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[If he wants Aziraphale to react to him, and of course he does, then he's in luck. Even the slightest movement of his hips is brand new and ridiculously distracting; he has no idea how to stop his expression from showing every twitch of surprise and delight, pursing his lips with a little hum.]

Do you want— [Ah, the sound of his voice, the press of his hips; temptation in the way that only Crowley knows how to do to him.] Would you like an itemized list, Crowley?

[This smug little snake, he loves him to the ends of the earth and back. And back, with all the time in the world tonight...

Well, one step at a time. He skims his fingertips down Crowley's spine, pressing insistently when he reaches his lower back. He's going in blind here, but putting his hands on Crowley seems like a good start.]

You know what? I would, actually.

[Is he doing that to be mean? Yes, in part. He likes needling Aziraphale, in no small part because his angel can and will retaliate. But it's in part out of curiosity, because he wants desperately to know what kinds of thoughts the other's had. Can't be too filthy-- or maybe it can, if it's all under the guise of love. Who knows? He certainly doesn't, but he aims to find out.

And in the meantime, he'll just make waiting fun, shall he? Cause a little trouble, so to speak, as he arches up into Aziraphale's lovely, prim, well-manicured hands and begins moving in something akin to, if not actually a lapdance, at least rhythmic grinding downwards.

[He's going to get a list one of these days, born purely out of Aziraphale's need to bother him right back. It will be neatly organized by alphabet, then by complexity, then by some other obscure category like whether or not Crowley should keep his sunglasses on and for how long. It will be precise and neat enough to be framed (he will not allow him to frame it though, good heavens).

But oh, those devilish hips. Aziraphale waggles his eyebrows up at him again, despite his flushed cheeks and the way Crowley's hips make his fingers stutter to a halt before continuing.]

Do you, now? Perhaps we should trade back and forth.

An arrangement, is that really what you're suggesting?

[He means it to be a drawl, but it comes out with more giddiness than he likes. All of him is more giddy than he likes, less suave and more adoring, and maybe he'll regret that tomorrow, but right now he can't bother.]

Fine. And in a show of good faith . . .

[He leans down again, his back arching, grinding up against Aziraphale's fingers, delighted by what he feels growing beneath him. His mouth goes to Aziraphale's ear, but rather than speak right away, he teases instead, nipping lightly at the shell of his ear, sharp teeth stinging just a bit, before pulling back just so he can breathe hotly there.]

I want to suck you off, for starters. Take your cock in my mouth and let me show you how good I've gotten with it. Maybe even see if I could get you to beg me before I finished you off . . .

An Arrangement, yes, now that we're in sore need of a new one.

[Say it with the capital "A," dear. Aziraphale still has that dopey smile on his face, just as giddy about this ridiculous new arrangement thing. Aha, and speaking of desperate need... Of course the entire Crowley experience is overwhelming, breath hot and body warm and firm, and oh—]

Oh, [he breathes, stuck on the way his skin tingles where Crowley's teeth grazed against him. Yes. Words. Fascinating.]

I don't know how good you were with it before. [Stupidly, he says, before thinking about just how it sounds. He swallows, glancing sideways at Crowley, and curls his fingers against him.]

I should think... that I would like it if you did.

Just like it?

[He'll do a lot more than just like it, frankly, or Crowley isn't doing his job right at all. What's the point of being a demon if you aren't at all good at sex? Honestly.

He nips at his ear, but then pulls back, yellow eyes glittering. His tongue runs over his teeth, and it's a sinful gesture, he knows it is, because he's made it a thousand times, but never when he actually cared about the result. Another roll of his hips, and this time he inches down, lining them up, just so he can groan very softly at the resulting pressure.]

You can be more appreciative than that, angel. And it's your go. Let's hear what you can do.

[Listen, he has to start with like or he'll never get anywhere. He knows he'll like it; the rest of the vocabulary has to be earned.

