faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

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From:

duckshaveears

Had to do something to make sure all those musclebound knockouts would listen to me, and a few magic tricks seemed to work.

[There were other reasons, too. He'd had some of the teaching of King Arthur, long ago when Arthur was only a boy named Wart. Claiming to be an angel would've been...problematic. Being a wizard had let him do all he needed, however, as well as befriending the boy.

Poor Arthur. So enthusiastic and determined, and so betrayed in the end. By Crowley as well as everyone else, perhaps.

But they don't talk about that. Enough peace has been made with that time to let them move on. Crowley finishes cleaning Aziraphale's arms and moves up to his shoulders and neck. The scrubbing is gradually turning into something more like a massage.]

From:

confoundthemighty

[He groans softly at the gentle application of pressure--Crowley's always been good with his hands, no matter what he's doing with them, and anything like a backrub from him is as much of a guilty pleasure for Aziraphale as being petted. Well. Maybe not a guilty pleasure. Just one he doesn't tell people about.]

Mm... you're being very thorough back there. As a dedicated hedonist I approve.

From:

duckshaveears

Have to be thorough, I'm doing good back here. Making order from chaos and all that. Can't be an angel and leave a thing half-finished, right?

[Which is why his fingers gradually slide up Aziraphale's neck, rubbing the sides of it more gently, and eventually move onto his scalp. In fairness, there is marker in the hair. It'd just probably be more effective if he actually got the hair wet or put in some shampoo or something. One might even think Crowley has ulterior motives.]

From:

duckshaveears

The expression on Aziraphale's face makes Crowley smirk a little, as he suddenly understands the appeal of this. It's tempting to continue, but he's in a rather nice state of lassitude at the moment, and indulging in a bit of well-earned sloth for a while has more appeal.

He closes his eyes and sighs happily as Aziraphale kisses his forehead, then waves a hand to clear up the rest of the mess between them, leaving him free to scoot in closer. As close as he can get, arm flung over Aziraphale's waist and pulling him in. "Love you."

From:

confoundthemighty

[Aziraphale makes a rather incoherent noise as those fingers go to work on his scalp--in any form, a good rub behind the ears seems to hit some internal control switch marked "Pile of Goo Mode: On", and this is no exception.]

Thought-- [His voice is heavy with the relaxed pleasure in the sensation.] Angels aren't--supposed to play dirty... [And he trails off into a half-voiced sound familiar to anyone who's ever had a happy cat on their lap.]

From:

sohoangel

A warm, snuggly Crowley is impossible to resist; he tucks up against the demon, wrapping an arm around him in turn and peppering his face with kisses. "I love you, too," he murmurs, his heart aching. The enormity of it has snuck up on him and he finds himself blinking away tears. Just a few hours earlier, he was conditioning himself to loving Crowley at arm's length for eternity, and now here he was, in his bed, naked, affection pouring out of him. Out of both of them.

He sighs shakily and rests his head against Crowley's and holds the demon all the more securely. "In your arms," he whispers. "Just like the song, She's led me to you, and this is where I'll stay, for as long as you'll have me."

From:

duckshaveears

[Crowley caught on to how sensitive Aziraphale's scalp is long ago, long before they had the relationship they do now. Now that he has explicit (and frequently reconfirmed) permission to do so he takes shameless advantage of his knowledge. Turning Aziraphale to putty has been one of Crowley's favorite hobbies since Bethlehem. Though doing it in this form has certain advantages that Aziraphale's cat form doesn't offer...]

Can't imagine where you got that idea from.

[He sounds almost gleeful, because this is absolutely his favorite way to spend time. Aziraphale his more or less melting back against him, and Crowley carefully rubs his fingers in little circles next to Aziraphale's ears, then continues them along his hairline.]

Though given that we're in a bathtub of soapy water, I'd say I'm playing entirely clean.

From:

duckshaveears

Crowley would snort if he could hear that thought, because he's been warm and snuggly on any number of drunken occasions in the past and Aziraphale has resisted him all too well. But it's water under the bridge now. They have, thank Whoever, gotten to this point, against all expectation and despite all obstacles.

