"Hgk," Crowley imparts to the ceiling, before pushing himself up on one elbow. His gaze is mildly unfocused, which rather blunts the effect of his raised eyebrow - but that's no great matter. It lasts only a moment before an answering grin unfolds itself across his face, bright in the early sun.

He takes a moment to flick Aziraphael's ear, feeling it more than deserved under the circumstances, but then trails his hand down under the angel's chin and tugs.

"Anyone'd - "

Looking down at Aziraphael in the light (looking back up at him), Crowley discovers that his mouth, and his lips, are very dry. He pauses; wets them; continues, amused.

"Anyone'd think you were making a point, angel."