lunchbreaks | rp with me!

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[ He goes still, breath hissing a little as his angel cups his hand just so. Crowley gazes up at him, the yellow slit-pupiled eyes going hazy and expectant, teeth dragging at his lower lip as Aziraphale gives him that anticipatory glance, and he pushes his hips up shamelessly, begging for more. If only Aziraphale knew how much of an effect he has. How hopelessly enticed Crowley is by his clever hands and mouth, his sweet words, his kindness--it never entirely stops astonishing Crowley that he can be so kind towards the likes of him, even now that he knows how much Aziraphale loves him.

As for becoming--oh, Aziraphale has no idea. Crowley looks at him with a hunger, with ravenous desire, the way he's never looked on any other lover in all his thousands of years; and as Aziraphale undoes his clothing he's breathless with need, too, stretched out on the floor beneath him as though in torment. His eyes fall briefly closed, head tipping back as though to expose himself for Aziraphale's gaze; the gentle voice pierces him through, the hands undoing his belt and sliding his trousers down his hips will surely be the end of him. And when Aziraphale calls him beautiful his eyes fly open and look at him helplessly, breath catching in his throat. ]

You--

[ Even the lightest touch makes him want to writhe, Aziraphale's hand drawing languidly up his chest and leaving fire beneath his skin where it goes. A low moan comes from his throat as he thumbs over a nipple. Crowley looks at him restlessly, arching up just a little, inviting more. ]

Angel, fuck.

[ Swearing for him always feels like an unholy delight. Crowley's legs fall open easily. He does tell him these things, Aziraphale does, and it always makes him feel a little bit stunned, a little like he doesn't know what to do with himself when Aziraphale praises him. He loves it. ]

Keep touching me. Please.

[ Aziraphale crawls in between Crowley's legs and finishes slipping off his trousers, leaving him naked but for the shirt, and can't begin to describe the vision lay before him. He feels caught in suspension as if he had just unveiled a masterpiece for the first time, carved out of brimstone but smooth as marble, everything about him a marvel. He forgets to breathe, just for a second, his eyes so dark heaven's light couldn't reach. This is a sin. This is absolutely a sin, to even witness. And Crowley is all his, to consume, to devour, to please mercilessly until he begs for Aziraphale to stop.

He kisses hungrily at Crowley's neck and chest, settling upon a nipple which he teases as his hands re-accustom themselves to familiar places, thoroughly checking Crowley over with his hands to see if anything's changed or if he still responds to a press in between his ribs, to a feather-light brush behind the knees. He vows to have no part of Crowley unmapped by the time they're through, discover every single piece of him that other lovers may have left behind, waiting for Aziraphale.

He slides his hand down Crowley's front and grasps his cock with delighted fingers, but on some sudden realization, comes down slightly from this decadent fantasy. ]

You may have to miracle a little...

[ He can't exactly show up to report why he needed to miracle a little lubricant. He may just have to purchase some from an actual store - it's much easier now than it had been in the old days. But he's sure that if Heaven were to ever check his records, he wouldn't want this showing up. ]

--Nevermind.

[ He says this immediately and almost scrambles just as quickly down, aching for a taste, to position his face between Crowley's legs. He starts by sucking little kisses on the soft parts of his thigh, careful to leave a mark to remind him of the one he'd made underneath Aziraphale's collar, the one he saw in the mirror every time he undressed for a week, and delayed all his plans for about ten minutes so he could go take care of a little predicament that happened to arise without fail. ]

[ If he were still an angel perhaps he'd pray for mercy, but there would be no deliverance from such sinful pleasure as this. How could he ever want to be delivered, anyway, from Aziraphale's hands mapping out the skin he's uncovered, taking his time with him the way Crowley imagines he must with his books--to study at his leisure, to learn every secret and hidden meaning. No, if he were the praying type, he'd only beg that this might continue, and the only voice he'd care to be answered by would be Aziraphale's. Crowley shudders and arches to the brush of a caress at the inside of his knee, buries his own fingers in Aziraphale's soft feather-light hair as he scatters kisses across his throat and chest, lingering where he's most sensitive. His grasp encourages, his harsh breaths and low moans reveal how eager he is, how breathlessly wanton, savoring every moment.

Crowley's eyes open, his dazed mind trying and utterly failing to comprehend what Aziraphale asks for, because his fingers are around his cock and it makes him groan in a rough aching voice, hips jerking up, needy and desperate for more. Miracle...miracle--oh. Crowley tries to pull his thoughts together, tries to summon enough concentration away from the pleasure of Aziraphale's hand on his cock to do as he's asked, but then-- ]

Aziraphale.

