( this route is riddled with so many bad ends that involve Aoba dying in various ways. yet he continues on?? not like his stranger danger radar is completely off or anything.
or maybe the thrill he gets when Crowley says he's going to punish him for that move explains everything. a grin that shows teeth and Aoba's flushing again, cheeks and throat warmed, but it's not from any kind of embarrassment this time. he's called Crowley unfair at least a dozen times in his head in their past two meetings. unfair because he's attractive even when there's a flag of danger, unfair because he makes Aoba want to be greedy.
it could have easily toppled into having sex on the stairs if Crowley hadn't grabbed his wrist and made quick to their room. it's not a bad room, seems clean enough, and he actually has the moment to sweep it with his eyes because he's not being immediately manhandled. a little disappointing—is this his punishment? waiting the extra minute?
he huffs: )
Fine.
( ... though it's not much of a punishment when he's got view of Crowley peeling off his clothes. sitting on the edge of the bed, Aoba makes similar use of the time by tugging free his own belt and hooking his fingers into the waist of his jeans to shove them off. it's all done by touch alone because hell if he's gonna miss a second of Crowley stripping.
that's... that's a nice back. a really nice back. the kind that makes Aoba a little stupid as his gaze works along strong shoulders, handsome contours. damn boy, let him see those back dimples and the trail of spine, everything. maybe Crowley will tease him for being greedy again but he doesn't even care.
it's distracting enough that he doesn't even take his shirt off. his position on the bed changes so that he's on his belly instead, a pillow pressed under his chest and curved with his body, chin pressing lightly into the end that sticks up from between his arms. with his hips turned, his legs are crossed one over the other, showing pale thighs and calves against a crimson coverlet.
as Aoba blatantly watches he chews his thumb idly, keeping his mouth entertained by working a cuticle between his teeth and tongue. there's no real need to say anything; even if he can't really eat him, or mark him like he still wants to, he can totally ogle. )
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or maybe the thrill he gets when Crowley says he's going to punish him for that move explains everything. a grin that shows teeth and Aoba's flushing again, cheeks and throat warmed, but it's not from any kind of embarrassment this time. he's called Crowley unfair at least a dozen times in his head in their past two meetings. unfair because he's attractive even when there's a flag of danger, unfair because he makes Aoba want to be greedy.
it could have easily toppled into having sex on the stairs if Crowley hadn't grabbed his wrist and made quick to their room. it's not a bad room, seems clean enough, and he actually has the moment to sweep it with his eyes because he's not being immediately manhandled. a little disappointing—is this his punishment? waiting the extra minute?
he huffs: )
Fine.
( ... though it's not much of a punishment when he's got view of Crowley peeling off his clothes. sitting on the edge of the bed, Aoba makes similar use of the time by tugging free his own belt and hooking his fingers into the waist of his jeans to shove them off. it's all done by touch alone because hell if he's gonna miss a second of Crowley stripping.
that's... that's a nice back. a really nice back. the kind that makes Aoba a little stupid as his gaze works along strong shoulders, handsome contours. damn boy, let him see those back dimples and the trail of spine, everything. maybe Crowley will tease him for being greedy again but he doesn't even care.
it's distracting enough that he doesn't even take his shirt off. his position on the bed changes so that he's on his belly instead, a pillow pressed under his chest and curved with his body, chin pressing lightly into the end that sticks up from between his arms. with his hips turned, his legs are crossed one over the other, showing pale thighs and calves against a crimson coverlet.
as Aoba blatantly watches he chews his thumb idly, keeping his mouth entertained by working a cuticle between his teeth and tongue. there's no real need to say anything; even if he can't really eat him, or mark him like he still wants to, he can totally ogle. )