[Aziraphale keeps his blue eyes -- patient, steady -- on Crowley's, up until the demon's lips are almost upon his, and then he flutters his lashes shut and gives himself over into a kiss. It is soft, but not chaste, his lips open just a touch, a wet heat between them, the taste of Malbec and whatever is uniquely Aziraphale.
It is everything he ever imagined, and so much more. He keeps his hand on Crowley's face, stroking his cheek, his jaw, brushing up into his hair that he's been longing to touch for millennia.]
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It is everything he ever imagined, and so much more. He keeps his hand on Crowley's face, stroking his cheek, his jaw, brushing up into his hair that he's been longing to touch for millennia.]