[ He rests briefly against Aziraphale, gazing up at him hazily. ]
Hurt me?
[ Crowley considers this. Surely Aziraphale wouldn’t be worrying over bruises and such things, marks that won’t even matter after a day or so—not like the turmoil all this will leave in Crowley’s heart and mind, that he’ll guard away as carefully as he’s always guarded himself.
Because this could hurt him, he thinks—not Aziraphale gripping him too tightly, losing himself in a moment of passion, but what came after, when they should inevitably have to part ways again, restrict how often they see each other or what they do together lest their respective offices catch on that anything is not as it should be between an angel and a demon. And Aziraphale—what if he decides that it isn’t worth the risk again? What would Crowley do then, other than burn for him, writhe silently in the torment of an aching need for him and the agony of having known so much pleasure that he can never again have? He can’t possibly force himself not to see Aziraphale again, even if it makes him suffer.
It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care enough to stop. He kisses Aziraphale’s hip. ]
You make me ache, angel.
[ There’s no help for it. Crowley moves over him again, taking his cock into his mouth once more, as deep as he can, and he won’t stop unless Aziraphale tells him to. ]
[ He really should stop Crowley and have a conversation about it. He might do, in ten or fifteen years' time, and say precisely the things he doesn't mean, things that might sound like he regretted this night, which he does not. He will panic, because he loves Crowley most of anything, because he wishes for them to never have to be apart, and it was so much easier when he deluded himself into believing that the feeling wasn't returned.
And even as Crowley swallows him down -- such a vulgar sight, seeing Crowley's lips pressed up against the thatch of curly white-blond hair, making Aziraphale squirm with kinetic energy -- the guilt remains for a fleeting moment, but no words come to his mouth. Any of them that existed have been supplanted with "Crowley," just that, a name he repeats in refrain, in devotion.
His hips, with their own agenda, rock forward just the slightest, into the glorious heat of Crowley's mouth. And his eyes roll back and shutter closed as lust takes over once more, huffs of pleasure that keen into whimpers. It takes him by surprise how electric he feels in this moment, nerves getting the better of him and setting themselves alight. His thighs tremble around Crowley's neck and he opens his mouth to warn him but it comes out in peals of moans that could almost be mistaken for laughter. He tries to move his head up instead, pulling deep in his hair. ]
[ Aziraphale doesn't say it, he offers no words to tell Crowley to stop, that they mustn't do this, that they'll both regret it...just his name, just those lovely utterances of it, each of them a little bit like a blessing because of how they make him burn, resonate within him like holy fire. Such torment Crowley would gladly suffer a thousand times over; he'd worship Aziraphale for a thousand years if he let him. And oh, it is vulgar, it is an obscene delight, taking the angel's cock in his mouth to the hilt, lips sealed around him, sucking hungrily until Aziraphale's voice raises in whimpers and moans. He feels him grasp hard in his hair, dragging at the roots, and it does warn him indeed how close he is to the peak of his pleasure, which only makes Crowley redouble his efforts to bring him there.
He sucks until he feels and tastes his release, swallows his seed and gentles the motions of his mouth gradually, utterly captivated by how Aziraphale trembles beneath him, around him. Crowley draws off of his cock at last and lays his head against his stomach, resting for a moment, his body thrumming with the incredible satisfaction of being with Aziraphale, touching him, tasting him, knowing him in the most carnal ways. His black wings are folded down across them both, heavy and unstirring, at least for the moment. ]
Oh, Aziraphale.
[ He is open, unguarded, all the secret tenderness and adoration he's carried for so long spilling out. ]
[ The way that Crowley sucks him down is greedy and starved and Aziraphale loves every single second of it. Eyes dark, jaw slack, he gives himself over to the most base of wants. Crowley in his bed, mouth constricted around him, singing praises with his tongue. Crowley, wings cocooning around him and shielding him from all else.
His desire surmounts and ripples through him like thunder; he comes shouting and messy, thighs framing Crowley's face shake as his full body releases, deep from within his core. He feels light and dizzy and everything shines so brightly for a second that Aziraphale wonders if he suddenly can't see more colors than he used to.
His body adjusts as if returning to Earth from the white halls of Heaven, breath flooding back into his lungs. ]
--Crowley.
[ He already knows his answer. He knows it despite all his delays to this moment, all his denials, all the things he knows he will say in the future to try and fight the impossible, that Crowley is the single thing he would forsake all else for. When eternity comes and goes, and when all the words in all the languages he has ever spoken, when all the words in all the books he has ever read are no more than turn to dust, his love for Crowley will still be full to the brim.
