[If Crowley is taking a sacrament, then Aziraphale's words are a benediction. All the love he has, his personal grace, he offers it to his beloved without condition or restriction. It pours from him like a river, shining in his eyes as he curves his hand to Crowley's cheek in a tender caress.
When Crowley takes him into his mouth, he cries out, eyes shutting and head falling back into the pillows. It is more intense than he ever could have imagined, because it's Crowley, Crowley, always Crowley. He brings his hand back into Crowley's hair, the other groping blindly for his shoulder, wanting to touch as much of him as he can.]
no subject
[If Crowley is taking a sacrament, then Aziraphale's words are a benediction. All the love he has, his personal grace, he offers it to his beloved without condition or restriction. It pours from him like a river, shining in his eyes as he curves his hand to Crowley's cheek in a tender caress.
When Crowley takes him into his mouth, he cries out, eyes shutting and head falling back into the pillows. It is more intense than he ever could have imagined, because it's Crowley, Crowley, always Crowley. He brings his hand back into Crowley's hair, the other groping blindly for his shoulder, wanting to touch as much of him as he can.]