goodtobebad | open post;

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."

It's more thought than he can think to put into it when he's not previously prepared, but he does at least gather enough focus to make an effort, if a bit rushed toward it by Crowley's less-than-wandering hand. It's received by warm and wet, and an angel trying very hard to keep some form of composure, for some pointless reason.

"You. I want you." Pulling his hand away from his mouth, gripping at sheets instead. "I want you inside me."

He groans when he finds Aziraphale's slick folds, brushing over them gently with his fingers. "Ngk."

He's not rushing, though - at least, not by his standards. Last night had been a bit rougher, a bit more intense. Now, in the morning light, he's taking his time, taking care of his angel thoroughly, one finger pressing inside first.

"So beautiful," he manages.

Aziraphale groans, pushing his face half against the pillows he keeps gently mangling, hips lifting a bit more as Crowley's finger slips inside him.

"Please, dear..." His breathing is becoming a bit ragged, unclear of what he's actually asking, besides to simply keep going.

What can he do in response to that? Really, what would anyone do to being asked so sweetly? He's a demon, not a saint. Thank - whoever.

His cock twitches, eager and so ready when Aziraphale says things like that please, dear. He can take his time once he's inside, where he belongs.

Aziraphale doesn't have to do anything, Crowley shifts him a bit, spreading his thighs, lifting his hips so he can line himself up, press inside his angel's wet heat, a nice slow slide, so they can both feel every inch, until he bottoms out, hips flush with Aziraphale's plush arse. "Mine, my angel," he moans into the back of his neck.

Well, the angel does often say that manners are important. They slip out of him even when he's not quite thinking, and they do pay off at times.

His wings stretch up by the demon's sides as Crowley pushes into him, and he gasps, head lifted off the pillows again (good thing they survive a lot of handling, because the angel sure does have a death grip on them and the feather). He arches under the demon, biting at his lip enough to make it pale. He can muster as much as a muffled yearning groan, panting quietly as he settles for a moment.

Crowley's own wings are stretched out either side of him - brushing Aziraphale's occasionally to send a tingle of extra sensation through them both. He takes a few moments, just to feel everything, to smell the angel, and kiss the back of his neck, before finally he begins to move. He keeps his pace slow, languorous, rocking against Aziraphale as if they have all the time in the world - which they do.

"Do I feel good?" he asks, his voice a breathless murmur against the angel's skin.

All the time in the world and then some. Even if they had to go somewhere, there would be ways to deal with that, if they really wanted to...

"Mh- Oh, you feel so wonderful..." There's a shiver up his spine as their wings brush together, and Crowley's breath is warm against the back of his neck. There's no rush, they've done rushing, but craves Crowley's touch, his kisses, everything, all over him.

Crowley murmurs his assent, his hips continuing their slow, rocking pace into the angel. He lets his hand wander, brushing over Aziraphale's chest and belly, pressing and teasing all the places he knows are sensitive to his touch. His intent is simple: give the angel as much pleasure as he can, he won't stop until they're both desperate to come.

With every little sensitive spot Crowley touches, the angel moves one way or another, gentle shivers, moving towards his hand, soft hums and groans. The muscles on his back tense and move as his wings lower and arch and twitch, the speckle of white feathers over and between his shoulders seemingly subtly multiplying.

He pushes back against the demon, just as slow, just as careful, moving along with him ever so leisurely. A few of his sounds are politely muffled, as if he had any reason to be polite now.

"Cr-" But he gasps for breath before the end of the name. "--Crowley?"

Crowley hums in response, lost in the angel's body, getting as much pleasure from his touches as he's giving.

"Aziraphale," he responds, his hand wandering lower, though still not low enough, most likely.

Certainly not low enough. Definitely not low enough. The hand's meandering makes it quite difficult to resist just pulling it where it should be.

His head rests sideways on the pillows and his wings hover over the bed, every so often moving a bit to keep balance.

"Speak to me." He manages to say, a bit breathlessly. "I want-" He's interrupted by the faintest sound. "-I want to hear you."

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