Sex: Crowley/Aziraphale
"I don't know," said Aziraphale, frowning the way he always did when he'd had a little too much to drink. That was almost entirely the reason Crowley asked him ridiculous questions at this time of the morning. Really he'd been hoping for a blush, but the angel was far too good at distance; somehow he always seemed to make things intellectual and therefore less important, which might have been how he'd managed to stomach the idea of killing the Antichrist, once upon a time. It hadn't lasted, not once it was real. Crowley'd been rather reassured, by that.
"It seems such a very odd idea," the angel continued. "To be that intimate with a person, I mean. Such an inconvenient method of procreation, don't you think? Almost as if... oh, I don't know. As if you were asking if someone wouldn't mind terribly if you stuck your finger up their nose."
Crowley choked on his glass of particularly fine Chateau Margeaux.
"It's not all about procreation," he eventually managed to choke out, as Aziraphale flailed at him with a handkerchief. "A lot of them do it because they like it."
"Well that's humans all over, isn't it," Aziraphale answered tartly. "Always - "
Whatever it was humans were always doing was lost to posterity, since Crowley chose that moment to lean forward and press his mouth against the angel's. Purely in the name of scientific debate, of course.
The angel's lips were even softer than they looked, he thought, with the strangely lucid calm of one who couldn't quite believe what they were doing. And: bloody Belgium, he's going to kill me. And then even that was gone, as Aziraphale's mouth opened the very slightest amount against his. He didn't even manage mental coherence enough to wonder if all angels tasted of tea.
"I - " Crowley hadn't known skin was available in that shade of pink. "Goodness, Crowley." Plump fingers rested lightly on the back of his hand, and Aziraphale smiled at him in an entirely new way. "I don't suppose... that is..."
"If you're asking," he answered, in a voice that was wobbling around the edges of hysteria, "if I want to stick my finger up your nose, angel, then the answer is bloody no."
"It seems such a very odd idea," the angel continued. "To be that intimate with a person, I mean. Such an inconvenient method of procreation, don't you think? Almost as if... oh, I don't know. As if you were asking if someone wouldn't mind terribly if you stuck your finger up their nose."
Crowley choked on his glass of particularly fine Chateau Margeaux.
"It's not all about procreation," he eventually managed to choke out, as Aziraphale flailed at him with a handkerchief. "A lot of them do it because they like it."
"Well that's humans all over, isn't it," Aziraphale answered tartly. "Always - "
Whatever it was humans were always doing was lost to posterity, since Crowley chose that moment to lean forward and press his mouth against the angel's. Purely in the name of scientific debate, of course.
The angel's lips were even softer than they looked, he thought, with the strangely lucid calm of one who couldn't quite believe what they were doing. And: bloody Belgium, he's going to kill me. And then even that was gone, as Aziraphale's mouth opened the very slightest amount against his. He didn't even manage mental coherence enough to wonder if all angels tasted of tea.
"I - " Crowley hadn't known skin was available in that shade of pink. "Goodness, Crowley." Plump fingers rested lightly on the back of his hand, and Aziraphale smiled at him in an entirely new way. "I don't suppose... that is..."
"If you're asking," he answered, in a voice that was wobbling around the edges of hysteria, "if I want to stick my finger up your nose, angel, then the answer is bloody no."