#;; & dyn. ♡ let's be sinners to be saints. ( loyaltylanced )

[hellceo]

you make it hard to focus. — flirty flirty ( accepting ) / @loyaltylanced

" And here I thought I was being so patient. " He glances over, a flick of a deliberate look down and back up, a smile that haunts. " I could make it a lot harder, trust me. "

[hellceo]

Oh, he's not going to waste that invitation. ❝ Yes, yes, would be a terrible tragedy. ❞ The trip to his knees is smooth as silk, fingers deft and sure as anything, and breaking eye contact when he’s looking at him like that would just be criminal. Nothing at all to do with the fact that the grace burning in that look is enough to make him feel like he’s on fire. 

❝ Don’t worry, darling. If it helps, I’ll make sure to catch every drop of everything you spill. ❞

-- Ah, the eternal conundrum. A glance to the half finished rune on the floor, everything left on the table; a vague nod down, and his voice is gruff, though there's no bite.

" If you make me spill a drop of grace before I have to, I swear -- "

[hellceo]

“My brother is being shady. He’s being nice to me.” — shit i heard at college ( accepting ) / @loyaltylanced

" Darling, you have more brothers and sisters than I can possibly even begin to count. You're going to have to be more specific. " Though: he has a sinking suspicion, and it makes the back of his mouth sour. It's not fear, because of course it's not. The King of Hell doesn't feel such things. " Does he want something? "

[hellceo]

“You are so determined to blame yourself.” — dead silence ( accepting ) 

It's been simmering under the surface since he got here: this anger, this hurt, this —— nasty bite of everything that simmers under the surface. " And, what, you are saying I — shouldn't? " His gaze flits to @loyaltylanced, quick and not quite unlike some cornered animal. There's something that wars close to the surface, but whatever it is retreats — probably wisely — before surfacing.

His breath seizes in his chest, and it's —— dizzying, almost. It's a raw feeling, panic and guilt and swirling anger and hurt and what the Hell is it? Demons aren't supposed to ——

They aren't supposed to do a lot of things he does, not really.

The drink he was pouring falls out of numb fingers, crashes with breaking glass on the floor. His fingers are shaking; they curl together, so tight knuckles are white. " He's going to die. He went back, he's going to get on that bloody fucking ship, and I couldn't stop him because my own mother hates me so fucking much, and it's not my fault? " He hisses out a sharp breath, letting this —— pointless, simmering, lashing anger take over because it's safer than that burning grief. " It's my son. And I couldn't save him. Yes. It's my bloody fault. "

[hellceo]

❛ i’d be yours, if you asked. ❜ — sentences for ships ( accepting ) / @loyaltylanced

It's strange, isn't it: this vast gulf of missing experience that someone like him can have. The word yours carries a foreign note to it — foreign, wonderful, terrifying, and he wants to grab onto it like a lifeline. Yes, yes, yes —— " Well then, " he says, all too calmly, rough grit in his voice the only betrayal of nerves, winding their fingers together. " I'm asking. "

[hellceo]

“I told you I wanted you to know me. You can ask me anything you want.” — beach reach ( accepting ) / @loyaltylanced

It's curious, the little tilt of his chin. " You —— know what I am. You know what I've done. You —— " And he juts his chin up, looking up at him with a flicker of those blood-red eyes. It's almost something of a challenge, a press at the pulse of whatever this thing they've been building is. " See me, " and then he blinks that away, the lingering flood of something cold and uncomfortably feral chewing at the underside of his nerves. " For what I am. So why —— "

And this wouldn't be a question that would have even bothered him before, even been a thought, and yet —— it's clotted and sour on the back of his tongue, but this newly awakened soul business does a number, " does the prince of Heaven take something like me into his heart? "

[hellceo]

[ THUMB ] — smoochies ( accepting ) / @loyaltylanced

HE'S NOT USED TO GENTLE, NOT REALLY. It's fascinating, how collected he can remain when things get hot and heavy, but how swiftly little things like this can undo him: the way Michael looks at him, the way he touches sometimes. The way just a simple thing like a thumb trailing over his lip can make him feel weak in the knees ——

That hand starts to pull away, a promise of being chased by a kiss — though he stops it, reaches up and catches the hand before it can fall. " I should hate what you do to me, " he utters, husky, rough. " But I just want more of it. " And, without breaking eye contact, he draws that thumb into his mouth, a sinful kind of thing — a little drag of teeth before he lets it pull free. And then the kiss is right there, and so he takes it: heated, wanting, deep.

[hellceo]

@loyaltylanced — cont.

Crowley hasn’t felt something stirring like wonder in longer than he can remember, and wouldn’t be able to put name to the emotion now if he tried, but it lingers regardless. ❝ Mm, ❞ he agrees without so many words, fingers dragging through ink-black feathers. ❝ More than you know. ❞ 

It’s a gentle touch, and he knows by now where the most sensitive places are. And he doesn’t abuse this knowledge, not really, though he doesn’t neglect it, either. He leans in, just enough to murmur low: ❝ They are wondrous. Just like you. Though: I don't think fun is quite the right word. ❞ He considers, fingers brushing through where they meet together. ❝ I would call it more — appreciation. ❞ 

[hellceo]

@loyaltylanced — cont.

