Crowley unbuttons a few more buttons, revealing the black mark on Aziraphale's chest. The thing Crowley couldn't heal, the mark Hastur placed on the angel's vessel. Crowley can't see it, his eyes are shut as Aziraphale pulls him closer, but he knows it's there. He knows it's there, on Aziraphale's skin---the mark of him almost dying forever. A mark of how Crowley couldn't protect him.

His kiss changes instinctively. A little slower, a little more protective. He pours his love into the kiss, his need for the angel's presence, his need for him to always be there, to be part of him. He slides a hand in between the fabric, touching Aziraphale's chest, sliding his fingers across his skin. Above his heart.

They have been through so much together. So many years, so many small adventures throughout the ages on Earth. Almost the end of Earth itself. And now this, this escape from Heaven and Hell themselves. He could always protect Aziraphale before, but now all he can do is give Aziraphale all he has, to try to keep him close and safe.