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It was a fine and lovely day in Soho, and Aziraphale needed to repair his watch.
Yes, technically he could miracle it back into working order, but it just wasn’t the same. Besides, he had learned the art of watch repair at the same point in time that this watch was made, and it would be nice to put those skills to work.
There was only one obstacle to this plan: Crowley.
More accurately, the trouble he was causing. The demon seemed to have made it his mission, to be as much of a nuisance as possible.
This had been going on for a few days now, as Crowley barged into the bookshop and then utterly refused to leave, which would normally be a most welcome set of events, but right now was paired with him causing as much chaos at every turn.
On an even thinner technically, Aziraphale was annoyed by this. That had faded as he realized this was a very targeted attempt by Crowley to try and ask for something he needed or wanted (an important moment all on its own,) but didn’t know how to ask for… and then turned back into annoyance as Crowley continued to not ask for whatever it was.
And, of course, his poor watch was still waiting to be fixed. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to open it up yet, much less try and fix it, and it was clear that something would have to happen before he would.
At this particular moment in time, Aziraphale was corralling him in the bookstore, as his current plan seemed to lie in actively posing harm to the books, one of the few things that Aziraphale absolutely would not ignore – which was probably why he was doing it. But Aziraphale needed time to think, now. Diversions had worked so far, and so it was a diversion that he would use once more.
“Ah, Crowley, my dear, by any chance would you be willing to run down to the shops and get me… oh… peppermints! Absolutely craving peppermints, me. If you would…?” He gave his best hopeful look.
Crowley looked up at his request, leaving the books alone and giving Aziraphale his full focus, with a hopeful look on his face.
How odd.
When Crowley comes back, Aziraphale is sat at his desk, tools out and watch ready to be worked on. (He doubts they’ll get used, but that’s not the important part.)
Crowley returns with a large bag of peppermints, shuffling off to the kitchen as soon as he does. He even goes to the trouble of finding something to put them in, placing the filled bowl down by Aziraphale.
“Ah, thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale says, tracking the demon out of the corner of his eye, hoping that the trip out might have cleared Crowley’s mind enough for him to be willing to talk about whatever was bothering him. He pays no mind to the candies themselves.
Crowley doesn’t talk, though. If anything he seems more focused on the peppermints than anything else.
Well, alright then.
He lets Crowley wander away, then, carefully not paying attention, but not before reaching over, and plucking out a single peppermint.
A few minutes later, he hears a rustling from the candy bowl, and out of the corner of his eye, he tracks a tiny, black, snake, slithering his way into the bowl.
A thoughtful hum makes its way out of him. If asked, he might have said it was because of something he’d noticed with his watch. He would have been lying, but it can be ever so important to tell one’s lies to oneself, when one is acting.
He dips his hand into the bowl again, letting it linger. He’s not sure what to expect, until there’s a rustling in the bowl again and Crowley comes up to his fingers, winding around them for a few moments before moving off again. He waits until the bowl goes still, and draws out a peppermint.
This repeats, each time Crowley waiting just a little longer. There would have been something pleasant about working while Crowley entertained himself nearby, but there was still something that Crowley wanted to do, or say, that he wasn’t quite ready to yet, and so Aziraphale continued to draw out mints, and pretend to work.
He dips his hand in once more, but this time when Crowley winds around his hand, he doesn’t leave again. Aziraphale waits for a crystalline moment, and pulls his hand out. This time, however, the only thing he carries out is Crowley.
Crowley’s slight frame is wound around his fingers, and he’s looking right at him, his steady golden eyes meeting Aziraphale’s.
“Oh my. It seems there is a snake in this candy. Whatever shall I do?” He asks, quietly.
“Nah.” Crowley says.
Aziraphale raises an eyebrow. “No?”
“Nah. Not a ssnake. Jusssst candy.”
“Ah. I see. And… shall I treat it as such?”
Crowley nods, and Aziraphale gives a warm smile.
He brings Crowley up to the lips of his closed mouth, a gentle press of a kiss, and opens his mouth. He moves no more, either forward or backwards. It is an open invitation, an expression of willingness.
Crowley unspools himself into Aziraphale’s mouth, slithering over teeth, pooling on his tongue.
Just the same, Aziraphale thinks, closing his mouth, and so begins to lick at the tiny form held within his jaws.
Crowley squirms around, enjoying himself, and giving Aziraphale the bravery to suck, to roll Crowley over his teeth and tongue, an odd but enjoyable sensation.
As he slows down, Crowley starts squirming more, wiggling up and down and all around his tongue, and then as he slows Aziraphale starts to pick up again, paying all the focus he’d ever paid anything, all to the tiny form in his mouth.
And then he slows, but this time Crowley does too, positioning himself over the precipice that is Aziraphale’s throat.
Ah. He thinks. He can’t speak right now – not without a few major miracles – but he can wait here, an entirely different form of invitation.
Eventually, finally, after time enough and unknown – “May I?”
Of course you may, my serpent. Aziraphale thinks, and tilts his head back as far as he dares.
Crowley shoots forward at the motion, spilling down Aziraphale’s throat without thought or resistance, and Aziraphale gives a belated swallow.
He places a hand over where Crowley is almost on reflex, as he focuses on the sensation of a snake in his stomach, settling into the folds of the organ. (In general, neither his stomach, nor any other part of his internals, were so sensitive as to be able to pick up the movements of a snake, let alone one that hardly weighed anything, but he barely had to think about it before suddenly it is so.)
“Are you comfortable, my dear?”
“Yesss.”
“Very good, then.”
And so he settles in to fix his watch, the sweet taste of friendship much better than any peppermint.