He'll never get used to all these new let names, the darlings and dearests. He doesn't want to get used to them. They send nervous thrills down his spine, even now.

Crowley groans when Aziraphale sobs, because fuck, how it possible he did something to cause that noise? He swivels his hips, finds the right angle, and then he's hitting it on every stroke, trying to get more of that needy wail.