Two lovers that aren't meant to be together. Two lovers against the world. How many stories like that has he read over the centuries? He's entirely lost count. But there's something so stereotypically sweet about that. Such a clichรฉ, overall, but the kind that even the most critical minds often fall into a appreciating, even if only secretly.
His breathes are muffled by his fingers, and his legs are tense and somewhat restless, the warm sensation of Crowley's mouth around him making him shudder and grip his free hand on the covers. More muffled breaths, face flushed and bright, and he opens his eyes slightly to look down at the demon.
He's losing track of where the physical sensations end and the emotional ones begin, the feelings they're sharing, as they're threatening to blend in together. Would that be so bad? Certainly not, but he's trying to keep up.
There's a vibration to the feelings he shares, a gentle buzzing now. He tries to share...stories. No specific ones, just the enjoyment of adventures and dramas and romances within your mind. The exhilarating feeling of endless possibility in nothing but sound from something or symbols on a surface, no need for magic. The idea of art and creation. The excitement in things that just are. Perhaps not quite as exciting as what Crowley shares, but he may be excused for being somewhat distracted.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2019-09-23 11:17 pm (UTC)His breathes are muffled by his fingers, and his legs are tense and somewhat restless, the warm sensation of Crowley's mouth around him making him shudder and grip his free hand on the covers. More muffled breaths, face flushed and bright, and he opens his eyes slightly to look down at the demon.
He's losing track of where the physical sensations end and the emotional ones begin, the feelings they're sharing, as they're threatening to blend in together. Would that be so bad? Certainly not, but he's trying to keep up.
There's a vibration to the feelings he shares, a gentle buzzing now. He tries to share...stories. No specific ones, just the enjoyment of adventures and dramas and romances within your mind. The exhilarating feeling of endless possibility in nothing but sound from something or symbols on a surface, no need for magic. The idea of art and creation. The excitement in things that just are. Perhaps not quite as exciting as what Crowley shares, but he may be excused for being somewhat distracted.