faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

Maybe fifteen.

[The bathtub is bigger on the inside, of course, and graciously makes space to accommodate the pair of them. Crowley wraps his arms around Aziraphale from behind and makes a small, blissful noise as they relax against each other. He nuzzles softly at the curls of Aziraphale's hair, the space behind his ear.]

Maybe longer. This is perfect. Got you right where I want you for a while.

[It's barely a matter of seconds before he's melting happily into Crowley's arms--the angel rubs his nose gently against the soft thin skin behind one of Aziraphale's ears, and it has roughly the same effect on him that Crowley's excellent cat-petting skills have on his feline form. Which is probably cheating, and he would bring it up, but he's extremely comfortable as he is just now.]

What, at your mercy? [The tease is soft and drawling, almost drowsy, and there's no heat in it at all.] S'a nice place to be.

Should hope so. 'm an angel, after all.

[A small kiss there, behind the ear, and then they just sit there for a while, soaking in the hot water and each other's presence. It still delights Crowley how easy it is now, how natural. It took a long time to get to this point, and it was worth every minute. The moments like this are worth everything.

After some interminate number of minutes he sighs and moves a little, unwraps his arms and palms Aziraphale's chest, his arms.]

Should get you clean, though. Soap you up.

[Another kiss behind the ear suggests that there may be some ulterior motives involved. Aziraphale might be the more experienced lecher bur Crowley took to it like a duck to...to...to whatever it is ducks take to.]

Comfort isn't a thing demons do, or get, so Crowley at least can definitively say: no, no he never experienced comfort like this before Aziraphale, never. It was completely foreign to his experience. Still is, in many ways. There are reasons why he was so quick to believe the worst and despair on the train, and they have to do with tens of thousands of years of conditioning. There's no comfort for a demon, no forgiveness, no salvation, no anything.

No softness, no love--but those he allows himself, now, those he's taught himself to accept. It wasn't easy. But he needed them so badly. Needed Aziraphale that badly.

A lot in common, you and me, Crowley had once said, and not least of those was how damn alone they were, in different ways. But not anymore.

There's another thing countless time in Hell teaches you, and it's to savor the good things while you have them, before they're taken away. So Crowley finds it easier than Aziraphale does to push recent events aside and just be here, now, his angel in his arms and both of them where they should be, where they want to be. Everything else can wait. He's still upset, yeah, and scared. All those things. But they'll keep.

So he kisses Aziraphale long and slow, using this other language they speak to say all the things that words don't convey as well:

I'm here. We're both here. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Crowley closes his eyes, writing everything about this into his memory: Aziraphale's trembling body, the painful grip on his hair, the breathless needy compliments. The complete lack of any inhibitions. No fetters, not on either of them, not of any sort, and Crowley groans his pleasure at the thought, and the wild shameless way Aziraphale takes him at his word and fucks his mouth.

His hands go to Aziraphale's hips, not to hold him down but just to hold on, to grip. His mouth is loose and wet, and he alternates between swiping with his tongue at the end of each withdrawl or sucking hard. He groans again, and every noise he makes says yes, I love this, I love you, don't stop.

I love you. He echoes, in that other language, in that other place. I love you, and that will never change. I love you, and I'll do anything to stay by your side.

He'd proven that already. It didn't take much thought then, which is possibly why it's catching up with him now. Something with less severe and lasting consequences would have most certainly been ignored for whatever immediate positive or negative consequences arised in the moment, but not something like this. Something with its own web of meanings and significances that bite away at him in the quiet. If he lets them trick his mind into believe that he is or will be alone, he's not sure he's strong enough to fight it. But he's not alone. Could never be alone, not anymore.

He'd always held out some faith. Still does, in some ways, even for those that may wish them harm. It's a complicated subject, reserved for times when the conversations are long and the mood is near silent, filled with words to never be uttered out loud again. But there's nothing, no one, that he holds more belief for and confidence in than his beloved.

So he would do it again. He would defy them again. He would step away again. Nothing could ever give him anything near what Crowley gave him of the pure love in his heart.

Eventually, he breaks their kiss, gingerly, resting his forehead against the demon's. His eyes are closed, and his thumb brushes against the side of Crowley's jaw. He sniffs, and there is a subtle tear, much like when they couldn't reach through the barrier between them.

We're here., another echo, for the both of them.

[Aziraphale lets out a soft rumbling noise, arching slightly under those gorgeous long hands, languid and warm and perfectly contented.]

Mrr--you're intending to work me up into a lather, aren't you. [A warm, broad smile blooms across his face.] Do your worst. Or your best, I suppose.

Good Lord, Crowley's mouth. How does the demon know exactly what to do to make Aziraphale moan with every thrust and succumb to wave after wave of hot pleasure. Is it instinct? Or has he fantasized about this for so long that he's bound to get it right?

It doesn't matter. It feels so blessedly good, Crowley groaning with want, his hands holding onto Aziraphale's hips, so open and giving. The angel doesn't hold back, but he doesn't give more than Crowley can take, he makes sure of that.