[ He can't do that when he's trying to miracle, some dazed part of Crowley's mind insists, that's cheating, that's... ]

Oh don't stop. [ He begs, as Aziraphale gets between his thighs and sucks an insistent bruise into the inside of his thigh, marking him in a way that Crowley's sure he'll be absolutely gone for every time he sees it, and that he'll make his body resist healing away for as long as possible. He reaches down to caress restlessly through Aziraphale's hair again. ] How do you do that, how can you be so perfect--

Edited 2019-07-28 23:19 (UTC)

[ Oh, the way that Crowley calls his name is sweeter than any melody he's ever heard. He should like for his name to be the only one that Crowley will ever use again, captivate him the way that Crowley does in return, let nothing else pass his lips but for what conversation should revolve around the two of them. And he's selfish to want to keep Crowley all to himself, the kind of love he isn't supposed to have, a possessive love. But how can he ignore it, when Crowley is asking so sweetly to belong to him and him only?

Aziraphale only murmurs a satisfied hum for response as Crowley cards through his hair, as he moves up Crowley's cock to leave kisses along his shaft, heated and deliberate and teasing. Occasionally he stops to take a little lick instead, taking a slow and meandering journey up. He is no less thorough here than he is with his fingers, poring over Crowley as he does a manuscript, tongue as attentive and studious as his favorite pens.

Once he reaches the top, he closes his mouth over Crowley's tip, hollows his cheeks, and makes little whorls with his restless tongue. His hands clutch at Crowley's thighs as his breath grows jagged with lust, making a keening noise as his body protests with him to get on with it. He's unable to put his impatience at check and swallows Crowley down as best he can, nose flaring as he overestimates his own ability and readjusts to breathing. But he is nothing if not stubborn, and starts up as soon as he is able, his mouth greedy for it.

With his eyebrows knit together and moans low and insistent, he reaches into his trousers to procure his own cock, already slick with pre-come so he can properly touch himself. There's something electrifying about being able to pleasure Crowley like this, something thrilling about being a bad angel, and yet something so incredibly gratifying about just making Crowley feel good. He deserves to feel good, and desired, and loved: these are all the things that Aziraphale has felt for him for years, things he'd like another six thousand years' time to try and make up for, fill up all the spaces of him that ever wiled away time thinking this might never be. ]

[ His thighs tremble as Aziraphale lingers over his cock, with sweet kisses and enticing little licks that make him ache and gasp and long to be buried in the heat of the angel's mouth. If it surprised him at all in the beginning how adventurous Aziraphale is, how enthusiastically he went about sucking his cock and turning Crowley into an incoherently gratified mess the first night they made love, the surprise has faded now, but not his appreciation for either Aziraphale's aptitude for teasing and torment or his eagerness when at last he does take Crowley all the way in. Crowley's trembling fingers touch his cheek to feel how it hollows when he sucks--caresses with a moment's anxiety when Aziraphale has to pull back to breathe, oh angel, didn't anyone ever tell you there's such a thing as too much enthusiasm--but any protest in his throat, any word to tell Aziraphale to be more careful dies away and becomes a moan instead as he loses himself in Aziraphale's greedy sucking.

Like this it's easy to sense the possessiveness Aziraphale feels for him, the angel's intent to captivate him in pleasure and love so that Crowley will never want any other. And he doesn't, he is so very over allegiances and people to answer to, or past lovers for that matter; let him have only Aziraphale, let him belong to his angel completely and he will drown in happiness.

Aziraphale's low moan around his cock makes him shiver and look down, seeing the angel fumble open his own trousers, and he can't really see much more than that but Crowley imagines it: Aziraphale's fingers around his own cock, slicking beads of precome over the shaft as he strokes, and it makes him moan too, anticipation and desire twisting in him. ]

Angel, angel...

[ He writhes and arches up to Aziraphale's mouth, and wishes that he was in reach, that Crowley could touch his cock too, could have a taste. ]

Want you so much.

[ The feeling of Crowley underneath him is a glorious one, a sight that Aziraphale looks up from where he is to see, over a gorgeous terrain of skin, those yellow eyes, that clever mouth. He surprises himself with how possessive he feels in this moment, raw current coursing through him wanting to just make a way to have Crowley all ways at once, leave him delirious with pleasure such that he can be, for awhile, numb to all else and forgetting the worlds around them.

