Crowley's had dreams like this, where he's kissing Aziraphale, where Aziraphale is kissing him back, where they're surrounded by wings and in their own world, and even dreams where they stumble and Aziraphale just falls on top of him so he has an armful of soft, warm, much beloved angel stretched along the length of his body. And this is all those things at once. It's a wonder Crowley doesn't discorporate on the spot. It's also a good thing neither of them really needs to breathe.

A very good thing, because it means that after the initial break of surprise and impact, he can just pick up right where he was: kissing Aziraphale. But Christ, it's better like this, in private, and lying down where he can just twine his leg around like this, and wrap his arm around Aziraphale's waist like this to pull him even closer, and then reach up with his other hand and caress those wings, the soft arc of them above his head..."Fuck, angel--" he manages, somewhere in the midst of all this, utterly overwhelmed and not wanting to change anything about it. Not a thing. "Have you any idea, any idea at all--" He can't finish the sentence. Aziraphale's mouth is in the way. Good.