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✨ Good Omens 3 poster ✨

Fitzier for you! Thank you for the prompt 💓

1. "Have you ever kissed anyone before?"

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

James chokes on his drink. He clasps a hand over his mouth, coughing while drops of whiskey escape his lips, sliding down his chin.

It takes him a minute to put himself together. 

He turns to Francis, who's standing with his hands clasped behind his back, the line of his jaw hard.

"Excuse me?"

"Kissed, James." Francis says again, "have you ever been kissed?"

James snorts.

"What kind of question is that–"

"A very simple one, I believe. Easy enough for you to answer."

James shrugs, avoiding Francis' gaze. "Of course."

"Of course what?"

This is exasperating.

"Why are you toying with me like–"

"I am not." Francis says with emphasis, "just answer my question."

James raises his chin, doing what he does best: making himself look confident and in control while in reality he has no idea what he's doing.

"I have."

"You have what?"

"Oh my God, Francis!" He feels his hands starting to sweat. "Drop it."

"Why?"

"Because no," he spits the word out, "I've never been kissed before." It's strange, saying it out loud, having someone else knowing the truth. "Are you happy now? I thought you better than this, making fun of other people's–"

James' speech dies in his throat, because Francis' hand is suddenly on his elbow. Just resting there, gently.

James stares at it as if it were alien. It kind of his.

"I asked," Francis says, "because if we are to die here, I don't want any of us to have any more regrets than what we already have." He licks his lips in a quick tick, "and if I can do something for any of my men, then I will–"

"I don't want your pity, Francis." I want what you're implying, but never if it is an act of pity. I would die without it, it would hurt less.

"It's not pity, James, damn you," Francis is losing his patience, he can tell, "I'm trying to tell you that– ah, for God's sake, this is not working–"

"What is not w–"

"James," Francis looks at him straight in the eye. His hand is still on James' elbows. "Let me kiss you."

James opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. He sucks in a breath. "It's not pity." He says.

Francis shakes his head.

"I would never do that. I know what pity feels like, you know I do."

"Yes." James says. He thanks the heavens because Francis understands what his answer really is for and kisses him. 

James is not a virgin: far from it, in fact. He has had sex in various forms with quite a few people, has nothing to envy to other men of his age and position. He has been with a scarce number of women, and with far more men. But he has never kissed anyone. No one has ever kissed him. People have touched him, sometimes roughly, other times almost gently; they have touched and sucked and licked and left marks, but they have never kissed him. He was curious about it, when he was younger, but all he got back then were quick, furtive meetings with other shipsboys like him and those left no time for kisses. Later, he started frequenting brothels for men like him, men that looked for other men. They too, hadn't tried to kiss him, and James was so used to the absence of those touches that he forgot to ask. Now, he regrets not having tilted his head towards those nameless men in the past, to push his lips on theirs. He longs to find out what a kiss feels like, what does it make you feel.

Sometimes he thinks about it: the handsomest man in the Royal Navy has never kissed anyone. It sounds like a joke, exactly like the rest of his life.

James thinks about all of this in the incredibly short instant that precedes Francis' lips touching his own.

And then he's being kissed.

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All this finale has done is make the idea of fighting for what you believe in not just a bad one, but a stupid one. Apparently Aziraphale was wrong to try. I cannot stand that. He made a difference. He halted the Second Coming. It was Michael and their free will that destroyed the Universe.

Uncropped version below!

The year is 1972... 🏳️‍🌈