So he reaches for his friend, pulls him up by the shoulders, and kisses him breathless, every fiber of his being trying to demonstrate this feeling before it's too late. ]
[ Crowley finds that he's trembling too, as he catches his breath over Aziraphale, still resonating with the forces of need and desire and shattering pleasure that moved between them. Aziraphale in his release was such a beautiful thing, he can't imagine that he'll ever forget the feeling of it, even if he should live a hundred thousand years. He licks his lips, tasting the angel's come, looking up when Aziraphale says his name--captivated by the utterance of it, how much love there is in the depths of Aziraphale's voice. His eyes widen, going dark and desperately impassioned, and it feels to him as though the angel is strong beyond measure as he pulls Crowley up to him and kisses him, love poured into the gesture, love that feels breathtakingly eternal, love that could shatter him at his core and make him something new.
Crowley is drowning in it, grasping Aziraphale with hands that hold onto him as though he is the only thing keeping him whole. His wings move with a restless, enormous rustling like the branches of a tree tossed in a thunderstorm, tangling with Aziraphale's.
At last he must break away, before he's completely overcome, burying his face against Aziraphale's shoulder as he struggles for breath. For so long he's wanted to feel this, and it's better than he could ever have imagined. He'd not conceived of how an angel's love could set his soul alight. He kisses his shoulder, filled with an unaccountable gratitude. ]
Aziraphale. Angel. I won't--I won't ever forget this.
[ Aziraphale's great white wings flutter to catch shelter and nest themselves underneath Crowley's, easing into his embrace so that they are truly and wholly cut off from the entire rest of the world. He's lost track of the time, unable to tell it by the little light filtering in through the top, casting a little halo in Crowley's hair, painting a faint celestial glimmer on his cheek and nose. If only it were possible, Aziraphale could kiss Crowley holy again, fingertips leaving exaltation, and arms to draw him away from downfall. ]
The goal, Crowley, is to remind you periodically so I will never have to worry about the possibility.
[ He says it so easily despite all his worries, because he knows there's an underlaying fear upon them; it's one that has no chance of reaching either one so long as Aziraphale feels that if he should flap, there's a fair chance it may be black wings that carry him into the sky. He holds Crowley to his shoulder, skin laid out against his skin. And he caresses the ink by his temple, and kisses the crown that once was filled with the plans of the whole universe, now made only to bear the burden of one angel's love overflowing.
He hooks one leg around one of Crowley's, entangling them together as if he would need any other obstacle to keep him from leaving. ]
If there were a way, I'd stay like this with you indefinitely.
[ He has no doubt as to how he would choose to wile away all his days, if they were his to decide. ]
[ He can feel the drag of white wings against his, and it makes him shiver with pleasure and longing. Crowley can’t help reaching out a hand to trail along the edge of one of those great wings, smoothing the feathers, feeling the warmth and the faint bite of holiness underneath. And he too wishes, at that moment, that Aziraphale had the power to drag him back into the light—not for the want of Heaven or the love of God, but so that nothing would ever keep them apart again, nothing would come between them and the love he yearns for with all his damned soul.
He lays quietly beneath the stroke of Aziraphale’s fingers to his cheek, caressing the skin still flushed and hot from their lovemaking, but lifts his head when Aziraphale says that he’d like to stay like this indefinitely, echoing Crowley’s thoughts. And he smiles ruefully, saying aloud what he was just telling himself. ]
Don’t think of it, angel. You’ll still have me when I’m not there. You won’t forget, either.
[ It’s a bit like a prayer. Crowley kisses him as though to offer all his heart, and then lays his head back down against his shoulder, closing his eyes to rest. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Hurt me?
[ Crowley considers this. Surely Aziraphale wouldn’t be worrying over bruises and such things, marks that won’t even matter after a day or so—not like the turmoil all this will leave in Crowley’s heart and mind, that he’ll guard away as carefully as he’s always guarded himself.
Because this could hurt him, he thinks—not Aziraphale gripping him too tightly, losing himself in a moment of passion, but what came after, when they should inevitably have to part ways again, restrict how often they see each other or what they do together lest their respective offices catch on that anything is not as it should be between an angel and a demon. And Aziraphale—what if he decides that it isn’t worth the risk again? What would Crowley do then, other than burn for him, writhe silently in the torment of an aching need for him and the agony of having known so much pleasure that he can never again have? He can’t possibly force himself not to see Aziraphale again, even if it makes him suffer.
