For as many words as the angel has always seen to be eager to spare, to share with those who might bother to listen (and even those that don't), there is a real feeling of novelty in having someone who craves this part of him. The place where these words come from, somewhere hidden away so far that he didn't even know it existed for most of his consciousness. A part of him he had to learn to delve into, tripping and stumbling all the way. And he wants to give it, now, to show, something so intimate he's still learning how to dive into it.

Aziraphale opens his eyes, looks up at his demon. Regards his beautiful golden eyes, his angular features. That face that hid so much more than a creature that could no longer reach Heaven. He brings his hands to Crowley's cheeks and gently pulls the demon into a tender kiss, comfortable and sweet.

With a gentle push against Crowley's shoulder, he rolls them both over atop the veritable mess of warm covers, still glowing, now above him.

( Wings, many, countless wings, flutter and stretch out, technicolor and glowing. They pull back in to cover and to hold, to keep safe within their light. There's no warmth they can share, but bending the way of things has always been a specialty.)

Aziraphale regards his demon again, and he smiles, thankful and full of love. He cups his cheek. "I'll be happy to."