As Crowley's hands travel over every exposed area of his upper body, Aziraphale keeps his eyes closed, letting himself feel, letting himself want, in this gentle sharing of corporations they claim as their own. They get to feel in different ways, and none shall be taken away from them. They will love, and they will feel, and they will be, just as they are and as they can be.

He leans back, a comfortable weight against Crowley's chest, bringing a hand up and back to touch at his hair, turning his head to brush his lips against it, seeking to press a loving kiss, welcoming all the warmth he can give him.