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A Constellation of Kisses

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Aziraphale treasured every kiss that Crowley gave him. He loved the sweet, feather-light kisses Crowley liked to give him near his hairline, the firm but gentle kisses on his plump hands, the desperate, hungry yet tender clash of Crowley’s lips against his own. Crowley seemed intent on kissing his angel as often as possible, an arrangement Aziraphale was more than happy with. Really, when Aziraphale thought about it, Crowley absolutely spoiled him with kisses, and it was absurd to hope for more, and yet. . .

 

It had all started with one of those awful harlequin romance novels Aziraphale would never in 6,000 years admit to reading. Despite the dearth of literary ambition in the novels, Aziraphale couldn’t help but be intrigued. They were an intensely guilty pleasure of his— something about those swooning, buxom blondes and their dark, mysterious love interests caught his fancy.

 

Although if either of us was to faint, it would probably be Crowley. The poor dear almost lost consciousness when I started stroking his hair the other day.

 

In this particular book, once the bodice and stays and all the layers of fabric had been done away with, revealing the heroine’s glistening pale skin, which was compared to moonlight, and ivory, and fine lace and so on, the woman’s oft-brooding love interest kissed her ample stomach before the ravishing proceeded as usual.

 

Aziraphale uttered a little cry of delight and he closed the book with a smile so he could reflect on that scene a while longer. He liked that the heroine was described as both very plump and very beautiful. His own corporation was on the soft side, and Aziraphale was occasionally a bit sad that it had fallen out of fashion, though he remained fond of it. As glamorous as Crowley looked with his slim, striking figure, Aziraphale was content with his own gentle roundness and had no desire to do as Gabriel suggested and ‘lose the gut’.

 

Aziraphale was also quite taken with the idea of stomach kisses. He supposed the concept was not entirely new to him, but, now that he he had a loving and affectionate demon of his very own, Aziraphale allowed himself to consider them a possibility. A hand drifted unconsciously to his round belly. Aziraphale imagined it would feel very nice to have his stomach kissed. Crowley’s kisses were always so wonderful. . . Aziraphale thought of how Crowley liked to cup his cheeks when they kissed and wondered if he would hold his belly that way, too. Then Aziraphale’s smile faded.

 

But what if Crowley doesn’t like it?

 

Crowley was very thin, and he plainly found himself attractive. If that was his ideal, Aziraphale certainly didn’t meet it. Maybe Crowley found Aziraphale’s belly too pudgy and excessive, and he didn’t want to touch it at all, let alone kiss it. Of course, much as Crowley would protest the label, he was too nice to say anything. He would put up with a flabby corporation because it was attached to the angel that he loved, but. . .

 

Aziraphale’s face burned, and he started tugging his waistcoat down over his stomach even though it already fit perfectly. He glanced at the cover of the romance novel, but he didn’t feel like reading it anymore. He didn’t feel like doing anything but hiding away for a good long ti—

 

Bells jangled as the bookshop door swung open. Aziraphale closed his eyes and sank down into his seat. “We’re closed!” he called without moving.

 

“Angel, it’s me.”

 

Aziraphale’s face lit up. “Crowley!” Then he looked down at his stomach, and some of his excitement faded. It didn’t look any different than usual, but now that it was on his mind. . . Still, he couldn’t bring himself to turn Crowley away. “Come in,” he sighed. “I’m in the back.”

 

The angel’s subdued tone did not escape Crowley. “What’s wrong?”

 

Aziraphale avoided the demon’s eyes as he entered the back room. “It’s nothing, dear. Don’t trouble yourself.”

 

“‘M a demon,” said Crowley, unsmiling. “Trouble’s kind of my thing.” He slunk across the room and sat on the armrest of Aziraphale’s chair, reaching out to caress the angel’s cheek. His touch was soothing and cool. “I know you too well, angel. Whatever it is, might as well get it out, already.”

 

Aziraphale lowered his head. “If you must know, I—I’m afraid I was simply reflecting on how I’m. . . well. . .” He paused, fidgeting. “. . . soft.”

 

Crowley’s brow furrowed. “‘Course  you are.” Crowley moved his hand, and Aziraphale immediately felt ashamed, convinced the demon was disgusted by how fat his face was. Then Crowley laid his hand on Aziraphale’s belly. “Soft and round all over. It suits you.”

 

“Oh.” Aziraphale blushed, and he could feel himself starting to smile again. “You don’t mind it, then?”

