Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

[questionablewit]

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No more video games for your phone, it's picking up the wrong words. XD

[sohoangel]

"No, of course not," Aziraphale replies swiftly, a look of genuine offense in his eyes that he quickly softens by dropping his gaze. "I... I do have a picnic basket, I haven't used it, but..."

His scratches turn into a light massage while his other hand wanders, no longer skimming playfully, but petting Crowley's side as if in apology. "I saw one in the window of a shop and it was so lovely, it even had a spot for the wine. I'd planned to ask you, once I worked up the nerve, but then the whole anti-christ business happened, and... well, it never seemed like the right time..."

He presses another kiss to Crowley's cheek. "The blanket doesn't have to be tartan, dear, it's all right. Whatever color you prefer."

Augh it's so delightful <3

[confoundthemighty]

[He breathes in deeply, spine taking on a slight liquid arch at the feel of teeth against his ear. Tonight is going to be pure delight, he can already tell, and it feels like a reward for letting the Antichrist scribble on him.]

I love you.

[Aziraphale tips his head back a little further, lazily inviting. The words feel like a song tonight.]

Yay!

[duckshaveears]

I know.

[Crowley nuzzles Aziraphale's ear with his nose, then kisses it again, kisses the sensitive skin behind. One of his hands strokes over Aziraphale's chest with a little more purpose, as he brushes the heel of his palm over taut nipples.]

Love you too. Rather a ridiculous amount.

[He grins against Aziraphale's skin.]

You most susceptible of foul fiends.

It used to be a Sega Genesis but has been reincarnated as a phone.

[duckshaveears]

Crowley groans just a little, this time in self-reproach rather than arousal, because the last thing he wants is for Aziraphale to be feeling self-conscious and guilty now. He leans up on an elbow so he can look down at the angel's face, his own far more open and vulnerable than it usually is. Carefully he reaches out and caresses Aziraphale's face, thumb skimming lightly down cheek and jaw.

"Gonna say this only once," he says quietly, looking at Aziraphale's mouth, at the contrast of their skin tones, at anything but Aziraphale's eyes. "Only once, and if you remind me of it later I'll deny everything, so listen. You can make everything tartan. Every blessed thing. Your wardrobe, mine, all the carpets in the world, you can even reupholster my Bentley in fucking tartan, and I'll complain and kvetch about it but I'll let you and I might even secretly like it a little, because it reminds me of you, and I love you an utterly stupid amount."

It comes out in a rush, and he's quick to bend down and kiss Aziraphale before the angel can respond, and if Aziraphale dares to point out how much Crowley is blushing he's gonna blame it on arousal or being overheated or anything except how embarassed he is that he just admitted that.

It's clearly having flashbacks to its former life.

[sohoangel]

Aziraphale listens, wide-eyed, first in trepidation, and then with overwhelming awe, and it's a good thing that Crowley keeps him silent with a kiss, one that he returns with fervor, because otherwise he'd spout off something soppy and ridiculous in return.

It's not about the tartan, obviously, but the fact that Crowley accepts him, all of him. He tugs a bit so that Crowley isn't simply bending down, but lying atop him so that he can hold him all the more tightly.

"I also love you an utterly stupid amount," he finally replies, voice thick with emotion. "Your dangerously fast driving and your bebop and even when you had that mustache, I wouldn't change a thing, because it's you."

Dammit phone why couldn't you have been a PlayStation

[duckshaveears]

"Hey, no insulting the mustache," Crowley protests, somewhat distracted by the nearness of Aziraphale's mouth and the hands splayed on his back. "Height of style, that was. At the time. Why are we talking?"

Another kiss, and another, and he'll never get tired of the way they just blend into one another. Kiss after kiss after kiss, sometimes interrupted by a gasp or an "oh" or a name, but mostly it's just their mouths meeting, their hands wandering, their bodies shifting against each other. He'll never get tired of any of it.