He is not so surprised with his enthusiasm, because even though these thoughts are few and far enough between to give the angel a lack of practice which may very well show through in his technique, he has never been able to place Crowley in a category with any other, why should he love Crowley as he has loved another? No, no one else would seek him out over a course of six millenia, no one else would come back to save him from discorporation so that the body he is in now is the one Crowley has always known, and no one else has a rightful stake in Aziraphale's life or livelihood as Crowley does.

With a loud, wet pop, he pulls off of Crowley and replaces his tongue with his hand, though his eyes linger a moment. ]

How?

[ He asks, and clarifies: ]

How do you want me? Just say it and I'm yours.

[ There is no question over what he would or wouldn't do or try for Crowley, whose pleasure is of utmost importance, though of course "don't stop" is a valid option for which he would gladly comply. But with the rough sound at the back of his throat creeping into his words, back of his hand brushing away any stray saliva, maybe he's curious for what other things that Crowley might enjoy, hungry for a taste of what he's been missing since last he found Crowley in this position. ]

[ Crowley makes a strangled sound somewhere between protest and delirium as Aziraphale pulls off of his cock. He probably needs the reprieve, gasping and nearly overcome by the sweet obscenity of watching Aziraphale suck his cock, his tongue plenty clever and eager enough for Crowley, whatever his level of experience may be. Meeting Aziraphale’s gaze, he opens his mouth and then shuts it again, a little dazed as he considers all of the possibilities. Oh Hell, he’d take anything, let Aziraphale claim any part of him for his own and touch him any way he wanted; but all that generosity offered between them gets his thoughts churning, all sorts of delicious, vulgar images and long-dreamt-of desires coming to the fore...

He shuts his eyes briefly and groans, rolling his head a little as though in physical pain. When he opens them again, the sight of Aziraphale above him is so perfect, so delectable, that he finds his mouth running away from him. ]

You could ride me.

[ His voice is roughened and breathless, his eyes staring at Aziraphale with stark need. ]

Here, just like this. Straddle me and—ride my cock.

[ Aziraphale watches Crowley with a great curiousity, wondering just how many fantasies he has of the two of them and when they could possibly find the time so that Aziraphale can make each and every one of them a reality, so carried away is he by this feeling he's found himself completely immersed in up to the tips of his curls. He knows Crowley feels the same, so unbelievably sweetly doing anything he possibly could for Aziraphale's comfort and for his happiness. And though he had fallen into bed with romantics who had offered him the same before, never had he felt it so demonstratively. Never had he believed it to be true, and if he had, he wouldn't have felt comfortable accepting someone's unconditional devotion.

With Crowley, he presses one last lingering kiss to the side of his cock, and crawls back up him, hand flat on his chest and climbing onto straddle that trim waist, leaning back towards those sinful hips of his. He gives into this dangerous path they're on because to deny this would be who he is supposed to be but to accept this is to be who he truly is: an angel whose only fall was for a demon who would move the sunrise to where Aziraphale would prefer, never asking for but knowing that Aziraphale would do the same.

He takes one of Crowley's hands, and guides it around his waist, guiding it gently down the swell of his arse. ]

You really will need to be doing a bit of miracling, I'm afraid.

[ Somehow he thinks Beezlebub wouldn't exactly care to check or even care why Crowley needed anything of this sort. But he shivers, peering down through heavy lidded eyes and with his mouth parted, back arched just the slightest into Crowley's touch. ]

[ He thinks--he might simply die, seeing Aziraphale crawl over him and straddle his waist, his pretty thighs spread apart, his arse seated almost directly over Crowley's cock. He might discorporate right here, or at the very least suddenly combust, burn himself up in the fire of need and obscene pleasure. His shaking hand comes to Aziraphale's hip, and caresses up to his waist and then down again, and he lets the angel take the other hand and guide it behind him, to his backside--Crowley groans, his head falling back, palming the round swell of a cheek. ]

Fuck. You're so--

[ Crowley doesn't know what he's done to deserve Aziraphale so open and generous and giving in to his desire, to one of the many, many ways Crowley would like him, or like to give himself to him--all of it sounds wonderful, but he has this now and he doesn't intend to squander it, miracling away Aziraphale's unfastened trousers without a thought--he's right, Beelzebub won't care, if anyone ever even bothers to check, which he doubts--and then losing track of what he intended to do next as he takes in the sight of Aziraphale naked above him. He's so beautiful, Crowley aches to touch him. He wraps his hand around the angel's cock, stroking for a moment, the shaft hot and slick against his palm. Then he lets go and reaches again behind him, the other hand grasping Aziraphale's thigh as his fingers seek between his buttocks and press gently to his hole, miracling them slick as he begins to ease inside-- ]

Say if it's too much.

