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    When fussy perfectionist Aziraphale and hipster artist Crowley first cross paths, they instantly despise each other. But all that tension results in crackling chemistry. They agree to a secret enemies-with-benefits arrangement—just hot sex, no strings attached.

    All is going to plan until—oh, no—romantic feelings start to develop. Several major decisions, meddling Whickber Street neighbours, and big surprises help them stumble their way from enemies to lovers.

    Crowley ran his tongue across his lips, contemplating. “And what do you like?”

    “Wit. Style.” Aziraphale’s eyes flicked down to Crowley’s mouth as he drifted closer. “Impeccable manners.”

    “Manners,” Crowley scoffed. He set his glass down, hovering within striking distance of that irresistible cologne and the heat of Aziraphale’s neck. “What you need is someone to wreck you. Someone to rip off all those buttons and properly rattle your bones so you remember that you’re alive.”

    Anger sparked in Aziraphale’s eyes, their colour a tempest of blue and grey, a stormy sea a man could drown in. He pursed his lips, then spoke, that deep and sonorous tone rippling over Crowley again. “And you need discipline.”

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    24 Dec 2025