[ Almost immediately a hand moves to the man's hip for support, quick to notice the drop in his position. Crowley holds him there, possessively, as if keeping him leveled was only for his own pleasurable gain--and for the most part it is. The last thing he needs is for Aoba to lose all the strength in his legs when they have yet to do more. But even if he did it's not like the inability to stand properly would really effect Crowley fucking the other man into the wall.
But what he wants begins to change, shifting elsewhere, and soon enough the number five seems like a far away goal that Crowley is too impatient to wait for. They're seriously two away and that's too much, even if it was something he craved for initially. ] Me too. [ A small murmur, thinking out loud, but he's not the slightest bit embarrassed when realizing what has slipped out of his mouth. It's the truth and he's an honest person, and once you've lived eight hundred years there's little to be embarrassed about.
The next scene is done in silence: using little strength, Crowley pushes Aoba to his side, hovering over and pulling on leather to release the human from its tight grasp. The belt makes a small sound as he tosses it over to the side, eyes flickering from the side of the bed to the man's wrists. Red, with marks of the restraints outlined against his skin, obviously irritated from attempting to free himself and just moving in general. There's no ping of sympathy, but he's careful when he brings fingers to brush against his skin.
Then he's interlocking fingers with the man below him and bringing his arm up, close enough so that he can tilt his head and press his lips against his wrists. Not admiring wounds he's inflicted, because he knows these hurt like hell, but treating them. Kinda. He'll treat them properly later.
And then he hesitates--Crowley never hesitates--fingers curling and gripping onto his hand tightly. This is... weird. Kinda new. A complete contrast from what he initially intended and that simple change in direction is so off that he's confused of what to say or do next. Perhaps that's obvious and Aoba can read right through his facade, because while his face remains neutral his eyes translate to something else. The sexual desire is still there, but behind that is a silent plea:
no subject
But what he wants begins to change, shifting elsewhere, and soon enough the number five seems like a far away goal that Crowley is too impatient to wait for. They're seriously two away and that's too much, even if it was something he craved for initially. ] Me too. [ A small murmur, thinking out loud, but he's not the slightest bit embarrassed when realizing what has slipped out of his mouth. It's the truth and he's an honest person, and once you've lived eight hundred years there's little to be embarrassed about.
The next scene is done in silence: using little strength, Crowley pushes Aoba to his side, hovering over and pulling on leather to release the human from its tight grasp. The belt makes a small sound as he tosses it over to the side, eyes flickering from the side of the bed to the man's wrists. Red, with marks of the restraints outlined against his skin, obviously irritated from attempting to free himself and just moving in general. There's no ping of sympathy, but he's careful when he brings fingers to brush against his skin.
Then he's interlocking fingers with the man below him and bringing his arm up, close enough so that he can tilt his head and press his lips against his wrists. Not admiring wounds he's inflicted, because he knows these hurt like hell, but treating them. Kinda. He'll treat them properly later.
And then he hesitates--Crowley never hesitates--fingers curling and gripping onto his hand tightly. This is... weird. Kinda new. A complete contrast from what he initially intended and that simple change in direction is so off that he's confused of what to say or do next. Perhaps that's obvious and Aoba can read right through his facade, because while his face remains neutral his eyes translate to something else. The sexual desire is still there, but behind that is a silent plea:
Please come here. ]