[He's close. She knows it, from the snap of his hips to the words he spills to the way he vibrates to the exact grip he has on her hair. Crowley purrs her assent, her enthusiasm, approval. It's the only flaw of oral sex, that her mouth isn't free to encourage him onwards with words both loving and profane. Come for me, come for me, I want you to lose control, I want all that restraint utterly obliterated, I want you shouting my name, I want to know I did this for you, show me, give it to me.
No words, but it's there in the curve and twist of her fingers, the slide of mouth and press of tongue, and above all in her eyes as she looks up at him.]
Not that, I didn't believe Aziraphale wouldn't have better French! ;)
No words, but it's there in the curve and twist of her fingers, the slide of mouth and press of tongue, and above all in her eyes as she looks up at him.]