( Aoba's mouth drops open to make a comment but then snaps shut when Crowley brings up the whole public angle. his heart can't handle something so obscene. so the man huffs, cheeks puffed for the moment that he shifts away to get the lube, wanting to grind against Crowley some more but not wanting to try his luck.
leaning over, he doesn't really notice Crowley making a makeshift blindfold out of that shirt; pawing through the draw, he raises his eyebrows at what he does find: condoms, lube, handcuffs, some strips of rope, and a hotel bible. something seems out of place.
rolling back over with the bottle of lube in his hand and cracking it open, his gaze finally falls on that wound up shirt. )
Hah? ( cheeks flushing again; the bottle pops with its unsealment, ) I know you said that, but...
( ... I thought you were just teasing is the end of that sentence, but he doesn't finish it. it's not like Crowley hasn't mentioned it before. there's mild conflict across his expression: yes, he wants to do something Crowley will be into.... but he also really wants to see him. how he moves. expressions. Aoba's nearly as visual as he is handsy.
and, if he's being honest, not having a visual is a little out of his comfort zone. but Crowley's is pushing his, right...? and as long as they're touching Aoba's nerves shouldn't be too bad, since there are other ways to find reassurance.
even so... it's a great deal of trust. )
.... .. Okay.
( so he takes that shirt into his hands, worrying its ends with his hands for a second as he stares down at it, nearly fidgeting. it's fine. quietly, he presses the fabric over his eyes, reaching back and knotting it tight. it serves its purpose well—rolled like this, it's not even a little see-through.
shifting again on the bed, one hand falls to the bottle of lube that he'd tucked between his knees so he could tie that knot. ) I can't— ( the other stretches out, reaching in the direction where he'd last seen Crowley, reaching: ) .... Come here?
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leaning over, he doesn't really notice Crowley making a makeshift blindfold out of that shirt; pawing through the draw, he raises his eyebrows at what he does find: condoms, lube, handcuffs, some strips of rope, and a hotel bible. something seems out of place.
rolling back over with the bottle of lube in his hand and cracking it open, his gaze finally falls on that wound up shirt. )
Hah? ( cheeks flushing again; the bottle pops with its unsealment, ) I know you said that, but...
( ... I thought you were just teasing is the end of that sentence, but he doesn't finish it. it's not like Crowley hasn't mentioned it before. there's mild conflict across his expression: yes, he wants to do something Crowley will be into.... but he also really wants to see him. how he moves. expressions. Aoba's nearly as visual as he is handsy.
and, if he's being honest, not having a visual is a little out of his comfort zone. but Crowley's is pushing his, right...? and as long as they're touching Aoba's nerves shouldn't be too bad, since there are other ways to find reassurance.
even so... it's a great deal of trust. )
.... .. Okay.
( so he takes that shirt into his hands, worrying its ends with his hands for a second as he stares down at it, nearly fidgeting. it's fine. quietly, he presses the fabric over his eyes, reaching back and knotting it tight. it serves its purpose well—rolled like this, it's not even a little see-through.
shifting again on the bed, one hand falls to the bottle of lube that he'd tucked between his knees so he could tie that knot. ) I can't— ( the other stretches out, reaching in the direction where he'd last seen Crowley, reaching: ) .... Come here?