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“What’s all this?”
“You made me comfortable when we spent the night at your place. I wanted to return the favour.”
“Angel, I’ve spent loads of nights at the bookshop. You’ve never put out blood pudding before…or black linens… hah, or a humidifier.”
Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably. “We were undercover then.”
“Is that a heat lamp?”
“I didn’t know— stop laughing! —I didn’t know what you’d like! Oh dear. I may have overdone things.”
“I’ll say. The ole back room looks like the temple of some ancient snake god. One with a taste for dried crickets and vinegar crisps.” Crowley picked up a tiny black mug and examined it. It was sitting next to a silver espresso machine, complete with built-in milk steamer. Crinkling aluminium bags of crisps and crickets were neatly arranged in a wicker basket. There was also a platter of deviled eggs, a snake sculpture nearly as long as Crowley was tall, and a new-looking speaker system. All of it clashed terribly with the shop’s tartan-and-dust motif.
Aziraphale suddenly looked wretched. “I’m sorry. I wanted to make you comfortable, and I realised… well…”
“What?”
“We don't actually know each other that well!”
“What?”
“Oh, don’t look like that. I didn’t mean… well… look. I know how you feel about God killing children—”
“Not really a stretch, that, is it?” Crowley muttered.
“—a-and about Gabriel—”
“‘S a wanker.”
“—and paperwork that has to be filled out in triplicate… all the big things. But. You like a singer called ‘Velvet Underground’—”
Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose.
“And it turns out you’ve known Shadwell for years— same as I have— and you live in what’s practically an arboretum, and I had no idea. It’s the same for you! You could name my interests, I think—“
“Classical music, restaurants, snuff boxes.” Crowley sniffed.
“—after a fashion. But I’ll wager you can’t tell me what I do at night.”
“…Read?”
“We’ve spent our lives meeting in secret. Avoiding each other. Only ever discussing essentials.”
“There’ve been a lot of essentials to discuss!” Crowley said defensively.
“Yes! And we’ve been so worried it’d all go wrong. I never thought this far ahead. Never thought what I’d do if I had more time. If I had… you.” Aziraphale had started to fuss around the drinks table, back turned, and Crowley couldn’t see his face.
“Ngk. Now that you have me… what do you intend to do with me?”
“I intend…” Aziraphale turned around, carrying— hold the phone— a fermented date-palm cocktail, the kind with nutmeg and crushed lemongrass.
Crowley hadn’t had one of those since Gomorrah. He raised his eyebrows and took the drink with a surprised nod of thanks.
Aziraphale smiled. “I intend to get to know you.”
The game was called “Firsts”, because Aziraphale thought having an emotionally intimate conversation freeform would be improper and borderline anarchic. “First time you disrupted a royal succession,” the angel said.
“Hmm. Now that had to’ve been… wouldja count Alexander Balas?”
“Of the Seleucid Empire? I recall he spent rather too much time on— ahem— pleasures of the flesh, and wound up with his head on the end of a pointy stick.”
“Spear, angel, haven’t you ever been near a battlefield?”
“I try to avoid them, you know. No sword.”
Crowley snorted. “Anyway, who d’you think convinced him to spend all that time cavortin’?”
“I see.”
“He was an imposter anyway. And a git. Okay, my turn.”
Aziraphale made a “go ahead” motion, refilling his wine glass.
“First time you broke a Commandment.”
“Commandments are for humans.”
“Ohhh, that’s an excuse if I ever heard one, so it must’ve been pretty early on.” Crowley popped another cricket into his mouth. “You know, these aren’t bad.”
“All right. There may be a book or two in my collection whose owners didn’t care for them properly, and I thought of it as doing them a favour, really, when I…”
“Stole them?”
“I prefer ‘liberated’.” Aziraphale looked untroubled. “Some of them were going to be burned. There’s a whole library famous for it.”
“Alexandria… wait. Were you there?”
“Were you?”
“Only on the fringes. I knew Hastur was itching to torch all that papyrus. I tried to distract him with some abandoned ships, but the fire spread anyway.” Crowley felt a pang of sadness. While he watched the great library go up in smoke, he’d pictured how crestfallen Aziraphale would be when he heard the news.
“We had word of demonic activity in the area. I was able to, let’s say, liberate a few hundred scrolls in the days before the place was destroyed. They looked like they could use a rescue. Mmm.” Aziraphale took a sip of wine (pomegranate, in keeping with the theme of demonic food and drink). “Speaking of rescues! I already know some of your ‘firsts’. You first rescued an angel in 1792.”
