If Crowley ever prayed, he'd pray never to forget this. He wants it written on his skin, on the backs of his eyelids, he doesn't want to see or hear or feel anything else again, just this, just Aziraphale. all those needy gasps and endearments and swear words and please and his name, his name, mixed in with all of it. Six thousand years to get to this point and it was worth every blessed second.

"Yes--yes--" Fuck,he won't last either, not with Aziraphale begging him like this, not while he gets to move and bury himself to the hilt inside his angel. His angel, and Crowley groans, wraps a hand around Aziraphale's cock and strokes in time with his thrusts. "Yes, angel, come on, come for me, stay with me, stay with me--"

Later he might be embarassed by that last, because those three words are the ones he'd had to hold back all this time, all these centuries. Not saying I love you was easy in comparison to not asking for what he really wanted. But nothing's held back now, nothing, and Crowley gives and takes pleasure with equal abandon as those words pound in his veins.

Stay with me, stay with me, stay with me.