Which he could say and Crowley would no doubt delight in him managing that much, but instead he interrupts himself with a soft gasp and a flutter of eyelashes, sliding his other hand over to rest on Crowley's hip and squeeze. Hello, yes, he's listening. He's appreciating, goodness.

So, then, what he manages to say is,] I will, hm. I will make love to you... on a picnic in the country.

[There is an agenda here.]

[It's not quite the filthy he wanted, but on the other hand, he only ever wants Aziraphale, and him being filthy just isn't him, not at first. Maybe someday, but right now . . . his grin fades, but it isn't in displeasure. Love, he thinks again, and stills his hips so he can kiss his sweet, darling angel the way he deserves.]

Is that a promise, love? I'll hold you to it.

Edited (words?) 2019-06-04 20:19 (UTC)

[Oh, so he gets his ride in the country? Thank you, he loves that. He returns the kiss warmly, but he still manages to look just a tad smug about it when they break apart again. Hmm.]

I give you my word, Crowley. I will see to it that you're well taken care of.

[Gonna bring a nice blanket and bang him on it, but classier. Romantically.]

[Obviously he gets his ride in the country. He's going to get a ride in the country in more ways than one, frankly, because Crowley is nothing if not a right bastard about that kind of thing and will pointedly remind Aziraphale of it, but also, don't be such a brat about it.]

Is that what you call it.

[Actually, no, you know what, the smugness is-- well. Not actually grating, but at least riling enough that he wants to do something about it.]

Go on. Try a bit of dirty talk. It won't kill you to tell me you want to bugger me, you know.

[Let him be smug! He deserves this. Or: he is still smug, but he also opens and closes his mouth a few times, like he isn't sure Crowley was listening? To his very risque dirty talk a moment ago?]

I— I just told you that, didn't I?

[Alright, alright. He will do this. If only to prove a point, he will do this, and he will do it as pettily as possible. He begins slowly, because the details are highly important.]

We will go out on a ride to the country— by train, I suppose— and it will be a lovely day. Then, we'll sit under a tree, and I'll feed you grapes and those fancy little cheeses on the toothpicks you like so much, and we'll sample a delectable vintage, and- [ah; a little inhale, ah,] and I will fuck you under that tree, Crowley, because I love you more than anything.

[It's so incredibly petty, and yet he listens to every single detail, because of course he does. And of course he'll truly enjoy every minute of this picnic, he knows he will, he'll delight in the blue sky and the sunny day and the delighted hum of Aziraphale next to him as he sighs over the meal-- but right now, certain bits of him are only really interested in one aspect of that speech.

It's well worth the wait. Crowley jerks atop Aziraphale when he hears that, that one word, oh, well, god, he thought-- he didn't think that-- but oh, god, his eyes go wide, he wants to savor that, every bit of it, from that delicious promise to the quiet reassurance that oh, yes, he loves him.]

Right.

[Fuck. That's the second time in less than an hour he's made Crowley go blank. Fuck.]

That wasn't so hard, was it.

[Right. Yes. Let him just reboot, let him just--]

Come fuck me now, angel.

[Now is he allowed to be smug? He is, of course, watching Crowley with perfect Heavenly innocence. So, that's getting penciled in on his agenda, yes—]

What happened to what you wanted to do? Honestly, Crowley, you're so easily distracted.

[So fickle! So indecisive! Aziraphale knows he won't manage to keep it together all night - he's hardly managed up until now - so yes, he will, indeed, milk this moment for all it's worth. Maybe that even makes him feel a little bold, enough to wriggle one artfully manicured hand between them and palm against Crowley experimentally. Brow lightly creased in concentration, he is not the picture of the world-wise angel, but thought of his lovely, lovely demon going to pieces over him is very encouraging.

He thinks, and decides that if he's ever going to get to say this thing he wants to say right this second, it's going to be now, so-]

Hmm. This is hard.

[Please, Crowley. Ask him nicely.]