[ There's a pleading edge to the words, Aziraphale can--he can just talk to him, he can say whatever he likes, Crowley would drink it all in like he's never tasted anything so sweet. He works two fingers inside Aziraphale, breathless with how fucking tight he feels. ]

[ This part is so easy, letting Crowley gets what he wants, because they're all the things that Aziraphale wants: to give himself fully to Crowley, any which way he pleases. And the angel is, of course, ethereal, his hair shockingly white like this, his cheeks shimmering with both celestial glow and a sheen of sweat.

It's such a lovely view from here, with the light of the moon streaming in and filtered through the curtains and the stacks of books, illuminating Crowley just so in a way that makes him look almost delicate. It makes Aziraphale's heart ache, just getting to see how absolutely breathtaking he is like this, as if the night were specifically crafted to caress him, and moonbeams born for the sole purpose of playing off his skin.

His view is obstructed as Crowley takes his cock and his head is instinctively thrown back, hand on Crowley's chest clutching into a claw as he lets out a hiss. And then when Crowley breaches him, for a moment it is too much, but only in the rawest and most carnal of ways. A moan works its way from the pit of Aziraphale's stomach as Crowley opens him up for the first time in what might have been, God, centuries now. Even with just digits he feels stretched, but not uncomfortable so, with no burn and only a gentle smolder he seeks to stoke. ]

Oh, Crowley--

[ Aziraphale's hips move downward onto his fingers as his body pleads for more, to be filled by him, to be taken and totally, utterly taken apart by his slender fingers and thick cock. And oh, what a lovely cock it is, he thinks, reaching behind him and giving Crowley a few strokes, rough with want and abandon. ]

[ Ethereal, yes, that's the word for him, looking not quite real as he sits silvery and luminous astride Crowley's hips with the night surrounding them. Crowley's certain he's never seen anything as lovely, but Aziraphale isn't just lovely, he's a sight to make Crowley ache in ways nearly unbearable, his entire body attuned to him, as though this form was made for his touch and embrace, made to worship him. He opens him carefully, trembling beneath him as his fingers work deeper, with Aziraphale so marvelously hot and tight that it makes his cock ache, and that moan so lurid Crowley can't speak, can't answer, can only watch him through hazy darkened eyes that communicate how close to coming undone he is. And he hasn't even gotten his cock inside him.

Aziraphale moves into the press of his fingers and Crowley mutters curses and pleas as he feels his hand circle around his cock--his hips jerk up helplessly, the rough strokes just perfect, exactly what he needs to sustain him, to make him breathless with need. ]

Aziraphale, yes, touch me, touch me--

[ He's insensible, barely knowing what words he seeks, but chasing more and more: another finger pushing into Aziraphale's arse, getting him good and open for him, his hips inscribing tight motions that push his cock into the strokes of Aziraphale's hand. He makes his fingers more slippery as an afterthought, pushing deep into the angel. ]

[ Aziraphale feels sweat drip down his brow and his back as he lifts and slowly lowers himself on Crowley's fingers, and he can both barely take another one while simultaneously craving it, craving more of him. His body shudders with the thought as his hands work on Crowley's cock, thick and long and waiting so very patiently for its turn. His hips have managed to take over for his brain, which is just as well since he can hardly string a single thought together at the moment besides how good it feels to have Crowley burying his fingers inside of him, to have his hips rocking against him as a wave to a canoe, the soft ache of every little movement feeling momentous and leaving his nerves frazzled and wanting. ]

I need you.

[ He can barely breathe out the words, biting back his groans as he seemingly sinks lower and lower on Crowley's fingers, and he is so ready for what comes next. He can't wait for it any longer, feeling like he might just die of desire in this moment. Can Crowley see as his heart beats rapidly against his chest like a bird trapped in a cage, his breath puffing out little "oh"s with each arc of his hips?

Aziraphale could survive in outer space and could easily and truthfully say that he needs this more than he needs to breathe, that his want, unchecked, will rapidly consume the both of them.

