When Crowley decides to mix things up a bit down there, he doesn’t give it much thought, other than it might be fun to have something different. For a while, at least.
It’s been years since he had a vagina, and even longer since his vessel was outwardly feminine – genitals aside. Certainly he hasn’t had one since the almost end of the world turned into Aziraphale staying the night at his place, which had turned into Aziraphale staying the night at his place. Seven months after the apocalypse that wasn’t, the demon had made the new Effort almost on a whim, thinking it might be a nice surprise for the angel.
Looking back, maybe he should have taken the time to consider it a bit more carefully. But truthfully, there was no way he could have predicted that Aziraphale would react the way he does.
“Oh f-fuuuuuck, angel!” Crowley cries out, bucking against the angel’s hand. It’s the second time Crowley has cum since they had fallen into bed that evening, and Aziraphale soothes him through it, all the while playing the demon’s body like a damned harp. The angel’s thumb makes gentle circles around Crowley’s clit and his fingers deftly rub that spot inside that has the demon swearing and grinding back onto the two fingers hooked in his cunt. Eventually the tremors slow and then stop, and Crowley heaves a shuddering breath when the well-manicured hand is gently taken away, leaving him empty.
“Beautiful, my dear.” Aziraphale murmurs, almost in awe. “Simply breath-taking.”
One tender hand stokes the outer length of Crowley’s lithe thigh, and the demon lifts his head to look at his lover. Aziraphale is not looking back at him, which is in itself unusual – instead he is staring down at the glistening hand that was inside Crowley, expression curious, wondering. The demon watches silently as the angel tentatively brings his fingers to his mouth, pink tongue darting out to taste.
Crowley has seen this before – or at least, something like it. He’s seen Aziraphale lick whipped cream from the back of a spoon, he’s seen him swallow down shellfish, and lick the foam from a hot cocoa from his upper lip and catch crumbs lingering on his fingers with his tongue. Crowley has watched his angel delight in delicacy after delicacy and he knows each and every expression that passes over the angel’s face after just such a treat.
When Aziraphale licks cautiously at his fingers, his eyebrows lift, and his eyes widen in pleasure. “Oh,” the angel says, surprised, before tasting again. “That’s- darling, you taste…”
Crowley’s mouth goes dry as he watches this all unfold, and when the angel meets his eye, as he sucks his digits clean, the demon can see there’s a curious spark in those pale blue eyes – a thought, taking form. Aziraphale has finished with his hand and is looking down at Crowley’s slit again. Considering.
The demon, brain still not quite online after being taken apart so expertly, barely has time to understand what is about to happen before it does. Aziraphale, already sitting between Crowley’s wantonly spread thighs, hooks the demon’s legs up and over his shoulders – Crowley is left with his shoulders bearing his weight down against the mattress, and his thighs on either side of the angel’s head.
Aziraphale kisses the inside of his right thigh, and something within Crowley – something warm and soft and not very demonic – swells with affection and settles deep in his stomach. And then Aziraphale is kissing up his thigh, across and centre. He presses his lips against Crowley, just above his clit, and Crowley throws an arm over his face, hiding, unable to take the expression on the angel’s face. The anticipation. The hunger.
It turns out this was a mistake, though, as now Crowley cannot see and so has no warning before Aziraphale descends on him, mouth hot and eager.
“Oh Jesus fucking Christ,” Crowley swears, yelping when Aziraphale teasingly nips at him in retribution for the blasphemy. The angel licks the place where he had nibbled, gentling the barely-there sting, and Crowley whines high in his throat. The fire that had burned down to embers after his last orgasm is being fuelled once more, returning to sear through him with even more force. He’s still wet and a new rush of arousal floods him; Crowley simultaneously wants to close his legs and spread them as wide as his hips will allow, and he squirms, caught between his arousal and the feel of Aziraphale’s breath against him. The angel’s hands tighten slightly, holding Crowley in place before he dives straight for the source of the heat between them – the demon gasps as Aziraphale licks from the bottom of his slit all the way up to the top before he settles at Crowley’s entrance, his tongue lapping as though he’s indulging in an ice-cream on a warm day.
Rather like said hypothetical ice-cream, Crowley melts against Aziraphale, bliss washing over him and making his thighs tremble beneath the angel’s hands. The demon sighs, one hand burying itself in Aziraphale’s white-gold curls and tugging beseechingly.
