He wants to do unholy things with Aziraphale.

Oh. Hi.

What does what mean?

... No, I did not. I mean having you all to myself, in every way you could think of, right up against that bookshelf of yours.

( Steeeeepping closer. ) Or I could show you.

You are, aren't you? ( Now he invades his personal space. Even gently pushing him up against the shelf. )

Sometimes, angel, you talk too much. ( He murmurs in a low voice, leaning in to press a kiss to his neck. Hands finding his waist. )

( A grin forms on the demon's lips. Now he knows how to quiet his angel, he supposes. ) You drive me absolutely insane, sometimes, angel. ( Crowley murmurs against his skin. Pressing another kiss. )

Hardly, angel. ( Lips trail to his jawline, pressing a kiss there. ) Are you catching on, now?

Good. ( Now he brushes his lips against the angel's. Forehead resting against his. ) You're all I want.

( The words make the demon smile, even when lips meet his again. Inching closer, he gladly returns it. The hands on the angel's waist squeezing gently. )

Good. ( He murmurs in return, a hand moving to brush against his cheek. ) This is only the beginning.

Trust me, this was hardly unholy, angel. ( A small smile forms again, inching closer. ) More to come. Just ask.

{ 𝑪𝑹𝑶𝑾𝑳𝑬𝒀 }

I did, didn't I? ( Lips trail kisses along his jawline, finding his neck again. Now pressed up against his angel, fingers working their way under the man's shirt. )

You have me.

( Feeling his soft, warm skin underneath his fingertips is something he has wanted for a very, very long time... ) I want you. Here. Now. To see you flush, to hear you moan my name... ( He whispers, teeth gently biting down the angel's earlobe. )

Mine. ( The demon practically growls the word, lips finding his neck again. Kissing and biting while his hands explore, pushing his shirt up. )

( He makes such delicious sounds... Urging the demon to continue. One hand drops, undoing his belt and then the button of his trousers. ) You're beautiful. ( The words are whispered close to his ear. The hand disappearing into his trousers. )

Care for another round?