Satisfactorily revenged, Crowley settles back - back to soft kisses (not at all repentant), and mapping out the lightest of possibilities with his fingertips.

"I see," he continues, grin returned - white and angular, close.

(I'd rather not, either, says the shift of his hips underneath Aziraphael's, a slight, gentle press - up.)

"What would you - hn, what would you rather?"