Aziraphael presses his chest to Crowley's back even before the shudders have stopped, dragging his fingers lightly across feathers toward himself so that he can edge both his forearms just underneath Crowley's ribs, press his mouth to the back of his neck, and hold on tightly.

"Thank you, love," he says, but it's quiet enough that Crowley, close as he is, might not hear anything beyond a murmur.