[ Aziraphale feels like his limbs might just believe their natural state is to be coiled around Crowley, his body not erroneously thinking he should always be close to him, filled by him, smothered under this hazy intoxication. His cries cut sharply through it, but he tries to kiss Crowley and let them be swallowed up instead; he should not want to wake the neighbors with the loud and very unmistakable sound of their lovemaking in what he currently forgets isn't eighteenth-century Paris.
And his body rebels against all rational thought as he finds is becoming a pattern in Crowley's presence: eyes rolling into the back of his head, hips falling out of rhythm, breath erratic, throat feeling strained and used but refusing to rest. ]
Crowley.
[ He says it once and again, interrupts Crowley calling him as if trying to answer him but not knowing what else to say but yes, drawn out and slipping into a hiss. Aziraphale wants to accept his offer, over and over again, taking every fiber of his being into his arms and under his wings and making him understand he is loved and wanted beyond Earthly or Celestial measure, letting him know that in this vast universe and in all of Creation, there is another soul which he can call his home.
The words don't quite make it out and any thoughts that try to form together fade into wisps as Aziraphale's entire body and mind are overrun, are consumed by this act. Pinpricks of pleasure rain upon his skin and he can barely whine out a warning, just closing his mouth over the word close. He chases his release, caught squarely between Crowley's hand and his cock, brows knit in fierce concentration as he musters up the words: ]
we can switch this one over to prose too if you'd like!
And his body rebels against all rational thought as he finds is becoming a pattern in Crowley's presence: eyes rolling into the back of his head, hips falling out of rhythm, breath erratic, throat feeling strained and used but refusing to rest. ]
Crowley.
[ He says it once and again, interrupts Crowley calling him as if trying to answer him but not knowing what else to say but yes, drawn out and slipping into a hiss. Aziraphale wants to accept his offer, over and over again, taking every fiber of his being into his arms and under his wings and making him understand he is loved and wanted beyond Earthly or Celestial measure, letting him know that in this vast universe and in all of Creation, there is another soul which he can call his home.
The words don't quite make it out and any thoughts that try to form together fade into wisps as Aziraphale's entire body and mind are overrun, are consumed by this act. Pinpricks of pleasure rain upon his skin and he can barely whine out a warning, just closing his mouth over the word close. He chases his release, caught squarely between Crowley's hand and his cock, brows knit in fierce concentration as he musters up the words: ]
Look at me.