Notes: Written for the Ineffable Valentine's prompt 'He could do really weird things with his tongue' with a little bit of a twist implied XD

Aziraphale isn't the biggest fan of shortening names.

The Almighty gave him his name at the beginning of time, at the birth of the world. And despite recent unpleasantness, he is proud of his name, and requests that it be used in its entirety.

Of course, the practice of carving up people's names has been going on for centuries, and whereas it's much the style of the modern era to pick children's names with full consideration of what their nicknames will be - what their bestest best friends will call them - Aziraphale feels that allowing others to shorten one's name should have a mandatory cut-off age.

Twelve seems sufficient to him.

Some nicknames he plain doesn't understand. Sasha for Alexander, Ned for Edward, Nancy for Ann, Polly for Mary. He knows the origins behind most of these. He was around when they were en vogue, after all. He still doesn't quite cotton to it.

Because historically names have also been shortened to erase identity.

To erase culture.

To deny lineage.

Aziraphale is proud to be Aziraphale, Principality, Angel of Eden, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, and that's the end of that.

Except …

As with many of his staunchest viewpoints, it's his husband who changes his mind.

Somewhat.

He still doesn't like his name shortened, and not all the time.

Just on one very specific occasion.

Crowley wasn't trying to shorten Aziraphale's name. It just sort of … happened.

Normally, he calls Aziraphale 'angel' amorously. He was sighing, relaxing underneath Aziraphale's touch, inside the hot wetness of Aziraphale's mouth. Aziraphale did something with his tongue … something glorious, truth be told … and the A at the beginning of Aziraphale's name stuck in Crowley's throat.

Zira came out, but the rest faded away.

That soft, helpless moan of his dismembered name tumbling from his husband's lips made Aziraphale go feral.

And the rest is history.

Now, it's become a code word of sorts. Crowley doesn't abuse its power. He prefers to call Aziraphale angel after all. But every so often there comes a time when Crowley needs Aziraphale, needs him fully, needs him urgently.

And there's no subtler way to let Aziraphale know than by saying, "Comin', Zira?"

To which Aziraphale always replies (with a wink, a smile, and a lick of his lower lip): "Not yet, my dear. But soon."