goodtobebad | open post;

It's true, Aziraphale wouldn't even need his angelic senses to feel the amount of love radiating from Crowley constantly these days - it's an almost-physical presence, especially here, in their bedroom, in total privacy when he can focus all his attention on Aziraphale, on loving him in every possible way.

"More careful of what, exactly?" he asks, almost curious. "Ripping a hole in the space-time continuum? If that was going to happen, I imagine it already would've, the first time we made love."

It energizes him, that love, powers him through just about anything. There were some days, after Armaggedon, when things were quiet and he was alone, where he wondered if he could handle going forward without such a big part of his life since existence - losing his connection with Heaven, even when he finally had to come to terms with how things really were, was a the kind of change he could never have expected to go through. But, now, he's just so much happier. So much more fulfilled.

Aziraphale huffs a laugh, twirling the black feather between his fingers. "Nothing quite that drastic." Or, maybe. Who knows? They weren't even sure they wouldn't end up exploding, somehow, back then. "But there was that one time, with Mrs. Harris' lawn gnomes."

"That was all you, love," Crowley says with a crooked smile. "How was I to know doing that thing with my tongue would make you scream that way?"

Well, that certainly makes him blush. Which would be perfectly hidden by the way he's laying, if the tiny feathers by his shoulder blades didn't bristle up a bit.

"Yes, well." Oh that demon knew exactly what he was doing then, he's sure. (And perhaps he would like him to do it again.). "To this day she still believes her lawn ornaments gained life and massacred her zinnias."

"I'm sure she thinks it was local kids playing a prank," Crowley says, and presses a kiss to a particularly sensitive spot right where wing meets back.

"So should I not do the thing with my tongue anymore?" he suggests, knowing what the answer will be.

He muffles a faint hum against the pillows, still holding a feather between his fingers.

But he quiets, for just a couple of lingering seconds, well aware that he's being teased. "Well...I didn't say that."

"Didn't think so," Crowley says, doing a slightly different thing with his tongue over Aziraphale's skin, ever so lightly, just for the pleasure of it. He's never been as much of a hedonist as the angel, but he could touch and kiss and rub Aziraphale's body forever and never get tired of it.

"Oh..." He breathes out the syllable, holding onto the pillows a bit, arms wrapping around them loosely. "You really are a tease, you sly thing."

"'m not teasing," Crowley insists, repeating the tongue thing. "Maybe I'm just trying to make you feel good."

Aziraphale bites his lower lip, hunching his shoulders back a bit, toward Crowley's touch. His wings hover over the bed, just a couple of inches. "Mh, yes..."

"I'll take that to mean I'm doing well so far," he murmurs, nipping gently at the skin, running a hand along a wing lightly.

Clearly, by the way the wing gently lifts to follow his hand along. "Oh, you--yes..."

Crowley sighs, giving the wing a few long, slow strokes. "Angel, the things you do to me," he murmurs. Honestly, the way Aziraphale sighs, the little moans he makes, never fails to arouse him. His cock is already giving an interested twitch, and he's barely done anything.

Aziraphale lightly grips the pillows beneath him, black feather still in his hand even now, feeling himself shiver as Crowley's hand strokes against his feathers, and over how Crowley's voice sounds from behind him. The stroked wing stretches out while the other is pulled against his side.

The angel bites at his lip, raising his head just enough that his voice isn't muffled by the pillows. "Tell me." He murmurs.

Oh, he wants to play this game? Crowley is all right with that. To be fair, he's all right with every game Aziraphale likes to play in the bedroom.

"All you have to do is say my name," he murmurs, finally switching his attention to the other wing, giving it those same slow strokes. "Just my name, and I want you. And don't even get me started on your body... You should have your wings out every time we make love. You're gorgeous like this. ...Not that you're ever not gorgeous..."

Maybe he does want to play this game. Maybe he quite enjoys being told just exactly how much he's wanted and how...

Much like the first, his other wing raises and stretches out under Crowley's hand, and the demon's words ring through. There's the faintest sound, right at the back of his throat, and pushes himself up to rest on his elbows instead. His legs shift, and he rubs his thumb over the soft feather he's holding.

"What else?..." By the soft tone of his voice, it's less of a demand, and more of a request.

"I could write poetry about your thighs," Crowley continues, happy to keep going as long as the angel wants. "In fact, I might actually have done at some point, at least in my head."

He slowly presses his hands to Aziraphale's back, running them down his spine, from shoulderblades to hips.

The angel's wings arch up and he tilts his head back slightly, a faint smile playing at his lips, his eyes closed, well focused only on sensations.

"Oh, Crowley..." Good thing that the demon enjoys hearing his own name, because the angel can't seem to get enough of saying it. "That feels splendid."

It's also a good thing that the demon likes touching Aziraphale so much - he really likes it. "Ngk," is all he can manage to say in response, intent as he is on running his hands all over the angel, now rubbing circles at his hips, even as his own hips grind unconsciously against him, cock hardening at the small of Aziraphale's back.

Aziraphale doesn't quite gasp, lips parted quietly, but unable to keep himself from shivering again. Crowley's hands on his hips, feeling him hard against his back, adding onto everything the demon's said and done. Just the feeling of having him there. And that close, like that - the angel might like to play his little games, but he's certainly not made of stone.

But he tries to settle himself. Tries not to press into the sheets under him, or up against the demon's cock, yet. He'll wait, if just to see how far he can play this time.

"Dear...keep going." His hands fuss at the pillow covers. "Keep talking. Please."

Oh, he is playing a game this morning, isn't he? Crowley bites back a groan of his own, and nods even though the angel can't see it. Of course he will. Of course he'll keep going, he'll do whatever Aziraphale asks of him, always.

"Love being inside you," he murmurs, leaning down to trail his lips to one of those wings. "When you're all around me, warm and soft. I can't feel love like you can but I swear, when you come for me, I can feel it then."

He can't help the audibly shaky breath he pulls in this time, gripping tighter at the pillow covers, and it's all he can do to not push himself at the demon. He brings a hand up over his mouth, eyes closed, wings again moving along with Crowley's affections.

He hasn't picked an effort yet, but he'll surely have to come to a decision soon, if how warm he feels is anything to go by. His hips twitch slightly, but he still tries to still himself.

Crowley suspects something of the sort - or he would, if he wasn't too busy thinking about other things. His own Effort is simply what he had last night, he never bothered to change it, though of course he would if Aziraphale asked him to - he's not picky. He is quite enjoying the friction at the moment, however.

"I love how you feel inside me, too," he continues, humming against the angel. "I feel wanted, and loved, and full."

Another quiet sound, a soft groan behind closed fingers, and this time he does push his hips back against the demon, back grinding up against him. The feathers near the base of his wings bristle and his head tilts back again, mouth still covered. You could call it forfeiting the game, although there's never really a loser. Or maybe he's just moving it forward. He'd probably make some excuse about it.

Crowley hums in pleasure, not even caring about games or winners or losers. He shifts, slipping his hand around Aziraphale's hip to seek between his thighs.

"Tell me what you want, angel," he murmurs, and it's not really a command, more a plea. "Anything, anything."

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