Mesmerized, Crowley watched the firelight softly caress Ellie's gracious curves as she slid through the night, carelessly erotic. Forget being male or male-shaped. No one could have seen that dance and been unaffected. In Crowley's case, it manifested in his body as a coiled throbbing in his groin that matched the beat of the drums. Vaguely aware of being addressed, he looked at the white snake near his foot.
"No. I want to dance."
Feeling powerful and energetic, he stood, kicked off his shoes, tossed his jacket to the ground and loosened his tie before stepping close to the succubus and matching her rhythm with his own sinuous moves.*
Crowley hadn't been out dancing for a couple of years, but it wasn't the kind of thing that one forgot. He remembered the smoky nightclubs where he'd seduced so many young men and women by the simple sway of his body, inducing lust while siphoning his own tension away. It was really no coincidence that he'd usually gone dancing after he'd left the angel's shop. Memories of brushed fingers and wine soaked lips had been danced away until he was so exhausted that he could no longer dwell on them.
But for now, he moved seductively, twining his limbs with hers so that it was difficult to see in the dim light where one of them ended and the other began. Their hips undulated in close proximity, making it impossible for her not to notice his erection.
They were beautiful together and they knew it, long, lean shadows gliding through the velvet dark. As the drums sounded a quick staccato beat, Crowley smoothly sped up his movements, dancing with graceful abandon as he caught her short denim jacket and snaked it down her lithe arms, pinning them momentarily. Then he seized her tiny skirt, a mere strip of fabric, and held it firmly while spiraling her out wildly. As the skirt tore off, Crowley flicked it through the air, looping it around her gyrating waist and pulling her in close once again.
*Anyone who says that a demon moves like a white band on Soul Train never saw Crowley dance.
no subject
"No. I want to dance."
Feeling powerful and energetic, he stood, kicked off his shoes, tossed his jacket to the ground and loosened his tie before stepping close to the succubus and matching her rhythm with his own sinuous moves.*
Crowley hadn't been out dancing for a couple of years, but it wasn't the kind of thing that one forgot. He remembered the smoky nightclubs where he'd seduced so many young men and women by the simple sway of his body, inducing lust while siphoning his own tension away. It was really no coincidence that he'd usually gone dancing after he'd left the angel's shop. Memories of brushed fingers and wine soaked lips had been danced away until he was so exhausted that he could no longer dwell on them.
But for now, he moved seductively, twining his limbs with hers so that it was difficult to see in the dim light where one of them ended and the other began. Their hips undulated in close proximity, making it impossible for her not to notice his erection.
They were beautiful together and they knew it, long, lean shadows gliding through the velvet dark. As the drums sounded a quick staccato beat, Crowley smoothly sped up his movements, dancing with graceful abandon as he caught her short denim jacket and snaked it down her lithe arms, pinning them momentarily. Then he seized her tiny skirt, a mere strip of fabric, and held it firmly while spiraling her out wildly. As the skirt tore off, Crowley flicked it through the air, looping it around her gyrating waist and pulling her in close once again.
*Anyone who says that a demon moves like a white band on Soul Train never saw Crowley dance.