Seven First Kisses

Spellbound, breathless, Crowley glances from Aziraphale’s darkening eyes to his captivating mouth, and back again. The angel is steadily and deliberately leaning in to kiss him.  'We’re not friends.'  'I don’t even like you.'  'I’m an angel, you’re a demon.' The words echo bitterly in Crowley's ears...  And yet this is happening. Their first kiss.Soft lips graze his own, featherlight, and one after another, memories slam into him. Bright flashes of past moments shared, illicit encounters he’d buried in tombs of denial.Hands and mouths serving as sad succour after an unspeakable Flood.The salt of oysters on the angel’s tongue. The coarse bricks of a Roman insula rough against his back as he’s urgently crowded against it.Lips brushing reverently outside a bombed church.Gasping, the demon wrenches himself from the kiss, eyes wide, searching.  Aziraphale calmly, delicately takes his hand. “You’re alright, darling. This happens every time.”