"At least a week," he murmurs finally, somewhere in this dizzying array. "Not letting you out of this bed for at least that long." One hand rests on Aziraphale's hip, strokes down his his thigh, squeezing. Just feeling that is enough to make Crowley groan. "Fuck, could just stay between your legs forever...what do you want next, angel? Say the word and it's yours, I'll make it happen. Anything."

[duckshaveears]

Crowley sighs and shifts, with only a twinge of reluctance at losing the lovely, lovely feeling of having his hair stroked. Later. "Nah, 'm good for now," he says, pulling himself up into a sitting position. Before he settles his hands on Aziraphale's shoulders he leans in, lightly kisses the back of the angel's neck. "Just want to be touching you."

And distracting him from invisible elephants, truthfully. So this works as a plan. Slowly he presses his fingers in, the pads of his thumbs immediately going to a place on either side of Aziraphale's spine, where tension often hides. He takes meticulous care in soothing the knots and muscles, there and everywhere, gradually working outwards and then down the back.

[salutosinedelectat]

Let it be known that Aziraphale continues to be the most spoiled angel in existence. God's love does not compare to the dedication of one demon and his capability to love and care for. And the angel knows it, too, knows there's really not that much that he could ask for that the demon wouldn't give him unless it was truly impossible. He's known that for a very long time.

The gentle kiss makes him smile, and he settles where he sits, eyes closed, hands rested on his lap, fussing only slightly, and not really for long. Not as Crowley works meticulously to work out the tension from the angel's back, of which there is always some at any given moment, just from the way he carries himself, but justifiably a lot more now.

It would have snuck in a "crash bandicoot" when you weren't looking.

[sohoangel]

"So was tartan, but you -- mmf." Crowley makes good on his word to keep Aziraphale quiet about tartan, and it's only a moment more before the angel also wonders why they were still talking when they can use their mouths for kissing instead. All that glorious kissing while his hands stroke along Crowley's back and his sides, losing himself in the honey-rich sweetness of each moment that passes.

Crowley's proclamation has him laughing softly out of pure joy. "A good start," he says, smiling into the next kiss, and the one after that. "So long as it doesn't preclude anywhere else in the flat."

He groans along with Crowley when his thigh is squeezed and quickly returns the favor, marveling at how he's allowed to touch, to ask for what he wants. And yet he hesitates a moment, as if his next request might be too much. "Will you show me your wings, Crowley? May I touch them?"

[duckshaveears]

"All over the flat, then," Crowley agrees somewhere between kisses. "Sofa downstairs, definitely. Your desk. Against the front door. Against every--blessed--bookshelf--"

He punctuates each of those words with another kiss, and it's a while before Aziraphale can make his request. That does put a pause to the kissing, mostly because Crowley is surprised. "If you like, yeah," he says. No reason why not. Feels surprisingly intimate, but Aziraphale's already had his out, and besides it isn't as though the angel hasn't seen them before, a score of times. "Want me to get up for that, or...?"

He could get them out from here, lying on top of Aziraphale as he is. Blanket them both in feathers. Might not be the best way for Aziraphale to actually see them, though.

[duckshaveears]

Aziraphale needs some spoiling, to Crowley's mind. Heaven treated him like shit for millennia and Crowley is only too willing to redress the imblance. Which he does, thoroughly, clever hands kneading and pressing and stroking. A few spots of tension prove more difficult to unwind than usual, and Crowley frowns at them, understandable as they are.

Quietly he leans in and kisses Aziraphale's neck again. "Relax for me, angel," he says quietly. He chuckles a little, adds another kiss and then the slightest nip of teeth. "Or do I need to distract you?"

[salutosinedelectat]

Heaven did treat him like shit, in more ways than he was ever fully aware. But Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil are just names for sides. On an individual level, Aziraphale would say he did fairly good. You know, being seen as traitors and being possibly wanted and death train notwithstanding.

He lets himself be spoiled, of course, though not all the tension goes away. With the magnitude of recent events, that would be impossible. In a permanent manner, anyway.

Eyes still closed, he smiles again, tilting his head to the side slightly. "You know your temptations don't work on me, demon." Said soft and warm.

