AKA Chocolate covered strawberries and champagne flavoured kisses
Category: Humor, food, food kink, mutual pining, idiots in love, post-almost Apocalypse (good omens)
Summary: The first time Crowley was treated to the unadulterated joy that Aziraphale found in consuming food, was in Rome, watching him eat a pile of oysters, making noises and commenting on the brilliantly done dish.
The plans of demons - especially Crowley's - sometimes backfire in the most magnificent way.
Notes: Thank you to Meinposhbastard who kept going 'well done, now write more' and then graciously beta'ed the story LOL
Not to mention, dealing with both of us getting hungry every time we spoke about what dishes Aziraphale might enjoy ;)
(See the end of the work for more notes.)
Word count: 5,137
Truth be told, it had started back in Rome, hadn't it? When an angel had almost offered to tempt a demon and Crowley had remembered why he liked seeing Aziraphale once in a while.
It wasn't that Crowley wasn't familiar with the idea of eating. He'd studied humans enough to notice and he'd tried some himself, though he couldn't say it was something that appealed to him. Unlike alcohol, food just didn't do much for him.
What he learned that fateful day in Rome, however, was that food very much did it for Aziraphale and, in turn, Aziraphale's almost obscene appreciation of food did it for Crowley. It just took a while for him to realize this.
Granted, a lot of human time periods were dull foodwise and he'd heard the angel more than once complaining about the lack of good cuisine. Or rather, he'd lament the fact that humans had seemingly let good cooking slide.
It did, however, always come back - and in the meantime there was always the alcohol. If you asked Crowley, anyway.
So the first time Crowley was treated to the unadulterated joy that Aziraphale found in consuming food, was in Rome, watching him eat a pile of oysters, making noises and commenting on the brilliantly done dish.
Of course, this was also the first time they'd spent time in each other's company that was in no way work related for them. And Crowley found that he quite liked it. He'd come to Rome to tempt Calligula but had found that, well, there wasn’t much work for him there, was there? Calligula was perfectly capable of creating his own sins and needed no temptations. Quite frankly, even on a bad day, Crowley wouldn't have considered half of what that depraved human had come up with.
It didn't happen often over the years, but whenever they would share a food related experience, Crowley would be reminded of just how fascinating it was to watch Aziraphale appreciate food. He rarely had any - and if he did, he only nibbled at it and let Aziraphale eat the rest. He did, of course, always have wine or a good ale. And once humans came up with coffee, he hadn't turned that down.
As the millennia went by, and food became more varied and interesting, he came to the realization that he had quite a catalogue of Aziraphale's reactions to food.
Not to mention that he caught on to the fact that he had quite a thing for Aziraphale's reactions. Of course he was never going to tell the angel that. It would spoil the fun and Aziraphale would either stop doing it or stop sharing dinners and lunches with Crowley - out of embarrassment, probably.
It shouldn't have bugged Crowley as much as it did, the thought of missing out on their infrequent dinners and lunches.
After the oyster dinner, it was millennia before they dined together again. They'd both at some point settled in London, and British cuisine hadn't exactly been impressive - but they still managed their lunches and dinners every now and again, but the Paris experience was never quite topped. And Crowley appreciated this, because if every and any dinner with Aziraphale could be more suggestive than the previous, then Crowley wouldn't be long for this world.
At least the British had beer and wine could always be imported. As could, Crowley realized, little gifts for Aziraphale, like chocolate or a good Chinese tea. The wine at least they both partook in - the beer less so. Not that Aziraphale didn't like a good ale, but he tended to stay away from it as it made him sleepy - and cuddly, but Crowley never mentioned this, because that had possibly been one of the loveliest evenings ever, even if he'd spent three hours on a couch in the same position, afraid to move.
Aziraphale had never mentioned it, so neither did Crowley. Either the angel was embarrassed by it or he didn't remember. The ale had been quite potent.
Paris had been interesting. Crowley had no idea what Aziraphale was on about the crepés for, but he'd tag along for the wine at least. And maybe tease Aziraphale about the silliness of travelling to Paris during the revolution just because he wanted crepés.
Crowley had not been prepared for the experience and he hoped that his tinted glasses would hide the widening of his eyes because damn! Aziraphale had cut the crepés into tiny bites and each was consumed with much appreciation.
