He uncurled himself slowly. He wore no clothes, his skin pale. White. Pure.
"Deminian. Oh Deminian, love." He drew himself forward, bypassing Crowley's hand, moving in to hug him instead. There was a tingling, that quickly turned to a burning sensation, where their skin touched, and the demon's Mark upon the angel's chest glowed a bright red.
Inspite of it all, in spite of himself, Aziraphale laughed.