The litany of praise starts up again, a sweet contrast to the demanding pace of his hips. But all too soon, he feels his climax building, and his words dissolve into a near frantic whine. And then, suddenly:

"Crowley! Crowley, wait --" He pulls tight on Crowley's hair, pulls him off his cock and up towards his lips for a desperate kiss. "Please, I want --" He fumbles with Crowley's hips, trying to align them like earlier, their arousals caught between them. "Can we -- that is, can we climax together?"

Crowley's groan turns to frustration as he's pulled up, but he goes without a struggle, kisses just as desperately. It takes a moment for the words to penetrate his lust-addled brain, but his arousal spikes again once they do.

"Yeah--" He swallows, breathing hard. He slides off of Aziraphale, lays next to him, pulls the angel to face him. Then he wraps his long fingers around both their cocks together. "Like this?" He hisses a little, because fuck, it does feel good, their cocks pressed together, hard and hot. "Your hand too, angel, both of us--"

[The mrr earns a chuckle and another kiss. Crowley loves making Aziraphale purr, whatever form he's in.]

Can't get you clean if you're not properly soaped up.

[His hands wander, one of them drifting suggestively downwards on Aziraphale's belly, low enough to tease.]

...or improperly soaped up. That'd do.

[First he needs soap, though, so Crowley reaches behind him and snags the bottle so conveniently left there earlier. Unfortunately he needs both hands to get it open, to rub the gel between his hands and work up the foam.]

Lean forward for me?

Somewhere else Crowley and Aziraphale are still entwined so tightly that it's impossible for them to be closer; here, Crowley's arms tighten. He can almost hear Aziraphale's thoughts racing, the doubts and sureties chasing each other in restless circles. He's always been able to tell when Aziraphale was doing that. Taken advantage of it on countless occasions too, teasing out temptations and arguments to coax the angel into doing what Crowley wanted. What Aziraphale wants too, in truth; on the few occasions when Aziraphale legitimately did not want to do a thing there'd be no convincing him. Under all those layers of softness the angel is made of adamantine.

Crowley's always been comforted by that. It's been frustrating as Heaven sometimes, sure, but also comforting, to know there are limits to how much he can manipulate Aziraphale.

It's not always about temptation, however. Sometimes it's another way of offering comfort, finding the tangled knots of Aziraphale's emotions and soothing them until they straighten and calm. Crowley's a Hell creature, but he's also a snake. He can do calm. He can be still and wait, entwine and hold. He can be patient.

Their foreheads rest together quietly, and Crowley just listens to the sound of their breathing. In, out, aligned and in tandem, as happens when two people are so close. When he scents salt-water he gently kisses the tear away, not even needing to open his eyes to see where it is. Other soft kisses to Aziraphale's face follow, his cheek, his eyelids.

Aziraphale whines softly when Crowley slides off of him, but quickly he catches on, letting himself be rolled to the side and gasping when Crowley wraps his hand around both their erections. So clever, such a sharp, brilliant way to come together. "Yes, yes," he says hoarsely, wrapping his hand around Crowley's. "Just like this."

He follows Crowley's lead effortlessly, hands moving in sync. It's hard and hot and slick, and even better, he can suck at Crowley's neck, plant sloppy kisses on his jaw, can look his gorgeous demon right in the eyes when they tip over the edge together.

"I love you," he chants in a near whisper, legs tangling with Crowley's, drawing him in. "I'm close, I'm so close, I love you I love you I love you."

[His breath hisses in quietly at that teasing touch; he nearly groans when Crowley takes both hands off him altogether to reach for the soap. But he does as he's asked, with only a brief glance over his shoulder, presenting the scarred and marker-splotched expanse of his back.]

He didn't attempt to draw anything on me, did he? Write his name anywhere?

Both their cocks are wet with saliva, and it's easy, so blessed easy to slide his hand over them. Crowley juts his hips up, thrusting into did fist, feels Aziraphale's cock pressed against his, and fuck he's closer than he thought he was and every whimper or touch of Aziraphale's mouth just pushed him closer. Pushes both of them closer.

"With me, angel." It's more breath than words. There's sweat pooled in the small of his back, teasing down his forehead, he's so close. "Angel, angel, come with me, come for me--fuck, I'm--angel--"

It's a warning, that last one, because he's trying to hold back until Aziraphale is there too but he can't much longer. His toes curl, press against Aziraphale's leg. "Love you--ah, ah, angel--!" he gasps, and then it's a long drawn-out moan as he's caught by rapture, shuddering as it rushes through him, his hand still moving and stroking them through it.

Hard to say. There's a bit here that might be a backwards Z.

[He runs a soapy finger over the letter, then scrubs at it more firmly, watching with interest as the soap suds turn pale blue.]

A few random lines and arcs...this bit actually says "hedgehog" in ancient Oggham, but that's probably coincidence.

[He rubs at all the marks, which fortunately come off easily, then leans forward again so he can reach the ones on Aziraphale's chest and eventually legs, kissing the demon's neck again in passing.]

The one on your thigh there looks like a bit like a rabbit.

