"Oh, really, dear," sighs Aziraphale when Crowley disappears his clothes, decidedly unprepared for sudden nudity. Appearance is almost nothing to them, and he's certainly never been one to fuss over his own looks (not like SOME people), but the whole vanishing clothes act works quite a bit better on the demon. Aziraphale likes to undress himself not just out of care for the clothes and an appreciation of orderliness, but because the natural reveal works for him. His paunchiness is best unveiled gradually, not with this perfunctorily abruptness. He touches a hand to his belly - (wasn't it rounder before?) - raising an eyebrow at the demon.

"You're incorrigible," he says.

It's nice to see Crowley's eyes, though, glittering brightly in the dark. Nicer still when Crowley leans in close, mouthing at his neck. Aziraphale tilts his head back with a sigh that comes out a bit wanton, shivering at the hiss, the tongue flicking into his ear.

"Incorrigible," he repeats breathily, and tilts his head back down to kiss him again, properly this time, not continuous but on and off, pressing in, drawing back, and in again, nipping each time at Crowley's lower lip.

"Could you-" he murmurs in between the press of their mouths. He slips his hands down to the portion of Crowley's tail that is currently looped around his waist. He doesn't complete the request, not quite knowing how to phrase it, just an inarticulate desire for more. He trusts that Crowley will understand like he always seems to do.