"Hgh-!" Aziraphale replies as Crowley lavishes attention on his neck, oh, oh goodness, yes. He shudders and whines so pitifully it's almost a sob, so completely unfettered, unforced, just tumbling out of him, drawn by sensation alone.
"I, I don't know," he gasps. "I don't bloody care. Oh, please keep doing that." He tilts his chin back to expose more of his throat, at the same time reinforcing his grip on Crowley's hair.
He wraps his legs around Crowley, holding him down as well as pulling himself up, and - they're still clothed, why on EARTH are they still clothed? These clothes are horrible! Mostly his suit. And Crowley's trousers, just by virtue of being aggressively in the way.
He could miracle the clothes away, of course, but he... he doesn't really want to.
Nor does he have the wherewithal or experience to successfully articulate 'I want you to violently rip my clothes off', so he settles for digging his fingers into Crowley's jacket and tugging hard and unforgivingly on the fabric.
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"I, I don't know," he gasps. "I don't bloody care. Oh, please keep doing that." He tilts his chin back to expose more of his throat, at the same time reinforcing his grip on Crowley's hair.
He wraps his legs around Crowley, holding him down as well as pulling himself up, and - they're still clothed, why on EARTH are they still clothed? These clothes are horrible! Mostly his suit. And Crowley's trousers, just by virtue of being aggressively in the way.
He could miracle the clothes away, of course, but he... he doesn't really want to.
Nor does he have the wherewithal or experience to successfully articulate 'I want you to violently rip my clothes off', so he settles for digging his fingers into Crowley's jacket and tugging hard and unforgivingly on the fabric.