[Maybe this is what will kill him. Not Armageddon nor Hell's wrath, but one smug angel, taking six centuries of sexual tension and delighting in drawing it out. It doesn't matter that he's not experienced, that the look he levels Crowley isn't the practiced seduction of some of the incubi he's known-- it's him, and that's all he's ever needed.

So yes, it works. He ruts his hips up needily into Aziraphale's hand, awful line or no, because he very much needs this right now, please, thank you, god, what the hell does he want him to say?]

Aziraphale.

[Don't do this to him.]

[Oh, but if that isn't the loveliest sound - his name, his name spilling so earnestly and desperately from Crowley's lips. Not angel, as much as he quietly delights in Crowley's not at all hidden affections— not even love, as new and brilliantly exciting as that one is, but his name. Said like that, almost like a prayer.

A blasphemous prayer, naturally, what other kind of prayer could there be while Aziraphale grips him through his trousers and purses his lips. Considers.]

I need you to do something for me first, my dear.

[Not... really, but he just wants to see what Crowley will do while he's like this. He's not at all immune to this, the way Crowley looks at him all but makes him ache for him, but. Just to see.]

Apologize for calling me round in Paris.

Are you--

[He'd thought maybe say please, which, by the way, would be super kinky and delightfully awful, he would love that, but of course not, of course it's this, why would it be anything but this, oh, god, he's in love with the world's stupidest, most perfect angel.]

Are you bloody joking!

[Oh no, new plan, this is much more delightful. Aziraphale bites the inside of his cheek quickly, trying to raise his eyebrows and look very serious instead of immediately dissolving into giggles.]

No, I mean it. Why shouldn't I?

Because you've got my bloody cock in your hand, and this is not the sort of thing people do in bed!

[Is he whining? Yes, a little, and frantically at that. To his credit, he'd be able to suss this out far easier if he wasn't half so wound up, but he's been sucker punched twice in the past half-hour, so cut him some slack.]

Angel!

[It is now the sort of thing people do in bed, dearest. Darling. Appreciate him and his very soft hands.]

Oh, alright, but I'll remember that one for later.

[He shifts, barely an inch off the bed with Crowley laid on top of him, and he taps him on the side of the ribs with his free hand a second later, helpfully.]

Sit up, please.

[He huffs, displeased and quite frankly still a little on edge, but soon complies. The loss of Aziraphale's hand is mourned, but on the other hand, he can at least wriggle off his leather trousers, so. A net positive, maybe, and also incidentally hello, here he is, entirely without clothes, because who wears underwear, it surely isn't him.]

You were eating crepes. I don't know what you expected from me.

[Aziraphale sits up and stretches a bit, shaking out his arms - very much not the sensual something or other someone should do in bed, but of course he's like this.]

Manners, Crowley, for— for somebody's sake. You could have been more delicate.

[Or said nothing at all! Also an option! But never mind, he will get his apology later. For now he looks at Crowley and then crooks a finger at him, also not sensual.]

Now, do come here.

[His lap, specifically. And his cheeks are burning yet again, so don't foolishly think he knows what he's doing just yet.]

[It's not sensual, but it's Aziraphale, which means he doesn't really care. Welcomes it, in fact, with a return of his sharp grin, long legs stretching out as he takes his time in climbing into his angel's lap. He makes sure to settle just so, squirming this way and that, legs drawing in to nudge against Aziraphale's hips, hands sliding hungrily over bare skin, just really delighting in the act.

It's a tease. It's also very genuine, because he is delighted. He's delighted that even this has taken on the flavor of them, bickering and amiable and adoring; that what had been unthinkable a day before is now so seamlessly a part of their dance.]

Bossy.

[A beat, and then:]

Go on.

[Crowley is... annoying, honestly, a very annoying, bothersome little demon, but bothersome in such a particular way that Aziraphale can't fathom being without him. So all of his teasing and wiggling and calling people bossy are things Aziraphale wouldn't be able to stand in anyone else, but like this? Well, he loves him, and that is more than enough.

