Kiss ask game: I think number 41 may be suitable for Aziraphale and Crowley ☺️
Now would you look at that! 😉 Thanks for this one dear <3 <3 <3
This takes place right after the S1 ending.
41 …because the world is saved. (Aziraphale/Crowley)
The question of living arrangements comes up at the shop after they have returned from The Ritz, and a sensible amount of vintage has been consumed.
”What do you mean you lost the apartment?”
”Came with the job, didn’t it? No job, no flat.” Crowley shrugs, elegantly sprawled on the settee as usual. He looks remarkably unperturbed for someone without a roof over his head. Then again the demon wears the mask of nonchalance so often it might as well be his face. Only someone who has spent 6000 years looking at him (and has sort of saved the world with him) can see where the outlines of it lie.
”Where are you going to live then?”
”Well, I’ve got the Bentley, that’ll do me for a bit.” The demon rubs his temple, frowning. ”The plants will be tricky, though. They’ll soon lose respect for someone sleeping in the backseat. Start wilting all around me just out of spite—”
”You—” Aziraphale clears his throat and puts his glass down with far too much care, keeping his voice light. ”You should stay here, then.”
You could hear a feather fall in the silence that follows his words. Aziraphale sees Crowley’s Adam’s apple bob and is—not for the first time—uncommonly interested in that particular forbidden fruit. His friend’s elegant sprawl has turned into a tense sit.
”No, that’s—you don’t have to worry about me, angel. I’ll figure something out.”
”Don’t be silly, it’ll be no trouble. And…” Aziraphale picks up his wine again, doesn’t quite manage to take a sip out of nervousness. ”I’ll worry anyway. At least this way I can worry where I can see you.”
For a second Crowley looks like he is going to protest some more. The mask of nonchalance has slipped catastrophically, endearingly. His lovely throat bobs again.
Then he gets up, crosses the room to where Aziraphale is sitting.
A zap, not unlike the feeling of getting discorporated by Heaven’s holy light, runs through Aziraphale as Crowley lifts his chin gently, and leans in.
”What are you doing?” Aziraphale whispers, knowing full well what this is as he cranes his neck to meet Crowley halfway. Their lips touch, and he lets the wine glass drop and shatter against the floor. It doesn’t matter. He’ll miracle the mess away in the morning, or whenever it is that they stop kissing.
If not a full stop, then a pause arrives around one minute and twenty-three seconds in, during which Aziraphale asks:
”Why now? Why not when we almost died?” Why not the second I laid eyes on you on that blasted wall?
”Didn’t feel fair then,” Crowley murmurs against his cheek. ”Thought you should have the chance to smite me or something if you didn’t want it. No time for that at the end of the world.”
”No,” Aziraphale sighs. Crowley’s fingers feel sinfully good in his hair, tugging at his curls. ”Suppose you’re right.”
”So. Do you want to smite me?”
He looks up at Crowley, into those golden, fiery eyes of his, burning just for him. Feels a reckless sort of smile on his face.
”I think you look quite smitten already.”
”Bastard,” Crowley hisses back at him with a grin. As far as endearments go, it is pretty much on par with angel.
They go back to the kissing, and do not stop for a long time.
