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'he could do really weird things with his tongue'- w/ ![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flamingprincipality- nsfw
Continued from here
The blushing (human eyes couldn't see it, with the starlit dark and the shade of Aziraphale's skin, but Crowley isn't human) is a little unexpected, but between the two of them, it's always been the odd little things that cross the border into squirming discomfort. For Crowley, any hint of the huge, consuming, ineffable love Aziraphale is capable of makes him want to curl up into snake-form and bury his head in his own coils. It's not the love in general terms; Aziraphale is an angel, after all; love is kind of what he does; but specific love, focussed on Crowley, is unaccountably terrifying. He tries his best not to let on about that. For Aziraphale, it's his own carnal desires, or at least that's Crowley's hypothesis. The angel's come to terms very neatly with gluttony and drunkenness and avarice over the centuries, but he still manages to freak himself out when he wants with the intensity that humans want.
It's a strange combination. But then, they are by definition a strange combination, so perhaps it's to be expected.
In any event, Aziraphale plainly doesn't need persuading in this instance, just encouraging past his own tongue-tied embarrassment. And, well, Crowley can hardly pretend he doesn't enjoy the pleading. He tightens himself around Aziraphale's skinny torso, scales smooth against warm, human-feeling skin, constricting just enough that Aziraphale won't be able to draw a full breath without it hitching.
There's a part of his brain that wants to keep going, the bit of him that remembers being a snake, back at not-quite-the-beginning, remembers the sensation of bones crunching under his strong coils, the animal satisfaction of life ended and warm raw meat. The rest of him is appropriately rather grossed out by that thought in this context, and he makes a face at himself.
Half a second later, he catches himself doing so, and surges up to cover it with another kiss, his hands going to hook into the waistband of Aziraphale's trousers. He hopes, between his fingers popping the button of his flies and his tongue doing decidedly inhuman things in Aziraphale's mouth, that's enough of a distraction for both of them.
The blushing (human eyes couldn't see it, with the starlit dark and the shade of Aziraphale's skin, but Crowley isn't human) is a little unexpected, but between the two of them, it's always been the odd little things that cross the border into squirming discomfort. For Crowley, any hint of the huge, consuming, ineffable love Aziraphale is capable of makes him want to curl up into snake-form and bury his head in his own coils. It's not the love in general terms; Aziraphale is an angel, after all; love is kind of what he does; but specific love, focussed on Crowley, is unaccountably terrifying. He tries his best not to let on about that. For Aziraphale, it's his own carnal desires, or at least that's Crowley's hypothesis. The angel's come to terms very neatly with gluttony and drunkenness and avarice over the centuries, but he still manages to freak himself out when he wants with the intensity that humans want.
It's a strange combination. But then, they are by definition a strange combination, so perhaps it's to be expected.
In any event, Aziraphale plainly doesn't need persuading in this instance, just encouraging past his own tongue-tied embarrassment. And, well, Crowley can hardly pretend he doesn't enjoy the pleading. He tightens himself around Aziraphale's skinny torso, scales smooth against warm, human-feeling skin, constricting just enough that Aziraphale won't be able to draw a full breath without it hitching.
There's a part of his brain that wants to keep going, the bit of him that remembers being a snake, back at not-quite-the-beginning, remembers the sensation of bones crunching under his strong coils, the animal satisfaction of life ended and warm raw meat. The rest of him is appropriately rather grossed out by that thought in this context, and he makes a face at himself.
Half a second later, he catches himself doing so, and surges up to cover it with another kiss, his hands going to hook into the waistband of Aziraphale's trousers. He hopes, between his fingers popping the button of his flies and his tongue doing decidedly inhuman things in Aziraphale's mouth, that's enough of a distraction for both of them.
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But here he is, beside himself, wrapped in the demon's lovely, sinuous coils and moaning. Heaven forgive him. Better yet, don't look. Heaven is not invited to this engagement.
The kiss stifles him a moment later, and Aziraphale meets it with startled, open-mouthed submission, helpless with his arms pinned and Crowley's tongue, what is it even doing; helpless to do anything apart from fall apart at its (the kiss's) proverbial feet. Crowley opens his trousers and he rolls forward, desperate, wanting, in spite of everything, wanting.
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This, however, makes rather a nice compromise. He breaks the kiss with a wicked little bite, leaning back to watch Aziraphale's face(with what he'll insist is smug enjoyment and nothing more) as he shoves his pants aside to get his prick out. All he has to do is recline and squeeze, slow, rhythmic undulations while Aziraphale writhes above him. And Crowley gets the hard warmth of the angel's cock in his hand as he lazily toys with it, and surround sound of his moans as they bounce off the water. Gorgeous.