Crowley pulled off his sunglasses in disbelief. “Are you stupid?” he exclaimed. “I chase after you for thousands of years, and you think I—” He sputtered out a series of frustrated noises, then added in a softer tone: “You’re my angel.” He gave Aziraphale a kiss on the cheek. “Mine. You’re everything I’ve ever— hng.” Crowley’s face burned. “You’re— you know. . . you’re alright.”


Aziraphale laughed. “You have such a way with words, dear.” He patted Crowley’s hair. “How unfortunate that your talent never seems to manifest when we’re playing Scrabble.”

 

“Come off it, I was close last time!” Crowley protested, making a face that could only be classified as a pout. “Not my fault I got stuck with 3 bloody Q’s at the end!”


“Would you care for a rematch, then?”

 

“Wine first. I play better drunk.”

 

***

 

After losing several increasingly drunken games of Scrabble, Crowley managed to convince Aziraphale to go to bed with him. Although Aziraphale wasn’t as fond of sleeping as Crowley was, there were nights where Crowley could talk him into it, and the demon treasured every one. He loved getting to hold his angel close under the covers and listen to the soft snoring he would never own up to.

 

Crowley woke up earlier than usual, shivering. As always, Aziraphale somehow ended up with all the blankets to himself. Even in sleep, he managed to look smug about it.

 

He’s not even cold-blooded. What does he need them for?

 

Crowley yanked the blanket away. “Rise and shine!”

 

Aziraphale continued to snore. Crowley considered shaking him awake, but the angel looked so peaceful that he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “Alright, you win,” he muttered, gently patting Aziraphale’s curls. “Just like Scrabble. Still not convinced ‘quizzical’ is a word, by the way. Probably miracled it into the dictionary yourself, you sneaky bastard.”

 

Aziraphale just snored in response.


“That’s what I thought you’d say.”

 

Crowley was about to drape the blankets back over Aziraphale, but he decided to take a moment to admire his angel instead. It was amusing to see prim, proper Aziraphale all sprawled out on the tangle of sheets in stark contrast to his usual rigid posture. Crowley was delighted to note that Aziraphale drooled a bit in his sleep; it might take a miracle to get those stains off of his black silk, but it was more than a fair price for all the fun he was going to have teasing the angel about it later.

 

There was a small imprint on one cheek where Aziraphale’s face had been squished against the pillow. Crowley reached out and traced the red line with a fingertip, and, when Aziraphale did not stir, kissed his cheek. “Still asleep, angel?” he asked, smiling. It took Aziraphale a while to fall asleep, but, once he did, he slept soundly, and it would take more than a gentle touch here or there to wake him before his corporation decided he was ready. Crowley gave Aziraphale a kiss on the forehead, his fingers brushing over the angel’s nebula of pale curls. “’S alright. Take your time.” He shook his head ruefully. “I’ve waited this long, haven’t I?”

 

Aziraphale shifted, then settled back into place. The movement caused his pajama top to ride up slightly, revealing a bit of his stomach. Crowley’s eyes widened. Aziraphale always kept himself so covered up, he had never really seen it before. Of course, Aziraphale looked lovely and plump no matter how many layers he wore, but Crowley still found himself unprepared. Crowley’s hands ached to squish and squeeze, and he couldn’t tell if it was due to some demonic snake instinct or if it was just a natural reaction to all that inviting softness.

 

Crowley thought back to how nervous Aziraphale had seemed the other day, how upset he looked as he admitted to being ‘soft’.

 

Like there’s anything wrong with that. . .

 

Without realizing it, Crowley put a hand on Aziraphale’s stomach. It was plush and perfect, just like the rest of him. Crowley smiled, thinking of all the meals he and Aziraphale had shared over the millennia, all the little indulgences his angel loved so much. The world was safe now— Aziraphale was safe now, free to be his soft, ridiculous, bastardly self without Heaven’s interference, and Crowley would do everything in his power to keep him that way. He leaned down and kissed Aziraphale’s belly.

 

“C—Crowley?”

 

Crowley looked up and found himself staring into Aziraphale’s eyes, which were open. Because he was awake. Crowley turned into a snake and flung himself under the bed.


He heard Aziraphale sigh. “You can’t stay down there forever.”

 

Not forever, Crowley agreed. A few hundred years should do the trick.

 

“Did I do something to upset you?” Aziraphale’s voice sounded more uncertain, almost a little sad, and Crowley reluctantly began to slither out. Aziraphale looked relieved. “Oh, do come here,” he said, patting the space beside him. Once Crowley was on the bed, Aziraphale began to stroke his scales. “I know you don’t like to hear it, but you are very sweet, my dear.”

