"Shh, c'mere…" Crowley found himself murmuring. He opened his arms to his angelic counterpart, simultaneously showing that he held no weapons and offering an embrace.
To his astonishment, Heaven's agent accepted the gesture: Aziraphale crumpled into his Adversary's arms after only a moment's hesitation. Whatever happened must have him really shaken, Crowley mused.
The angel sobbed into Crowley's chest, quickly soaking his tunic with tears and snot. The demon raised his hand slowly, carefully, and scrunched his fingers up in Aziraphale's thick dark curls. The angel's shoulders froze and tensed a moment, then relaxed, permitting the comforting touch.
They stood that way for several minutes, Crowley gently stroking his Enemy's hair and watching the billowing smoke that curled into a blood-red sky in the distance.
"Th-they're dead, C-Crowley," Aziraphale snuffled, his voice muffled in the demon's tunic. Crowley felt each exhale of breath, the movement of lips pressed into Crowley's chest as the angel spoke. His heart began to pump out a strange warmth into his limbs, his fingers tingling where they stroked Aziraphale's curls. It was like the adrenaline of battle, and yet…something else entirely.
"All of them," Aziraphale continued. "Whole cities of people. Flooded with Heaven's flames…" He raised his head from Crowley's chest to gaze desperately into his Adversary's eyes, as if seeking answers within their golden depths. "Why?"
Crowley's heart twisted; he had no answer that could quench the pain smoldering in those plaintive brown eyes. He tried for what the angel always told him: "It mussst be…ineffable, right? Part of a plan?"
Aziraphale lowered his gaze. "Of course," he said hollowly. "The Plan."
Before he could think about it, Crowley moved one hand to the angel's chin, raising Aziraphale's head so their eyes again met. They regarded one another for a moment, and then Crowley leaned forward, broke the small space between their lips.
The kiss was long, slow, deep, Crowley's lips pressing and caressing his counterpart's, doing his best to transfer some mode of comfort into the exchange. For the first minute, both of them kept their mouths closed, until Crowley decided to take a risk: he parted his lips and, taking care to be gentle, nipped at Aziraphale's impossibly plump lower lip with his sharp teeth.
The angel recoiled.
"Sssssorry!" Crowley said quickly, reaching out to pull Aziraphale back. "I didn't mean—"
Aziraphale gazed at him for a long moment. "You old serpent," he said — disgustedly? or was there a hint of fondness in his words? — and then plumes burst from his shoulder blades. With one powerful downward thrust of wings, he took off into the crimson sky.
Crowley licked his lips and tasted a bead of blood, warm and ambrosia-sweet. He savored the taste as he watched the angel fade into the distance.