"Do you even have a bed?" Christ, that moan, that drawn-out moan of desire that had Crowley's name in it, he'll fantasize about that forever, he wants it to be the last thing he ever hears, and he does that thing with his tongue again solely in the hopes of inspiring a repeat. A bed would be idea but if they need to stay on the floor he'll do that, so long as this doesn't stop. He scrapes fingernails up the base of Aziraphale's spine, but the wings are in the way. "Angel, fuck, the things you do to me, the things I want to do to you--"