Aziraphale had been reading for over 5 hours straight, having not even once glanced up to check whether the demon was okay, and not bored out of his mind.
Crowley sighs, glancing around disdainfully from where he's resting languidly in one of Aziraphale's extremely comfortable armchairs. He's bored. There's nowhere in particular he wishes to go. Nothing much has happened since they stopped Armageddon and sorted things out with their superiors (if 'sorted out' is the correct term.) He finds most of his time being spent within the presence of the angel. His angel. These thoughts bring the smallest smile to his lips. Yes, Aziraphale is his angel.
He glances back at Aziraphale, noticing for the first time that his wings are visible, carefully tucked between his back and the chair. He smirks, a plan already formulating in his head.
Crowley loves Aziraphale's wings. They are always beautiful and clean and well taken care of. His own, however, are the direct opposite. So many of his feathers are bent round the wrong way that they've started to hurt a bit. He's trying not to care.
Aziraphale tends to zone out a bit whilst reading for a long time, his mind lost within the words and the boundary less expanse of the golden (kinda yellow really, but golden sounds better) pages. This is why he doesn't hear Crowley's approach.
Crowley is always staring at his angel. He's been doing it for centuries, so why stop now? It would mess up his beautifully long collective set of staring streaks.
Despite knowing one another since the beginning of the Earth, there are many things they still haven't done. They've only kissed once, and haven't engaged in many actions of the sexual content, either. Crowley wishes to remedy that.
He leaves his chair and moves so that he is behind the armchair Aziraphale is sitting in. The angel's eyes remain on the book, seemingly not even aware of Crowley's presence. It's rather sad, but useful at present. Crowley inches forward and bends down a little, so that his face is inches away from the back of Aziraphale's neck. He snakes (hEhE hE A snEk) an arm out and gently strokes his fingers over the soft white feathers of the angel's wings. They feel irresistibly soft.
Aziraphale freezes, realising what is happening. "Crowley, what are you doing?"
"What does it feel like I'm doing, angel?" Crowley replies, stroking his fingers through the feathers again, this time with both hands. Oh, Satan, how does Aziraphale keep his wings this way?
Aziraphale bites his lip.
Crowley smirks,"What's wrong, angel?" He's rather enjoying this, having finally directed his angel's attention to him, rather than some work of either fiction or non fiction. He rakes his fingers through the soft white feathers once more, bending his head closer to kiss them.
A strangled sound leaves Aziraphale's mouth. "Crowley- ah-" he gasps, as the demon reaches a certain soft spot.
Crowley smirks and does it again.
The sound comes again. Yep, it definitely has a moan nature.
After a few moments more of this, Crowley extracts his arms away, satisfied and grinning, his tiny fangs showing just a little. (They're like vampire fangs in their position and there's only two but they're practically the same size as the rest of his teeth. Thought I'd say this lol).
Aziraphale turns and frowns at him- well, as close to a frown as he can create (it looks more like a confused half sad look)- before snagging his fingers within Crowley's jacket and using it to yank the demon closer to him. "I never said stop," he breathes, his face inches from the demon's.
Crowley says nothing, just stares into his angel's eyes before closing the remaining space between the two of them.
It begins gentle, merely careful soft brushes of lips as Crowley wishes to take it slow for his partner. As angels go, Aziraphale is the most innocent, it seems. He doesn't want to fully change that just yet.
Aziraphale slowly wraps his arms around the demon, his fingers reaching the black scrawny feathers of his wings, before deepening the kiss further.
Crowley growls very quietly, yanking the angel even closer to him, slipping his forked tongue between his lips.
Aziraphale lets out a muffled sound of surprise, a little confused by the feeling of Crowley's snakey (that a word?) tongue against his own.
"Relaxxxx angel," Crowley murmurs into his mouth.
Aziraphale relaxes (OkAe why am I failing at writing this lol), as he realises that the sensation is a definite must have.
Crowley pushes Aziraphale back against the armchair, smoothing his fingers across the angel's wings whilst tangling their tongues together.
Neither hear the knock on the front door of the bookshop. The archangel fucking Gabriel (as he declared he wished to be called only a few weeks ago), gives up on knocking and enters the bookshop. After what he deems a rather alarming experience up in heaven where he tried (and failed) to set Aziraphale on fire, he wishes to make a deal with the angel.
He glances rather disdainfully around the old bookshop. "Aziraph-OH MY!" He gasps, upon catching sight of said angel pinned under the demon Crowley. He refuses to look. (Gabriel is so annoying.)
Crowley glances up, his eyes growing a little wide. He moves off of Aziraphale, brushing himself down and smirking.
Aziraphale makes a sound of disappointment,"Crowley, why did you sto- oh, hello Gabriel,"
For once, Gabriel has nothing to say. He just stares at Aziraphale, a little disgusted but mostly shocked. He no longer wishes to make any deal with him. You don't find any angels making out in heaven, that's for sure.
Crowley starts laughing. And laughing. And laughing.
Aziraphale is unamused.