The angel's embrace will always be there, waiting for him, a selfish refuge he will never have to share. A self sustaining give and take of safety, and warmth, and care.

Aziraphale drinks in the attention, the words again, the feeling of the demon's body pressing him into their bed. He grips Crowley's hand with their intertwined fingers, pulls a thigh up against his side and toward his hand. It feels like a dance and makes him think of music, every time, but the notes sound different this time around.

"Only yours." He murmurs, free hand slipping between Crowley's shoulders to hold, to pull him and meet him in a kiss, before pulling back and settling on the bed over his head, leaving him vulnerable and unguarded, and delightfuly so.