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It had been a very long time since Aziraphale had last stretched out like this. He’d realised far faster than other angels that a simple “Be not afraid!” was not enough to quell human fears. Indeed, bellowing ethereally at them - whatever the words - tended to have just the opposite effect.
But in the safety of the home they'd fashioned for and with one another, with all their millennia shared in one way or another, it was alright.
No one would run away screaming when Aziraphale's beloved corporation was set aside. When wheels of flame and plumes of scattered feathers and eyes upon eyes flickered into being. He wasn't quite tangible, not all of him able to be out and about on an earthly plane. Most of him was relegated to a pocket in the fabric of space, but more than enough was in this quaint cottage bedroom.
Watching the only occupant still wearing a corporation and quite a bit besides. Not quite as much as Aziraphale's corporation donned, but skin was nonetheless covered.
The faintest skim of feathers brushed over high cheekbones, an angel's facsimile of cupping that familiar face in hand. Dozens of eyes - that could be seen, anyway - blinked. All calm but glittering like polished gemstones, only two the more familiar blue Aziraphale typically wore in his face. The being before him could feel the smile, though no such thing was possibly visible.
“You're still quite dressed.”
Yes, well, one didn't witness the trueform of an angel flickering into being everyday. Even when one was themself a demon and lived with said angel. It had been multiple millennia since he'd so much as glimpsed an angel without their corporation in the, er… flesh? And not some human representation of what they thought they'd seen.
It was awe inspiring, terrifying, utterly bewitching. Crowley couldn't decide which eyes to look at. The two he knew so well were front and centre but the others were also mesmerising. They changed colours like hundreds of kaleidoscopes all focused directly on him.
Crowley swallowed thickly and tried not to think of how those feathers left tingles of divinity on his skin. It didn't hurt, mind, just a similar sensation to touching one's tongue to a battery.
“S-ssorry just- it's a bit- a lot.”
Feathers fluttered, the rustling heard more than seen. “Far too much? You can stop at any time. As we agreed.”
“No- I know.” They'd talked about it extensively over the last few days. A conversation born from Crowley showing Aziraphale a video on the internet of a human's large 'angelic' statue and Aziraphale scoffing to say that wasn't what they looked like at all and even the ones with wheels and wings weren't the only kinds. The conversation had gone many places from there, as their talks often did, until the angel had given him a curious look and mentioned that he actually hadn't ever seen what truly became of The Fallen. And Crowley with his big stupid mouth had gone and said, "well I could show you," and now he was here. Being expected to show. “Not saying stop.”
“You could stay human a little bit longer?” More feathers fluttered here and there, a few peeking out to touch. The clothes weren’t a barrier. “I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing your corporation quite like this.”
Crowley shifted, not uncomfortable with the touching, certainly not, but feeling a bit like he was disappointing. “Well you can certainly see a lot of me with all those eyes.”
“A lot that I love.” There was spinning, a flare of heat when one of those flaming wheels flickered onto the human plane for a brief moment. “The shirt first,” he instructed, voice a low thrum in the room.
“Bossy,” Crowley teased to hide the way he shivered from the command. Were he human the order would have had him jumping to comply instantly, but as a demon it just made the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end. He also just liked it when Aziraphale demanded something. Now that they were free of their head offices there wasn't as much necessity in subterfuge and talking around the things they wanted… even if they still did so on occasion for the fun of it.
Crowley knew Aziraphale preferred he do things the mundane, human way so instead of just blinking away the black Henley he pulled it up and over his own head and tossed it in Aziraphale's general direction. His snickers lightened the mood somewhat when the shirt almost got caught on one of Aziraphale's many spinning wheels as it faded into the material world. “Careful there, I like that one.”
“Don’t throw things at an angel, wicked boy.” Eyes rotated, shifting, more blinking into existence as skin was revealed. Aziraphale knew what he looked like, tasted like, felt like, but it was entirely different to see him like this. To see him with everything Aziraphale was. There was a pressure against Crowley’s back, a gentle stroke along his spine that wasn’t unlike his hands. “You’re beautiful.”
The shiver that caused couldn't be hidden. It was very much like phantom hands caressing down his back but the sensation was one he sensed more than felt, this human corporation unable to truly feel it. Something more demon than anything else deep inside wanted to instinctually flinch away but at the same time bask in the faintest touch of divinity. “You always say that.”
