[Aziraphale gives a whine of understanding when he feels Crowley squeeze his thigh, knowing that he's free to express himself as he desires. And what a wonderful, liberating feeling that is, nearly as intoxicating as the sensation of Crowley's tongue sliding over his most sensitive spots. All the same, he'd rather not accidentally bonk or kick Crowley, so he hooks his ankles firmly at the small of Crowley's back to keep them from flailing around, even as he writhes into the sheets, his laughter interspersed with high-pitched moans.
As Crowley's tongue goes even deeper, one of his hands reaches out desperately towards Crowley, needing a hand to ground him. He's so hard and aching, and for once in all his years of making an Effort, he's tempted to touch himself, but part of him would like to see just how far Crowley can take him on his tongue alone.]
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As Crowley's tongue goes even deeper, one of his hands reaches out desperately towards Crowley, needing a hand to ground him. He's so hard and aching, and for once in all his years of making an Effort, he's tempted to touch himself, but part of him would like to see just how far Crowley can take him on his tongue alone.]
My dear -- my dearest, please -- I need you --