Crowley moves his hand, sliding his finger in and out, curling it slightly to change where the pressure touches the angel inside. So much wanting, but he won't move too fast, not now. No, they have time. They have all night. They have forever.

Aziraphale gasps against his mouth, and Crowley claims his lips again, slipping his tongue in to trace against his. He sends through his own wanting, sends through his feelings of lust, of desire, of need. How much he wants Aziraphale in this moment. With his free hand he cups the angel's face, holding him close.