“Oh, love,” Aziraphale murmurs, kissing and licking enthusiastically. “The taste of you Crowley, this is- you’re so-”
The rest of the Principality’s sentence is lost as he presses even closer, completely burying his head between Crowley’s thighs. Aziraphale licks at the demon’s entrance, one hand moving to hold the folds of Crowley’s entrance open, tongue dragging flat and hot against him, again and again. The pleasure is swelling inside Crowley, and he can’t help but sigh as Aziraphale tends to him. The angel licks in and forward, and his tongue slips completely inside Crowley. The both of them moan; Crowley at the sensation, the wet heat of Aziraphale’s tongue curling within him, and Aziraphale at the sweet ambrosia taste of his love, the gentle keen the demon gives as the angel twists his tongue within him.
Soon, they are both lost to it. Crowley, though he’s quickly becoming overcome by sensation, forces his eyes to remain open, just so he can watch his angel.
Aziraphale, on the other hand, has his eyes closed; savouring it, Crowley thinks, his mind once more jumping back to a million shared meals together. But there’s an uninhibited quality here that Crowley has never seen in a restaurant or café; Aziraphale may be dining on him but he’s doing so carelessly. Messily. Normally so prim and proper, now the angel thrusts his tongue and coaxes Crowley’s essence into his mouth, wildly, with utter abandon. And the sounds Aziraphale makes are obscene – not just the soft wet sound of his tongue as he laps at the demon’s heated core, but the unashamed groans and sighs of satisfaction he gives with each new flood he swallows from Crowley’s body.
Crowley thinks with a hint of hysteria that it’s a damn- blessed- it’s a good thing that neither of them need to breathe; Aziraphale has buried his head so deep between Crowley’s thighs the demon doubts that he’d be able to breathe even if he bothered to try, and Crowley’s own breath catches and holds for far longer than any mortal could sustain as Aziraphale pulls the pleasure from him with lips and tongue. Crowley coasts on it, for a while – he’s not sure how long. It’s a gently rising tide and he lets it carry him as it will. Perhaps the angel can sense that Crowley has begun to drift – and perhaps he wants Crowley in the moment, focused, or perhaps he just wants more of the ambrosia leaking from the demon – whatever the reason, Aziraphale presses his lips to Crowley’s entrance and sucks, and Crowley’s body buckles as he begins to crest this newest wave of ecstasy.
“Oh fuck, angel, fuckfuckfuck,” Crowley chants, and he can feel Aziraphale smirk against him, the smug angelic bastard, and oh- oh!
Aziraphale takes him through it, tongue sweeping soft and slick through Crowley’s release, the angel happily swallowing it all down.
I love when he’s greedy, Crowley thinks dazedly, a stupid grin pulling at his own lips. Aziraphale eventually moves up, flicking his tongue playfully over Crowley’s clit and the demon can’t help but jerk against the angel’s mouth, gasping desperately at the electric bolt of sensation that runs down his spine and settles, sitting somewhere between the base of his back and that clenching, hungry place deep inside him. His pleasure had been soft, before, but with one lick against that sensitive bundle of nerves, it sharpens into something darker and far more desperate.
“Aziraphale, oh shit, again, please again,” Crowley babbles, and the angel hums happily, obliging with another purposeful lick. Crowley’s so distracted by the vibrations of Aziraphale’s hum against his twitching clit that it takes him a second to realise that the angel has one hand running through the arousal still leaking from his core. As he realises, Aziraphale slips one finger back into him, mouthing firmly at Crowley’s clit as his finger sinks back home, taking up an unhurried, steady pace. The single finger teases rather than soothes and Crowley’s hips want to swivel desperately, want to seek that little bit extra he needs, but Aziraphale’s other hand is firm and as he is – shoulders to mattress and legs hooked up over the angel’s shoulders above him, one angelic hand tight on his hip holding him steady – he can barely move. With the angelic strength gripping him tight, Crowley is utterly caught by Aziraphale, is totally at the angel’s mercy – the thought runs through him like lightning, and Crowley finds himself trying to buck up into the source of his pleasure anyway.
“Oh sweetheart,” Aziraphale coos as Crowley helplessly tries to writhe within his grasp, as though Crowley is something precious and lovely, something worth cherishing. “Is it enough? Do you need more?”
“Please, angel,” the demon mewls, and Aziraphale smiles kindly at him.