Never had Crowley been so glad he'd foregone the whole human experience of genitalia for this century - the current clothes just fit better this way - but it also meant he hadn't had to fight off an embarrassing physical reaction.
If the angel only knew... probably a good thing he didn't. And Crowley had drowned any other reaction in the wine.
The worst time had been after the whole holy water debacle. When he hadn't seen Aziraphale for 79 years. They'd gone longer between meetings before, but by this point the times had become shorter. They hadn't shared a meal since Paris, but alcohol still made a frequent appearance.
And a sloshed angel was a fucking adorable sight, one that Crowley had to make sure his brain kept still about because once he was sloshed as well, his mouth didn't always do as he wanted it to. Wouldn't do telling the angel of his affections.
No, the 79 years were definitely the worst because it wasn't just coincidence and they'd parted on bad footing and this meant perhaps never watching Aziraphale eat again or getting drunk with him.
Or in general never seeing him again, full stop!
And more than once he was reminded of it. Those were the days where he did his job to the utmost and beyond. Because anger fueled him like nothing else. And the anger was there every time he saw some interesting dish or dessert and the first thing that came to mind was 'wonder if Aziraphale has tried this or would like to try this.'
Fucking sucked. Because a split second later he'd remember that he couldn't just go drag the angel off for lunch or dinner.
They were apparently not supposed to fraternize.
It was such a short time compared to what had come before, but on that day, when he'd spoken to Aziraphale about the antichrist and had worked hard to convince Aziraphale of the need for their intervention, the distance between Aziraphale saying 'no' to planning and then falling right into the 'let's have lunch' thing... it had made something loosen in Crowley's chest that he hadn't been aware of at all. A tension that he'd never noticed or at least never noticed in a way that he could put words to what it might be.
The Ritz was a brilliant place to dine, because the food made Aziraphale return to his little huffs and half moans of appreciation and they had good coffee and wine which let Crowley hide his interest behind it.
Through all the years that had come before, through the few times they dined together before the world was about to end, until they'd played their little game of tag and body swap with their respective employers, Crowley never rocked the boat.
Well, almost - he'd almost caved. Once, during their time keeping an eye on Warlock, they'd both needed a little something else, and Crowley had let Aziraphale drag him off to a sushi restaurant. If Crowley had known how bad this would be, he'd have turned him down (liar-liar pants on fire).
Crowley, being the original tempter of the Garden of Eden, had to give it to the angel. The visual and aural show he'd been subjected to had been spectacular. The soft exhalations and inhalations, the way they hitched at times and Aziraphale's half-lidded, far away gaze? It had all done a hell of a number on Crowley, lodging itself somewhere in Crowley's gut and refusing to let go. Sunk its teeth in, so to speak.
Crowley sat back in his seat, dark glasses covering his eyes, he'd made sure of that. They were slowly moving further away from Armageddon-that-hadn't-happened. In the two weeks since, he'd been out with Aziraphale at least twice a week.
An aberration, surely, but Crowley wasn't going to argue. Considering that they were no longer officially on opposite sides, they could seek out each others' company whenever they felt like it. And considering that they had no one else on their side but the humans, it made sense to stick together.
Who was he kidding? There was no doubt that they'd both seemingly taken to their newfound freedom with gusto. They no longer needed to be careful about being noticed, they no longer had to come up with flimsy reasons to meet up.
They no longer had any reason to meet apart from the one that was important; it was something they both wanted. Crowley secretly felt like rubbing it in the faces of both heaven and hell anyway, so to him it was a win-win situation.
It also meant Crowley had to learn how to deal with his obsession with Aziraphale eating or rather Aziraphale's reactions to food and drink. And what better way to do so than to make it happen so often he'd become used to it and stop finding it so damned enticing.
This would not be the first, nor the last time that one of Crowley's plans backfired.
"Angel - how does the Savoy tonight sound? I have it from close sources that Kaspar's has fresh scallops in - and their wine menu isn't bad either," Crowley said as he pushed himself through the door to the bookshop late in the afternoon. The shop was open and there were one or two people in browsing the books.
An elderly woman who was looking through some old books on garden maintenance shot him an annoyed look. It wasn't like this was a library and Crowley had to be quiet, so he just shot her his widest grin and sauntered through the store like he owned it.