And oh, he's lovely, even if he's a pain. Aziraphale touches his fingertips against his chest, feather-light and giddily exploring, and tilts his head to kiss him again before he does anything like give Crowley what he wants. Hold on...]

You are exquisite, my dear.

[A real snack, as the youths say. He leans his forehead against Crowley's and looks at him fondly, so very up close, absolutely saccharine while he dips his hand down to run that same feather-light touch down the length of his cock.

And that one is intentional, actually, you're welcome babe.]

[The thing about angels (and demons, who are essentially the same thing, just the off-brand version, if you will) is that sex is an effort. In that bodies are assigned, yes, but it's not very hard to change the little things, so long as you don't go around wildly contorting yourself. Hair? Oh, he's grown his long and cut it short over and over. Eyes you can't ever change, of course, but the body? He could have any figure he wanted, external or internal, it's all just bits and pieces.

Maybe someday he'll try the other side, just to see what Aziraphale thinks. He was so stunned the first time he saw Crowley with short hair; this might just stun him.

Anyway. Effort, right, and effort means changing yourself as you like, which means that it's really no effort at all to just get himself ready, which means he really could just be getting fucked right now. Like. Just as an FYI. That could happen at any time, and in point of fact Crowley would like it to happen, not that these sweet touches to his chest aren't lovely (they are, electric and shocking, and he squirms beneath them, but more, also).

Ah. More compliments. He's just about to open his mouth to whine a little, when--]

Ah--

[Nope just kidding that's perfect Aziraphale is perfect this is just ideal, with those adoring eyes staring up at him, and he does whine, a very pointed little sound, as his eyes half-close.]

I love you.

[It's blurted out, clumsily but very much meant. Certainly not just for the touch-- rather, for the way he just did that, paired the two together, saccharine sweetness and teasing touch both, almost deceptive and slightly cruel, or at least engineered to drive him up a wall, which it is.

Fucking hell. He can't think about that, though. He can't think about what he just said, because he'll fall apart if he does. Instead: one hand darts down between them, knocking Aziraphale's hand so he can take them both in his, a nice hard firm touch. One of these days he'll teach Aziraphale edging and that'll be it for Crowley, so long, thanks for the memories, he'll die on that bed, but until then, he just wants to throw them both headfirst into this.

Call it a demon thing.]

[They know everything about each other, more or less, a ninety-nine percent perfect, encyclopedic knowledge. Like two halves of one whole, they are, and yet Aziraphale still finds it in him to be pleasantly surprised when Crowley reacts to him like this, the impatience that flashes in his gaze before he all but melts, and then—

Well, of course he does. Aziraphale has known. But it sets something alight in his heart to hear it, especially like that, unbidden and unplanned and so very Crowley, always a boiling pot of emotions spilling over endlessly. Aziraphale blinks and Crowley loves him, his lips part to take in a shuddering breath and Crowley loves him, and he's waited years and years to hear it.

It is of course a brief moment before Crowley charges on, and that's probably lucky, because sooner or later Aziraphale's emotions will hit the point at which he tears up embarrassingly over how much he loves this messy, perfect demon— but later. For now he says oh and then, when Crowley's hand wraps firmly around them both he says oh again, but a little louder and more insistent. Making the effort is one thing; having that effort, hmm, appreciated is another thing entirely.

Aziraphale prepared for absolutely nothing and suddenly has no idea what to do with his hands, groping at air for a bit before he puts them on Crowley's waist, which seems like as good a place as any for now. He manages an airy little laugh.]

You're always one step ahead of me, aren't you, Crowley? [Too fast, but this time, he'll catch up. Ah, and Crowley likes to hear him say what he wants, so let him try...] —Touch me. Er, keep touching me. You know, I rather think you'll figure it out.

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