He'd meant to suggest a little and then move on, still taking it slow. But Aziraphale traps his hand in place, traps his mouth, and Crowley can take a hint.

Slowly he prizes his angel's lips open with his tongue, takes time to explore his mouth, tasting and breathing him in. At the same time his hand takes a more firm grip between Aziraphale's thighs, fingers settling into a firm hold and slowly stroking. Slow, all of it. No rushing.

They will rush later, he suspects. At some point there will be a desperate scramble, the kind of "I thought I lost you" grappling you get in romance novels and action films. And maybe they need that. But they need this too.

Whatever Aziraphale needs, Crowley will give it to him, however he can. Forever. That's been truth for almost as long as they've known each other. This is just another way of saying it, showing it.