[duckshaveears]

Crowley figured out it was all just names for sides long ago, and it didn't take him much longer to realize which side he wanted to be part of. This one, here, with the best angel and the worst demon, or maybe the other way around. It all depended on perspective.

Crowley's perspective is currently that Aziraphale's neck needs a few more kisses, which he tends to accordingly. "You sure about that?" he teases. "I can name any number of occasions when they've been...effective..."

The word turns into an innuendo in its own right, punctuated by a small nibble on Aziraphale's shoulder.

[salutosinedelectat]

It's always perspective. It's always been perspective. And it took Aziraphale a while to fully open his eyes, but here they are. He'll continue to prove there's nowhere else he'd rather be.

Aziraphale hums quietly, nonchalant. Clearly the distraction is having some effect already. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

[duckshaveears]

"Forgotten already? Tsk." Crowley smiles against his angel's skin, running a line of kisses along his shoulder, then back to his neck, over to the other side.

This is good. Oh, he wants this, now that they've rested a little. He wants to inhabit their bodies as fully as possible, reclaim them. Reclaim each other, too, in a less profound and more familliar way than what they've done. Crowley wraps his arms around Aziraphale to embrace him from behind, hands splaying over his chest. "I'll have to remind you."

[salutosinedelectat]

This feels better. This feels like home, it's familiar and intimate in ways that could never be taken away from them. Perhaps impeded, but never erased.

The angel tilts his head in ways as Crowley's kisses travel across his shoulder and neck, and the embrace makes him feel so much warmer. He brings his hands up to comfortably rest on the demon's arms. "Perhaps you do." He mutters softly.

[sohoangel]

"I have a bathtub, too," Aziraphale murmurs in sing-song. A clawfoot bathtub that surprisingly is not currently being used for book storage, as Aziraphale is just paranoid enough about residue moisture that he won't risk it. "But those are all wonderful suggestions."

He almost says to never mind, when he sees the surprise on Crowley's face, but he pushes away his own nerves and nods instead. "They're part of you, and they're so beautiful..." Crowley may never have literally held a wing over his head, but he's sheltered Aziraphale in his own way.

He kisses Crowley once more before untangling himself and sitting up, tugging gently on Crowley to join him. "There. That should give you enough room."

[duckshaveears]

Crowley groans with happy anticipation at the mention of a bathtub. That one is definitely going to be high up on the list...

But for now the next item on the list is wings, and Crowley accommodates. "Flattery will get you everything, angel," he murmurs after dropping one last kiss on Aziraphale's mouth before letting him untwine and sit up, then following after.

Silly to feel self-conscious about this, really. But he does. Couldn't put his finger on why if asked. Hell-born paranoia, most likely.

But there is space now (and even if there isn't and the lamp gets knocked over again, it's hardly going to matter), and Aziraphale is waiting, so Crowley rolls his shoulders a bit and reaches into the ether, stretching not-exactly-muscles in a way that he doesn't usually these days, and--

And there they are. As large as Aziraphale's, dark and sleek. Crowley raises an eyebrow, a silent so, does this meet with your approval? before suddenly grinning and bringing them around to encircle the pair of them in a black cocoon.

[sohoangel]

"Mmm. Is that so?" He suspects that certain kinds of flattery work better than others, although getting Crowley riled up by calling him 'nice' isn't necessarily something that he doesn't want...

But that's a thought for another time. He sits, legs tucked under him, and watches Crowley unfurl his wings. The last thing he wants is to make his beloved feel self-conscious, but his reaction is not casual; there's a soft gasp, eyes widening, an open-mouthed expression of awe at their beauty, how they arc above Crowley, their healthy, sleek plumage as velvety black as the night sky.

"Oh, Crowley..." Of course he's seen them before, but in this intimate setting, they're even more beautiful than he remembered. Heaven went out of its way to portray demons as foul, filthy creatures, their black wings included, and perhaps that was the case with other demons, but not Crowley. Never Crowley.

