𝕮𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖑𝖊𝖞

One finger, sliding slowly in and out. And then he presses two, curling them slightly, stretching, testing the waters. He could, in theory, just make Aziraphale prepared for him and claim him immediately. But there's something wonderful in moving slow. In taking this one step at a time. In prolonging the wanting.

He breaks the kiss and presses his lips to the angel's neck again. Finding the sensitive areas along his throat to kiss, to taste. There is so much of him yet to discover.

"I love you," he murmurs against his ear. The words again. Whispered, spoken in secret. Their own violation against the world that hates them.