 

Crowley hissed in protest, but his heart wasn’t really in it, and it was hard to act intimidating while he was gently coiling around Aziraphale’s stomach in his snaky version of a hug.

 

“Oh, yes you are,” Aziraphale insisted, his lips curling into a grin that would have looked wicked if not for the sheer amount of love in his eyes. “You’re absolutely precious, adorable. . .” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Nice.” Aziraphale laughed as Crowley made a token effort to constrict him. “My, how affectionate we are today. Thank you for all the cuddles, my dear!” Aziraphale went silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, the over-the-top brightness in his voice had given way to something more genuine. “And. . . thank you for earlier as well. For the kiss.” Aziraphale blushed. “I had been rather hoping for one just like it, but I was. .  well, I didn’t quite know how to go about asking for it.” He leaned down to kiss the top of Crowley’s head. “You always seem to know what I’d like best.”

 

Crowley’s golden eyes gleamed with pride, the praise making him squirm in a way that would have been mortifying if he was in his human form. Hopefully, Aziraphale would just think it was a snake thing.

 

“Perhaps. . .” Aziraphale blushed, his smile almost shy. “Perhaps you’ll kiss me like that again sometime?”

 

Crowley instantly switched into his human form and began plastering Aziraphale with kisses. He started with Aziraphale’s shoulder since his head had been resting on it. Crowley ended up with a mouthful of pajamas, but Aziraphale still seemed to appreciate it. The angel’s laughter grew breathless as Crowley began to trail kisses up his neck. He took his time working his way to up to Aziraphale’s adorable double chin and his wonderful, round cheeks.

 

Aziraphale beamed as Crowley kissed his forehead, then the tip of his nose, then his teeth as he tried to give him a kiss on the lips without pausing to consider the width of his smile. “My goodness, Crowley, be careful,” Aziraphale laughed. “This has been very lovely, though,” he added, giving Crowley’s hand a gentle squeeze.

 

Crowley planted a firm kiss on the back of Aziraphale’s hand. “‘M not done yet.” He didn’t think he’d ever be done— eternity hardly seemed like enough time to give his beautiful angel all the love he deserved. Still, Crowley was nothing if not determined. He kissed Aziraphale’s hand three more times before moving onto the other one. Then he gently laid his hand on the round curve of Aziraphale’s belly, looking to the angel for confirmation.

 

Aziraphale’s face lit up. “Oh, would you?”

 

Crowley answered with a kiss, running his fingers along Aziraphale’s lower belly before unbuttoning his pajama top. Aziraphale looked apprehensive for a moment, but his worry evaporated when Crowley kissed his stomach. He sighed in delight, and it took all Crowley’s willpower not to melt into a puddle. He kissed Aziraphale’s tummy again and again, determined to lavish affection on every inch of his soft, perfect angel. Crowley had once made stars; now, his highest calling was to paint a constellation of kisses on Aziraphale's skin, and he couldn't be happier.  Eventually, the flood of kisses slowed and Crowley laid his head on the angel’s stomach.

 

“Thank you, darling.” Aziraphale’s voice was just as soft as the rest of him. “Perhaps it's silly, but it's good to know that you like my corporation, too. I'm rather attached to it, and— well. . ." He paused, giving Crowley a loving smile. "I'm glad it makes both of us happy. Y ou don’t think I’m too soft, at least. . .”

 

“No such thing,” Crowley mumbled.

 

Aziraphale giggled. “That tickles, dear.”

 

Crowley reluctantly lifted his head, already missing the warmth of Aziraphale’s skin. “You’re not too much of anything,” he said. He patted Aziraphale’s tummy. “There’s just the right amount of you.” Crowley grinned. “I wouldn’t complain if there was more, though,” he added, squeezing Aziraphale’s belly. It felt so good, Crowley couldn’t help but hiss. “If you got even sssssofter, I might never take my handssssss off you.”

 

Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled. “How unfortunate that would be.”

 

Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale again. “I might hold on forever, anyway. I’m a wild card.”

 

“Is that so?” Aziraphale started to run his fingers through Crowley’s hair, and Crowley could hear the smile in his voice. “Well, I’m powerless to stop you, my wily serpent.” He kissed the top of Crowley’s head. “My lovely, wonderful serpent.” Another kiss. “My dearest Crowley.”

 

Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s pudge so the angel wouldn’t see him blushing. “Ngk.” When a few moments passed and Crowley felt like he could trust himself to open his mouth without saying something gushy and romantic, he sat up. “So, angel,” he said with what he hoped was a cool, charming smile. “Can I tempt you to some breakfast?”