"It was only a warmup," protests Aziraphale, then, "Oh-!" as Crowley draws him in. His skin heats appropriately; he digs his fingers harder against the lean muscle of Crowley's waist. It is quite a good snog, Aziraphale has to admit, though he can barely keep up. He shudders as Crowley sucks on his tongue, unable to repress a full throated moan, twisting against the press of Crowley's snake half.

When Crowley breaks away, Aziraphale reaches up to adjust his glasses. "Well," he says. "Yes, that was better, wasn't it." He tugs lightly at his collar.