faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

Crowley's had dreams like this, where he's kissing Aziraphale, where Aziraphale is kissing him back, where they're surrounded by wings and in their own world, and even dreams where they stumble and Aziraphale just falls on top of him so he has an armful of soft, warm, much beloved angel stretched along the length of his body. And this is all those things at once. It's a wonder Crowley doesn't discorporate on the spot. It's also a good thing neither of them really needs to breathe.

A very good thing, because it means that after the initial break of surprise and impact, he can just pick up right where he was: kissing Aziraphale. But Christ, it's better like this, in private, and lying down where he can just twine his leg around like this, and wrap his arm around Aziraphale's waist like this to pull him even closer, and then reach up with his other hand and caress those wings, the soft arc of them above his head..."Fuck, angel--" he manages, somewhere in the midst of all this, utterly overwhelmed and not wanting to change anything about it. Not a thing. "Have you any idea, any idea at all--" He can't finish the sentence. Aziraphale's mouth is in the way. Good.

Only in Aziraphale's deepest, heavily inebriated thoughts has he ever dared to imagine something like this, and for a second or two he can't even properly enjoy himself, too busy de-tangling his wings and fretting over Crowley, hands cradling the back of his head in case the demon bonked himself, but it appears that Crowley is all right. More than all right, with a leg twined around his, the arm around his waist holding him even closer than his own soft body weight does naturally. So with a soft sigh, he sinks into Crowley's kiss, letting himself relax.

At least until Crowley caresses his wings. No one has ever touched his wings before, save himself, and the sensation is so intimate that it sends a great shiver down them, feathers rustling like a rainstorm. "Crowley," he whimpers against his lips. He turns his head and presses a kiss against the soft skin underneath Crowley's jaw. "Oh, my love. I think I rather do."

God, Crowley can feel the way Aziraphale's whole body trembles, all over, and he groans, and if it were possible to discorporate from sheer desire that'd be the end of him. And then Aziraphale calls him my love and it's Crowley's turn to tremble from the intimacy of it, to whimper with longing.

"What do you want?" he manages to ask, tilting his head back as Aziraphale's lips brush along his jaw, and fuck, fuck, this will kill him, he wants it so much. "Just ask, angel, I'll do it, I'll do anything."

You, is what he wants to answer, as he listens to Crowley plead beneath him and another shiver runs though his wings. But he knows that's too vague and not what Crowley is really asking and... oh, he doesn't know what to say. He's loved Crowley for ages, but this kind of visceral desire, it's so new to him. It has his mind spinning out in a thousand directions, some of them tinged with uncertainty.

"I..." He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "My wings. Can you...?" It feels selfish to ask, he brought them out to shelter Crowley, not for his own pleasure. But now that he's had a taste of what it feels like, he wants more. "Keep touching them. Please."

He can do that, he can definitely do that. Crowley lets go of the angel's waist and raises his hands and slowly, reverently strokes those wings, starting from the spine and moving outward. His fingers trail carefully along the delicate lines of bone, then further down over the coverts, soft feathers tickling at his fingertips and palms. "Beautiful," he murmurs, only half-aware he's said it. He lets his head rest on the floor so he can see Aziraphale's face while his hands explore. "Fuck, but you're gorgeous like this."

Even without Crowley's arm around his waist, he stays pressed close, eyes shutting and soft huffs of breath leaving him while Crowley touches his wings. Each caress is so gentle, so reverent. No one has ever handled him with such care. He can feel Crowley's love wash over him with every pass of his hands, and he shivers from the pure, undiluted pleasure of it.

Gorgeous...? Aziraphale opens his eyes, looks down at Crowley as if he can't believe it. He's been complimented before, there were times in history in which his form was considered attractive, but none of that meant much to him. Not the way Crowley says it, as if he's the most beautiful thing in the universe.

"Is it the wings?" He flexes them against Crowley's hands, urges him to continue. He keeps cradling the back of Crowley's head with one hand while the other tenderly traces his snake tattoo, then nudges on the frame of his sunglasses, a silent request to remove them. If Crowley is going to look upon him, he wants to do the same.

"Satan, no," Crowley says. He nods a bit so Aziraphale's nudge moves his sunglasses off. It's fine, they can come off, he doesn't usually wear them in here anyway, not when it's just the pair of them. But he's not taking them off himself, because that would mean taking his hands off of Aziraphale, and that's not happening. "I mean, yes, it's the wings, but only because they're yours. Because it's you. All soft, and spread on top of me, and fuck do that again--"

He lifts his head up an inch again, seizes another kiss, hungry and wanting. His fingers still dance lightly along bone and feather, careful, but the rest of him, the rest of him tells a different story of wanting. The way his leg tightens around Aziraphale's, the way his body rises under his, the way he tilts his head into that touch next to his ear, the slight whining keen he makes.