"Crowley?" Aziraphale came out from the back of the shop, beaming widely at him. "Did I just hear you say the magic words of Kasper's and scallops?"
"And wine," Crowley added, because that was important too.
"Oh yes," Aziraphale agreed wholeheartedly. And there it was, the happy little wiggle he'd been hoping for.
Crowley wondered if he should offer to get rid of the customers, but before he could, Aziraphale had hustled him into the back and onto the little couch there. And had handed him a glass of scotch.
"Allow me a little time to close the store and I'll be right with you," Aziraphale promised.
"No worries, angel - the booking's not until later - but... I figured maybe a walk first?" Crowley suggested. Couldn't hurt for Aziraphale to work up an appetite.
"What an absolutely brilliant idea, my dear," Aziraphale agreed and bustled back to the main part of the store.
Crowley closed his eyes and took a sip of the scotch. It was strange the way his whole body seemed both tense and relaxed at the same time. Tense because he was taking Aziraphale out for food again, and relaxed because... well, because he was doing something familiar and there was nothing wrong with it.
When Aziraphale returned, Crowley wondered if he'd bodily thrown out the customers, because it hadn't been that long and especially the old lady who'd glared at him when he'd entered hadn't struck him as being easily dissuaded.
"So, the Savoy," Aziraphale said, slipping his arms into his coat sleeves. "That has been a while."
"Thought so," Crowley agreed, downing the rest of the scotch and getting to his feet, leaving the glass on the small table next to the couch. "And I know you like your seafood."
"I do indeed," Azriphale agreed and started into a lengthy reminiscence of the oysters of Rome and Crowley just followed him as he exited the bookstore and they walked towards the Savoy. It wouldn't take much more than maybe 20 or 30 minutes to walk but it would be time spent in Aziraphale's company.
The Bentley would be at the Savoy when they were done and Crowley would do the gentlemanly thing and drive his dinner companion home.
The scallops were positively heavenly, according to Aziraphale and Crowley couldn't complain about Kaspar's wine selection.
Neither could he complain about the little hmmms and mmmms and aaaahs that were escaping Aziraphale during the dinner. It was absolutely one of the most hedonistic things Crowley had ever witnessed and he'd been a tempter for millennia!
Crowley bit the inside of his cheek as another half moan escaped Aziraphale. Then he sipped his white wine because at least he could drown his doomed lust in that, rather than twitch in his seat because he'd stupidly made the effort years back, just because it had felt right and because the human clothes style these days just made it look more normal if he were.
He could kid himself and say that he was regretting this, but it was by now part of the experience, wasn't it? Sitting for a couple of hours, watching Aziraphale eat and listening to the small noises he'd make and feel his human body drown in lust. And tonight was no different, obviously.
The tight trousers he favoured were only making him feel it even more and while he could just will it away, unlike what a human could do, he didn't want to. While he enjoyed seeing Aziraphale happy, allowing himself to find some similar joy in watching him almost on the verge of an orgasm because of some damned food... well, Crowley wasn't too proud to admit this to himself.
He sort of hoped that it would eventually grow so familiar that he wouldn't react to it, but so far it was not working was it?
On the contrary.
Now one might think that Aziraphale would only go for highbrow uppercrust cuisine, understandably. He did frequent both the Savoy and the Ritz and quite a few other high-end restaurants. One would, however, be wrong.
It wasn't even always Crowley who came up with their outings. A week or so after the whole scallops incident, he got another chance. This time, however, Aziraphale had gotten it into his head he needed nachos.
"Nachos, angel, is that not a little subpar for your usual tastes?" Crowley asked lazily as he followed Aziraphale into the Mexican restaurant that Aziraphale had chosen.
"Oh, goodness no," Aziraphale said with a small laugh. "I have had nachos before, but that was in Mexico and many many years back - I remember it as being such a wonderfully flavourful experience!"
And if Crowley had had any argument against this little outing, they would have all died a quiet death. The place had tequila - good tequila as well. And watching Aziraphale navigate a plate of nachos was perhaps his biggest temptation to date.
Over the years he'd watched Aziraphale use cutlery and eating in his neat ways - he wasn't sure he'd seen him eating with his fingers since the oyster incident in Rome. And that had been bad enough - watching him eat nachos and licking the spices and salt off his fingertips... well, Crowley was sure that was an image no one could withstand.
