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Summary
The kiss hit him like an avalanche. For a moment his brain short-circuited, all thoughts of Heaven and the Metatron’s offer utterly obliterated by the feeling of Crowley’s lips on his, the scent of him – dark red wine, smouldering embers, petrichor - Crowley’s hands at his collar, Crowley, Crowley, Crowley…
Or, what if The Kiss had happened just a little sooner?
Aziraphale's POV of Incandescent.
Series
- Part 2 of Playing with Fire
