hit the ground around them. When he stabilized, he had an armful of angel, lips pressed against his and his back shoved into the snack shelves.
It wasn’t what he was planning, but he wasn’t going to complain, either. Aziraphale was nearly climbing him trying to get closer. Breathless, desperate moans sounded into his mouth, and he drank them like nectar, totally subsumed in this moment. Thousands of years since he’d tasted this, thousands, and--
“A-hem,” someone said sternly, and possibly not for the first time. Aziraphale froze first, visibly gathering himself while Crowley looked over at the source of the voice.
The clerk had his hands on his hips and the expression of someone who had had better days and just was not paid enough to deal with people snogging in the aisles. “Condoms are aisle 6, mate, but you can’t use ‘em here.”
Aziraphale pulled back, flushing scarlet, and straightened his clothing self-consciously. “Terribly sorry,” he said without meeting anyone’s eyes. “Might you have a wine selection?”
“Think you two have had enough,” the clerk grumbled, but pointed them to a corner with a small shelf of wine. Aziraphale chose a bottle and handed it to Crowley to deal with before grabbing the box and stepping out the door.
Crowley met him outside in a moment and followed him to a bench near the bus stop. He’d thought to get a corkscrew, but it was a shit corkscrew and after thoroughly mangling the attempt he finally miracled the shreds of cork out and took a drink from the bottle.
“My turn,” Aziraphale said, holding out his hand.
Crowley passed him the bottle and watched him drink, lips around the top, pale throat moving in the streetlights.
“Doing better?” he asked quietly, and was rewarded by seeing Aziraphale flush again.
“Not sure I should use any miracles right now. Might draw attention,” the angel said, taking another, smaller swig.
“Okay. No more miracles. Whatever you want,” Crowley said. “Just talk to me?”
“I… I needed to move. I needed to, to hold you.”
“Mission fucking accomplished, then,” Crowley said without heat.
Aziraphale gave him a small embarrassed smile. “I still need to hold you,” he went on.
“I’m right here.”
“I think perhaps I should wait until we’re someplace less… public.”
Crowley peered over his sunglasses. “Just, ah… just what kind of holding are we actually discussing, here, angel?” he said, and reached for the wine. It was plonk, but it was alcoholic plonk and that’s all he really cared about. “I’m flexible, me, can work with anything, but it’d be nice to know.”
“I forget myself, sometimes. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“Nah. Not me. Totally oblivious, forgotten every time across thousands of years that you panicked and came on to me. Never noticed a thing.”
“Oh, you amazing, infuriating creature. I just… I just want…”
He waited for a moment, but nothing more was forthcoming. “What do you want, angel?”
”You.” The word was breathless; the word held worlds.
“Do you?” Is this real, is this going to carry through? Are you going to get spooked again?
“More than anything.”
He thought back to, well, to today--to I forgive you and We’re not even friends.
And before he could take a breath to speak, Aziraphale was there already. “Oh, I was dreadful to you. I was. I kept, I kept thinking, and the others, they get in my head, and I thought wouldn’t it be nice if Heaven really did care about people?” His face fell, shoulders slumping. “But you knew better, you always knew better.”
He took another gulp of wine and passed it back to the angel. “What do you want, angel?” he said at length.
Aziraphale lowered the bottle before it touched his lips and sat up straight, looked him in the eye. “You,” he said, his voice stronger now. “I want you. I have always wanted you, and I told myself those were just moments of weakness, that I had to be strong…” He took a sip now, lowered the bottle and set it down, holding that eye contact. “When I have never been as strong as when you were with me.”
Crowley did not launch himself across the bench at him--there was a box in the way, for starters--but it was a near thing. Instead he took the wine again and had some. Wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Least we got this far.”
“All for the best, though. Just imagine how awful it might have been if we’d been at all competent.”
“...ehh, point taken.”
They talked a little more, small, quiet things and big, huge things--Agnes and Adam and the world, God and her plan and whether She planned it this way all along. The Delivery Man showed up and collected the box and the sword, and the wine should have been finished long ago but somehow there was still some left when they went for it.
“There’s the bus. It says Oxford.”
“It’ll go to London, though. He’ll just never know why.”
“I suppose I should have them drop me off at the bookshop.”
“Oh. It… it burned.”
“Oh. Right.” Aziraphale’s expression fell, crashing into that loss he hadn’t remembered, hadn’t had to see.
“You’ll stay at mine,” Crowley said confidently.
“Not sure my side would--” Aziraphale started, then stopped. “No. Our side. Not my side anymore.”
Crowley could have popped his wings out and flown right then, really. “Stay at mine, then?”
“Oh, yes please.” The angel tipped the bottle up and drained it, finally, and smiled. “I do think I’d like that.”
And on the bus they sat in seats next to each other, holding on tightly.
By the time they reached London, Aziraphale had dozed off on Crowley’s shoulder and had to be shaken awake. He roused himself, though, and clung to Crowley’s hand as they got off in Mayfair.
