musebox for Ashfae's minions

Crowley strokes Aziraphale's face with his fingertips, from forehead to chin, then tilts that chin up for another kiss. "So am I, angel," he murmurs, just before pressing his mouth gently against Aziraphale's. A slow kiss, thorough and deep and familiar. Already familiar, though they've not been able to do this for so very long now, not by their reckonings. Not nearly long enough.