Then those wings are wrapping around, leaving them in a warm bubble of near darkness. "Oh, Crowley," he repeats himself, giggling this time. He leans forward and kisses him in utter adoration. "May I?" he whispers, raising a hand to his wings, fingertips ghosting over the feathers.

[duckshaveears]

Crowley claims that adoring expression and the following laughter as a prize, storing them inside himself somewhere to be gloated about later.

It'll have to be later, because right now his breath is caught. It's a good thing he doesn't have to try and hide his devotion anymore. He'd never manage it. "Yeah," he says, shivering as Aziraphale's fingers just barely brush over his feathers. "Yeah, 'course. Dig in."

[sohoangel]

With the same reverence he gives one of his first editions, Aziraphale makes contact with Crowley's wing, gently running his hand along the grain of the feathers. They are as soft as his own, but more pleasant to touch, because they belong to Crowley.

"You take such good care of them," he murmurs in admiration. He reaches up with his other hand, joining the first in its gentle pursuit of stroking all the feathers he can reach. Although it is harder to see Crowley's expression with the feathered canopy around them blocking out the light, he pays attention anyway, making sure that what he is doing is bringing him pleasure. "Not that they need it, but someday I'd love to groom your wings."

[duckshaveears]

Crowley whimpers. There's no other word for the sound he makes, embarassing as it is. It's ridiculous to find this feeling so intense and intimate, especially after having had Aziraphale's mouth on his cock only a few minutes ago. But it is, unquestionably. No wonder Aziraphale reacted as he did downstairs when Crowley did this, if it felt the same...

"...yeah," he manages, after a minute of almost gasping from the spine-tingling pleasure of it. It's so light a thing, but almost agonizingly effective... "Yeah. That'd--that'd be good--fuck, angel, that feels--"

He bends his head down again, captures Aziraphale's mouth in a series of hungry, needy kisses, trying not to whimper again.

[duckshaveears]

It's not really temptation, not when Crowley already knows exactly how to stroke his angel's skin, where to kiss, where to nip lightly with his teeth. When he already knows every touch is welcome, even adored.

Still, he's slow about it, partly to savor the experience (they get to do this, they're here to do this, they were so close to never being able to do this again, don't think about that), and partly so that Aziraphale has as much space as he needs to stop him. It's been an intense experience and the last thing Crowley wants, for once, is to be overwhelming.

So when he does reach for the buttons on Aziraphale's pyjamas and undo them, it's with a speed better reserved for glaciers. Careful and deliberate, while kissing the join where Aziraphale's neck meets his shoulder. "This all right?" he asks quietly. Aziraphale's breathing says it is, as does the way he shivers in Crowley's arms, but verbal consent is always good. Any demon knows that the deal isn't sealed without a solid, undeniable yes.

[sohoangel]

Angel (and by extension, demon) wings are funny things. A bit of a celestial's being essence made corporeal, not something made for touching unless a bond of trust has already been forged. Like sharing one's vulnerability, if said vulnerability could be held and caressed. Aziraphale is awed by the privilege, made humble by the sweet whimpers and stammered reply.

He kisses back, one hand slipping from feathers to shoulder so he can hold on as he pulls himself into Crowley's lap, getting even closer. His other hand keeps stroking those ephemerally soft feathers. "Beautiful," he whispers between kisses. "I want to touch every feather."

[duckshaveears]

The thing about Hell is that only an idiot would let themselves be vulnerable in any way whatsoever. It's partly where the idea that demons can't love came from. They can, obviously, but most would never let it happen. Might as well paint a target on your back and be done with it.

Touch is hardly a thing either, not casual or affectionate touches. It took Crowley a long time to get used to those. And this, this is something else again.

All the more so when Aziraphale, still entirely without clothes, straddles Crowley's lap. Crowley groans and buries his face in his angel's neck, almost panting for breath. "Won't stop you," he manages. One hand strokes at Aziraphale's back, and he turns his head to kiss his neck. "Bring out yours again? Just--for a minute."