“Alright!” Aziraphale stumbles back. His voice cracks, glass glittering and shards slippery with blood and amber. His soul spills over with terror and agony and lust. “Alright! I think... I think about it all the time! I can taste you.” His eyes are brimming, tears hot and accusatory. His hand covers his mouth, as if that can hide his shame. “I can taste you in my mouth, under my tongue, at the back of my throat, every moment, every second. Lingering, like the darkness of chocolate, like the sweetness of poison. I’m sick with it!” His vocal chords are raw, his frantic words flaying his throat. “I’m sick with wanting you!”

PODFIC: THE CORRUPTION BEGINS WITH OF THE MOUTH

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