"Probably more salt than is healthy, angel," Crowley said conversationally as he licked his own lips, mirroring Aziraphale licking salt off his lips.
"Ah, I don't think it will have any adverse effects on my body," Aziraphale disagreed. "I rarely indulge in this type of greasy and spicy food, but once in a while is not bad. Although perhaps the last time it involved tequila, was a bit much. I meant to ask, my dear friend, was the tequila body shot one of, well, hell's ideas?"
Crowley blinked unseeingly at him for a moment. Body shots... "Angel, did you-?"
"Oh goodness no - I found it intriguing if a bit messy," he said, wiggling in his seat as he scooped up a little more guac with a corn chip already coated in cheese.
"I think that one was an entirely human invention," Crowley replied, trying oh so hard not to imagine licking salt off Airaphale's chest and diving into those lovely lips to get to a slice of lime.
And he hoped God appreciated his self control because he did not open his mouth and offer to let Aziraphale try it out on him.
"I know I can't talk you into trying it, but it truly is divine," Aziraphale carried on.
Crowley closed his eyes very slowly, then opened them just as slowly. He wasn't talking about the body shot, damn it. Crowley shifted in his seat. "You know me- I like the booze and seeing you enjoy a meal is enough for me."
"Oh!" Aziraphale grabbed his napkin and dabbed at his lips, leaving an almost imperceptible lipstick print of grease, salt and salsa on it. His cheeks were slightly red but that could be from the booze as well as the heat in the restaurant. It didn't mean anything. "You always do indulge me, my friend - sometimes I think I don't deserve you."
Crowley, in a display of otherworldly self control, took a gulp of his tequila and did not bang his head against the table in sheer frustration. "Always, angel, you know that."
At some later point in the evening, Crowley managed to walk out to the Bentley, sober up enough to drive it to the bookshop and drop Aziraphale off. The drive was done in companionable silence and Crowley was more or less back in control of himself by the time they arrived. Saying goodnight like all the other times and then home because he needed some alone-time to put himself back together.
Crowley leaned with his arm on the window of the Bentley, looking out and up at Aziraphale who was still standing on the pavement, watching him with a fond expression.
"Yes?" Crowley replied, feeling mellow and sated. For all the ups and downs and the fucking temptation of watching Aziraphale eat, he wouldn't change anything about the evening. Maybe apart from a goodnight kiss, but that was not on the table.
"Do you still have a bottle or two of that lovely champagne you introduced me to a while back?"
"The Crémant d'Alsace?" Crowley asked, because he vividly remembered how bubbly that stuff had made Aziraphale. If the angel wanted more of that, he definitely had it.
"Bring it over tomorrow night?" Aziraphale shifted a little, trying hard not to fidget. He straightened where he stood. "Eight o'clock? Bring it over chilled?"
"Sure, can do," Crowley agreed, at least getting drunk together was nothing, it didn't involve food, because they weren't going out, so he was safe to let his guard down, right?
Mid-afternoon the next day came the doubt. Could he let his guard down? He still had the whole Mexican food thing clear in memory, gloriously so, including sound, scent and how hard it had been to not shift his chair closer, take the angel's hand and lick the salt off himself.
Crowley growled at himself while he made sure that not one, but two bottles of sparkly were chilled. He'd rarely seen Aziraphale drunk on sweet wine, but when it happened it was always great fun. And a hell of a temptation as well. If ale made Aziraphale sleepy and cuddly, sweet, sparkly dessert wines made him giggly and adorable.
If he was going down, he was going down in style.
The champagne cooler was in the car, adjusted in size to fit two bottles rather than one, keeping them just at the right temperature. Hey, he didn't do these things by half, okay? If Aziraphale wanted this, he was getting it the right way. Proper Crémant d'Alsace that had been made with time and love and not just miracaled into existence.
The drive to the bookshop felt like it took twice what it normally did, but also like he was there well before he was ready for it. Taking a deep breath when he'd parked the Bentley out front, he forced his nerves the calm the fuck down. They were going to spend the evening drinking like they'd done so many times before.
The first clue that something wasn't like it normally was, was the cleared area in the backroom, picnic blanket on the floor and cushions haphazardly scattered on it.
"What's this about, angel?" Crowley asked, eyeing the setup as he hugged the champagne cooler to his chest like a shield.
