If given the chance, Aziraphale would have read a countless number of books, even suffered through an educational movie or two to adequately prepare, and it would have taken ages, and it wouldn't have made a lick of difference except to make him that much more self-conscious.

So far as he knows, this is perfect. And somehow, impossibly, it will get even better.

He pulls Crowley in as well, flush against him, their other hands trapped in between, and kisses him soundly. "Yes," he whispers. "Yes, all of them, please." With a miracle or the old-fashioned way, he'll give Crowley the space to maneuver if necessary, but please.