#i would feel bad for crowley if he wasnt such a dumbass

[doonarose]

The second one that’s quite rubbish.

(Good Omens Crowley/Aziraphale kissing and romance fic)

Rating: PG/T

Rationale: A follow up/companion piece to ‘The first one that’s right’ in which  Aziraphale asks Crowley to try kissing again and it goes reasonably well. This is set post Season 3 when they are inevitably talking to each other properly, and acknowledging, out loud, that they love each other, and actually planning for a future together. But they haven’t quite got the kissing stuff figured out.

Summary: Aziraphale asks Crowley for a kiss, now that that’s a thing they are doing. It does not go to plan. Mostly fluff with a dash of angst, I guess.

Count: 2500ish

“Crowley,” Aziraphale calls, singsong for his attention from across the bookshop; Crowley looks up from where he’s been staring at the floor and grumbles something unintelligible in response. Aziraphale beams at him and fidgets, his hands restlessly clasping and unclasping in front of him. “May I please have a kiss?”

That’s entirely unexpected and exactly what Crowley’s been waiting for. It’s only the next day, just over twenty-four hours since their First Kiss (well technically their second kiss) but Crowley would have started climbing the walls if Aziraphale had made him wait much longer.

He must keep his cool, though, maintain an air of calm, not indifference, but controlled caring. More importantly, Crowley is determined not to rush things, and will instead allow Aziraphale to set the pace. “Of course,” he finally responds, flashing his suavest smile. “Happy to oblige.” He propels himself out of the armchair he’s been lazing in all morning, snags his jacket off the back of the chair, and shrugs his way into it.

He freezes, halfway across the room, because he has no idea why he just did that: he doesn’t need to put his jacket on before he kisses Aziraphale and now he knows that.

He’s overthinking this, caught frozen in the headlights, and he really wishes he had his sunglasses on so he could look away. Aziraphale looks confused, and then concerned, and the way the beaming, hopeful, expectant smile has slipped, replaced by a furrowed brow and pursed lips, makes it very clear that Crowley is definitely fucking his up.

He wills himself to keep walking, to get there, in front of Aziraphale, and kiss him. Go to him and kiss him. He screws his eyes tightly closed and thankfully, without Aziraphale in high sights, his legs start to function again. Eyes opening, he’s sure that was only a second or two of strange behaviour, and he goes to remove his sunglasses to get them back to normality. Except, they’re sunglasses he isn’t wearing and so then he has to cover the motion by scratching his fingers down both sides of his face, pulling his cheeks taut for absolutely no good reason.

He is an ancient and powerful demon and right now he is inexplicably acting like a buffoon. Aziraphale doesn’t look like he wants to kiss him anymore at all.

“Are you feeling quite alright?” Aziraphale asks as Crowley comes to a stop an arm’s length in front of him.

“’m fine, of course I’m fine.” A pause, he is clearly not fine. “I’m always fine.” Crowley grimaces nose scrunching up and his top lip curling back, and pushes on, “Let’s do this.”

Aziraphale looks as though he wants to argue but then thinks better of it and plasters an unconvincing smile in place.

“Right then.” Crowley doesn’t know what to do with his hands, or his feet. His mouth has gone unbelievable dry, and all that moisture seems to have somehow relocated to his palms – his palms never sweat. He can stop them sweating… except right now he can’t focus enough to even miracle that up and he knows Aziraphale would consider it some sort of cheating anyhow.

Illogically long seconds pass them by with Aziraphale trying to look optimistic and Crowley trying to remember how the dimensions of space and time intersect to allow for action.

“Crowley, I don’t think it’s meant to be this complicated.”

Crowley’s nostrils flare and he commands every molecule in his body to lean in. But Aziraphale pats him on the chest, hand over his heart in a placating gesture that inevitably also stops Crowley from leaning in at all.

“I think, perhaps, we try again another time,” Aziraphale tells him, a knowing head tilt and something that comes dangerously close to pity about his eyes.

Crowley pouts, he can’t stop himself. “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m ready now! I’m fine.”

Aziraphale shakes his head and slides his hand up Crowley’s chest to cradle his cheek, “Moment’s gone, I fear,” he says even as heat spreads beneath his touch.

Crowley has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop from pathetically nuzzling into Aziraphale’s palm. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. He’s so sure he could lean into Aziraphale now, fit them together properly, if only Aziraphale would close the gap and let him.

“You were overthinking it,” Aziraphale concludes, his hand dropping as he steps back, the moment – which had never really started – now well and truly over.