“Soon, darling. I promise, you’ll have more soon. Just- let me keep you like this awhile? You’re so lovely like this, so wet and decadent, just for me,” and here the angel places a kiss right where the single finger is still leisurely burying itself, his tongue lapping out to sample Crowley’s essence once more. Aziraphale seems to get distracted by the taste once again, tonguing at Crowley’s entrance for a few long moments, and the demon groans, the sound broken and pulled from somewhere deep within him. Aziraphale’s eyes lock with Crowley’s at the sound, but the angel keeps the same torturous pace, mouth pressing in around his hand to feast on Crowley. When he finally adds a second finger alongside his tongue, it’s not quite a relief, but it’s... it’s something.
“That’s it, Crowley. You just take it. It’s for you, my darling boy. It’s all for you.” Aziraphale whispers, leaning back slightly, his voice and eyes molten as he watches his fingers disappear into the demon.
Crowley is once again stumbling towards release, pleasure coiling low and tight in his stomach and his mouth is running away with him. “Aziraphale, fuck, I want it, please,” the demon begs, eyes screwing shut; he’s on the precipice and – considering how much he’s already cum this evening – he balances there for longer than he ever thought possible. It’s quite deliberate, though he doesn’t know it. If Crowley’s eyes were open, he’d see Aziraphale’s gaze darting between the soaked gash where his fingers sink into the demon's body, and Crowley's own face, slack with bliss. Aziraphale's expression is curious and desperately hungry – greedy, even – as he watches Crowley, overcome with passion. The angel hadn’t been lying, before – he wants to keep Crowley like this. For as long as he can.
Aziraphale’s plump hand rocks in and out, fingers settling wet and slick into a rhythm, pace unchanging. After long, long moments of simply observing his demon, utterly lost to sensation, the Principality ducks his head and rolls his tongue, sweet and hot, over Crowley’s clit once more. The angel’s eyes close in joy at the keen the demon lets loose; high and thready. The Principality draws out the moment, stretches it right up until Crowley’s desperation gains a rough edge to it, his breath stuttering in his chest and wild, animal sounds tumbling from his mouth unchecked.
As a particularly frantic cry breaks free from Crowley’s lips, Aziraphale’s fingers begin to slam into the demon – and though Crowley shakes with it, his pleasure being pushed ever higher, he’s still caught there, teetering on the edge. He needs- he needs-
Aziraphale knows exactly what he needs, and is muttering wildly, voice at once harsh and loving. “You’re so good for me, Crowley, so lovely, so perfect, and you deserve this, you deserve to feel this good. It’s for you, this pleasure, all pleasure, it’s yours, I’ll give it to you. Won’t you come for me, darling? Please, my love?” Aziraphale pleads before dropping his mouth over Crowley’s clit and sucking, hard.
Crowley shrieks, and Aziraphale curls his fingers deep inside, once more beckoning Crowley’s body towards orgasm. The demon’s back arches and his cunt gushes, clenching uncontrollably as he thrashes beneath the angel's hand. Aziraphale holds tight and keeps suckling at his clit, rubbing that spot inside and the bliss overwhelms the demon entirely, sharp and sweet – it crests and rolls over him in waves, on and on.
Crowley’s thighs are shuddering either side of Aziraphale’s face and his head lolls against the mattress, insensate. Eventually, the hand Crowley has buried in the angel’s hair stops tugging and starts pushing, weak as a kitten, and Aziraphale gentles, the pleasure washing over Crowley softening, tiptoeing back from that sharp edge of too much. Aziraphale removes his mouth from Crowley’s clit, before giving in and taking one flat tongued lick up Crowley’s slit, savouring the demon’s latest release. Then the angel presses one last bereft kiss to Crowley’s shivering entrance and sits back; he unhooks Crowley’s legs from around his neck, and ever so carefully lowers Crowley’s body back to the bed. Crowley can feel the angel’s thick thighs holding him open as Aziraphale stares down at him with so much love and desire that the demon has to close his eyes. Rather like an earthquake, little tremors continue long after the main event and Crowley is still twitching, his orgasm taking much longer this time to pass through him.
Eyes closed, he’s once again utterly unprepared for will happen next.
