He can do that, he can definitely do that. Crowley lets go of the angel's waist and raises his hands and slowly, reverently strokes those wings, starting from the spine and moving outward. His fingers trail carefully along the delicate lines of bone, then further down over the coverts, soft feathers tickling at his fingertips and palms. "Beautiful," he murmurs, only half-aware he's said it. He lets his head rest on the floor so he can see Aziraphale's face while his hands explore. "Fuck, but you're gorgeous like this."