❝ The point is, ❞ and his fingers fold neatly together, ❝ that was also when your absence was — abrupt. Unplanned. They didn't know when, if you'd be back. Of course they lost their bloody marbles. ❞ His brows raise, marginally. ❝ You plan. You delegate. You leave people, and for those people, you leave people. Trust me. How do you think I managed to keep a legion of black-eyed bastards from eating my liver for breakfast? ❞

He leans back, splaying his hands in open invitation. ❝ Michael. Let me help you. I'm perfectly fine being the trophy wife up here, you know, but I do happen to know a thing or two about management. ❞

[hellceo]

let me get a good look at you. — flirty flirty ( accepting ) / @loyaltylanced

There's a scarce tilt of his chin, and it's hard for even angels to read. His poker face is, after all, legendary. " A good look, " he echoes, softly, probingly, that smile curling. " You, who I think could see parts of me I didn't know existed. "

He mulls that over, and — they've seen each other bare, countless times, but that's — it's not them, this physical self. Sure, it's an expression, and physical sensation is undeniably wonderful, but, well. Neither one of them are showing their true selves. And so: his palm presses against Michael's chest, and his fingers are warm; he leans in as though to kiss him, but stops short.

He doesn't do it often, because especially with the state of his soul — the fact he even has one — letting his true self loose feels like loosening the leash on a raging dog. The crimson eyes, that roiling surge of power that is little to an archangel, sure, but for a demon? " Or do you mean this, darling? "

[hellceo]

@loyaltylanced — cont.

It's amazing, really, just how swiftly his mouth goes dry. " Yes. " He clears his throat, roughly. " Yes, that, " he says, pointedly, though with a gleam in his eye that says he loves every part of it, " You bloody menace. "

[hellceo]

❛ how about a kiss goodnight? ❜ — dialogue prompts ( accepting ) / @loyaltylanced

" Does it really count as goodnight if neither of us really needs to sleep? " He leans in, though, and that smile transfers into a lingering kiss that he tugs him lightly into. " Don't suppose you could stay. "

[hellceo]

❛ What in the name of all the tender mercies happened to you? ❜ / @loyaltylanced

The highest ranking demon in Hell, the King of Hell in all his noble glory, comes in here dripping some kind of foul ichor, and there's the reek of some magical backlash. Witchcraft isn't pretty, and when it goes wrong, there's all kinds of ... repercussions. Especially when he's trying to replicate something he only watched his mother — a much, much more powerful witch than he — do.

His eyes snap up. " Do your magic snap-fingers-cleaning-business or I swear to every feather on your fine holy behind that I will hug you. " And it —— probably would be hilarious if he didn't look so stressed about it. His teeth grit. " Please. "

[hellceo]

a kiss against the neck which feels more like a bite,  teeth bruising skin — kiss prompts ( accepting ) / @loyaltylanced

It stings enough to steal breath from his lungs — somehow feeling both eager and possessive, wanting and claiming, and it makes him weak in the knees. His fingers curl 'round Michael's waistband, roughly pull him closer —— close, so close, not even air can easily fit between them. He can breathe him in, feel his warmth, feel the ghostly whisper of his wings. It's addicting. It's comforting.

" You going to mark me up, make me yours? " He grins: hazy, challenging both. " I'll wear any marks you give me with pride, darling. "

[hellceo]

i'm never letting you go. / softly and with feeling — i thought you were dead ( accepting ) / @loyaltylanced

Sentimentality is a strange animal, and not one he's used to. It feels — good, in parts, and also simultaneously so painful it feels like something deep in him is being squeezed. " I can think of some ways that will get awkward, " he says, because levity is easier — though it's tight and thick in his throat, unsteady.

He swallows, and lets himself be pulled in. Allowing himself that comfort is rare, but it's nice. " I'm —— " An apology hangs on the tip of his tongue; his fingers wrap in Michael's shirt. " I had to clean up my bloody mess. You — " He sucks in a breath through his teeth. " I'm —— " God, why is this hard? It's through gritted teeth. " —— sorry. "

[hellceo]

❛ Say it like that and you can get me to do anything. ❜ — penny dreadful ( accepting ) / @loyaltylanced

" Is that so? " Oh, it's deliberate. Each word tipped off his tongue like sin itself, thumb tracing a hem in Michael's shirt. " Say it like what, my prince? My —— " And he finds skin, just barely. " Beautiful, beautiful prince, my —— " Tongue tchs off the roof of his mouth, " blindingly powerful angel? Say, " and fingers find Michael's hand, twining fingers together, drawing them up, " it like what? "