“And now that I’ve more eyes to see you with, I can say it with even more certainty than ever.” Aziraphale’s low chuckle was nothing but pleased. “Trousers now.”
Crowley snorted and thumbed open said trousers. This part was familiar, they'd had sex plenty of times between a triumphant dinner at The Ritz and now, in plenty of configurations too. There wasn't any shame in him when Crowley wriggled his way out of the tightest black denims known to angel, demon, or man and even less when Aziraphale rolled multiple eyes when he saw he wasn't wearing pants and revealed a vulva below neatly groomed red curls. “Oi, don't roll your many eyes at me. My trousers look better when there isn't a pants line visible.”
“I’ll do as I like with my many eyes.” He could make any pants lines invisible at a whim, the wicked demon, but Aziraphale knew it also had to do with his preferences. Feathers rustled with the urge to touch. “Get on the bed.”
“Wow, you really are bossy tonight.”
The faintest fluttering of feathers teased that thatch of curls between Crowley’s legs. “You enjoy it when I’m bossy. To bed with you now, please. I want to look at you.”
Crowley did his best to pretend the barely-there touch didn't feel like the best kind of electric shock and promptly sat on the edge of their bed. “Already lookin' at quite a lot of me.”
Not nearly enough in Aziraphale's opinion. He wanted more, dozens more eyes unfurling into the plane that held his demon and their bed. “If I had a mouth like this...”
“It'd already be on me, I know.” He'd quickly discovered that eating food wasn't the only thing Aziraphale liked to do with his mouth. Crowley spread his knees and watched Aziraphale's many eyes focus between his legs. Not all of them did so, though. A few stray eyes kept a firm, never blinking watch on his face and a few more popped into existence right next to his head. “Keeping your mouth to yourself is not one of your strengths.”
“No.” Nor was keeping his eyes to himself, though it was no secret Crowley enjoyed the attention. He'd watched him before, pretending to read a book while Crowley had sprawled onto nearby furniture directly within his line of sight and begun touching himself. It had been very difficult to keep hands and mouth to himself then. And though he had neither, he was determined to brush feathers where he could. Which was everywhere, but he wasn't entirely unaware of Crowley's reaction to them. So he focused on his thighs, brushing over slender, smooth skin, and let out a sound similar to a tinkling bell.
The sound was one that was both familiar and utterly alien. Like a half forgotten dream he couldn't quite grasp. But the touch to his thighs had them parting further, as if corporeal hands where there, spreading him open for Aziraphale's viewing pleasure. A rare blush creeped up Crowley's face, he was used to Aziraphale looking. Before Their Side, before The Arrangement even, the angel had had a hard time keeping his eyes off him but it felt different like this. Exposed to so much obvious divinity the demonic part of him that used to be an angel wanted to run and hide. “Like what you see?”
Too many eyes to count dazzled and spun. More magical than any of Aziraphale's attempts on stage, they were all colourful spotlights aimed on one specific being. “Oh, yes,” he sighed, dreamy in his affection. “I so do love you.”
He knew. Confessions had been exchanged and whispered so many times in the months after the end of the world had been stopped but it was still surprising to hear sometimes after six thousand years of having to keep it quiet. Oh, he'd never doubted Aziraphale's affection but to hear it said aloud? To hear it said in a voice that sounded like ringing bells and echoing harps almost felt like too much. The love of an angel unrestricted by human limitations. “Can't say that in that voice. Gonna discorporate me.”
“Never that, beloved. Since I can’t quite please you how I’d like to, could I…” Feathers fluttered over Crowley’s skin, more fretful hope than planned enticement. “Could I watch you?”
Watch him… Crowley squirmed a little bit. Not disliking the idea just… nervous. He bobbed his head in a nod, though, never one to deny Aziraphale anything especially when he asked and didn't hem and haw around the topic. “Y-yeah. Course you can. Would that even do anything for you though? Like this?”
“Darling, I can promise you seeing you like this does quite a bit for me. Arousal doesn’t belong solely to my corporation.”
It had been so long since he'd been an angel. Back then, well, arousal hadn't exactly been A Thing. No one had made any Effort, so to speak, and why would you? There had been plenty of new things to discover and help The Almighty to create. Demonic forms could certainly feel it, when they wanted to, but he hadn't wanted to assume it was the same for angels.
