Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

[questionablewit]

Want to tag someone? Tag someone. Put the character you want in the subject line.
Leave a starter, or leave a prompt and I'll start.
Brilliant ideas and clueless flailing all welcome.
AUs and cross-canon, drama and comedy and shipping.
Just throw stuff at me. It's all good.

Comments

[takesnoshit]

If she gasps when he suddenly grabs and pulls her into a tight embrace, when their mouths crash against each other, it is soon forgotten in a tangle of like behavior. She keeps her hands framing his face, then buries them in his hair, returning every kiss as fervently. They have never held each other thus. They have never held each other at all. "Caranthir, Caranthir--" She almost sobs into his mouth, shaken by relief more than she is ever shaken by any fear or anger. "I missed thee. I am so sorry."

[grumpycatanthir]

There's no passion - or at least, nothing sexual. Only the gasping desperation of being able to hold what has been so long been denied.

[takesnoshit]

The intensity has nothing to do with arousal, but everything to do with fulfillment. Here, finally here, in the place she has wanted so much and had denied herself, with her arms around Caranthir and his around her. Here where she can press him close, hear him breathe. She kisses him again and again, his mouth and face, eyelids, forehead.

After that initial storm has passed she still holds him, as tightly as she may, his face buried in the crook of her neck and hers in his hair. Nothing more is needed, for Haleth.

[grumpycatanthir]

They are both weeping, as much of frustration as relief, and as the storm fades he holds her and just... breathes.

"I forgive thee. I missed thee, I love thee."

[takesnoshit]

A dam broken indeed; Haleth's face is wet with both their tears, and her desperate kisses and caresses were as much grief as anything else. They are both quieter now, but she still holds him as though he might disappear. "I am sorry." There is no counting how many times she has said it now. "I love you. I always loved you. I am sorry."

[grumpycatanthir]

He kisses her softly, still clinging close.

"Forgive me for not pursuing."

[takesnoshit]

"No." She rests her forehead against his, feels his breath on her face. "No, that would not have answered. I would only have been more stubborn, however I missed you and wished for you. Perhaps Canien was brought here on purpose indeed, to show me my error and the possibilities I had set aside. Perhaps we needed some intervention." She kisses him again. "Whatever the reason, I am glad of it, as much for this as because I now know her."

[grumpycatanthir]

"To show us both." He corrects, leaning against her and trying just to breathe without sobbing.

"I will forever be grateful to her for this moment."

[takesnoshit]

His face is still wet with tears, and she kisses the salt on his cheek, kisses his eyes, strokes his hair. It was rare that they touched before, but now that permission has been granted on both sides it seems neither can have enough. There is much more that needs to be said, years' worth, but for now she holds him once more in silence, caressing him until his breathing settles.

[grumpycatanthir]

His cheeks are blotchy and red, but hers are probably not that much better, as he curls against her and kisses her hands in gratitude and love, tending to both palms and wrists.

[takesnoshit]

Caranthir Red-faced for a new reason, she thinks, watching as he bestows gentle kisses on her hands, fingers, palms, wrists. In other circumstances it would be erotic. Right now it feels like either prayer or benediction, or both. Haleth leans her head against his, closing her eyes as his breath caresses her hands.

[grumpycatanthir]

Later, perhaps, once the storm of emotion has passed, Caranthir will look back and be embarrassed. But right now it is enough to simply be allowed this, to hold and be held.

"Thank you."

[takesnoshit]

She shakes her head a little, twists her hand in his grasp so she may take it in turn, place a kiss in his palm. "Those words are mine." She tilts her face up to his and takes another kiss from his mouth. She almost aches with emotion, the release of tension she had not realized was there, with grief and love both.

Haleth sighs, leans her head against his shoulder. The storm is passing, but in its wake is exhaustion. "It is late," she says quietly. "Did you ride alone, or have you an encampment nearby?"

[grumpycatanthir]

He shakes his head.

"I came alone. My guard I left some miles away." With much yelling, true, but he wanted to be alone with Haleth... or without her, if it came to that.

[takesnoshit]

"Then stay," she says at once, twining their fingers together. "Share my camp with me for tonight. Having you here, like this--" She sighs, nestles closer against him. "I do not wish to let go yet, even if it is only for a few hours while we sleep. Stay with me."

[grumpycatanthir]

He nods, tangling their fingers together and drawing her close.

"With good will." He says tiredly, the storm of emotion now mostly passed. "The night is passing, but there are yet many hours til daylight."

[takesnoshit]

She sighs silently with her relief, letting him pull and keep her close for a while longer.

But there are things that need to be done before they may sleep, so eventually she sighs again, pulling herself out of his embrace and getting to her feet, using their still-joined hands to pull him up as well. They have not released each others' hands for...she has no idea how long. They might have sat here for minutes or hours or months, and it is not long enough. But she is exhausted.

