Ok, so this is still more than a little weird, but Crowley's a hedonist at heart, and he can't manage to put up much more than a token protest as Aziraphale strokes a hand over his pinions and hauls him into a proper kiss, all warm and wet and lazy. 'Mmm,' he hums, the appreciative noise buzzing between their mouths, leaning down into Aziraphale more proactively. He's in the process of pondering whether he ought to make the Effort, or simply enjoy things for a while on a purely sensual level, when someone says his name.

He pulls away from Aziraphale's mouth and twists around, straightening his now-slightly-crooked shades. Well. That settles that decision for him.

'Oh,' he says, stupidly. 'Uh, hi, Melanie.' Crowley is not one to be embarrassed about sex or public displays thereof; that is a purely human trait. Or, well, not purely human, as Aziraphale often aptly illustrates, but it certainly isn't a demonic one. Being walked in on by Aziraphale's little ward, though, he feels a momentary uncomfortable flash of something that he's pretty sure is embarrassment.

It only lasts for a moment, though, in favour of two, much more important bits of information. One, Aziraphale will likely be mortified; two, Melanie is looking at his wings like they're the second coming. He grins, and fluffs all his feathers up for a moment, letting the primaries flare ostentatiously, before settling back into their customary sleekness.

'Told you his were nothing special.'