[He chuckles at the hedgehog bit--Warlock may be the Antichrist, but Aziraphale knows he doesn't have much aptitude for ancient signs and symbols. At least not yet. And when Crowley points it out he does glance down at the mark on his thigh.]

It does, a little. Or those could be demonic horns instead of floppy ears. Hard to tell.

[For a moment he's quiet, considering.]

Didn't really think I'd ever do this again, you know. The whole child-rearing bit, I mean.

[Crowley's hands pause for the faintest second, out of surprise. It's very, very rare for Aziraphale to bring up his previous stint at child-rearing.]

I know.

[He does stop then, just wraps his arms and legs around his demon, enfolding him.]

And you didn't even have to put up with things like markers the first time. Though I don't doubt he found other mischief to do. Had a right knack for it.

[Crowley loved you then as he loves you now, Aziraphale, but there's no denying Lancelot was one endless headache for him.]

[Aziraphale relaxes back into the hug, letting himself be wrapped and comforted. They haven't talked much about Lancelot--for a long time Camelot on the whole has been a bit of a sore subject. But now the sharpest of the pain those memories carried has been softened by time, and Aziraphale finds he can think about the good times more easily.]

He really did. Wiled me into letting him keep a fox kit he found in the woods when he was six, did I ever tell you?

[Which was how he learned it's possible to both be extremely proud of someone and deeply annoyed with them at the same time.]

[Camelot was a difficult, complicated time, for many of reasons. But there are some sweet memories associated with it, also, and after the amount of time that's passed Crowley can bring those to the forefront while letting other things go. He turns his head, not kissing Aziraphale's neck again so much as just resting his nose and mouth against his skin.]

You didn't, but it doesn't surprise me. Most kids seem to do something of the sort sooner or later. And you can hardly be surprised he picked up your penchant for wiling.

[Aziraphale lifts a hand to cover one of Crowley's where it rests on his chest; his smile is fond, his voice a soft murmur.]

I have to admit I didn't expect him to be quite as good at it as he was. And he did actually manage to train the thing a bit. [With some demonic help, naturally.] For about two years they were always underfoot, tearing around the castle shouting and barking and knocking over everything that wasn't nailed down. You'd have laughed yourself sick.

Despite the demon's breathless entreaties, Aziraphale holds back, just long enough to watch Crowley come first, to feel his body tense and shake and pulse against his own. It's glorious, and before he knows it, he's coming, too, with a hoarse cry and his hand faltering, carried along by those last few strokes until he closes it around Crowley's and slows them both to a graceful stop.

He doesn't need air and yet he's panting anyway, his corporation overwhelmed with pleasure. "Is that..." he huffs out, 'Oh, good Lord, Crowley, is it always so intense? Or is it because it's you? Never mind, I answered my own question."

His hand is painted with his and Crowley's release, which he notices thankfully before running fingers through the demon's sweat-damped bangs. Without thinking much of it, he brings his hand to his mouth and licks it experimentally. He would have tasted it earlier if Crowley hadn't interrupted him, and he's curious. In the aftermath of their shared orgasm, he finds it oddly appealing.

Crowley just lies there breathing for a moment, his mind whited out with pleasure and his body limp and aching pleasantly. When he opens his eyes, it's just in time to see Aziraphale tasting them. His eyes go wide. "You--fuck, that shouldn't be as hot as it is," he breathes.

He raises a shaky hand to stoke Aziraphale's face, but notices his own hand sticky with both their spend first, and laughs. Impishly he echoes Aziraphale's gesture, eyeing the angel as his forked tongue darts out to lick his skin and taste them both.

Mm. Taught by the best. Tempted people without even trying, everywhere he went.

[It sounds fond instead of irritated. Crowley adds his other hand to the pile for a moment, so Aziraphale's is sandwiched between his, then withdraws both and returns to slow, careful scrubbing, this time on the arms.]

Wish I'd seen it. Wish I'd seen more of you during that gap, period. It was a long time between Rome and Camelot. I missed you. But somehow whenever I wondered what you were up to, raising a future knight and his pet fox never made the list of possibilities. Should've known you'd surprise me.

[Those steady strokes up and down his arms feel like petting--a temptation he can never resist, in cat or human form. He lets his eyes slip shut, remembering the lake at dawn, Camelot at night, the little boy who called him Mama. And the short time when he'd had everything, when despite the fear of being caught his soul had been afire with love, more than a demon ought to be able to hold.]

I missed you too. Always had an eye out. Never would've thought you'd be a wizard, of all things... suppose I should've known you would surprise me as well. You have a knack for it.

Aziraphale pauses mid-lick, like he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but the way that Crowley reacts reassures him. He smiles demurely and continues until his hand is clean. No, he doesn't mind the taste at all.

Watching Crowley do the same thing stirs him up inside, despite how delightfully wrung out his he is. His hand now clean, he pushes back sweat-darkened red bangs off of the demon's forehead, kissing the skin he reveals. "No, it shouldn't," he agrees softly. "And yet here we are."

Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

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FUCKING OW: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M12_pgW4IyI (blame my mp3 player)

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