( a gasped out word when Crowley does that, lifting his hips and then grinding back down, slowly, sending pleasure ribboning through his body. oh. crap, that's... that's good. he's squeezed in just the right way, the movement easy with the lube.
and then he's called cute and he flushes, biting back a whimper. cute's all right, but... he wants Crowley to think he's... hot? sexy? handsome... things like that, maybe. the reactions that are deemed cute he can't hold back, however, arching his back again and squirming, pushing his heels down into the mattress. it feels good. even if the slow movement feels like it's pulling the breath right out of his lungs, it feels great.
moving his hand still, Aoba finally manages to huff out, )
... Nnh. I want to see—what kind of faces you'll make...
( he doesn't try and remove the blindfold though. twisting his wrist, keeping with the slow rhythm he's been working with, he pushes his hips up in another slow, more deliberate roll. wanting to reach the deepest point of that heat, but... he doesn't think he can, in this position.
panting, chest rising and falling with labor, Aoba rubs his lips together and does it again. still slow, just like he wanted, appreciating the way Crowley feels. the hand at Crowley's hip falls away and fists into the sheets, fingers desperate to clench and grab at something. )
no subject
( a gasped out word when Crowley does that, lifting his hips and then grinding back down, slowly, sending pleasure ribboning through his body. oh. crap, that's... that's good. he's squeezed in just the right way, the movement easy with the lube.
and then he's called cute and he flushes, biting back a whimper. cute's all right, but... he wants Crowley to think he's... hot? sexy? handsome... things like that, maybe. the reactions that are deemed cute he can't hold back, however, arching his back again and squirming, pushing his heels down into the mattress. it feels good. even if the slow movement feels like it's pulling the breath right out of his lungs, it feels great.
moving his hand still, Aoba finally manages to huff out, )
... Nnh. I want to see—what kind of faces you'll make...
( he doesn't try and remove the blindfold though. twisting his wrist, keeping with the slow rhythm he's been working with, he pushes his hips up in another slow, more deliberate roll. wanting to reach the deepest point of that heat, but... he doesn't think he can, in this position.
panting, chest rising and falling with labor, Aoba rubs his lips together and does it again. still slow, just like he wanted, appreciating the way Crowley feels. the hand at Crowley's hip falls away and fists into the sheets, fingers desperate to clench and grab at something. )
Feels... really good.