He waits for Crowley to withdraw his fingers and instinctively misses him so, feeling suddenly empty. But he shuffles himself backwards and lines their hips up, guides Crowley towards him and just lets gravity do all the work. His eyes widen at the sensation, feeling bigger and more solid inside of him than it had in his hands. Aziraphale braces himself on Crowley's chest once he's sunk all the way down, and finds that he has to catch his breath from having fiercely held it in. ]

[ The words are a jolt to Crowley's chest, a sensation that makes him breathless. All that he's longed for and wanted is here in his hands, and he's so desperately in love that he thinks he won't survive this, it'll be too much pleasure and fulfillment, more than one poor demon is meant to contain; but damned if he'll stop now, even if it should burn him all up. His fingers slide out of Aziraphale and he instinctively takes hold of his hips with both hands, helping to steady him as he moves over him--grasp tightening when Aziraphale guides his cock to him, eyes wide and fixed on the beautiful sight the angel makes above him. His whole body tenses as he feels Aziraphale sink down, gaze falling to helplessly watch his cock disappear into his arse, into tight slick heat that brings an almost unbearable pleasure. ]

Fuck...oh...oh fuck, angel--

[ He hardly knows what words he's speaking. Control wants to slip away from him like sand through his fingers and he clutches tightly, desperate to keep this from happening too fast, from hurting Aziraphale or losing himself and coming too quickly. It's an incredible feeling, to be inside Aziraphale, joined in this way, a blessing and a torment that has Crowley writhing beneath him, hips urging up in helpless little motions that he can't seem to stop, and he'd linger like this forever if he were capable. ]

[ Aziraphale doesn't want to, but pauses in this moment as his body adjusts, Crowley's hips raring at the bit make Aziraphale feel a great swell of affection for him letting him know that he is also not terribly in control of his own form. It makes him smile, look Crowley in the eye and cup his cheek and just take him in for a long moment, eyes wandering but finding home in a yellow that refuses to be dimmed even in the night and even under swathes of blue. Oh, if only it were so that he could capture this moment and keep it forever.

Once his breathing has calmed and his body feels less tense, he starts to move. It's shallow at first, and slow as Aziraphale needs to work himself up to a faster pace and a deeper draw. But even as he makes the attempt to do so, a tongue draws across his teeth and he grunts with the effort of it, of trying to maintain any sort of rhythm or composure when he swears that his soul could flare out of his body at any given moment.

Instead, he unfurls great white wings from his back, feathers fine and downy, the freeing of which allow him to focus more on the task at hand. Aziraphale grinds his hips down and feels little light patterns start up across his vision. He moves in earnest and greedily tries to take all the pleasure that Crowley has to offer, each slide and push of his hips just urging him on and like a man chased he does so with fury and fervor. ]

[ Aziraphale's gaze sweeps over him, the blue eyes alight with what seems to Crowley like possessiveness and pleasure as one, as though Crowley is--Crowley is his very own, belonging only to him. Perhaps he is, now that they've chosen one another. He knows he would live only for his angel, forsaking all other allegiances, and his breath catches as their eyes meet and Aziraphale cups a hand to his cheek, looks at him with so much love that it could scorch him down to his soul. What more could he possibly want than this? Aziraphale's gaze on him as he begins, slowly and shallowly at first, to fuck himself on his cock, taking the helpless motions of Crowley's hips and letting them push him deeper--not too deep, at first, but more than enough to leave Crowley trembling with pleasure, impassioned, nearly delirious with how good it all is. He's never imagined--well, that's not true, he's imagined this or something like it many, many times, but even his clever mind could never conjure up such elation, such sensation as came anywhere close to the reality.

White wings erupt from Aziraphale's back, and for a moment Crowley sees glory in him, a vast kind of beauty. He is alight with pleasure and wanting and need, hands still gripping Aziraphale's hips tightly but not stopping the greedy motion of them as he sinks down on Crowley's cock, taking more and more of him, enveloping him. ]

Angel.

