Crowley would do anything for Aziraphale. Grow his hair out? Oh, absolutely. Make a tragedy one of the greatest plays of all time? Only for you. Stand up against Heaven and Hell and possibly die in the process? No question about it. It's annoying, when Crowley thinks about it, how devoted he is to Aziraphale. Annoying, but really, he wouldn't change it for anything.
"Mhmm?" Crowley answers, as if there was some sort of question asked, or as if he had any intention to stop. He presses his lips to Aziraphale's thigh as his legs open, then the inside of his thigh, and then to the side of his shaft. A slow progression around, carefully watching every motion of the angel, every reaction.
He traces his tongue up Aziraphale's shaft, slow and careful. Now, Crowley's tongue is not forked, not like a snake, but he does know what he's doing.
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"Mhmm?" Crowley answers, as if there was some sort of question asked, or as if he had any intention to stop. He presses his lips to Aziraphale's thigh as his legs open, then the inside of his thigh, and then to the side of his shaft. A slow progression around, carefully watching every motion of the angel, every reaction.
He traces his tongue up Aziraphale's shaft, slow and careful. Now, Crowley's tongue is not forked, not like a snake, but he does know what he's doing.