faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

"Yes," Crowley says at once, more a breathless whine than a word, answering all the questions at once. Yes, because of Aziraphale, always. Yes, he'll show him how it's done. Yes everything. Yes.

Aziraphale moving off him is only acceptable because it means Crowley can turn on his side and take a kiss, urgent and hungry, his hand coming up to cradle Aziraphale's face and keep his mouth upturned to his. "Could show you yours first?" he manages, somewhere between messy, eager kisses. "Take the edge off a bit." He already knows how to wait, he's been waiting for millennia, he'll manage. Won't be long now either way.

Good, that's good, he thinks, because now that he has that image in his mind of Crowley touching himself, he has to satisfy his curiosity or he'll never be able to think of anything else again. He trails his hand around to Crowley's back as the demon shifts to face him, a soft, warm sound leaving his lips while they kiss.

"Oh, yes, yes, whatever you like." Every kiss from Crowley's hot, wet mouth, every brushing of their hips together is increasing that ache within him until it's nearly stifling. He runs his hand up and down Crowley's spine restlessly. "Please, show me."

Aziraphale whispering Yes, please, show me has haunted Crowley's fantasies for centuries and it turns out the things his mind conjured all those times isn't a patch on the real thing.

He groans into their kiss, slides his hand from Aziraphale's face down his chest. "I'll make it good for you," he promises, maybe a little recklessly but it's still hard to believe he doesn't still need to ask permission, that it's already granted. "Swear I will, I swear..."

And then his hand is there, covering and cupping that hard length in Aziraphale's trousers, grinding the heel of his palm just a little against it. Crowley groans again and pulls back to see how the angel reacts. Is this all right, is it too much, too fast, can I, please...

"I know, I know, my love. I know you will." He breathes it out between one kiss and the next, warm and reassuring even as he tenses in anticipation of Crowley's touch. He trusts Crowley with this as he trusts him with everything else, the only one he'd trust with his heart, his body, his very soul.

And then Crowley's hand is upon him, and that sharp, star-exploding feeling is back. His eyes shut and he moans softly, his hand clutching onto Crowley's shoulder. It isn't just the electric pleasure-shock of it, it's the intimacy, the feel of Crowley's hand molding around him, pressing into him, the loose fabric of his trousers barely an impediment.

"Oh... oh, that's lovely..." His other hand, trapped between them, pets awkwardly at Crowley's chest. "Please... keep touching me..."

Edited 2019-11-21 22:43 (UTC)

He should do more foreplay, he knows, if he were doing this properly. Take time, do it properly. But they're both near frantic with millennia of pent-up need and it's hard to remember. And there will be other chances to take it slow, later.

Fuck, that thought is the best of all, that this is not just for now but for later, even for always.

Crowley can't quite wrap his head around that idea yet. Just the now is almost too much to handle.

"Fuck, yes," he whispers. His free hand snakes under Aziraphale, wraps around him, pulls him in closer, splays against his back. "Can I--" Fuck, he can't believe he gets to ask this. "Clothes," he manages. "Need those gone. Can I?"

If given the chance, Aziraphale would have read a countless number of books, even suffered through an educational movie or two to adequately prepare, and it would have taken ages, and it wouldn't have made a lick of difference except to make him that much more self-conscious.

So far as he knows, this is perfect. And somehow, impossibly, it will get even better.

He pulls Crowley in as well, flush against him, their other hands trapped in between, and kisses him soundly. "Yes," he whispers. "Yes, all of them, please." With a miracle or the old-fashioned way, he'll give Crowley the space to maneuver if necessary, but please.

A miracle it is, because while they were enjoying slowly undressing each other earlier the pace has stepped up a bit since then. Crowley lifts his hand and snaps and then there's skin against skin, his leg wrapping around Aziraphale's, their cocks pressing against each other, and oh heaven it's amazing.