[ His head tips back, his eyes close briefly, then open again, looking at Aziraphale with a vast hunger, a desperation to take him in. Those wings, those soft white feathers, they are so beautiful--huge and protective, a shield against Heaven above, and with a shudder Crowley thrusts up his hips and begins to fuck into Aziraphale in earnest. There is no one watching, he's sure, no one who would care enough to turn their gaze and see how an angel is despoiled in the loveliest way. ]

[ Aziraphale is hungry for it like a man starved, his hips rolling against Crowley's and meeting them just so. And Crowley, who arcs his hips up to meet him, drives into Aziraphale so sharply he hisses into the night air. The only noise that rises above the ones he's making are the ones of skin against skin, lascivious and delightful. ]

Darling--

[ Comes his response, the syllables catching somewhere between his tongue and his teeth, as he takes a moment to shift his leg and to lean forward over Crowley, seeking just a little more balance. And oh, when he does that, the angle shifts and the feeling makes him breathless. He slides a hand into Crowley's for purchase, grips it so tightly as his hips shutter down like they were in a storm, crashing together and seeking that sensation again and again. Yes, he's had thoughts of this, both conscious and unconscious, none of them amounting to what he is currently experiencing. Any dream is a pale facsimile of the feeling of Crowley's cock filling him up and making his legs shake and thighs tremble.

He is not as strong as he once was, or as young, years of inactivity making him a bit of a pleasant thickness around the middle but also with the combined effort of a demon who is not but would most certainly pass for an Incubus, make him rather short of breath altogether too quickly. He ignores the limitations of his body with complete abandonment, welcoming any lasting physical pains, aches and sore feelings that might result from fulfilling this fantasy, from any others they might decide to allow once the outside world is all but cut off. ]

--Touch me.

[ He repeats it as if there was any possible way that Crowley would not have heard him, repeats it again as if his words might grow with power each time they are uttered. ]

[ Each urgent motion of his hips pushes his cock deeper, his entire body focused on the pleasure of it, the feeling of Aziraphale's hips between his hands and the heat of his arse around his cock, how he sinks down on him to take more and more and oh, he knew it would be wonderful to watch Aziraphale ride him but he couldn't possibly have known it would be this decadent. Aziraphale shifts above him, bracing himself forward against him and finding a new angle at which to fuck himself on his cock, and Crowley watches the shock of pleasure cross his face, watches how his thighs tremble and he seems barely able to breathe, his own captivated gaze taking in every part of him. Aziraphale is so lovely, such an obscene and beautiful sight, to watch an angel ride a demon, his white wings spread and shivering--Crowley groans, closing his eyes briefly as though to look at him is to be in pain, but opening them again almost at once to keep watching. He can't tear his gaze away, he can't miss a moment of this. He wants to sear it into his memory, to be revisited again and again.

His hand grips Aziraphale's tightly in return, and when that breathless order comes to touch him Crowley groans, letting go of his hip and bringing his hand to Aziraphale's cock, trusting his angel to be able to take it as he fucks up into him with abandon. Breath hisses and he arches up in sinuous motions, his palm curved over Aziraphale's cock and fingers generously tight around him, working up and down the shaft as he drinks in everything about Aziraphale greedily. His cock slides in deep with obscenely slick sounds, pumping into Aziraphale's tight arse, the pleasure of it wrenching through his body as he trembles and holds off his release, wanting to see Aziraphale reach his first--

He wants to worship him, use every part of himself to bring him pleasure, for hours if he can. ]

Come on me, angel.

[ Crowley tells him in a rough, breathless voice, yellow eyes fixed intently on him. ]

I want to see you.

[ As Crowley has him caught between slithering hips and a deft hand, he can do little but try to remain in this position, one hand now braced against Crowley's face and his entire body bowed over in his idolatry, mouth so close to Crowley's but so far, too gone to attempt at anything resembling a kiss. Sounds and shudders wrack through him vengefully, as close as he is to his release, each slick slide pushing into him a swell like a wave fighting against the inevitable. ]

Crowley, oh--

[ His little request seems to send firecrackers sparking through Aziraphale, and he comes without warning, for the first time in several hundred years shouting: ]

Fuck!

[ He gets he sensation of his whole body cresting and crashing, tension all leaving him at once through every spare inch of him as he orgasms. It feels like it lasts both too long and too short, all the love and light of him tinging just a little darker at the edges as ropes of seed streak across both their fronts and stain Crowley with his mark all the way up to his chin.

Though he feels run ragged, his senses return from where they've flared away from him, and he realizes quickly that he isn't done. His hips with renewed motivation crush wildly against Crowley's and he and bears down, constricts the muscles around him until it's almost too much for Aziraphale to handle in his marvelously addled state. ]

[ He thinks, this will ruin him, he won't be able to go without this for any length of time ever again, because he has never found anything he wants so much as Aziraphale shuddering and ecstatic above him, and so close, so beautifully close to his release--and at last Crowley watches him come, wrenched by it, everything about him so lovely and obscene, from the curse between his teeth to the way his cock spurts and stripes Crowley's stomach and chest and even his throat with seed. Oh--so hot, so beautiful, and Crowley longs to taste his seed, lick it from his fingers, but he's still driving his cock desperately into him, too close himself to stop now or ease off once Aziraphale's had his pleasure.