Crowley's not about to complain about how they got here so long as they get to stay. He lifts his head up to those kisses, accepting them like a human would accept blessings, eyes closed. He can feel Aziraphale tremble, and holds him tighter. "Dunno if She led you here," he says, unable to not be honest about it even now. "Don't much care. Even if She did, it was you who chose to walk the path. You chose. Not Her, you." His embrace is suddenly hard and fierce, his next words almost raw. "Thank you."

From:

sohoangel

The angel tucks his face into Crowley's neck and breathes him in for a moment or two, letting the love settle within him and around him. There's a huff of breath, barely a snort, when Crowley feels the need to contradict his statement. Even now, they don't see eye-to-eye on God's plan, but that's fine. Crowley wouldn't be himself otherwise.

And then he's squeezed, clung to so fervently that he'd have the wind knocked out of him if he were mortal. "My dear," he murmurs, brushing his hand down Crowley's spine soothingly. "Don't thank me for doing what I should have done ages ago. But yes, you're right. It doesn't matter how the path started, I chose to walk it with you."

He brushes his lips against the soft skin of Crowley's throat and adds, just a touch impishly. "You were the one who chose that song, however."

From:

salutosinedelectat

Ever since that day, even now, he wonders how much different a path he would had walked if Crowley hadn't been there by his side through most of it. Pointless thoughts, he's well aware, as the past cannot be changed - not by most creatures, anyway, safe for a couple of special cases -, but simply as something to be kept in his mind, what-ifs used to keep one well aware of the conditions of their reality.

He wouldn't be here, he doesn't think. Wouldn't have broken free from the heavenly mentality, not fully, even if the questions were there since the beginning. Certainly wouldn't have led as much of an interesting life as he did. Less late night conversations about something or other, less of travelling the world as he saw fit. And he wouldn't have someone to hold, or to hold him, or to share a home with, someone to hold his hand, someone to share the deepest parts of his mind, which he so often ignored when left to his own devices. He wouldn't have the part of his world that he cherishes the most. Wouldn't have someone who knows him better than he knows himself.

Nerves begin to settle, at least on the surface. In any other level, they may never settle down, for as much as he can tell. There are concepts that shake even immortal, ageless creatures to their core, for even they share traces of the humanity that a lot of them disdain. That Aziraphale and Crowley have observed, both admired and criticized, but with interested curiosity. May have absorbed. May have always been there.

Endless wings and feathers cover scales. Hundreds, thousands of eyes, most of them, close, calm. Here, the angel takes a long, deep breath. They're here. They've returned, and he holds no regrets for his choices. He isn't entirely sure of all that he may have sacrificed, but nothing could give him as much as being here, like this, with him, does. He will do it again, if he has to. As many times as it takes.

He shifts, brings a hand into Crowley's hair, thumb brushing over his ear. Opens his eyes just barely, and brings himself back to what's real. The darkness can't take them again. Not yet.

From:

confoundthemighty

[Bastard, bastard angel--it's exactly the right amount of pressure, and it's as if Crowley can somehow draw all the stress from deep in his muscles up into his fingers to rub it away.]

Hngh, [he manages, a low groan that's somewhere between utter contentment and how very dare you. After a moment he tries again--] Nnrrrhh. [Nope, not working. If it were possible for a human body to melt into a big warm puddle of jelly, his would be doing exactly that right now. Even though they've been lovers for centuries, this sort of intimacy is always rather breathtaking in its simplicity and comfort.

But then Crowley's always made Aziraphale's heart and body and mind react in ways that surprise him.

One more attempt, he tells himself, and tries to muster up real coherence while Crowley's thumbs are stroking over the back of his neck.]

Rrrrmmmmff.

[Great job, Aziraphale.]

From:

duckshaveears

Crowley sighs a little as fingers run over his hair, caress his ear. He tilts his head, encouraging Aziraphale's hand to keep wandering. His own fingers stop just holding and start rubbing, long strokes of his thumbs on either side of Aziraphale's spine slow and firm and designed to push away tension. "Mmm...sit up properly for me and I'll rub your back, if you like."

