One way or another, the angel gets a handle on his technique. He pulls back a moment to admire his handiwork before kissing the spot soothingly. "Beautiful," he murmurs against his skin. "You're so beautiful." All of him, he means, as his mouth travels down his neck, along his collarbone, nipping and licking wherever he fancies. Crowley is a temptation merely by existing, but his body, the sounds he make, they feed into his desire and entwine with his feelings of love until it's all the same.

Which is why, when Crowley stutters out his mangled reply, he also wonders if it's necessary. He has all he wants right here. He feels his own passion burning bright when Crowley runs nails down his spine, when his own skin is sucked hard, a sharp snap that has him moaning, not only in pleasure but at the implication that Crowley is leaving evidence of their love-making.

But Crowley feels so good beneath him, so urgent and needy. He wants to experience that, too. "I-- I'd like --" he gasps, squirming a little as Crowley has his way with him. "--to know what it's like for you."

Of course, he'll need to be able to concentrate to do so. So perhaps not quite at this particular moment.