Crowley let out a shaky breath and scooted his way back to lean against the large oak headboard but no distance was put between them, as if he hadn't moved a single inch. “Good to know. I'd hate to be a bore.”
Flaming rings whirred here and there, somehow gentle and lazy in their swirls. All eyes were at attention. “For more than six thousand years, you’ve failed to bore me.”
Six thousand years was a long time, even for them. A long time to love and a long time to never lose interest and Crowley didn't want him to start now. He wiggled his hips but they didn't draw Aziraphale's many colourful eyes nearly as well as the fingers that quested up his own stomach, leaving gooseflesh in their wake both from his fingers and Aziraphale's fluttering incorporeal wings. “Like it when you touch me,” Crowley said quietly. “Dreamed about it sometimes, actually dreamed, mind.”
“With how much sleep you get, that's hardly a surprise.” There was another bell-like sound, though it rippled more like wind chimes as Aziraphale's incorporeal bulk strained against the barriers of reality in an effort to follow those slow hands.
It was almost comical and Crowley gave a small chuckle. He didn't often get to see Aziraphale so clearly wanting something but being unable to achieve it, not like this. Crowley brushed fingers over the rise of one nipple and grinned at the tinkling bells and fluttering of feathers. “Sound like a windy day in our garden, angel.”
“I think it’s to help humans to, ah, not be frightened. I know it isn’t a particularly attractive sound.”
“Says you. Reminds me of that windy day I bent you over the garden bench.”
Aziraphale somehow wiggled as cheerfully as could be. That had indeed been a lovely afternoon. “Charming. Perhaps bent over is another pose you could do for me like this.”
Crowley snickered and twisted one nipple between thumb and finger. “Would you rather I do that? Give you a different view?”
“I'm amenable to every view.” Faint feathers grasped at slender hips. “It's your show, darling. The choreography is your choosing.”
And Crowley definitely wasn't opposed to putting on a show, especially for Aziraphale. He arched, giving some of Aziraphale's eyes a glimpse of the bed beneath him, and ran his hands back down his stomach, scratching through coarse red hair. The hundreds of eyes all on him wasn't unlike the many times he'd put on a presentation for Hell, only this was much more enjoyable and smelled significantly better. “And you've always enjoyed my shows.”
More than he’d been allowed to admit at one time. He enjoyed being seen more than he’d been allowed to admit too, but he knew Crowley had always been looking. From the very moment he’d slithered up the Eastern wall of Eden to strike up a conversation at the risk of being smote, brave and foolish and hopeful, his Crowley had been looking. And now it was Aziraphale’s turn to return that gaze a millionfold. “You’re beautiful in every form,” he replied, the usual low hum of arousal in his voice replaced with something closer to harpsong. “How could I not?”
Crowley didn't feel beautiful in every form. He knew his human corporation was conventionally attractive (and had even moulded it to be as such himself) and that plenty of people liked snakes in general (including Aziraphale) but… those forms weren't the issue. Those forms were normal, whole, loved by angelic hands. Crowley huffed at him, eyes rolling as his fingers dipped just past the mound of his sex, finding the bud of clit still partially hidden beneath its hood. “Course you do. Don't think I've made it hard for you to love this form in particular.”
Aziraphale could think of fashion and facial hair selections that had been less than impressive, though it was difficult to think of anything while he watched Crowley’s head fall back and his fingers rolled in a way Aziraphale knew his beloved enjoyed. A sound that was too angelic to be discordant rippled over their bedroom and into the deepest recesses of wherever most of Aziraphale was holding himself. “I love you and that isn’t reliant upon your looks. Watching you please yourself is a delight because it’s you and I enjoy knowing you’re pleased.”
He could feel the sound more than hear it, all the way through his bones and down to that hidden place a dark, smouldering serpent laid waiting. It vibrated through him, bright and true. Aziraphale was an awful liar on the best of days but when an angel spoke in their True Voice all they said was Good and True. There was no denying it and the force of Aziraphale's conviction shook Crowley to his core. Scales appeared along his arms, legs, and feet, scattering up long limbs and gathering in the places Aziraphale's ethereal feathers brushed. “A-aziraphale…”
“Oh, my beautiful love.” More feathers trailed and, in some spots, Aziraphale could really feel them. As if Crowley was starting to leave his corporation. It was hard not to be excited, bells chiming. “Wicked, wonderful, darling thing. Would you show me all that you are? So I might show you just how fully you're loved.”