From:

salutosinedelectat

The angel gently combs his fingers through Crowley's hair, gentle and methodical, simply because he knows the demon likes it. It brings him peace. It comforts him to be able to do so, to know the things that are real.

The offer makes him smile, faint existencially tired as the expression might be. "I suppose we might not get any more sleep for a while. Unless you want to, of course." He's had enough of it for now. The exhaustion he feels can't really be fought off by sleep, if he's feeling it to begin with.

Leans in, gently pressing his lips under Crowley's eye, before gently pulling away only far enough so he can sit. No polite fussing or anything of the sort, not for the idea of pampering or selfish comfort, just something to pass the time. They could well just sit there and talk, about anything else but the elephant in the room, and he'd be mighty happy with that.

He rubs his back with his hand and takes a long, deep breath, sighing as he exhales.

From:

duckshaveears

[Crowley laughs softly, more than fluent enough in purring-Aziraphale-speak to interpret those noises.]

You're adorable.

[It's a low, loving murmur. His thumbs and fingers glide easily over the soap-wet skin, and walk the fine line between firm pressure and more relaxing strokes with the same ease.

Once Aziraphale's scalp and neck have been thoroughly seen to Crowley works over the shoulders for a while, and a little of the upper back. Then he slides his arms around Aziraphale from behind, pulling the demon back to lie in his embrace entirely.]

Good?

From:

duckshaveears

Crowley makes a protesting noise "You sang bloody Carousel at me!" He loosens his grip, though not all that much. Just enough so it's a close embrace instead of a vise grip. Though it becomes tighter again for a breath, when Aziraphale's mouth ghosts across his throat. Fuck, that feels better than it has any right to...

"'m never going to not want you" He says it quietly, pulls his head back enough that he can look at Aziraphale's face. "Not ever. So when you say, 'as long as you'll have me there'--yeah, that's...always."

He snorts. "Well, not here here always, don't really want to spend forever in this bed even with you in it, though a week or six would be good...you know what I mean." He takes a breath, tries again. "I've always loved you, Aziraphale. I don't know how not to love you. I'll have you for as long as you'll let me, and I hope it's forever, and even if it isn't I'll still be yours."

From:

sohoangel

Aziraphale chuckles sheepishly into Crowley's neck, face hidden so long as he can get away with it. "I didn't choose it for the last verse," he protests weakly. "Besides, there are more melodramatic choices."

He might have sung a few of those the night before. When the drinking turned from goofy ABBA hits to maudlin torch songs. But it doesn't matter now, Crowley is saying things that he's wanted to hear since... well, 1862, considering that nearly a century of hurt feelings went by until he saw him again. "Of course it's forever," he replies, looking into Crowley's eyes adoringly. "Now that I have you here, I'm never letting you go."

He nuzzles back into Crowley's embrace and adds with a soft laugh, "Not here here, as you said, although this is extremely nice. But we have restaurants to dine at and shows to see. And picnics -- I still owe you a picnic, don't I?"

From:

duckshaveears

"Just as well you didn't pick one of those," Crowley mumbles into Aziraphale's hair. "If you'd picked anything more melodramatic I would've probably discorporated on the spot."

It's hard to believe that adoring gaze is fixed on him, that the words I'm never letting you go is meant for his ears. He'd hoped they'd get here, yeah, but hoping is a long way from actually managing it. Seems impossible.

"You do owe me a picnic," he says quietly, stroking Aziraphale's face before leaning in for another kiss. This one is more vulnerable than the others, lingering. It'shard, to say it all out loud, even with Aziraphale openly reciprocating. Like rolling over and exposing a vulnerable underbelly.

One kiss leads to another, a soft sigh of breath and his hands wandering again, his eyes closed. It's easier than words, now that he has permission to say things this way. Every touch whispers adoration, worship, a plea for reciprocation.

From:

sohoangel

"I'll have to remember that for next time," he teases with a smooch to Crowley's cheek. "I have so many more wonderful options."