“Says you. Maybe I went around rescuing loads of angels. Maybe it was a hobby of mine, like horticulture.”
“I don’t think so. I know you at least that well.” Aziraphale smiled at him over the rim of his glass, and Crowley felt his insides turn liquid.
“Nhhgh.”
“And you first ate an oyster about ten years after Yeshua’s death. In Rome.”
“Well…” Crowley cleared his throat.
“That… wasn’t your first time?”
“Mph. Not. Not exactly.”
“You said you’d never eaten an oyster! I remember distinctly!”
“I—”
“I had to show you what to do!”
“The actual thing is—”
“I demonstrated how to suck them out of the shell! Step by step, Crowley! I must have looked like an absolute tit! How could you let me do that?”
“It just popped out, okay? When I said ‘I’ve never eaten an oyster’, that is; not the, y’know, actual oyster. I wanted to go to dinner with you!” Crowley groaned and hid his face in a crimson throw pillow.
Aziraphale was silent for a long moment. Finally he said, softly, “Why?”
“Wha- whmph?”
“Sorry?”
Crowley lifted his head reluctantly. “Why what?”
“Why did you want to go to dinner with me?”
The angel’s expression was sincere, eyes wide with what looked like a genuine invitation… but Crowley had been here before. Try to go “too fast” and Aziraphale would retreat back into his shell like a box turtle. It might take years to pry him out again.
He couldn’t risk it. Crowley looked away. “Nuh-uh. We said we’d ask each other ‘firsts’. That’s the game. No fair going off script.”
Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. Crowley bit into a scotch quail egg and chewed, trying to radiate nonchalance.
“Fine,” the angel said at length. “First kiss, then.”
Crowley sucked in a breath and then sat up, coughing. Aziraphale coolly handed him a handkerchief.
“I.” Crowley swallowed and tried again. “I kissed blokes in Greece. We both did.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh, that… um. Thing about that. Just didn’t seem… and I had a lot on my plate at the time… all the time, really… so, you know, never really got round…” Crowley attempted a dismissive wave. His hand shook, spoiling the effect.
“Oh,” Aziraphale said, blinking. His fingers tapped a nervous staccato rhythm on his thigh.
Crowley took a long swallow of wine. He looked around at Aziraphale’s sincere attempt at demon chic. He could steer the conversation back into safer waters now, probably should, but what the Heaven. It wasn’t like he was initiating anything, he was just playing the game. Getting to know Aziraphale. Couldn’t be accused of going too fast if he was following the rules.
If anyone asked, he could say the angel had tempted him into it.
He drained his glass and leaned back on his elbows. “First time you wanked?” he said, in the tones of someone who was supremely unconcerned with the answer.
“Crowley!”
“C’mon! You’ve read books! You know all about so-called ‘pleasures of the flesh’. I dunno if your lot let you do any cavorting of your own, but you must’ve tried out the equipment a time or two.”
“I can’t believe you would ask me—”
“What? We’re gettin’ to know each other, here. This was your idea.”
“But I—”
“What’s the difference between eatin’ an oyster and having one off the wrist? They’re just experiences.”
Aziraphale’s cheeks were as red as the new throw pillows. His lips pressed together in a thin line.
“There’s nothing the matter with it,” Crowley said reassuringly. “S’not even what God was mad at Onan for. She was just tetchy about him not wantin’ kids.”
“Oh, yes,” said Aziraphale, thawing. “She was in one of Her moods, as I recall. Smote two of Judah’s three boys. Bit of an overreaction, I thought.”
Crowley made a “well, there you go” gesture and fixed Aziraphale with an expectant look. His glasses were folded on the side table, and he knew the snake stare would get the angel nearly every time.
Aziraphale sighed. “389 BC. In Athens. If you must know.”
389 BC… Athens. Why did that sound so familiar… oh. He’d been there, on assignment, playing the role of an athlete. One of the very… naked… athletes. “You didn’t visit the Akademia gymnasium,” Crowley croaked. “D-did you?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. There was a runner I remember particularly. He had very captivating thighs.” Aziraphale’s expression turned dreamy.
Crowley bit his tongue. Aziraphale was either talking about him, or he wasn’t. He didn’t know which possibility terrified him more.
“And scarlet hair that fell in ringlets over his shoulders...”
That could’ve been anyone…
“And he won a wreath during the diaulos contest on August 15th.”
Oh fuck. Crowley still had that wreath somewhere.
“I felt a little guilty looking at him. He was a colleague of sorts, and we had occasional business dealings. It was extraordinarily unprofessional. But I couldn’t help myself.”
Crowley hid his face in his hands. “Why didn’t you say something, angel? I’d have covered up!”
