[At the very least, Aziraphale's subconscious mind has cottoned on to the fact that Crowley likes having his hair touched. Consciously, he's too much of a flushed, flustered mess to think about it, leaking pre-come, whimpering out heaps of praise for those clever, nimble fingers. It's almost a relief when Crowley pushes him down, finally able to give into that contact and rub shamelessly against Crowley's thigh.]
H-how do you know that wasn't my plan to begin with?
[He smiles, pleased he was able to string those words together, but the victory is short-lived when Crowley kisses him so slowly, so deeply that he can't think of anything else. He rolls his hips, both hands burying themselves in Crowley's hair, lost in the pleasure of that kiss.]
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H-how do you know that wasn't my plan to begin with?
[He smiles, pleased he was able to string those words together, but the victory is short-lived when Crowley kisses him so slowly, so deeply that he can't think of anything else. He rolls his hips, both hands burying themselves in Crowley's hair, lost in the pleasure of that kiss.]