Crowley can feel it, the music in his soul that Aziraphale shares. He doesn't know what it is, he doesn't know where it comes from, but it's theirs, like a strum against heartstrings. Oh, and Crowley is far from a romantic being (or so he tells himself), but he can believe that it's theirs, and he holds onto it, pulls it against himself. Amplifies it. Their music.

Aziraphale arches under him and Crowley lets out another moan as waves of pleasure move against him, crashing into him like the waves against the beach. Every movement, every touch, everything like a current moving through them, connecting them to each other.

It's a wonder they've been able to be apart this long, if such an experience was waiting for them.