Aziraphale pushes his sunglasses off entirely, setting them aside so he can go back to tracing the lines of Crowley's face while having an unobstructed view of those mesmerizing eyes. "Beautiful," he whispers, distant and distracted so long as Crowley is petting his wings. "Crowley, you're... you've always been..."

The answer surprises him, makes him want to giggle because it sounds like Crowley is describing a down-filled duvet, but it also twists at him in a tantalizing sort of way, knowing how much Crowley is reveling in his softness. He meets Crowley's kiss and swallows up that sweet keening. One hand holds his head close, the other runs down his side soothingly, settling on his hip and squeezing gently.

"You're so good to me," he whispers against Crowley's lips, wings trembling from each careful touch. "No one could ever love me like you do."

Crowley doesn't mind his eyes. He's a snake, plus he's a demon, and honestly compared to a lot of the hosts of Down Below he got off lucky. And they're great for spooking humans once in a while, on special occasions.

But someone saying they're beautiful, Aziraphale calling any part of him beautiful...oh, that makes him groan. "They'd better not," he manages, his voice rasping. "Because I am not sharing now that I've finally got you. Just so we're clear on that." Hands on wings are good, but it's not enough now, and they wander along Aziraphale's upper back, his neck, and one goes lower back to his waist and starts teasing at all those too-neatly arranged clothes, waistcoat and tucked in shirt and there are buttons pressed between them that he has had honest-to-Lucifer erotic dreams about undoing, sometimes with his teeth.

Aziraphale files that groan away for later, a reaction that he intends to exploit at the next earliest opportunity. For now, he's drawn back into the feel of Crowley's hands as they wander and pluck at his clothes, at the many layers between them. His wings flutter erratically, as if uncertain where to land, the echo of Crowley's touch still shivering through them.

"You have me," he breathes, his grip on Crowley's hip tightening as if needing to anchor himself against the tempest of passion within him. "And I don't intend to share you, either. You're all I've ever wanted, Crowley. There's never been anyone else."

It's even odds as to if Crowley's groan in response to that is pathetic or downright obscene, or both. The way Aziraphale presses his fingers into Crowley's hip doesn't help, or maybe helps too much.

It's one of the problems of wings, that they really get in the way, and stop you doing things like flipping your angel onto his back so you can ravish your way down his chest, and woe betide things like waistcoats that inhibit your progress. Pinned as he is, Crowley has to get more creative.

Fine. He can do creative. He can nip at Aziraphale's neck, nibble and suck his way up to the ear, flick his tongue sinfully into the lobe. He can sneak one of those hands under all the layers and press it to the bare skin at the base of Aziraphale's spine. He can rub and move and press, and he can do all those things at once, and how will sensual, hedonistic Aziraphale, who makes noises that are almost bloody orgasmic while eating sushi, react to those? He's wondered since forever.

It doesn't matter how tightly he holds onto Crowley's hip or how much that desperate groan sinks deep into his heart, he's utterly unprepared for the feeling of Crowley's tongue against his ear. He's never been kissed like that, even by the most forward of humans, and he suspects that if he had, he would have found it obtrusive and repellent.

From Crowley, it's another matter entirely.

"Crowley~" he moans, stretching out the demon's name into at least three or four syllables. "Oh... oh you wily serpent..." The tip of his wings skate the floor as he unconsciously presses into that touch against his back, overcome by its intimacy. It sets alight a heady sort of anticipation within him, this drag and tug of clothes as Crowley attempts to get at more of his bare skin, pinned down though he is by a softly keening angel.

He squeezes Crowley's hip again, his other hand roaming aimlessly, wanting to touch in return but not knowing where to start. Everything is so new, an exotic banquet that he's only read about, never experienced for himself, not until now. "Should we get up?" he queries with a quick gasp. "Do this -- oh -- somewhere properly?"

"Do you even have a bed?" Christ, that moan, that drawn-out moan of desire that had Crowley's name in it, he'll fantasize about that forever, he wants it to be the last thing he ever hears, and he does that thing with his tongue again solely in the hopes of inspiring a repeat. A bed would be idea but if they need to stay on the floor he'll do that, so long as this doesn't stop. He scrapes fingernails up the base of Aziraphale's spine, but the wings are in the way. "Angel, fuck, the things you do to me, the things I want to do to you--"

"I have an entire flat upstairs," he replies before moaning wordlessly at the feel of Crowley's tongue on his ear, good Lord, why does that feel so good? "There's a... a bed somewhere..."