His own skin is growing flush with arousal; he can feel it fizzing all down the length of his tail like the remembered itch before moulting, the consuming, distracting need to slough off his old skin. It's not at that point yet; a pleasurable anticipation rather than desperation, but it'll get there eventually.
'Sooner or later,' he breathes after some moments, 'you're gonna have to tell me exactly, how, er, ssssnakey you want me to be.' He's always had less control of his physical form when he gets-- worked up; he doesn't want to ruin the mood by accidentally manifesting the wrong kind of genitalia.
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"I," he gasps. "I don't know. This is new- new territory for me." He manages to twist a hand free from under the coils, touching whatever he can reach - stroking his fingertips delicately over Crowley's taut stomach.
"Not even sure what that would entail," he admits after a moment. He breaks into a lopsided grin. "En-tail," he repeats, and regrets it almost immediately.
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The delicate touch at his stomach, though, makes him twitch. The sensitive skin under his navel, where ordinarily a sharp vee of muscle would lead down to his cock, now there's only the gradual transition from soft, warm human skin to sleek dry scales. It's weird, inhabiting this form-between-forms; the signals are all getting a bit mixed.
He coughs, one hand going out of habit to rub at the back of his neck. Body-shame is a human thing that Crowley has never gone in for, so it's not that, it's just-- it feels oddly intimate, he supposes, in an awkward sort of way, even though the snake is no more his true form than the human body he usually wears is. 'It's, um, sort of two-pronged?' he offers eventually, his tail still shifting, constant motion more distracted than purposeful now. 'And they're a bit... spiney-looking. Or feathery, I suppose. But, you know, fleshy.'
Bless it, he's blushing. That won't do, and he tightens himself a little further around Aziraphale, tail-tip going to stroke up the angel's neck. 'D'you want to ssssee?' He does his best to sound wicked and tempting rather than awkward.
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He gasps shrilly when Crowley squeezes him harder and strokes at his neck. Damn him, proverbially of course, he knows that's a particular weakness.
"You know, I think I would," he says, faint but no less cheeky.
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Crowley's grin hits somewhere between smug and self-conscious, and sits firmly in one corner of his mouth, as his grip around Aziraphale's cock firms up again, and he gives a little stroke. 'Full of sssurprises, Aziraphale,' he says through his grin, dipping up for a quick, wet kiss. 'This isn't too close to lying with the beasts of the field for an angel?'
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He hums softly as Crowley strokes him, rocking his hips forward. He's a bit limited, mobility-wise, so he attempts to scoot himself a little closer, wanting to get his hands around these interesting new appendages.
"Full of surprises yourself," he remarks, wrapping a hand around each one.
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'You knew I was a snake,' he says as soon as he catches his breath. 'Just never thought about the implicationssss. You, uh, don't need to pay attention to them both. It's a one-at-a-time sort of thing.'
He's in constant motion now, his hips shifting against the boat's floor, tail constricting and loosening in turns around Aziraphale, his hand around Aziraphale's cock, thumb toying with the head. And, feeling a little less awkward about his genitals, given Aziraphale's (remarkably unsqueamish) interest in them, he looks up with his glowing golden eyes and gives a grin the flashes his forked tongue. 'Ssssso? Thiss is your little fantasssy. Whaddayou want me to do?'
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"I, er," he says breathily, squirming a little. "I'm not sure." He rubs his hand over one of Crowley's odd little attachments, thoughtfully, as though perusing the wares. He's not sure he wants to try getting his mouth around it, but it's nice to touch.
Is Crowley asking for instruction, or suggestions? Aziraphale does like to instruct, from time to time. "I'd like you to... make me make you come," he says, diligently setting it up as convolutedly as possible. "First one, then the other, if that's how it works." He gives Crowley a little encouraging squeeze, a bit of suggestion there, to keep up with the whole business with the tail. Aziraphale fancies that he might like that enough as an act all on its own, but - maybe some other time.
"I," he carries on, his breathing somewhat labored, "think I should be made to wait. And then - " his breath catches and he strains back momentarily as the thick musculature of the tail presses in around him, come now, got to rally and finish this proposal somehow, " - I... I should like to come across your chest."
He blushes quite a bit at that. "You know, in the moonlight and all," he finishes lamely.