'Mmm,' agrees Crowley, and though technically it was Aziraphale who'd started this particular engagement, Crowley's become quite distracted. Aziraphale with all his squirming and moaning makes it ridiculously easy. A moment later, the collar Aziraphale had been tugging at is no longer there, his jacket and shirt (and the vest he's wearing underneath like the worst kind of middle-aged man) miracled away by a glance.

Crowley's a demon. He's fond of instant gratification. Also of annoying Aziraphale, whom he knows, just as he actually purchases his clothes rather than simply willing them out of raw fundament, also prefers to take them off the old fashioned way.

His own glasses are also long since vanished, which means he can duck in to kiss his way up Aziraphale's now handily-bare neck. 'And thisss?' he hisses, right in Aziraphale's ear, forked tongue flicking out to punctuate the point.