He shivered, sensitive, under the ticklish drizzle of the sauce, watching Crowley's intense yellow eyes carefully plan his design

"An apple?" Aziraphale asked, raising himself up on his elbows and peering down. "How..." Aziraphale's breath caught as there was special attention paid to a very sensitive spot- "...ineffable."

The slick slide of tongue made it hard for him to think. Or speak. Moaning, however, he could do, and did, hands fisting in the (tartan again*) blanket. "Crowley."

*It was a blue tartan, though. Deep blue. The lines crossing it weren't even that noticeable.