"Yes," Aziraphale answers easily, then gasps at the sudden attention paid to his neck.

"Crowley," he whispers harshly, yet it can hardly be considered a real protest when he's shifting and tilting his head to give him better access to his neck, and tightening his embrace around him, pulling him closer.

He begins scanning the area with his eyes for any little lights that may indicate a camera. He's been in this library a few months, of course, but he's never really looked for them. No one told him about any. Now that he's looking, he's not seeing anything.