He used to read in bed on occasion, as it seemed like a pleasant place to do it. He never slept in it, and he certainly never imagined taking Crowley up to it, curling up around him in the flannel sheets, exchanging kisses while they... well, that's as far as his 'never imagining' went, but now it's quite likely to become a reality, and his heart pounds wildly at the notion.

His wings are in the way, his clothes are in the way, but his skin breaks out into gooseflesh anyway from Crowley's touch. "I haven't done anything," he protests weakly. He places a hand on Crowley's shoulder and pushes himself up enough so that he can look down at him, eyebrows tilted up worriedly even as the rest of his face glows with absolute adoration. "I haven't even made an Effort yet. I want to do things to you, too, but I don't know how."

"Under piles of books?" A huff of a laugh, hot air on Aziraphale's earlobe, a brush of lips on the same place. Crowley's never spent much time thinking about ears but he'll explore this one for hours, given a chance, especially if he keeps getting these reactions.

But Aziraphale leans up and Crowley leans back so they can get a look at each other, and even as Aziraphale speaks Crowley reaches up a hand and brushes fingers over those eyebrows, trying to soothe them back into place. "Don't look so worried, angel. You've read more books than anyone else on the planet, and I know how salacious some of the classics are, you know more than you think. Probably more than I do." Yes, he just admitted he hasn't done this either. No, he absolutely does not give a blessing. "We'll just...figure it out, yeah? As we go. Both of us."

Aziraphale means to make an affronted sound in reply, but all that comes out is a needy gasp. Crowley's hot breath on the spot where he licked sets his nerves on fire. Since when did ears become such a sensual spot on his body? All this time, right there on the side of his head, and he had no idea.

It's why he's worried, why he wants to argue that there's so much he doesn't know, but that soothing touch to his face calms him, gives him pause while Crowley reassures him in so many words. "They're novels, not instruction manuals," he retorts, but the anxious note in his voice has already melted away, replaced with soft humor. He can read between the lines; Crowley has never done this before, either. The thought fills him with tenderness. "But... yes, you're right. We'll figure it out together, as we always have."

He turns his head to kiss the palm of Crowley's hand, as if in promise, then gets off of him and onto his knees. His hands remain on Crowley, beckoning him to get up off the floor. "If it's all the same to you, dear, I'd like to figure it out on my bed." He smiles, face flushed and clothes disheveled. "I'll even miracle the books off of it."

Crowley has no doubt they'll figure this out, not when just that light kiss on his palm could undo him, just Aziraphale smiling at him like that. "Wherever you want," he manages, and it comes out a little croaky because his mouth's gone dry. He takes Aziraphale's hand, lets himself be pulled to his feet. "Though...can we put the wings away, for now? Happily to explore them as much as you want later, if you like, but..." He slinks an arm around Aziraphale's waist, kisses at the other ear, the one that hasn't received as much attention. "Bit in the way, for a bed."

Aziraphale takes a moment to reply, distracted as he is by Crowley's arm around his waist, that kiss upon his ear. He hums softly in acquiescence, his wings shaking out one last shiver before folding tightly against his back and then disappearing entirely. "I was thinking the same thing," he admits. "It's a bit cramped up there."

He slips out of Crowley's grasp, but only so he can take his arm and lead him more effectively to the back room of the shop, and then through a door and up a stairway to a flat that clearly doesn't get much use based on the amount of books covering nearly every available surface.

There is a bed underneath all that, over in the corner. It's a Victorian style, because that's the era that Aziraphale got it in his head to try reading in bed for the first time. It's only covered in a few books, so Aziraphale moves them by hand and uses his miracle to clear away the dust. What's left is a full-size bed with a plush headboard and footboard, soft white sheets and duvet and a plethora of pillows. Aziraphale slips out of his jacket and folds it over the back of a nearby chair, then takes a seat on the edge of the bed, wiggling a little to test its resistance.

"Well?" He smiles up at Crowley and pats the space next to him. "Care to see if it meets your standards?"

Crowley makes a disappointed noise when Aziraphale moves out of close reach, even if it's temporary, even if they're walking upstairs to his bedroom, an idea his mind is barely able to wrap itself around. So much time waiting, and wondering, and being more than half-convinced what's happening now was never, ever going to be a possibility, much less a reality...

Crowley's more than a little dazed, and the fact that he and Aziraphale have been rolling on the ground snogging each other senseless is only part of why.

He perks up a little upon seeing the room, though, natural curiosity coming into play. Looks unused, and unused by the sort of mind that thinks every available flat surface is a bookshelf. Crowley finds it amusing. He usually hates clutter--Hell was cluttered, crowded, dirty and dark and no space to breathe anywhere--but Aziraphale's clutter feels...well. Homey. Comfortable.

