Crowley keeps still, lets Aziraphale choose the pace and control this part, even if the effort leaves him trembling from the sheer intensity of it. His fingers flex against Aziraphale's hips as he tries not to just...just grab him and pull, or hold him in place while he thrusts up, or anything. Just, being still, but the need to move escapes in shaking and twitching fingers and rivulets of sweat running down his neck and back.

But worth every bit of self-restraint, because Aziraphale's face is a wonder of concentration and amazement, and he feels so good around Crowley's cock, dear Sa--Go--Somebody. Aziraphale is hot and welcoming and surrounding him, and Crowley wants to tilt his head to kiss that sweet smile.

But then Aziraphale moves, and Crowley makes another embarassing keening noise as he rests his head against Aziraphale's shoulder. "Angel--" he whimpers, moving only a little, trying to match what Aziraphale is doing. "Fuck, angel, you--you're--"