Crowley’s pockets hadn’t really survived the day. He waved outside the door to the front desk without taking his arm from around his angel, and the young man stationed there let them in with a quiet, “Welcome home, Mister Crowley.” The elevator ride saw them leaned in a corner, waiting for Crowley’s floor, and his door let them in without complaint.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been to this one,” Aziraphale said as they stepped inside.
Crowley glanced at it, trying to see it the way his angel would--dark, empty space where his beloved bookshop had been cozy and full of warmth. He almost wanted to change it all, right then, just to make Aziraphale happy.
Instead he grinned, even though he could feel the fatigue on his face. “Oh, well, let me give you the tour,” he said. “Right here is the wall. There’s a bunch of them, but, well, this is the closest one.”
“I can see it’s a wall, Crowlmmmph!” Aziraphale broke off in a muffled squeak as Crowley spun him to the side and pressed him into the indicated wall, claiming those angelic lips for his own. The angel squirmed for a heartbeat, surprised, but soon had hands on his hips, pulling him closer and engaging those soft warm lips on his all over again.
They could have been back at the Boots, or Rome, or the first time they’d had beer, or any of a dozen other slips, all over again. They could have… but they weren’t. Not this time. This time, Crowley was determined, this time they weren’t going to be interrupted; this time Aziraphale wasn’t going to run off in panic or embarrassment.
Aziraphale seemed to agree, as he pushed up on tiptoe and started to take control of the kiss. Crowley found himself backed up just a little with the force of it, hot angelic hands pushing under his jacket. “Mmm. Get this off,” Aziraphale said into his mouth, and he shrugged his shoulders backward, losing the jacket with those hands helping. “And this,” Aziraphale added, pulling his scarf over his head.
It snagged on his sunglasses. He tossed them both away and went back to trying to wrap as much of himself around that wriggling heat as he could. Aziraphale could say anything, anything, and if it was moaned into his mouth like that he’d rush to do it and figure out consequences later.
“Togas were easier,” he murmured back, unwilling to disengage long enough to state it clearly.
There again Aziraphale took control, pulling backward with a delighted bark of laughter. “Oh, lord! What I put you through, then--I was too embarrassed to see you again for a couple of years, I think!”
“S’okay. Got you now.” With his mouth pulled away from Aziraphale’s mouth he found a better use for it, trailing down the side of his neck, growling in frustration at the starched collar. “Think,” he said, tracing back up to the shell of an ear, “mmm. Think it took me about that long to stop wanking anyway.”
“Oh my poor boy. The things I did to you!”
“Old news. You can do ‘em again. You can do ‘em right now. All the privacy you want.”
“Crowley…”
“Mmmm. Yes, angel?” It was hard to have a conversation with his face buried in sweet-smelling curls, but if that’s what Aziraphale wanted--
“This is a lovely wall.”
“Picked it out special just for you.”
“We didn’t finish our tour, though.”
He wanted to stop? Crowley felt a pang go through him, just like old times, and his breath caught. “Not much else to see.”
“Oh, I’m quite sure there are other walls that are also very interesting.”
Teeth latched into his earlobe and he hissed and tried to burrow in closer. “They all look like walls,” he said, trying not to sound petulant.
The teeth let go, replaced by licks from the angel’s tongue, and he didn’t whimper. Much.
“I’m quite interested in the ones in the bedroom, though.”
“Look just like--” he started, and stopped, whipping his head back to actually look at Aziraphale for the first time since pinning him to the wall in the first place. “Totally different,” he said. “You should see them. Happy to show you.”
“I did think you might be,” Aziraphale said with a laugh that only barely touched his need-blown eyes.
Crowley pulled himself away reluctantly, finding Aziraphale’s hand with his own so he didn’t have to let go completely. “Down here,” he said, pulling them down the hallway.
“Oh, jolly good. And might you have someplace I could reasonably put my clothes? I’d rather like to keep them nice.”
“I will build you a wardrobe with my bare hands if it gets you naked in that room,” he growled.
“You needn’t go that far, of course. Oh, you were absolutely correct, these are lovely walls! Absolutely perfect!” and Crowley found himself shoved up against one, held in place with one impossibly strong hand against his chest.
“Angel…” It was supposed to be a threatening growl; it came out more like a lover’s plea. That hand, the casual control of it… he wasn’t sure what he was meant to be doing here but probably dissolving into a puddle of his own lust wasn’t quite it.
“Just a moment, my dear, oh, just let me look at you!”
“Angel if you don’t let me off this wall so I can touch you--”
“All in good time, my love. All in good time. I did tell you I wanted privacy, didn’t I?” Aziraphale loosened his bowtie with his free hand, pulling it slowly out of his collar, and began to methodically loosen his buttons.
Crowley was suddenly terribly afraid he was about to get everything he ever wanted.
He couldn’t wait.