Aziraphale slips his cock inside him and Crowley sobs. It’s a weak, pleading sound; it gets pulled from his chest and spills into the space between them without Crowley’s say-so. Tears bite at his eyes and his body, still on the heels of one orgasm, immediately begins to tip into another. Aziraphale’s cock is like him in a number of ways; fat and gorgeous. It’s unlike him in that it is utterly, relentlessly hard. Crowley feels split open; that empty space inside him finally has something to grasp at, to stretch it, and Crowley’s body ripples hungrily around Aziraphale’s thickness, tremors wracking the demon, one after another. He's delirious with sensation, body entirely out of his control as he twitches weakly, continuously beneath and around the angel.
Aziraphale moans, ragged and undone. Crowley might be languid and stupid with euphoria, but he's as tight as a vice where he holds the angel within him, and the demon anchors himself to Aziraphale, arms wrapped tight around those pale, freckled shoulders. His vision blurs and all Crowley’s aware of is the angel in his arms and in him and the way his pleasure builds and builds and builds upon itself. He cums again, and – he thinks, maybe? – again (or is it just that the first never truly ended?) and then everything in the world softens to the gentlest shade of black.
When Crowley comes back to himself – only a moment later – he feels floaty and fuzzy; loose in every muscle and joint. For a second, he thinks that his demonic form must have disconnected from his mortal one, but, no – nothing that dire, and Crowley soon settles back into himself. His pulse is ringing in his ears, and it takes a moment for his vision to focus on the angel above him. Aziraphale is trembling with the effort of keeping still, and though the angel’s eyes are blown wide with lust, they’ve sharpened slightly at the desperate sound that had wrenched itself from Crowley as the angel had filled him.
“Crowley? Do you need to use your word, love?” Aziraphale asks, concerned, and ‘Eden’ flashes through Crowley’s mind briefly. His body is shaking – still – and, for a second, he’s half tempted to use it, just to gain a reprieve from the sensation, but-
His angel is so hard within him, and the pale cerulean wash of Aziraphale’s eyes are frantic with need, even as the angel holds himself steady, still and utterly prepared to stop if Crowley gives life to the word silently hovering in the air between them. Aziraphale is holding onto his restraint, but his whole body is flushed pink, and the skin around his mouth and chin still glistens with Crowley’s own release. Something hot and greedy settles in Crowley’s stomach, and he wonders if this is how his angel has felt all evening.
He can take more. He can take anything Aziraphale gives him. He wants to take it, is fucking privileged to take it. Crowley wants to see Aziraphale lose his control. He wants to see the angel come undone.
So, gathering what little strength remains in his limbs, Crowley tips them to one side and then over, so that he ends up straddling his angel, staring down at him. Aziraphale slips out of him as they move but within a moment the demon has taken the angel’s cock in hand and guides it back to his entrance. This time, when Aziraphale slips inside him, Crowley bites down on the sob rising in his chest. He’s mostly successful.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale asks again, gasping when Crowley shifts, sinking that final inch down and taking the angel in his entirety.
“I- I’m good, angel. I’m very, very good. Gonna be ssso good for you,” the demon says – almost slurs – and Aziraphale moans as Crowley starts to swivel his hips, unhurried and slow, rocking them together.
“You’re always good for me, darling, but if it’s too much-”
“‘s not, promissse” Crowley hisses, and leans down to kiss Aziraphale’s worries away. The angel moans against Crowley’s mouth, his tongue flickering against Crowley’s lip and then – once the demon opens his mouth – against his own slightly forked tongue. The angel tastes musky and sweet, and Crowley realises with a whine that he’s tasting himself, and his hips grind down harder.
It seems even Aziraphale’s control has a breaking point, and when Crowley purposefully clamps down on him, the angel curses and bucks up. Aziraphale grasps Crowley’s hips – his hands are soft, and his grip is not, and he lifts Crowley up, up, before slamming the demon back down onto his cock.
Aziraphale grunts, but it goes unheard over the high-pitched cry that is torn from Crowley. The angel does it again, and then again. The drag of the angel’s cock slow and torturous as it slides almost all the way out, and the rush and stretch as it fills Crowley again – it’s delicious, and sends sparks skittering throughout the demon’s body. Aziraphale lifts Crowley, moves him and shifts him like he weighs nothing, like it’s no effort at all for the angel to so easily seek to bury himself within the demon.
But after a handful of minutes, Aziraphale finally loses himself to his own bliss, and with a thought, Crowley is no longer astride the angel, but is instead on his hands and knees on the centre of the bed. The demon’s arms buckle almost immediately, and his body is on full, wanton display when Aziraphale rests one hand at the base of his back and pushes his cock back in.
