The first time Crowley let someone touch his wings, it had been in Heaven. He couldn’t remember much else.
The second time was over six thousand years later, and the world had recently failed to end. It was, one could even argue, only just beginning - beginning in new and alarming ways - and when Aziraphale’s jumper had finally made it over his shoulders to reveal a startling sweep of wings, arching forward to be touched, and an unexpectedly serious expression… well, it was all he could do to reciprocate.
I was going to go to bed, but then I saw this post.
Based on my gratuitously sadistic headcanon that when angels Fall, their wings burn like over-ripe marshmallows.
The pics don’t fit the drabble - more precisely, the one with falling!Azi - but whatever.