[Even if Aziraphale hadn't already offered, how could he say no to such a request? How many times had he already daydreamed of Crowley curled up against him, or his head in his lap, while Aziraphale turned pages and read to him?]

Of course, dear.

[He lifts his head to kiss Crowley's neck --

-- and immediately gives him another raspberry for the House of Holes comment.]

Now listen here, you cheeky thing. I'm not about to waste my time reading to you silly sexual scenarios when you've already proven to me that the real deal is infinitely better.

[His expression shifts from faux stern to quietly optimistic.]

I have a collection of poems by Pablo Neruda that you might like. May I read you those?