Crowley pants, hair mussed, and cheek pressed against the rumpled sheet. His golden eyes are unfocused and unseeing, his entire existence narrowed down to the way Aziraphale’s cock stretches him open, slips in and out and makes him shiver. The angel presses down with the hand against the base of Crowley’s spine, making the demon’s back arch, and the new angle has the head of Aziraphale’s cock just brushing the spot inside Crowley that makes constellations dance before the demon’s unseeing eyes. If Crowley could look over his shoulder, if his eyes could focus at all, he would see that he is very close to reaching his goal.
Aziraphale’s eyes are wild, and his upper lip lifts in an unconscious snarl of pleasure. The angel has gone silent, utterly caught in rapture as his hips hitch forward, snapping back and forth as he desperately chases the sensation, the joy to be found in Crowley’s body.
With a quiet gasp – equal parts anticipation and apprehension – Crowley realises that the ecstasy is rising within him again. Aziraphale is fucking into him like he’ll die if he stops, and Crowley suddenly wonders if it’s possible to die from this – from feeling too much.
“‘ziraphale,” Crowley rasps, “thi- think I’m gonna, gonna cum. Oh fuck, I think I’m gonna cum again,” and his voice is utterly wrecked and the demon can’t hide the astonishment he’s feeling, and, yes, just a little bit of trepidation – because surely this was too much? Surely this would be it, surely, he’d shake apart at the sides and his atoms would split off and he’d simply cease to be?
Nothing living was designed to withstand this kind of feeling. Surely.
Whatever the angel hears in his voice causes him scoop Crowley up, wrap his arms around the demon and let them topple to the side. He doesn’t stop thrusting, doesn’t stop grinding up into Crowley’s body, but Aziraphale breaks his silence, voice almost as desperate as the demon’s.
“Oh please, Crowley, please. I want to feel you, want to – fuck – want to be with you through it until you simply can’t any more, until we’re both spent and wrung out. Please darling, you’re so good for me, so perfect – oh God – won’t you be good and cum for me?”
As he talks Aziraphale presses open mouthed kisses to Crowley’s shoulders, and one arm slips from around the demon’s waist to press between his legs. With deft, clever fingers, he circles Crowley’s clit before flicking his thumb over it. Crowley spasms, a full body shudder, and Aziraphale groans hot and wretched in his ear, feeling the tension in Crowley wind tight once more. The angel – ever the glutton – slows his thrusts, determined to savour the sensation. Aziraphale uses his fingers to start to softly tickle at Crowley’s clit rather than flick deliberately against it – just the faintest of touches, here one moment and gone the next, slick and teasing.
Crowley’s hands scramble weakly against the sheets.
Aziraphale breathes deep, and slow, and feels the bliss fill every cell of his body. If he could, this would be their eternity. The angel would stay here, buried within his love, until the last star fell dark. For all time. But it has been only a handful of hours – certainly no more than five – and Crowley is incoherent with lust, cries falling from his mouth with every gentle hitch of the angel’s hips. Curious, and with some effort, Aziraphale stills his movements completely, leaves himself utterly still and buried to the hilt within his demon. Crowley tries to chase the feeling that had been building within him, but, weak with pleasure and wrapped tight within in Aziraphale’s arms, he’s once again barely able to manage more than the smallest grind back against the angel’s cock. It’s not enough, but anything more feels like it could be too much. He’s caught, once again, trapped by sensation.
Crowley can’t suppress the sob that rises in him this time, and Aziraphale tips Crowley’s head towards his own, soothes him with a kiss, swallowing the broken sound. He shows mercy, of a kind, and starts moving again, thrusting slowly in and out of the demon’s body.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley gasps directly against the angel’s mouth, a prayer if there ever was one, and the angel’s movements inside him speed up, gentle thrusts becoming rough. He’s so close again. Aziraphale’s cock is all-encompassing within him, and the angel’s arms are wrapped securely around him. He’s safe here, like this, Aziraphale in and around him. Aziraphale won’t let him shake apart – won’t let his atoms escape their bounds. He can let go. He wants to let go.
And, in what could only be an instance of divine insight, Aziraphale knows that Crowley is ready.
The angel is ready, too.