...bless it, he really is smitten. The way his heart flutters when Aziraphale sits on the bed and pats it for him to sit just confirms it, as though the question were in any doubt whatsoever. "You're in it, angel," Crowley says, smiling and taking Aziraphale's hand. "S'already the best bed ever."

It's flirting at its finest, and Aziraphale is far from immune, blushing and dropping his gaze sweetly to their joined hands. "I think it's even better with you here with me," he replies, his voice gone husky. The reality of the moment is catching up to him, but he's leaning into it instead of shying away. He wants this, and whatever comes next.

Once Crowley's sitting down, he tugs him a shade closer and kisses him slowly. Purposefully, as he has a better sense now of what he can do with his mouth to draw out all those sounds from Crowley that he likes best. He keeps his hand in Crowley's while the other moves to the small of his back, then underneath his black jacket. He's not so bold as to ruck up his shirt, but he does confidently run his hand up and down Crowley's spine between those layers of fabric.

"I believe you were doing something interesting with your tongue earlier," he murmurs, when the kiss ends. "Shall I return the favor?"

"Well, obviously," Crowley teases, just before their mouths meet again. His low laugh gets caught up in another kiss. All of Crowley gets caught up in it, nothing left unclaimed, nothing that doesn't want to be loosed in any way.

Aziraphale is quickly learning the art of kissing, that's for sure, his tongue delving and exploring in delicious ways, and fingers teasing up his spine somewhere between layers...Crowley likes his clothes but he's never been more interested in getting out of them in his life. "Yeah--" he manages, more than a little breathless. Did the kiss end? Because Crowley's still chasing after it. His mouth lands somewhere on Aziraphale's chin, and that's fine too, and hey look, a jawline...he's supposed to be letting Aziraphale turn the tables on him but the angel is just so damn kissable and his neck is right here so really, what's a poor demon to do but take advantage?

Aziraphale lets out a soft groan as Crowley utterly ruins his plans and greedily continues to kiss him, but he can't find it in himself to be annoyed. Not when Crowley is pressing his mouth so tenderly above the line of his collar. "You... oh. Oh, Crowley..."

Of course, he's not about to let his newfound confidence fizzle out. Not when desire is so thoroughly stirred up within him. He lets go of Crowley's hand so that it can join the one underneath his jacket, and this time he lets both explore with impunity, running down Crowley's spine and along his sides, tracing out all those delightfully sharp, narrow lines. And if he finds a particularly sensitive or ticklish spot, well, the demon only has himself to blame.

If Crowley's hands are free, he can use them to take his jacket off. That's a good plan. He hisses a little as Aziraphale finds a sensitive spot down the side of his ribs, something not-quite-ticklish, and distraction from that means he bites at Aziraphale's neck instead of kissing. Whoops. But then biting seems a good plan too, so a few more of those, just small little nibbles...the angel has to understand that need, given how much he likes tasting things...

And once his jacket's off his hands are free again, to do things like undo fiddly waistcoat buttons, but at that point Crowley stops. He might actually be blushing. "This--" He nods his head towards the waistcoat. "...can I?"

...yes, it's ridiculous, but he's been wanting that waistcoat our of the way for centuries, bless it. Aziraphale not in the waistcoat has become the equivalent of other people looking at their partners in lingerie.

There's a sharp gasp at the accidental bite, but all is forgiven as Crowley continues nibbling at the soft skin of his neck. It's not enough to hurt, but the angel's skin is so sensitive; it blooms pink with every little nip. It makes him forget to exploit that spot on Crowley's ribs, simply holding onto the demon while he makes a soft sound of approval.

He's vaguely aware of Crowley removing his jacket and then going for the waistcoat buttons. When Crowley stops and asks permission, he blinks out of his haze and looks at him in mild surprise. Not because he asked, but because of the blushing. What has Crowley so bashful? It's just his waistcoat. His favorite waistcoat, yes, but he trusts Crowley with the buttons.

It's rather endearing, whatever the cause. "Sweet boy." He kisses the color on Crowley's cheeks, hands sliding onto his back and rubbing lazy circles there. "Of course you can."

Crowley growls a little. "Shut it. 'm not either of those." Sweet or a boy, he means. Though he is flushing a bit more from that kiss on the cheek, the warmth of hands stroking at his back.

He looks down at the waistcoat, watches himself undo the buttons, black fingernails pushing cloth-covered circles through buttonholes. Aziraphale will never understand just how significant that is for him, he's sure, never. Second only to removing the tartan bowtie. Stuffy buttoned-up angel, finally letting himself be loosened and vulnerable and approachable and oh Christ, now every button's undone and Crowley can slide the waistcoat off entirely and he makes a small mewling sort of noise as he steals another kiss, lapping at Aziraphale's mouth with his tongue.

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