And his angel is with him, tightening marvelously around him and rocking hard against him, taking him deep--for an instant Crowley worries that he'll hurt himself, almost grasps his hips to slow him down, but all at once it becomes too much. Motion, the constriction around his cock, the unholy carnal delight of it all; Crowley shouts wordlessly, thrusting up, gasping for breath as his cock jerks and spills into Aziraphale. The intensity of his pleasures wrings through his body, wrenches him and leaves him spent, hips at last sinking back to the ground, his body nearly boneless against the floor. He caresses Aziraphale's thigh with weary tenderness. Looking at him through heavy-lidded eyes, he fights for breath, pleasure and love singing through him. ]

Angel. Aziraphale, oh...

[ Aziraphale, too, enjoys immensely watching Crowley find his release, riding him until he's all spent, until he's lying on the rug ripe and plucked. He disentangles his fingers to place a steady hand over Crowley's heartbeat, listening to it for a little bit, lips involuntarily curving seeing the look Crowley's giving him. ]

Crowley.

[ Very, very carefully, he lifts himself off of Crowley's cock, wincing a bit towards the end, but folding his wings back into nonexistence and lowering himself to the floor to drape himself over Crowley's side. He stays in this moment, quiet except for the sounds of their hearts and their breaths intermingling. His pulse is still so very loud in his ears, and so very close to the surface of his skin. And he still has the phantom feeling of being filled, a pleasant thrumming like a purr spreading from his nether regions to his extremities.

Placing an arm over Crowley's shoulders, he turns his head and kisses him there, an arm which is closest to his mouth. He looks quite smitten, almost in a juvenile way, because what is more dramatic and life-changing than young love? Despite being over six thousand years, the angel does feel a youthfulness to being like this, nestled in the arms of a lover he dreams of romantic notions like eternity with. And though he knows that they can't be seen together in public, the satisfaction in his muscles lead him to wonder if that should ever be such a bad thing. ]

That was incredible.

[ He says this freely, truthfully, but also in remembering how much Crowley relishes in his praise. He scoots up a bit, closer to Crowley's ear, voice low even though there's no one around to eavesdrop on their secret. ]

I can still feel you inside of me.

[ He nuzzles in, leaves a little kiss underneath Crowley's jaw. ]

I never want it to stop.

[ It all leaves him so overcome, so wracked with pleasure and the torment and beauty of Aziraphale above him, that he can do little more than hiss out a breath as the angel lifts himself carefully from his cock. His lids fall heavily over his yellow eyes, intent on Aziraphale's every motion, and in spite of the lassitude spreading through him Crowley reaches out to welcome his angel close, drawing him down into the crook of his arm with a hand resting possessively on his waist as Aziraphale stretches out against him. Pleasant, weary thoughts drift aimlessly through his mind; he caresses Aziraphale idly, and turns to him when he kisses him, drawing him up a little to kiss his mouth. Crowley couldn't imagine having more than this, needing any more contentment than that of Aziraphale in his arms after a good fuck, radiating love and joy at him.

Aziraphale's words stir in him, making him ache; just the praise is enough, but Crowley can't help the shudder that goes through him when the angel murmurs in his ear that he can still feel him inside him, in that soft beautiful voice. His throat works as Aziraphale nuzzles at him and kisses beneath his jaw. Who knew he could be so wicked? ]

The mouth on you, angel.

[ He breathes out the words, half teasing and half in awe. Aziraphale is--he's incredible, he's more than Crowley could ever deserve, but damned if he'll let him go. Crowley kisses him fervently, and then drawing back glances down at the pearly come striped across his chest; he trails a finger into it and brings it to his mouth, sucking it clean with a little groan of pleasure. ]

[ Generally a happy person and with having had many reasons in his life for joy, there are few instances as great and tangible as this, and any other memories that might contend happen to also involve Crowley. He melts into the kiss so deeply that he's still wondering what Crowley means to do with his finger when-- well, then he stares and blinks and feels a small coil of warmth unfurl in the pit of his stomach. He tempers it quickly but takes Crowley's hand when he's done, to kiss the back of it and then several of his knuckles.

