[ There's meant to be some witty response, something suave and smooth that will make Aziraphale both laugh and want him even more, but it's lost in a lot of garbled swearing and frantic scrabbling as soon as one perfectly manicured finger makes contact with a sensitive nipple.
Crowley surges forward to kiss Aziraphale, hungry and wanting, parting only briefly to pull his own shirt off and toss it into a stack of books where it would likely be consumed by ravenous literature of dubious repute.
One might think that Herself had spun Aziraphale from the gauziest muslin way Crowley's hands wander achingly tender over the angel's torso. Long fingers flutter and caress, pausing momentarily to tease a nipple to hardness or to stroke along the curve of his spine. It's a sharp contrast to the searing, open mouthed kisses that would make a lamprey blush. ]
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Crowley surges forward to kiss Aziraphale, hungry and wanting, parting only briefly to pull his own shirt off and toss it into a stack of books where it would likely be consumed by ravenous literature of dubious repute.
One might think that Herself had spun Aziraphale from the gauziest muslin way Crowley's hands wander achingly tender over the angel's torso. Long fingers flutter and caress, pausing momentarily to tease a nipple to hardness or to stroke along the curve of his spine. It's a sharp contrast to the searing, open mouthed kisses that would make a lamprey blush. ]