Again, Aziraphale goes, following the almost magnetic pull of Crowley's hands on him. It's like the first time he tried food, again, but more, because Crowley is so responsive beneath him and before him, all of his sounds and warmth and flirtations -- and far be it from Aziraphale to forget to mention, again, that tongue. He curls his fingers deliberately where his hand still rests, hoping for a repeat of that last sound in specific.