Aziraphale pulls in a breath, tilting his chin up, biting his lower lip lightly, much too distracted by the work the demon is putting into kissing his neck, the delightful ticklish feel, to focus on how they're moving.

He feels his hand, too, reaching for his own and he follows along, letting go of the fabric gradually, redirecting that hand to Crowley's side, brushing up from his hip to his ribs.

Well, perhaps he should have been paying more attention. As his trousers slide down and with how entangled they're becoming, his legs or feet, unclear which, get caught and he loses balance, falling onto Crowley with a startled sound.

Good thing they were near the bed already.