“Well…” Crowley’s got nothing, “So were you,” he finishes lamely. In reality he has absolutely no idea: Aziraphale seems fine, Crowley’s the barely functioning demonic disaster with all the motor functions and finesse of a startled cat on roller-skates.

Tugging down on his waistcoat to straighten non-existent rumpling, Aziraphale tells him, “Not to worry, perhaps we can try again later.” Then he manages a soft smile, turns on his heel and disappears into the back room.

Crowley, left to his own devices, mouths around the problem in that statement, ‘Perhaps’ and finds no reassurance as he stares up at the ceiling. Ultimately, and very likely still within earshot of Aziraphale, Crowley chooses to let out his frustration with an overly loud growl and a snarl of “You fucking idiot!”

***

It’s a half hour later and Crowley is moping around the bookshop, only barely stopping himself from using an index finger to drag random books from their positions just so he can watch them fall to the floor. Aziraphale is only a few bookshelves away, making more noise than necessary as he dusts ineffectively and, Crowley is sure of it, keeps a watchful eye on him.

He hears Aziraphale sigh and braces for whatever bad news is coming. “Crowley, can you give me a hand with these shelves, my love?” It’s still a relatively new term of endearment between them, one that makes Crowley’s chest swell for a few moments before he feels it start to cave in again.

He grumbles unintelligible, begrudging consent and saunters as slowly as he dares over to Aziraphale.

“I can’t quite reach those top ones up there,” he explains, brandishing his yellow feather duster towards the highest books and passing it off to Crowley before he can think to point out he’s too dignified and demonic to play the French maid. “Thank you my dear.”

As soon as Crowley’s occupied, stretching upwards and his heels lifting off the ground to extend his reach, Aziraphale is on him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and yanking him back down.

Crowley doesn’t have time to process, let alone protest, his mouth meeting Aziraphale’s too quickly with no finesse and no angle – again, just pretty rubbish all around. Aziraphale’s lips immediately set to work against Crowley’s mouth, wriggling in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant but also isn’t at all right. And then Aziraphale opens his mouth and his tongue’s on Crowley’s lips, forcefully hot and wet and probing as it slides, unexpected, into his mouth.

The push of both of them together makes their top teeth clack in a way that reverberates back through Crowley’s jaw and up through the cartilage of his nose, stinging in a way that would have made his eyes water if he didn’t command them not to. It’s gone just as badly for Aziraphale based on his yelp and quick retreat.  

Aziraphale looks downright traumatized, eyes wide in shock and hurt. “I’m so sorry, Crowley!”

“Shut up,” it’s instinctive and entirely lacks venom, a placeholder in their conversations about as effective as ‘um’. Crowley takes a moment, drawing in breath and running his tongue over his top teeth to sure they’re all still intact. “We have got to get better at this,” Crowley tells him with a hiss.

Aziraphale sighs and has the cheek to reach out to play with the ends of Crowley’s thin silver scarf. “I know.”

Crowley huffs, watching Aziraphale’s hands instead of his eyes. “No, Aziraphale,” he bites out, frustrated. “You don’t know. We have got to talk, properly, about this, and figure it out.” He really doesn’t want to talk, not about this, not about any of it, but so far, talking has been good for them, he can’t deny that.  

Aziraphale has wrapped the scarf around his index finger in three tight loops and doesn’t seem to be listening. “I know, I know,” he agrees, too readily. “I don’t know why we aren’t working. But based on my reading it really isn’t something humans talk about, it seems to come very naturally in all my books, even the non-fiction, I’ve checked. Humans just fall into each other’s embrace and it works.”

“We aren’t humans,” Crowley states.

“But we are doing very human things.” Aziraphale finally looks up at him but doesn’t release the scarf until Crowley pulls his hand loose and drops in back so they’re no longer touching.

Crowley takes a deep breath and then dives in, cards on the table, that’s how they’ve agreed to communicate. “First of all, tell me that yesterday, that that was okay, are we at least on the same page there?”

Aziraphale blinks. “The kiss?” Crowley nods. “Oh, that was more than okay! If you mean the second attempt, that was entirely lovely, the first was a bit –”

Crowley cuts him off. “Because – I need to tell you this. I know you said that we could just try kissing and if we didn’t like it we could stop. And I went along with it but I knew – I knew…” he stutters to a stop. This whole talking thing, he hates how it makes him vulnerable and alone in whatever it is he is saying. No matter how many times he’s had to confess like this, he hates how admitting these things to Aziraphale always feels fraught and destined for rejection. They’ve managed to talk through just how much they love each other and that not saying it out loud for a very long time never actually meant that they weren’t in love all along. And that actually, yes, they both very much want to spend eternity, or something quite like it, together; that they plan to.