[grumpycatanthir]

He climbs to his feet with equal weariness - the storm of emotions is draining, and the relief that comes after is welcome, but the ground is hard and... he wants to keep holding her.

"Where did you set up camp?"

[takesnoshit]

She shrugs. "Here. There is little to set up. I have a tent in my saddlebags, but had no thought of using it unless it grew colder, or the weather unfortunate." Which it has not. The night is cool, but calm. "I can fetch it if you wish."

[grumpycatanthir]

He considers and then shakes his head.

"The weather does not look to be taking a turn for the worse. If you do not mind, we can simply lie down by the fire."

[sohoangel]

After a text conversation that revealed a few too many things about Aziraphale than he intended, the angel finds himself at the same sushi restaurant-slash-karaoke bar, only this time he has Crowley for company.

The chef, already on a first name (or one name, in this case) basis with Aziraphale, has a bottle of sake brought to the table, along with a variety of his signature rolls. At the other end of the bar, the karaoke machine is occupied by a group of young women happily belting out "I Will Survive". The restaurant is lit up in cool neon colors, at odds with Aziraphale's usual appearance, although no one pays attention to that except perhaps the angel himself, who is feeling oddly self-conscious in Crowley's company.

"Well," he says, after a long sip of sake. "You wanted to ask me about the dancing?"

[duckshaveears]

It's a mix of very familiar and very surreal. The sushi and sake, and the fact that Aziraphale is already on intimate terms with the chef, that's per usual for their evenings out.

The lighting is less usual, however, and the background music is definitely new. The intention of their taking part in the background music later on? Past new and into straight out borderline inconceivable territory. Tread carefully. Here There Be Dragons. All that.

It's probable that this is a terrible idea, but Crowley is nothing if not curious and devil-may-care (unavoidably), and this story will hopefully be worth any price he might pay later. "I absolutely do," he says, taking his chopsticks in hand and adding a generous portion of wasabi (the proper, real thing, none of this horseradish nonsense, no wonder Aziraphale liked this place) to his soy sauce. "Talk. What gentleman's club, where, when, and especially what dancing?"

[sohoangel]

Aziraphale, by contrast, does not touch his food, other than to fuss with the chopsticks a little. He feels strangely guilty for not having told Crowley about his dancing before, although technically Crowley never asked, and what does it matter, anyway, if he's the only angel who knows how to dance, on the head of a pin or otherwise?

And yet, he feels that guilt, as well as a nervous anticipation of sorts in revealing this bit of his past. It's a period of time that they never talk about, those years bracketed by Crowley's request for holy water (and ensuing fight) and the rescue in the church. A time apart, when Crowley was asleep or otherwise occupied, and Aziraphale filled the time as best he could without Crowley to keep him company.

"It was the Hundred Guineas Club," he finally answers, pushing past his discomfort. "The one in Portland Place, during the 1880s. The gentlemen there convinced me to learn the gavotte, and since it was a very discreet club and I had an unprecedented amount of time on my hands, I thought I'd give it a try." His mouth turns up into a small smile, as if he can't help himself. "Turns out I'm a natural."

for anathematics, let me know if editing needed. =)

[theniceone]

It's been a lovely outing, all things considered. It was Adam's idea originally--far as Aziraphale can sense the boy is wholly, simply human now, but the angel has some suspicions to the contrary. He keeps those to himself, because he chooses to trust Adam's judgement.

But it has been pleasant, getting them all together to celebrate a few weeks after the fact. Himself and Crowley, Adam and the Them, Anathema and Newt, even Marjorie and Shadwell, all having a picnic. No one's said why, not directly. Wensleydale had suggested a toast (with his Ribena), and all of them had toasted any number of things, including cheese sandwiches, giant squid, clouds, those googly-eyes that were so useful for sticking on things to make them look silly), and he'd rather lost track of them all after that.

To the world Crowley had said, back at the Ritz. To Aziraphale, that summed it up perfectly, and it feels like what they were all celebrating.

Crowley, however much he might protest later, is having a whale of a time entertaining and being entertained by Them--hardly surprising given what a devilish streak they all have. Aziraphale watches them run and beams with contentment. Shadwell is taking advantage of an opportunity to talk to (for a value of talk that equals bellowing) his former private, with Marjorie looking on in fond indulgence, and Anathema...

...is joining Aziraphale on the picnic blanket! How nice. He smiles up at her. "Do join me, my dear." He holds up the plate on his lap, which still has a few petit fours remaining. "Cake?"

Yup, in my headcanon Crowley was asleep from 1863-1926, busy 1926-1941. =) Ish.

[duckshaveears]

Crowley almost spits out his sake.

"You were in the fucking Hundred Guineas Club?" Because ohhh, the club might have been discreet at the time, but it's the stuff of legends now. Crowley looks torn halfway between flabbergasted and delighted. "With Prince Albert Victor and Oscar Wilde and all of them? Are you serious?"