[Is there anything sweeter than Aziraphale gasping like this? So overwhelmed he can't even look up, just hot breath and the sweet sting of his teeth as he mewls against Crowley's neck, god, god, had any of his fantasies ever lived up to this reality? Clumsy and imperfect and genuine and ideal, and he rocks his hips down much more gracefully, a slick movement that leaves him shuddering.]

Yes, in the Bentley. Take your pick where. Backseat or bent over the front--

[He tips his head down just so he can murmur it against Aziraphale's ear, hot breath and a grin so clearly evident in his voice. Maybe it's fairly explicit, given it's still their first time, but-- oh, well, he'd wanted to hear more, hadn't he? And Crowley's had ages to think about that one night in Soho, when all he'd wanted was for his angel to stay.

But that doesn't matter now, does it? I do need you, I always have, and he knows that's another statement that will ring about his head for the next few decades. Centuries, maybe. I do need you, and it's always, always been him chasing after Aziraphale, always eager to talk, always eager to push the envelope, not to tempt but simply because he liked him-- I do need you, I always have, and of course he'd suspected, but oh, what a balm, what a joy to hear it confirmed.

Maybe someday he'll demand Aziraphale elaborate. Really just dig in and talk about all those times he longed for Crowley. That would be nice.

Right now, though-- right now, he pushes his fingers through his hair, tugging pointedly so he can meet Aziraphale's eyes.]

Maybe just opening a window and seeing how quiet you could be.