He takes a moment to admire this hand, tracing fingers with the tips of his own, a light touch as he handles all precious and old things. How, he wonders, did they get to this point? And why had they not, sooner? Crowley's hands, the same ones that Aziraphale has known for thousands of years, were made to hold him. Knowing that now, he wonders how he could've thought to deny such a thing only an hour ago.

He doesn't give it back, instead interlocking his fingers. ]

We didn't even make it to the bed.

[ He laughs, amused at their combined singularity in thought. He has never felt so understood in the way that he does with Crowley, that any thoughts he might be having are passing through to him as well.

Well, maybe not all of them. ]

Would you like to relocate? I think you might be needing it.

[ He doesn't think it would be wise for him to miracle them clean, but he would, for once, not mind terribly much if Crowley didn't get around to it before falling asleep. ]

[ His head falls back when Aziraphale takes his hand and kisses the knuckles, Crowley watching him through intent eyes. A warmth steals into him as the angel compares their hands, toys with his fingers by drawing the tips of his along them, the kind of gentle, teasing little games that lovers play. It's charming, stirring, and it brings an unexpected sense of security, as though here while they are tangled so intimately together, there's nothing to fear and no provisions to make. They can just be with one another, as they've been perhaps been meant to be since the beginning of the world, and are only now just catching up to.

His fingers return Aziraphale's grasp. Crowley looks at him with devotion, with a wanting that will never fade; he's unaware that Aziraphale is thinking similar thoughts, but if he were he could assure him that he'll never let them be apart again if he can help it. ]

Didn't need a bed to do this.

[ He stretches out, languid, taking up a great deal of space across Aziraphale's already-cluttered floor. Perhaps there will always be a place for him now. A bed does sound nice, though--Crowley hates going to sleep anywhere less comfortable, and right now he feels as though he could sleep contentedly for a month. If Aziraphale were near him. ]

Yeah. Suppose we must do. [ With a groan he stretches expressively, working kinks out of his spine, and then gingerly sits up. ]

[ Aziraphale smiles as he watches Crowley stretch, all long lines and lean angles, elegant like written word. He traces a finger up his spine, lazily lifting his head to kiss his hip, curving around him to kiss his stomach and up his chest, and finally sits up and kisses him on the mouth, soft and sated and loving.

He does get up then, reaching out for Crowley to help him stand so they can go upstairs and get into bed. He might attempt a sleep as well, maybe not for a month, but just long enough that he can wake up next to Crowley. He'd never found the appeal in sleeping before that night that he'd fallen asleep in Aziraphale's arms, something about his dozing off had just been so soothing. But that night had passed so quickly, and this one was due to as well.

He's determined, this time, not to mess it up. He couldn't do it a second time and he doubts Crowley would allow a third - he would, Lord knows he would come crawling right back to Aziraphale, but his heart would always be waiting for the other shoe to drop, for that moment when the angel would decide it's too much and it's time to let go.

No, he can't do that to Crowley again. He won't. ]

What would you like to do tomorrow?

[ He asks, before he can stop himself. Now he can't take it back. ]

[ Taking the angel's hand, Crowley lets himself be hauled to his feet, wincing at the creaky little aches and pains in his long unfolding body which comes of being a millennias-old demon. A pity, not to be as young as he was in the Garden; if they had come together there, they might not have left for a thousand years. He smiles languidly at Aziraphale, looking him over with sleep-heavy eyes, finding him so appealing in all his warmth and softness. Falling asleep besides him sounds just as lovely, in truth. And he has that prospect here in front of him, after so long waiting. His fingers tangle with Aziraphale's as the angel leads him upstairs to his bed. ]

Mmmm.

[ Crowley pretends to think about the answer to his question, though really it's perfectly obvious. ]

More of this.

[ He indicates them, and ducks his head to capture Aziraphale's mouth in a long soft kiss, filled with wanting. It solidifies his happiness, that question--the implication that they will be spending tomorrow together as well as tonight, that Aziraphale won't change his mind in the morning. They'll be all right, Crowley thinks, willing it, like a prayer. No one will come looking for them, not for a good long while. When they do, they'll be ready.

Breaking away, he sinks onto the bed, looking up at the angel with a little bit of wistfulness, as much as a demon can feel, at least. ]

Will you hold me?

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i forgot he was even still wearing pants LMAO

what are miracles for?

definitely getting rid of your husband's pants

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