"Oh!" Aziraphale took the cooler from him and Crowley did not fight him - even if he felt woefully unprepared all of the sudden and had nothing to do with his hands. "I thought we'd get comfortable." He sat the cooler down next to the blanket and gestured for Crowley to sit down.
Before Crowley could argue, Aziraphale wandered off further back. "Sit down, dear, I'll be right back."
Crowley kicked his shoes off and dropped his jacket on the cushionless couch before sitting down among the scattered cushions on the floor. He had a moment to wonder what had gotten into Aziraphale before the angel returned, a plate full of something chocolate covered in his hands.
He placed it on the floor and sat down right next to Crowley, a broad grin on his face. Then he wiggled a little, getting comfortable, his jacket, waistcoat and shoes nowhere in sight.
"I've been meaning to try this out since I first read about it," Aziraphale told him, reaching behind him to the table for two champagne flutes. "Would you do the honours, my dear?" he asked, pointing at the bottles and giving Crowley the flutes.
That at least Crowley knew he could do. Even if the cork went flying over one of the bookcases, crashing down on the other side in the darkened bookshop somewhere. Crowley willed the champagne to stay in the bottle. He was not going to spend the rest of the evening sticky and wet.
Filling both flutes, he handed one to Aziraphale and put the bottle back in the cooler. He watched with fascination as Aziraphale carefully took what he realized where chocolate covered strawberries. The crack of the chocolate breaking as he sank his teeth into it was like a pistol shot and the small moan that followed made Crowley quickly gulp down half the content of his flute.
He was so screwed.
"I really wish you'd give it a try, Crowley," Aziraphale said, exhaling slowly, before tipping his flute up to sip his own champagne. It didn't help that he licked his lips afterwards.
Swallowing hard, Crowley just stared, because Aziraphale just wiggled again, moaning as another berry followed the first. And then more Champagne. And of course the more Aziraphale wiggled in his seat, the closer he seemed to get to Crowley.
A fact that snuck up on Crowley. And when he noticed it was too late to move away without attracting attention to it. So he suffered where he sat, trying to keep the conversation going with a tipsy Aziraphale.
"Come now, Crowley, be a sport," Aziraphale said, holding up a chocolate covered strawberry, tapping Crowley's lower lip with it. "You've partaken before, why not now? Don't you trust me?" The latter was added with a pout and a softness that was going to undo Crowley.
"It's not you I don't trust!" Crowley replied before he could stop himself. He stared at Aziraphale and Aziraphale stared at him. Then he put the strawberry back on the plate and gave Crowley his full attention.
And Crowley knew he was fucked.
"Well," Azriaphale said, haltingly. Then he huffed and shook his head. "I couldn't get you to offer a tequila body shot when I brought it up, though I felt I hinted heavily enough. I thought this might get me somewhere - you haven't been subtle."
Crowley squeezed his eyes shut. "I hate you." He'd been trying to go slow enough that he wouldn't startle Aziraphale - and had ended up, apparently, going so slow that Aziraphale had overtaken him by a few lightyears.
Aziraphale's laugh sounded so carefree. "You do not."
"No, no, I'd be lying if I said I hated you, but you could have been more upfront, you know?" Crowley took his dark glasses off and dropped them on the couch behind them. He squeezed the bridge of his nose. Not like he had to hide behind them anymore.
"Like you could have as well?" Aziraphale asked drily.
Crowley grumbled his annoyance, but his heart wasn't really in it. His heart, the treacherous little bastard, was far too busy beating double time at the thought of what all this meant, of having what he'd wanted for so long within his reach.
"So, I repeat," Aziraphale said, voice dropping an octave as he held the strawberry up to Crowley's lips again. "Please try this with the Crémant d'Alsace." He rubbed the tip of the chocolate encased strawberry against Crowley's lower lip.
Crowley finally parted his lips and the look of utter triumph on Aziraphale's face would have been adorable if it hadn't been so fucking hot. As it were, it hit Crowley right in the gut and all he could do was close his teeth around the hardened thin shell of chocolate, bite through and actually chew on it.
It wasn't half bad, the sweetness and tartness combination, but he wasn't really paying attention to it. He couldn't take his eyes off of Aziraphale as the angel reached out and urged him to take a sip of the champagne.