That kiss, though, that says so much. As exposed and vulnerable as Aziraphale felt when singing from his heart, he realizes now how much harder all of this is for his demon. He returns it with nothing but care, his own hands re-exploring all those lines and curves, wanting to memorize them underneath his fingertips.

"We can have it anywhere you like," he murmurs between kisses. "With all your favorite foods and a bottle from my wine cellar. I can read to you with your head in my lap. Would you like that?"

Edited Date: 2020-01-29 05:15 pm (UTC)

From:

duckshaveears

It is hard, but it's good. It's so blessed good. Literally that, and for once that's a good thing too. He hasn't been loved like this before he Fell. He's never been loved like this. Sonic there's an almost pathetic (to a demon) needy feeling to it all, well. It's not so surprising. He just has to hope Aziraphale won't mind, and that it'll settle in a while.

(He has to trust Aziraphale won't let him fall like She did. Fortunately, he does).

"Yeah...yeah, I'd love that. But better make it somewhere private," he murmurs against Aziraphale's mouth, between soft, unhurried kisses. "'less you want us to be doing this in St. James's Park."

He slides a hand over Aziraphale's buttocks, pulling him in, not from renewed need (yet) but just to reemphasize the state they're in. Any picnic is likely to get heated. At least, if Crowley has anything to say about it, it will.

Edited Date: 2020-01-29 07:17 pm (UTC)

From:

sohoangel

Crowley's heart is quite safe, as Aziraphale intends to love him openly and unconditionally. Crowley can't possibly take more than the angel can provide, and he returns all kisses with sweet, savoring devotion.

The scandalous suggestion has him giggling into Crowley's mouth and shamelessly wiggling beneath his hand. "Oh, my," he murmurs, one hand sliding along his back while the other brushes tenderly at the short hairs along the nape of his neck. "Are we going to have trouble keeping our hands to ourselves? Then it will have to be somewhere private, or at least with enough greenery between ourselves and everyone else."

From:

confoundthemighty

[Aziraphale's head rests on Crowley's shoulder. His eyes are shut and there's a look of utter bliss on his face--though he can't know it, right now he looks very much like the angel he once was.

Of course when he opens his mouth the illusion is ruined.]

"Good" doesn't begin to cover it. You wicked, wicked angel.

[Though his voice is low and rumbling, there's no tension in his body at all now.]

From:

duckshaveears

Yes, how dare I give you backrubs and soap you down. Heinous sins to have on my conscience.

[He chuckles and kisses Aziraphale's head, then delicately nibbles at his earlobe.]

You love it.

[Said with a certain amount of smugness. Who could blame him? He has the world's foremost hedonist and tempter reposing on him in state of utter contentment.]

From:

duckshaveears

"We certainly are." Crowley's voice rumbles with satisfied anticipation. "Haven't waited all this time to get my hands on you just to waste an opportunity like that. So yeah, somewhere private. Without interruptions. A beach, maybe..."

He tilts his head back towards those wandering fingers, almost purring. "We'll have to get a picnic blanket. Extra large. Soft. Not tartan."

From:

sohoangel

The suggestion of a beach has the angel's expression light up excitedly. "Oh, I love the sound of that. We haven't been to a beach in ages." He can already imagine the warm sun on their skin and the salt tang of the air. Just them on a blanket with nothing but the sand, ocean, and sky to keep them company.

He pouts when Crowley puts a pre-emptive ban on a tartan blanket. "Who's going to see if it's just us?" He scratches gently at Crowley's scalp while his other hand ghosts over the demon's ribs in a hint of a tickle. "Besides, it'll match the lining of the picnic basket."

From:

duckshaveears

"I'd see," Crowley grumbles, though it's less than convincing given how happily he's leaning into those fingers on his scalp, how his breath catches at the near-ticklish scrap along his chest. "Do you already have a picnic basket, then? You been picnicing without me these past decades, angel? I'm hurt."

Again, it's not remotely convincing, especially not given how his hand strokes up Aziraphale's back.