He holds Crowley a little tighter, though not enough to interfere with waistcoat removal. "Precious demon, then," he says, with another kiss to his cheek. "Lovely occult being. Dearest. Dearheart." He's not about to ease up on the compliments just because Crowley growls about it. In fact, that little growl might have only spurred him on.

Perhaps Aziraphale understands the significance, just a little, because once his waistcoat has joined Crowley's jacket, he reaches up and undoes his bowtie, all on his own. If Crowley can let his guard down with such soft, needy noises, he can do the same.

He returns the kiss, lips parting, then moves his mouth to Crowley's jawline, up to his ear, finally returning what has been so sweetly given to him, gentle nips and soothing licks, his hands wandering up and down Crowley's back, tugging absently at the fabric of his shirt.