Crowley forces himself to continue. “I can’t go backwards with you,” he confesses. “It took us thousands of years to start working together, and then thousands more to come to an agreement, and thousands again just to become friends. And then after Armageddon, you started touching me and every single time, every single time I wondered what I would do if you stopped. That stupid thought haunted me, and I don’t think you know that.”

“I didn’t.”

Crowley lets out something like a self-deprecating laugh and his hand grips tight around the feather duster still dangling beside him. “And every time I’ve had to walk away from you…” he trails off and his chin drops to his chest. “My point is,” he says matter-of-factly. “I am terrified of losing you. But even worse than that, I am terrified of being the one to push you away. Even if it’s something as stupid as kissing – but especially if it’s something as stupid as kissing! Can you imagine me losing you all because I can’t figure out how to gets our mouths to line up properly?”

“No, Crowley, I can’t,” Aziraphale interjects but Crowley barely hears him.

“Although of course, I could learn to live with you in any shape or manner if I needed to. You could reincorporate into a rooster, or a… a book, and I’d still be happier taking care of you than not but you can’t tell me you love me and kiss me and then take it all back just because I’m shit at it. I’d be devastated. I… it’s important you know that,” he finishes quietly, not entirely sure it that was a bit too honest.  

Aziraphale gives him a smile that’s beatifically reassuring. “That’s all extremely sweet of you, Crowley.”

“I was not being sweet,” Crowley tries and he means he was being serious.

“And very romantic,” Aziraphale confides conspiratorially. “But you must know I’m not going to leave you.”

Crowley is stuck on the first half of that. “Romantic?” he asks, like he’s trying the word on.

“Well, yes, my dear, it is, you are.” He grabs a hold of Crowley’s free hand, squeezing it. “I mean, we love each other and live with each other and now there’s kissing. That’s all quite romantic. And I certainly want there to be kissing, even if sometimes it’s quite… bad.” Aziraphale leans forward and gives Crowley the briefest, most chaste kiss possible.

It’s wonderful and Crowley’s lips curl up into a sweet smile despite himself before it drops away. “I don’t know you’re not going to leave. And you don’t know I’m not going to push you away.”

“I won’t let you.” Aziraphale sounds extremely confident, but Crowley’s not yet convinced. “And the kissing we will work on, here –” Aziraphale cuts himself off as he leans in again and presses another too-soft, over too-soon kiss to Crowley’s lips. “Better, yes?” Another, longer and more pressure as they linger close, stepping and leaning into each other as they start to map the feel of chins and noses and eyelashes catching at each other’s skin.

Crowley can’t help but sigh his appreciation and wonder at how almost identical physical interactions can feel so extraordinarily different. This kissing really is a bit of a mystery. Aziraphale starts to smile against his lips, seemingly in response to Crowley’s happy sigh.

They break apart and Aziraphale says, “Thank you for telling me. And I promise to tell you if I’m having any of my own thoughts about the kissing, so you’ll know if I’m in any doubt.” He pauses, gaze sweeping down to his hands, once again tangled in Crowley’s scarf. “I don’t think I will be, however.” He pauses, toying with the material. ”Also, very good of you to let me know the stuff about touching you.”

His eyes lock with Crowley’s, playful and teasing and then he very deliberately, very slowly, drags the back of his knuckles down Crowley’s chest, from the centre of his sternum all the way to his belly button, tugging on the scarf in the process.

Crowley’s eyes go wide and his head tilts to the side with a thousand new questions, but Aziraphale cuts him off as he uses to scarf to tug him in and kiss him once more for good measure before releasing him and reclaiming his feather duster from where it’s still grasped tightly in Crowley’s hand. “Very good to know, indeed” the angel muses.   

A/N: I’ve posted this in a bit of a rush so apologies for the typos, etc. I just had to get it out there because I am loving writing these two very, very much. And the next bit after this, the one after they’ve gotten a bit better at casual little kisses in the bookshop and they get caught in a rainstorm, is too delicious to not be writing right away!

#good omens 2 spoilers #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #doonas fic #look i did another one #again it's five times as long as it should be #i would feel bad for crowley if he wasnt such a dumbass