Aziraphale chuckled, the complete bastard. “Don’t be ridiculous. Exercise in the nude was the order of the day. You’d have given yourself away.”
“Ghnh.”
“As you said, there’s nothing wrong with it.”
“I did say that,” Crowley admitted.
“At any rate, we hardly knew each other back then. So I didn’t announce myself. But when I retired to my rooms, I thought about… that runner. About the way his muscles moved. And how the oil made his skin glow. I started to feel… peculiar…”
Crowley was starting to feel peculiar himself, if that was the word they were using for it.
Aziraphale looked up. Their gazes locked. “Anyhow,” he murmured, “That was the first time.”
Crowley made some sort of mortifying clicking noise with his tongue and tried to close his mouth. Part of his brain was backpedalling towards normalcy. It’s just a game, it whispered. He doesn’t mean anything by it.
Aziraphale was still in the arm chair, but he was leaning towards where Crowley sprawled on the sofa like a plant towards the sun. His eyes were half-lidded, and Crowley saw them drop to his lips, just for a second.
Crowley’s brain seized up like the Bentley had before he’d realised she needed oil. He cleared his throat, and found his voice on the second try. “Your… your turn.”
“My… turn?” Aziraphale looked genuinely taken aback. He fixed Crowley with an astonished stare.
Crowley nodded dumbly.
The angel sat up straight. He smiled tightly. “I see. Right.”
Shit. Crowley knew that look. He was in for it now.
“We seem to be mutually curious about one another’s experiences with physical intimacy.”
“Ooh, sounds so naughty when you say it like that.” The words came out smooth as anything, this time. Crowley had a lot of practice sounding calm while screaming internally.
“Don’t make fun. You’re right, there’s no reason not to discuss them. These corporations are equipped with all kinds of interesting nerve endings. There’s as much variety to be had in the realm of sexual stimulation as there is in the gustatory or auditory spheres. An erotic banquet. A sensual symphony.” Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was a hint of steel underneath. “So now that we’re on the subject…”
Crowley gulped.
“...first time you experienced a prostatic orgasm?”
Crowley's wineglass fell to the floor and shattered.
Aziraphale, merciless, miracled it back together and set it on the table. “You’re a demon, after all. If I, an angel, have— as you say— tried out my equipment, then I assume you’ve approached your own with the same enthusiasm and vigour you bring to driving the Bentley. No?”
“Just because I’m a demon?” Crowley squeaked.
“I’m not implying anything about your morals, dear. It’s just that you’ve been in a human body a long time, and I’m not aware of any restrictions for demons when it comes to sexual expression. It stands to reason that you would, without anything standing in your way.”
“But I… I… I said I hadn’t even kissed—”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“Oh my Go— Someone.” Crowley closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.
“Or…” Aziraphale paused. “Does it have something to do with it?”
“I—”
“Is there a reason why we might not want to put our proclivities and experiences on show in this fashion? Parading them out in front of one another like it’s some sort of— of contest!”
Crowley pointed a finger at him. He was currently hiding his face behind his other hand. “You started this!”
“I asked about kissing. To see, perhaps, if that was another way we could get to know one another.” The angel looked furious, and more than a little embarrassed.
“You want to kiss me?”
“Don’t be obtuse.”
“Oh.”
There was another silence. Outside, the rumble of a car engine first crescendoed, then faded down the dark street. Rain pattered on the roof.
Crowley got up from the sofa. He felt like he was floating. He walked past a pile of grimoires, a wrought-iron pentagram sculpture, and an etching of Eve with a serpent twined around her feet.
He leaned down, and Aziraphale reached up, and that (September the 23rd, he thought giddily, write it down!) was the night he had his first kiss.
Aziraphale tasted like pomegranates and apple tart.
“First time you… you… hah.” Crowley breathed and tried to focus. Aziraphale’s fingers were very skilled, and very distracting. “First time you wanted me like this.”
There was a contemplative hum from the darkness above him. “Later than Athens, but perhaps not much later. My hand brushed your lip when I passed you an oyster, that day in Rome.” Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s bottom lip softly with his own, and Crowley groaned. “Like this.”
“Yeah… I remember.”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about it. That night I… well, I suppose I can’t tell you now, since it wasn’t the first time I did that.”
Crowley pinched him. “Bastard.”
“Rules are rules. You said so.”
“I did. Ohfuck, angel!”
“The prostate is a remarkable structure. It takes some time to get the pressure right, but when one does…”
“Come here.” Crowley’s teeth were clenched. “Need you.”
