Crowley chuckles wickedly at the description. Yes, yes he is, and never happier about it than when Aziraphale calls him that. Never happier about it than now, watching his teasing leave Aziraphale writhing and near desperate with want.

Wanting Crowley. His touch, his hand.

"Sure thing, angel," he says, trying to sound nonchalant and failing, his voice breaking partway through the phrase as he leans over and takes another kiss. At the same time he gives Aziraphale what he's asked for. It's different holding someone else's cock, but his fingers know how to grip, how to pull, how to swipe his thumb or index finger over the tip. How to twist. Anything that makes Aziraphale react, he repeats, learning how the angel wants to be touched.