It's not the explicit hand-holding feedback like earlier, but it's more than enough for Aziraphale to go on, and he listens eagerly. More? He can give more. No one warned him about a gag reflex, so it isn't much trouble to take all of Crowley down his throat -- slowly, of course, building up to it as a human might, more for Crowley's pleasure than his own comfort. Harder...? He's not sure what to do about that. He can suck harder, which he does whenever he pulls back.

Is this good? He thinks so, based on the sounds that Crowley's making. He hazards a glance up, and oh yes, Crowley is definitely enjoying himself. It fills him with a deep sense of contentment. A human might call that pride, but an angel is never prideful. And isn't it an angel's role to serve? Never mind that the feeling of Crowley's cock brushing his soft palate, the weight of it against his tongue, isn't satisfying in its own right.

Rhythm established, he grips both of Crowley's hips with his hands, holding him steady against the mattress, thumbs tenderly brushing the jut of his hipbones. I'm here, he tries to communicate via touch. I'll give you whatever you need.