Neither of them spoke for a little while after that. Mouths occupied as they were, it would have been impossible.
“Crowley?”
“Yeah?”
“When did… when did… oh, when did you first eat an oyster?”
Crowley’s surprised laugh turned into a moan. “You want to know that? Now?”
Aziraphale twinkled at him and moved his hips in a way that made Crowley clutch at the sheets and hiss.
“Fuck, at, at Petrionius’, same as you. I’d had lunch there that day.”
Aziraphale froze, frowning down at him. Crowley nudged one lovely, plush buttock impatiently with his heel.
“That day?” Aziraphale murmured, but he took mercy on Crowley and started moving again.
Crowley mouthed at his shoulder. Aziraphale shuddered and rocked them faster. “I was at that tavern, rancid with absolutely everyone, and suddenly my obnoxiously cheerful adversary’s tryin’ to chat me up. Got on my last nerve… oh Hells, angel, right there!”
“Th-then why…?”
“You were nattering about oysters, and from nowhere I blurt out that I’ve never had one. I’m trying… ah… I’m trying to figure out why the Heaven I said that, and next thing I know we're at the restaurant. You, mmm, you sat there teaching me how to eat them; meanwhile I’m spending half the meal glaring at Petronius over your shoulder, daring him to say a word.”
Aziraphale settled his hands around the sharp edges of Crowley’s iliac crests, first adjusting the angle minutely, then giving himself an anchor to thrust against a place inside Crowley that had him seeing stars. “You did seem distracted,” he breathed.
Crowley’s body was beginning to shake, harsh tremors overtaking him. “Yeah, well. That’s mostly because I was, I was…” he writhed and raked his nails down Aziraphale’s thighs. “I realised I was experiencing another first. Ah!”
Aziraphale’s lips parted softly. “First what?” he gasped.
Crowley’s back arched. The warmth that had been building in his belly and between his legs surged upward, radiating waves of pleasure through his body. He cried out.
He was still trembling a minute later when Aziraphale’s strokes became faster and more erratic. “First what, Crowley?” the angel moaned, sounding desperate.
“First time falling in love.”
Aziraphale shuddered to a stop, stiffened, and kissed him as he came.
“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say these sheets are new.”
“Oh, do you like them? The lady at the shop said bamboo sheets are just as soft, but they weren’t available in black so I went with silk in the end.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow. “You invited me back to your carefully decorated home and now I find you made the bed up special. People will say…” he leaned in towards Aziraphale, wearing his most suggestive expression, “... you were trying to seduce me.”
Aziraphale had the decency to look guilty. “I wasn’t expecting anything. Though all right, I might have hoped…” he blushed. It was annoyingly endearing. “Mostly, I really did want to get to know you better.”
“In the Biblical sense.”
“That’s only a part of it—!”
Crowley’s expression cracked and he began to laugh. He kissed the angel’s pink-tinged cheek. “I’m kidding.”
“You’re dreadful.”
“Oh, that reminds me. It’s my turn.”
“What?”
“You asked about the first time I ate an oyster. So it’s my turn now.”
“We’re not still—”
“When was the first time you fell in love?”
Aziraphale suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Don’t be angry.”
“‘S alright, I know I go too fast. I know it hasn’t been as long for you, Hell, maybe it was even somebody else first; I remember you had a thing for that writer bloke—”
“The wall.”
“The… wall? What wall? Wait. The wall of Eden?”
Crowley stared. Aziraphale flopped onto his back, covering his mortified expression with his hands. “Crowley, I’d never been so frightened in my life! I’d failed my task. The humans had left the garden. God asked me about my sword, and I lied! To Her! When you came up to me, I thought ‘This is it, I’m going to Fall’.”
“You thought I was…?”
“I thought you were my escort for the journey downstairs,” Aziraphale said. “Then you said… you said…” he blinked at the ceiling, eyes bright. “You said I was an angel. And you didn’t think I could do the wrong thing. I loved you for that.”
“Full disclosure, I was being sarcastic,” Crowley said reluctantly. “Hope that doesn’t change how you feel.”
Aziraphale turned to his side and gave him the sort of smile he’d first seen on the wall— delight, relief and joy that transformed his face into something otherworldly.
Crowley suddenly wondered if Rome had been his first time, after all.
“I know,” said Aziraphale, resting his head on Crowley’s chest and layering their legs. “I know you now.”
“Angel?”
“Mmm?”
“Prostate orgasms are fantastic. Cheers.”
“Aren’t they, though?”
“Another first, if you're keeping track."
"Oh. Good. ...Crowley?"
"Mmm?"
"Stop eating crickets in the bed."