Melting @raichel
Sunday: Very First Day of the Rest of their Lives

Crowley and Aziraphale stepped out of the Ritz together, finally free of the almost-pocalypse.

“I’m glad we got through all of this together,” Aziraphale mused, “I know I couldn’t have done any of that alone.”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Crowley agreed, strolling over to the Bentley. “I might have tried, myself, but I don’t know how far I would’ve got.”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Crowley agreed, strolling over to the Bentley. “I might have tried, myself, but I don’t know how far I would’ve got.”

“You would have,” Aziraphale said. “you were the one who brought me into all this.”

“Yes, well, all’s well that ends well,” Crowley cut the conversation off, hoping to avoid an angelic lecture. “I’m sure I’ll see you soon. At least within the year,” he said, gesturing Aziraphale away as he leaned against the Bentley, but the angel joined him by the car.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, his hand just barely avoiding Crowley’s peripheral vision until it came to rest on the demon’s neck. By the time Crowley noticed the hand, though, he’d been pulled into a kiss.

A kiss.

Crowley’s heart, such as it was, leapt, and he absolutely melted, his carefully constructed facade slipping right off his back. He gripped the Bentley’s window frame and struggled to keep his knees from buckling out from under him. The angel’s touch almost burned, but he couldn’t be sure if that was because of their opposed natures or his face flushing. 

Thousands of years he’d been desperate for this, or at least something like this, but he’d never been able to name it. He hadn’t dared. (After all, once you name something it’s yours. So much harder to get rid of.) His hand itched to pull Aziraphale close, never let this end, but he had just enough self control not to do that.

It also helped that the kiss lasted a second or less. A simple, chaste peck on the lips. It took an even smaller fraction of a second for Crowley to pull his facade back around his shoulders. He turned away from Aziraphale, trying to spit the kiss out of his mouth like a bad taste.

“P-perhaps that was a bit forward,” Aziraphale stammered, hiding his guilty hand behind his back.

“Eugh,” Crowley spat, scraping his teeth over his tongue, “that nasty angel sweetness.”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Aziraphale said, taking a half step back.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Crowley agreed, looking anywhere but the angel’s eyes. “you’re an angel! Well, more or less. You’re not supposed to invade people’s space, or do something like that without warning, or—“ —be the one doing the tempting. Crowley swallowed down that last thought. He caught Aziraphale’s face in his peripheral vision, all worry and regret, and it made his insides turn. He tried to ignore it. “How dare you,” he concluded, “I don’t even like you.”

There was a hesitation between them.

“You do,” Aziraphale replied after a moment, that sickening smile taking over his face. The same awful look he got when he regarded his first editions, or his favorite foods. Very sickening and awful and probably the reason Crowley was feeling a bit nauseous, not some silly metaphorical “butterflies” or anything. Then the smile faltered. “But I won’t do anything like that again, I’m sorry.”

“Right, yes, never again,” Crowley stammered, dragging a hand across his face. “absolutely. That’s the way to go.”

“I- I’ll see you around, then, I suppose,” Aziraphale said. For a moment, he took Crowley’s hand, and the demon’s breath caught. It was the warmest, softest thing— but with a single squeeze he let him go again and took another step back.

“Right,” Crowley agreed. “see you ‘round.”

“Sorry again,” Aziraphale added, before walking away. Crowley’s stomach tightened in the worst way.

“Wait,” he said, just before the angel was out of earshot, and, true to form, Aziraphale turned. And every word Crowley might say got stuck in his throat. 

“Yes?” Aziraphale asked, filling the just-too-long silence.

“Forget it,” Crowley told him. “nice seeing you,” he muttered, ducking into his car before he could make any more of a fool of himself. 

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