“A-aaaangel-” Crowley whined, hearing but not comprehending at first. There was too much to feel in a mostly human corporation but he didn't miss the slight scrape of his own claws between his legs. He hissed, frustrated and not at all having intended to look anything less than human, and quickly flipped over. It was impossible to truly hide from angelic sight but it still felt better to try and keep the less than human parts from being seen.
More feathers trailed over skin, gently encouraging those scales. He loved Crowley, human, serpentine, in-between, and fully demon. He hadn't seen the last one yet, but Aziraphale knew his love was more boundless than anyone could ever comprehend. “Your hand stopped.”
“Ngk- Yeah. It did.”
The silence was almost louder than the chimes. “Have I… pushed too far?”
“N-no. No, you didn't- I just-” He wasn't the same as he used to be. Fallen. Damaged. It wasn't fair to make Aziraphale look upon that. “Needed to catch my breath.”
Aziraphale wanted to tell him not to lie, but he knew it was best not to push Crowley into some things. He let his feathers play still, avoiding the scales on his front since that seemed to make him uncomfortable. “You’re very pretty like this. I’d like to grab your hips and drag you onto me. I’d sink into whichever hole you demanded could I now.” A feather lightly teased his arse, so many eyes watching the puckered muscle flutter in response. Hips that never seemed to know what they were supposed to be doing shifted, and Aziraphale’s delight warmed the room. “Perhaps later. Later, I’ll have your thighs wet and quivering as I bury myself in you. With your claws rending our sheets.”
Crowley let out a soft puff of breath. This was more familiar territory, or as familiar as ethereal feathers brushing over his arsehole, the cooling sensation something that made him want to shiver as the room warmed. “Don't wanna destroy our bedding.”
The tinkling notes of pleasure sang through the room. “We both know you would fix them again. And I know that I don’t mind when scales break across your skin. When your spine stretches how it shouldn’t, when claws spring forth. I love those serpentine pieces of you.” There was another sound, this one very close to Aziraphale’s usual laugh, though he knew his next words were likely to be quite embarrassing indeed. “I even love when your tattoo whisks off somewhere and tempts me to find it.”
It was embarrassing. The damn thing thought sneaking away and hiding was some cute game and of course Aziraphale played along. That such games usually led to them losing their clothes was neither here nor there.“You're an angel. Have to love everything.”
“You know that isn’t true,” Aziraphale chided. He certainly wasn’t supposed to love Crowley. He wasn’t, really, supposed to love the Earth as it would one day fall - or had been destined to fall to war between Heaven and Hell. It was a facade, and Aziraphale understood that far better than most upstairs. “I love you because you’re you.”
Be knew that. Technically. Theoretically. It was just one thing to have an angel loving him when he looked close enough to human and quite another when his demonic nature was rising to the surface. “You sure you actually wanna see me all demony an' shit?”
“I am more sure of that than almost anything.”
Crowley shivered and sat up, legs folded beneath himself and his back to Aziraphale's many eyes. He could feel them, an itch on the back of his neck that couldn't be scratched. “Okay,” Crowley said softly, taking a deep breath. “Okay.” He could do this.
It started slowly, a demons 'true' self more easily able to appear in the mortal plane than that of an angels, first there were scales appearing out of his skin like large black freckles. His hands grew, turned clawed and black, but only for a moment before they were gone entirely. Long ago, before the Earth and it's solar system, before angels fell from the heavens of shooting stats, he'd been a flaming serpent. A snake with wings made of fire and he'd flown through the empty vastness of space, leaving stars and proto-planets and nebulas in his wake.
Now, though, his wings no longer burned but they still smouldered. The eyes that had once covered his scales were all closed now, their sight burned out by infernal sulphur. The halo behind his head, once golden and bright, was broken at the top, red cracks spiderwebbed from the jagged ends. Everything about this form screamed his lost divinity, there was no escaping or pretending like this.
Aziraphale’s feathers fluttered, their rustling sound audible to Crowley like this on every plane. He’d seen Crowley as a serpent before, but a mortal one. A human one. This was something far greater, yet equally as precious. “You aren’t looking at me.” Because every eye was searching for even the faintest of gold yet found no familiar orb.