It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care enough to stop. He kisses Aziraphale’s hip. ]
You make me ache, angel.
[ There’s no help for it. Crowley moves over him again, taking his cock into his mouth once more, as deep as he can, and he won’t stop unless Aziraphale tells him to. ]
no subject
And even as Crowley swallows him down -- such a vulgar sight, seeing Crowley's lips pressed up against the thatch of curly white-blond hair, making Aziraphale squirm with kinetic energy -- the guilt remains for a fleeting moment, but no words come to his mouth. Any of them that existed have been supplanted with "Crowley," just that, a name he repeats in refrain, in devotion.
His hips, with their own agenda, rock forward just the slightest, into the glorious heat of Crowley's mouth. And his eyes roll back and shutter closed as lust takes over once more, huffs of pleasure that keen into whimpers. It takes him by surprise how electric he feels in this moment, nerves getting the better of him and setting themselves alight. His thighs tremble around Crowley's neck and he opens his mouth to warn him but it comes out in peals of moans that could almost be mistaken for laughter. He tries to move his head up instead, pulling deep in his hair. ]
no subject
He sucks until he feels and tastes his release, swallows his seed and gentles the motions of his mouth gradually, utterly captivated by how Aziraphale trembles beneath him, around him. Crowley draws off of his cock at last and lays his head against his stomach, resting for a moment, his body thrumming with the incredible satisfaction of being with Aziraphale, touching him, tasting him, knowing him in the most carnal ways. His black wings are folded down across them both, heavy and unstirring, at least for the moment. ]
Oh, Aziraphale.
[ He is open, unguarded, all the secret tenderness and adoration he's carried for so long spilling out. ]
I love you. I have--I have always loved you.
no subject
His desire surmounts and ripples through him like thunder; he comes shouting and messy, thighs framing Crowley's face shake as his full body releases, deep from within his core. He feels light and dizzy and everything shines so brightly for a second that Aziraphale wonders if he suddenly can't see more colors than he used to.
His body adjusts as if returning to Earth from the white halls of Heaven, breath flooding back into his lungs. ]
--Crowley.
[ He already knows his answer. He knows it despite all his delays to this moment, all his denials, all the things he knows he will say in the future to try and fight the impossible, that Crowley is the single thing he would forsake all else for. When eternity comes and goes, and when all the words in all the languages he has ever spoken, when all the words in all the books he has ever read are no more than turn to dust, his love for Crowley will still be full to the brim.
So he reaches for his friend, pulls him up by the shoulders, and kisses him breathless, every fiber of his being trying to demonstrate this feeling before it's too late. ]
no subject
Crowley is drowning in it, grasping Aziraphale with hands that hold onto him as though he is the only thing keeping him whole. His wings move with a restless, enormous rustling like the branches of a tree tossed in a thunderstorm, tangling with Aziraphale's.
At last he must break away, before he's completely overcome, burying his face against Aziraphale's shoulder as he struggles for breath. For so long he's wanted to feel this, and it's better than he could ever have imagined. He'd not conceived of how an angel's love could set his soul alight. He kisses his shoulder, filled with an unaccountable gratitude. ]
Aziraphale. Angel. I won't--I won't ever forget this.
no subject
The goal, Crowley, is to remind you periodically so I will never have to worry about the possibility.
[ He says it so easily despite all his worries, because he knows there's an underlaying fear upon them; it's one that has no chance of reaching either one so long as Aziraphale feels that if he should flap, there's a fair chance it may be black wings that carry him into the sky. He holds Crowley to his shoulder, skin laid out against his skin. And he caresses the ink by his temple, and kisses the crown that once was filled with the plans of the whole universe, now made only to bear the burden of one angel's love overflowing.
He hooks one leg around one of Crowley's, entangling them together as if he would need any other obstacle to keep him from leaving. ]
If there were a way, I'd stay like this with you indefinitely.
[ He has no doubt as to how he would choose to wile away all his days, if they were his to decide. ]
no subject
He lays quietly beneath the stroke of Aziraphale’s fingers to his cheek, caressing the skin still flushed and hot from their lovemaking, but lifts his head when Aziraphale says that he’d like to stay like this indefinitely, echoing Crowley’s thoughts. And he smiles ruefully, saying aloud what he was just telling himself. ]
Don’t think of it, angel. You’ll still have me when I’m not there. You won’t forget, either.
[ It’s a bit like a prayer. Crowley kisses him as though to offer all his heart, and then lays his head back down against his shoulder, closing his eyes to rest. ]