[Crowley lowers onto an elbow, that hand moving into the angel's hair. He lets himself relax against Aziraphale's body, molding to his form as if he were built to fit him. His other hand moves to work on the buttons of the angel's shirt again.
He wants more. He wants all of the angel. His resistance is cracking more and more with each passing moment.]
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He wants more. He wants all of the angel. His resistance is cracking more and more with each passing moment.]