“'Caussse 'm not looking at you,” Crowley said, his voice more hiss than words. He turned his head, halo leaving an afterimage glow as it turned with him. The only eyes left were the four - two stacked atop one another - on either side of his head. Slitted and sulphur yellow. “The othersss don't sssssee anymore.”
There they were. Aziraphale didn't need all those closed lids to lift so long as he could see the familiar golden he'd loved so dearly for so long. Many of his own eyes buzzed and whirled, seeing and studying and memorising every bit of the serpent before him. His halo twirled near, the sound of it whole and holy against the jagged edges of what had been Crowley's. It whirred closer; he didn't stop it. “It doesn't make you less beautiful. May I touch you? My feathers ache to.”
Crowley shuddered, a sensation that went all the way down his long, coiled spine. “Please.”
“Oh, beloved, how I adore your pleas.” Soft feathers floated over scales, enveloping Crowley's demonic form as best as he could. “Come with me. Let me feel you slither about me fully. You're beautiful like this, my darling. My Crowley.”
The barely-there touches of Aziraphale's holy wings sent zaps of divinity along Crowley's scales. The feeling made him hiss but not in discomfort. While his demonic nature might have wanted to recoil, Crowley himself wanted to bask. It was an ache in the very core of him that was only now being soothed. “A-angel…”
“Demon,” Aziraphale cooed, those tinkling bells so like his laugh as he drew Crowley closer, drew him beyond the constraints of their bedroom and could finally fully feel him. His scales were smooth under the press of his feathers, warmed by an internal flame which had violently replaced the glow of Grace. Aziraphale's wheels whirled around him, drawing him in closer still. “Do you have a cloaca like this?”
“Do I…?” Crowley let himself be pulled in and enveloped in wings made of light, slithering between not-quite-corporeal feathers and around rings made of gold. “I- don't know? I've never-” He'd avoided this form as much as possible.
Aziraphale shivered, the harpsong from his very being seeming to vibrate like a single plucked string as Crowley made himself at home amidst his being. “I- I don't have any, ah, anything resembling human- human genitalia.” But this was certainly testing everything he'd ever known about this form. He'd never believed himself to be so sensitive.
Crowley wouldn't have thought so either and yet, here he was, wrapping himself around the concentric rings of an angel and feeling them shudder with every pass of his coils. He rubbed his considerably large head against one such ring, tongue flicking to get a mouth full of divine ozone somehow mixed with Aziraphale's brand of old books and tea. Familiar and beloved. “Doesssn't sssseem a problem to me.”
“Far from it.” Aziraphale could see him from every and any angle, his very being seeming to tingle everywhere those scales brushed. His feathers sought his slinky form, cascading over his beloved serpent. They didn’t quite harmonise, but there was something delicious in that. In the reverberations that were so entirely unique to the pair of them alone. A song that was all theirs, harps and bells, hisses and faint crackling flames. “Beloved.”
The word sang through Crowley. Long ago, before half the host of Heaven had fallen, angels had done things like this. Twisting around and in one another, sharing their songs. Demons, conversely, did no such things together and even as an angel he'd been more interested in vastness of the universe than others of his kind. And even though his song was broken and discordant somehow it still fit. Aziraphale could see all that he was and still chose to give him this.
Crowley tightened, flexed, weaving his way around and between Aziraphale's spinning rings. His underbelly was just as sensitive in this form as it was when a normal snake and the brushing of Aziraphale's ethereal feathers were more akin to loving caresses of fingers. “Ssssay it again,” Crowley pleaded. “My angel, sssay it again.”
“My beloved,” he chimed with more honesty than there was in all of Heaven. He buoyed Crowley up, feathers teasing and rustling. Wings and wings and wings spread and folded in to keep Crowley tucked in and safe and loved. Just as Aziraphale had done on the wall, just as had been done for him once before time. By an angel who sparkled and shone with delight at what he'd done. A now fallen angel who now sparkled and shone with delight at his simple demonic mischief. Who schemed and played and loved so much. So impossibly. “My love. My Crowley.”
“Azsssiraphale.” Crowley could barely remember the last time he'd felt so full of divinity and light. It reached past hardened scales, past defences built over millennials, and reached the very heart and core of him.
Feathers lifted his chin, the bold blue eyes most familiar to Crowley meeting the warm gold. “I love you. All of you. Endlessly.”
