[Oh, but if that isn't the loveliest sound - his name, his name spilling so earnestly and desperately from Crowley's lips. Not angel, as much as he quietly delights in Crowley's not at all hidden affections— not even love, as new and brilliantly exciting as that one is, but his name. Said like that, almost like a prayer.
A blasphemous prayer, naturally, what other kind of prayer could there be while Aziraphale grips him through his trousers and purses his lips. Considers.]
I need you to do something for me first, my dear.
[Not... really, but he just wants to see what Crowley will do while he's like this. He's not at all immune to this, the way Crowley looks at him all but makes him ache for him, but. Just to see.]
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A blasphemous prayer, naturally, what other kind of prayer could there be while Aziraphale grips him through his trousers and purses his lips. Considers.]
I need you to do something for me first, my dear.
[Not... really, but he just wants to see what Crowley will do while he's like this. He's not at all immune to this, the way Crowley looks at him all but makes him ache for him, but. Just to see.]
Apologize for calling me round in Paris.