[ Crowley lets out a laugh. The sight of Aziraphale reclining like some wanton prince makes him feel uncharacteristically giddy. The pout earns him an adoring kiss from Crowley, before the demon finally begins to push in.
It's agonizingly slow. He knows, on some subconsciousness level, they don't need to take their time. Their bodies could adjust comfortably in a matter of no time at all.
But Crowley wants to draw it out, to commit every milometer of that first push in to memory. To prove to Aziraphale that he can go slow when it matters.
He doesn't take his eyes off Aziraphale's face, until he's all the way in, utterly enveloped by the tight warmth of the angel, and it's altogether too much for him. He cups Aziraphale's cheeks, kissing him messily, and murmuring incomprehensible declarations of affection. All the while, his hips seeming to rock of their own accord, trying to burrow his cock impossibly deeper. ]
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It's agonizingly slow. He knows, on some subconsciousness level, they don't need to take their time. Their bodies could adjust comfortably in a matter of no time at all.
But Crowley wants to draw it out, to commit every milometer of that first push in to memory. To prove to Aziraphale that he can go slow when it matters.
He doesn't take his eyes off Aziraphale's face, until he's all the way in, utterly enveloped by the tight warmth of the angel, and it's altogether too much for him. He cups Aziraphale's cheeks, kissing him messily, and murmuring incomprehensible declarations of affection. All the while, his hips seeming to rock of their own accord, trying to burrow his cock impossibly deeper. ]