Aziraphale knows that about Crowley - even when he doesn't know what he himself needs, he knows Crowley will be there to provide it none the less. From the words he doesn't know he needs, to the smallest whims. He hasn't always been the best at showing his appreciation for the fact...but he's been getting better, ever since the shackles of Heaven were finally broken.

There's a faint muffled sound from the back of his throat, welcoming all that the demon gives him. Slow is good, he likes slow. Slow is good specially now, giving them the time to appreciate every touch, every breath, every taste of each other, in the comfortable silence of the room.

He gently digs the fingers of his free hand into Crowley's hair, tilting his head and parting his lips, tongue brushing against the demon's. He wants this, needs this maybe, wants to share. Wants to feel that he's here, that Crowley's here, and they're here together, against all odds. So many odds stacked against them, he wonders if they really ever did anything so wrong that they could deserve such punishments.

--Don't think about it. Don't think about it.