Michael does without the barest hint of hesitation, Need seeping into the way he immediately presses down into Adam's finger, and wraps his leg around Adam's waist. “More,” he begs, begs, into the kiss shameless and wanton, all his archangel pride forgotten in favour of this heat and electricity and pleasure.
Adam smiles against his lips – Michael imagines it's indulgent, it seems that way – and acquiesces sliding in another finger to join the first, and starting up a rhythm. Slow, and irregular, enough to be unpredictable and leave Michael gasping for what little breath he has left, which Adam seems intent on stealing too, while Adam's fingers search for that bundle of nerves that'll turn Michael into putty.
Adam's skin is slick with sweat, and he's warm, so very warm above Michael, and his lips are soft, and he's so hard against Michael's own erection whenever they touch with Adam's fingers thrusting into him. It's too much sensation to experience at once, with these muted human senses. But he knows Adam isn't done yet, and when Adam find his prostrate, Michael breaks the kiss, head thrown back against the pillow, too breathless to even moan. Adam laughs into the skin of his throat, as he keeps moving his fingers in and out of Michael, still achingly slow, but Michael doesn't mind because he can feel his release already creeping up on him.
Adam probably knows it too, because he takes them both in his hand, and starts stroking Michael in earnest. Fast and quick short strokes, and he's still laughing when Michael thrusts back up into his hand wildly. “You're beautiful like this,” Adam breathes out.
Michael doesn't believe it. Not when he looks at everything in hindsight. Not when his mortality is a mirror to how ugly he truly is. But when Adam says it, he thinks it might be true.
Adam crooks his fingers inside Michael, leaning in and pressing his lips to Michael's temple, and Michael forgets about everything except for Adam.
“Let go, Michael.” The words are whispered so softly, rasped into Michael's hair. It's the lowest he's ever heard Adam's voice go, and it has that undercurrent of authority again, the one that makes Michael sink into a daze and listen. “Come for me.”
Michael does, back arching into a high arch, garbled Enochian falling from his lips, as he does.
By the time he stops panting and comes down from the afterglow, Adam has pulled his fingers away, undone the binds, and the blindfold too. Adam is rubbing his fingers into where the binds have cut into his wrists and marked his skin, kissing them apologetically. Michael offers him a tired smile, watching Adam's lips intently with hooded eyes. Adam smirks when he notices.
“Round two?” he questions, quirking an amused eyebrow. Though, his fingers are already trailing over Michael's hips.
"Feel" 3/3 Supernatural: Adam/Michael [bondage, sensory deprivation, fingers, some more stuff?]
Adam smiles against his lips – Michael imagines it's indulgent, it seems that way – and acquiesces sliding in another finger to join the first, and starting up a rhythm. Slow, and irregular, enough to be unpredictable and leave Michael gasping for what little breath he has left, which Adam seems intent on stealing too, while Adam's fingers search for that bundle of nerves that'll turn Michael into putty.
Adam's skin is slick with sweat, and he's warm, so very warm above Michael, and his lips are soft, and he's so hard against Michael's own erection whenever they touch with Adam's fingers thrusting into him. It's too much sensation to experience at once, with these muted human senses. But he knows Adam isn't done yet, and when Adam find his prostrate, Michael breaks the kiss, head thrown back against the pillow, too breathless to even moan. Adam laughs into the skin of his throat, as he keeps moving his fingers in and out of Michael, still achingly slow, but Michael doesn't mind because he can feel his release already creeping up on him.
Adam probably knows it too, because he takes them both in his hand, and starts stroking Michael in earnest. Fast and quick short strokes, and he's still laughing when Michael thrusts back up into his hand wildly. “You're beautiful like this,” Adam breathes out.
Michael doesn't believe it. Not when he looks at everything in hindsight. Not when his mortality is a mirror to how ugly he truly is. But when Adam says it, he thinks it might be true.
Adam crooks his fingers inside Michael, leaning in and pressing his lips to Michael's temple, and Michael forgets about everything except for Adam.
“Let go, Michael.” The words are whispered so softly, rasped into Michael's hair. It's the lowest he's ever heard Adam's voice go, and it has that undercurrent of authority again, the one that makes Michael sink into a daze and listen. “Come for me.”
Michael does, back arching into a high arch, garbled Enochian falling from his lips, as he does.
By the time he stops panting and comes down from the afterglow, Adam has pulled his fingers away, undone the binds, and the blindfold too. Adam is rubbing his fingers into where the binds have cut into his wrists and marked his skin, kissing them apologetically. Michael offers him a tired smile, watching Adam's lips intently with hooded eyes. Adam smirks when he notices.
“Round two?” he questions, quirking an amused eyebrow. Though, his fingers are already trailing over Michael's hips.
Michael tugs him into a kiss an a reply.
/slinks off to die.