Crowley chuckles, low and husky. "Something like this, I think?" Aziraphale's mouth is warm, and he slides his tongue in to get a taste of it, breathes in deep. His fingertips tighten their hold, almost imperceptibly. "Or maybe this--" The next kiss is a little more hungry, a little less teasing. "Or this..."

He loses track eventually, both of the teasing and of the numbers and types of kisses.