The bubbles burst in his mouth, mixing with the other flavours and as he swallowed, he opened his mouth to tell Aziraphale that he'd been right. He barely uttered a syllable when Aziraphale learned in and licked at his lower lip.
Taken by surprise, he moaned as Aziraphale fitted his mouth over his and dove right in. Crowley almost toppled over, nearly losing the champagne flute in the process.
When Aziraphale pulled back, cheeks red and eyes bright, Crowley couldn't form a coherent sentence. "I, um, wha?"
"You had a bit of strawberry juice on your lips," Aziraphale said, obviously going for airy, landing hard and heavily on breathless instead.
Crowly reached out and tangled his fingers in Aziraphale's shirt. "I think you missed a bit," he told the laughing angel who willingly followed the pull on his shirt.
If the strawberries and champagne had tasted good on their own, it was nothing compared to experiencing them inside Aziraphale's mouth. Because like this, Crowley couldn't get enough. A moan deep enough to rival any of the ones he'd heard from Aziraphale through the years when eating escaped him. 'More' his hindbrain hissed at him.
More meant... Crowley couldn't tell, but he wanted it. Using perhaps a little occult force to keep their flutes from toppling and bringing them out of the line of fire, he drew Aziraphale into his lap, swallowing the deep groan this elicited. There had to be a way of getting more flavour, more taste. A moment of divine or hellish inspiration, perhaps, or simply Crowley's age old senses taking over, and Crowley realized just how much more he could taste with good old split tongue.
What he hadn't expected was Azirphale's reaction to it. The angel twitched where he was currently sitting across Crowley's lap, trying to push against him to remove any distance between them. The twitch became a wriggle and the wriggle had Crowley flailing for a moment before desperately digging his fingers into Aziraphale's arse, hanging on for dear life.
His whole body was trying to get his attention at this very moment. His temperature, always a little too low for his liking was skyrocketing, his lungs were complaining at the lack of air that he did not need. His lips felt like they were more sensitive than they had ever been before and his dick felt there could be more friction. He chose to ignore the latter. There'd be plenty of time for that later, right now all he could truly focus on was the way Aziraphale's human shaped tongue was pushing demandingly against the forked tip of his own.
It all narrowed down to that sensation alone. The way he could curl his tongue around Aziraphale's and glide the forked tip over every little taste of strawberrieschocolatechampagneAZIRAPHALE. And was allowed to, encouraged even, by Aziraphale's moans. It wasn't exactly discouraging to feel Aziraphale's grip on his shoulder's loosen for a moment, as he slipped his hands up to bury his fingers in Crowley's hair.
When eventually Crowley couldn't taste anything but Aziraphale and needed a moment to catch an unnecessary breath, the angel seemed to understand and broke the kiss almost tenderly, their lips only just touching as they sat together, entangled and brow to brow, neither seemingly daring to blink.
Aziraphale was the first one to break the silence. With a giggle. "Well, my dear, you've certainly got a grip on you."
This startled a laugh out of Crowley and he wasn't entirely sure how to feel about that. It felt odd in his chest, in his belly, made his nose twitch and his ears itch. Like champagne bubbles on the tongue.
Instead of answering, he flexed his fingers and was rewarded with a raw intake of breath from Aziraphale.
As he leaned forward for another kiss, he was stopped by Aziraphale holding another chocolate covered strawberry against his lower lip. Just as Crowley opened his mouth to bite it, Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and popped it into his own mouth, reaching to the side to find one of the flutes with a little divine intervention. He sipped from it and set it aside again - never once breaking eye contact with Crowley. Chewing and swallowing, he leaned forward.
Crowley would never ever admit to the sound that escaped him. Somewhere between a sob and a moan as he caught Aziraphale's lips.
'Yessssss,' his hindbrain hissed at him, writhing in approval.
All Crowley could do was squeeze Aziraphale's arse before moving his hand upward, shoving them up under his shirt to find skin. Gloriously hot skin, so inviting under his palms.
If he had it his way, they wouldn't run out of chocolate covered strawberries and Crément d'Alsace anytime soon. As he curled his thin, forked tongue around Aziraphale's plump one, chasing every little taste he wondered if Aziraphale might later allow him to lick champagne off his naked chest.
But that would be for later, right now all he needed was Aziraphale's champagne and strawberry flavoured kisses.