Fingers that have been tickling and teasing Crowley’s clit for the past few minutes suddenly pinch, and the sharp jolt of pleasure bordering on pain is all the demon needs. Aziraphale cries out as Crowley constricts around him, tighter and hotter than anything the angel has ever experienced before.
Crowley has a moment, just as Aziraphale pushes him over the edge, where he lets the breath out of his lungs. Perhaps this is why he barely makes a sound as he cums a second later – just gasps, and gasps, and gasps, frantically trying to fill his lungs again as the demon surrenders totally to the sensation thundering over him. His eyes are still unfocused, unseeing, but the world doesn’t fade away this time. Instead, Crowley’s orgasm simply rushes through him, electricity through a conduit. He grabs hold of Aziraphale’s other hand where it clutches desperately at his waist – extending the path the lightning can travel, perhaps. From the way the angel swears and thrusts intensely as Crowley tightens around him, it certainly seems like it.
With a weak groan, Aziraphale pushes home one last time and spills, blistering hot, inside Crowley. The demon clenches down in response, shivering at the sensation of being filled, and the two – though already laying down – collapse further into the mattress, drained. They stay there, Crowley wrapped in Aziraphale’s still trembling arms, phantoms of pleasure wracking their bodies as they slowly, slowly begin to settle. Crowley isn’t sleepy, exactly. But he is tired – shattered and wrung out in a way that’s entirely new. So he closes his eyes and lets himself drift as the last remnants of orgasm spark faintly through him before falling silent.
Eventually, Aziraphale slips his cock from Crowley’s body, pressing a soft, close-mouthed kiss to the demon’s neck as he shudders, his well-used cunt gripping weakly as the angel withdraws. Crowley’s inner walls are still clutching futilely at nothing even as Aziraphale tenderly moves him to lie on his back – he feels empty, but he isn’t, quite. He can feel the angel’s cum inside him, and when Aziraphale spreads Crowley’s thighs to look him over with gentle hands and a murmured “I was quite rough darling, let me check”, some of it spills from him, dribbling down from his slit.
It takes Crowley a moment to realise that Aziraphale has gone still between his thighs. He blearily opens his eyes. The angel is not looking at him, which is still unusual, but is instead once again staring down at Crowley’s slit. Something like excitement, like panic, like apprehension and anticipation and adrenaline blazes through Crowley. He recognises the look on Aziraphale’s face.
The angel’s expression is curious. He looks down at Crowley’s sopping cunt, at their combined slick dribbling from the demon’s entrance.
Aziraphale considers. Lifts his hungry eyes to meet Crowley’s--
And ducks his head.
 This is incorrect. Crowley had once seen Aziraphale devour an entire black forest gateau cake within twenty-three minutes. He probably should have seen this coming.
 Aziraphale can usually be counted on to gaze lovingly into Crowley’s serpentine eyes as they fuck (“make love!” the angel would protest). Why he’d want to, Crowley is forever unsure, but there it is.
 He’s going to want more, Crowley would have read from the angel’s expression, if his brain wasn’t still a little hazy from orgasm.
 Aziraphale has a particularly lovely Crème brûlée the next time the two of them are out for dinner, and he makes this face, tongue wrapping around the velvety vanilla custard. Crowley almost chokes on his Sav Blanc.
 The whole “kill them with kindness” thing had started with Aziraphale, Crowley would put good money on it.
 Crowley has spent hours mapping the constellations of freckles scattered across Aziraphale’s skin. Never has he cared for the expanse of space less.
 Neither of them has ever had to use their words – but after they had started sleeping together, Aziraphale had done some research. He was very thorough, as ever, and once he’d stumbled across the concept the angel had thought it best that they have a word each. Just in case. (Aziraphale’s word was “Blitz”).
 Angelic strength was never meant for this, but Crowley has always approved of Aziraphale’s creativity when it comes to his ethereal gifts.
 Or- well. Not die, die. Discorporate, then.
 But sometimes, though Crowley will never, ever admit it, he wonders if he wasn’t made specifically for Aziraphale. If She hadn’t made them for each other, a perfect fit in every possible way, if everything – his Fall, the Garden, everything – hadn’t just been Her way of leading them to each other. He didn’t like to think about it too much. It raised too many questions, and in his experience those rarely ended well.
 His muscles aren’t working properly – he can’t seem to get a good grip. So he just scrambles, desperately, in the hopes that he might get lucky and have something catch in his grasp. He needs something to anchor him.
 Not that he needs to, but just for something to try and Ground him.