Work Text:
Crowley’s eyes flutter shut and he pictures that it’s Aziraphale’s hand in his hair. Imagines that Aziraphale is there with him, touching his curls and his chest. Crowley drags his fingers through the downy hair smattering his chest, then continues down, grazing over the slightly concave curve of his stomach and past his belly button. Stopping at the elastic waistband of his boxers— designer, of course, versace, and the only clothing he still has on— fingers dipping beneath the fabric but not yet committing. Teasing.
He lets out a shuddery breath, eyelids fluttering against his cheek.
Crowley doesn’t give in to the aching desire to make that commitment yet. Instead he pulls his fingers from the waistband and lets his hand float back up his body to settle against his chest once more.
He pinches a nipple. Rolls it between his fingers. Stutters out another hot breath. His hips twitch.
Aziraphale’s name sits hot and heavy on the back of his tongue.
Many thanks to MacksDramaticShenanigans for their most enthusiastic and wholehearted permission to podfic this lovely story.
Music: Soho Sleaze by Chris Warner
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