There was no arguing or denying it. Aziraphale loved him, even the burned and broken parts. Crowley gave a pathetic hiss. No tears would come, not in this form, but his eyes still burned. Being seen and understood and loved was the greatest gift Aziraphale could ever give him. His long body was wracked with tremors, tightly constricting around golden hoops, while the stars he'd once made danced across his vision and mingled with familiar blue eyes.
“Beautiful serpent. Weaver of stars and mischief. Owner of my heart.” Aziraphale flapped, fluttered. His flaming wheels served only to keep Crowley’s scales warm, occasionally brushing against the smoulders of his wings. “I love you like this. I love you in any shape, any form. You are mine.”
His. That was all Crowley had wanted to be for so long now. He could put up with being a demon, with being cast out, even with being hated by both up and down stairs so long as he could be Aziraphale's. “Yours,” Crowley rasped as best he could, feeling somewhat like he was floating. Warm and safe and loved.
It synced suddenly, as close as they were. Though they shouldn’t have been able to, Aziraphale could suddenly feel Crowley’s reverberations as keenly as his own. He could feel the warmth of his own Grace both filling himself up and warming Crowley. He could feel the safety and love like a reflective pool and it made his many eyes shine. He’d spent so much time being privately frightened of the desire to try linking himself to a demon, even this one, yet his fears were for not.
Their harmony may have displeased some, but it was perfect for them. As they wound through this plane no human could fathom, Aziraphale was both able to kiss him and wasn’t. Fill and be filled. Touched and be doing the touching. Can you feel this? The question both spoken and unspoken.
Yes… Yes! He could feel it. Aziraphale's joy, his love, filling him up and surrounding him. There was a kiss that wasn't, touches that weren't really there but were. Crowley could have sobbed for it, the feeling of being whole like he hadn't been in over six thousand years. Aziraphale's own grace filled the empty, gnawing thing the absence of his own had made.
Their harmony was reaching its crescendo.
So much to be seen, heard, experienced. So much of Crowley, of Aziraphale. Somewhere there was thunder. Somewhere there was sunshine. There was hot, cold. There was time and, suddenly, there wasn’t. Aziraphale had never felt that particular ripple of power before, but it sang through his being as keenly as their song. It was gone again as soon as it had started, neither of them able to stand being held on this precipice for long. They were a tangle of limbs, feathers, scales, souls. They loved, were loved, and it was a spiral that had no beginning or end.
Beloved, they thought or said or felt. Thought and said and felt.
For a single, brief moment two beings became one. No seam or crack, no way to tell where one started and the other ended. It was unsustainable in the long term and the highest crest it broke, but not violently. The separation was as gentle as an ocean breeze. Golden eyes fluttered open and met stormy blue and it felt like being home again. Crowley reached up with hands of skin and bone and took that familiar, beloved face between his palms. “Hello.”
Aziraphale let out a soft, breathless laugh as he reached up to encircle Crowley’s wrists with gentle fingers. “Hello, silly thing. That was… lovely.”
“Lovely,” Crowley repeated with a pout. “Mixing essences with me was just lovely?”
“Mixing essences with you has rendered me incapable of finding better words than lovely. Wicked devil.”
“You love it that I'm wicked.”
Aziraphale nuzzled their brows together, beaming at him. “And you don't doubt that one bit, do you?”
“Not at all.” Crowley grinned up at him. Not that he'd doubted it before but it was one thing to know he was loved and quite another to have the Angelic Truth of it imprinted on his very being.
“As you shouldn’t. Now then.” Aziraphale swept him up, smile shining wickedly in his eyes. “Now that we’ve… indulged in an entirely inhuman way, I think I’d like to see to you how I wanted before you transformed.”
Crowley's grin spread wider and his arms went around Aziraphale's neck. “I think I could be amenable to that. I'm certainly not satisfied yet.”
“Are you ever, greedy thing?” Though dozens of eyes appeared around them as Aziraphale settled Crowley in the centre of their bed.
“When it comes to you? No. Never.” Crowley pulled Aziraphale down with him, smiling into the kiss when their lips met. Mixing essence's was great, wonderful even, but nothing could compare to the physicality of doing things the way humans did. “I'll never get enough of you.”
“Nor I you,” Aziraphale promised, his jewelled eyes sparkling in delight as the two of them touched and satisfied and loved as deeply and thoroughly as any human.