He pulls Aziraphale in as close as possible, not reaching to stroke him again yet, not even kissing him again yet, just savoring the heat of their bare bodies next to each other. Head to toe and all parts in between, touching and twining and tangled and wondrous.

Aziraphale shuts his eyes and groans, enraptured by the sensation of their bare lower halves entwined. His groin throbs in time to the heavy thumping of his heart, amazed that he and Crowley are this close, that it is possible to be this close, to feel every nerve in his corporation revel in it.

Slowly, reverently, he runs a hand down Crowley's back and over the swell of his backside. "You feel amazing," he whispers, his hand continuing its journey along his thigh before traveling back up again. "I love you so much, Crowley. I love every part of you, inside and out."

"Angel--" Fuck, what can he say to that? It's too much, those words combined with the reverent way Aziraphale touches him, reverence like that isn't made for someone like Crowley. He closes his eyes as he drinks it all in, the caresses and the smell and the heat, Satan, they're both burning up...nothing holy or hellish about this burning, just human. Who says Above and Below have a monopoly on miracles?

"Aziraphale." He catches Aziraphale's mouth again, kisses him slowly, rolls the angel onto his back and leans over him. Their lips tug at each other, tongues darting and tasting. "Love you," he whispers, palming his free hand down Aziraphale's chest, drifting a little to rub circles around the nipple with his fingers, flick the nub lightly with his thumb, taking cues from how Aziraphale reacts. "Could say it in every language there's ever been and it wouldn't be enough, but I love you."

Stroking over the soft belly, dipping his thumb into the bellybutton a little playfully, and then--he's so careful at first, keeps his touch so light, as he palms over Aziraphale's cock, barely touching then gradually letting his hand rest there, wrapping fingers loosely around him.

He doesn't have to say anything; it's enough to feel the heat of his body, the way he molds himself against Aziraphale, as if their corporations were made to fit together. The way he kisses, as if love was something that can be tasted. Maybe it is, Aziraphale thinks dizzily as Crowley rolls him onto his back without breaking apart. His senses are full of Crowley, and he never wants to be rid of it.

Aziraphale opens his eyes and looks up at Crowley in adoration, nearly misses what he's doing until the demon touches his nipple with clever fingers. He bites his lip and makes a thrilled little whine, the sensitivity surprising for such a superfluous part of his body. "You clever, beautiful creature," he whispers back. "You show it better than anyone has ever said it."

He means to touch Crowley in turn, to explore more of his newly exposed skin. But then Crowley lays a hand on his cock and his hands lay uselessly at his sides, clutching the sheets as he moans out Crowley's name. It's so gentle -- almost too gentle -- and he arches his back instinctively. "Please," he begs, not even sure what he's asking for, only that he wants more of it. "You are so good to me, my darling. Please."

Now, Crowley grins. He loves this, he loves every bit of this, it's blissful and he could happily roll around and drown in the astonishing feeling of love returned, but he's also a demon and he's wicked and a chance to tease like this doesn't come along every day. Except maybe now it will, and fuck, what a turn-on that idea is.

"Please what, angel?" he says, hissing it a little. Slowly, so slowly, he pulls his fist up, stroking, his grip still much too light. It's on purpose. He bends down, kisses Aziraphale's ear, flicks his tongue against the lobe, strokes again. "Tell me. Whatever you want, tell me."

The slow stroke draws out another moan from the angel, but as good as it is, it's still too light. He peers at Crowley, all hazy and confused by the question, until he catches sight of the wicked, teasing smile on his lover's face.

"Crowley," he groans, both out of desire and frustration. His hips squirm and his fingers dig into the sheets. "You... you wily serpent..."

It shouldn't be so difficult to ask, lying as they are together, naked as Adam and Eve in the Garden. But it takes a moment, anyway, finding the right words, words he's comfortable using. "F-faster, please. A little faster. And hold me tighter."

Crowley chuckles wickedly at the description. Yes, yes he is, and never happier about it than when Aziraphale calls him that. Never happier about it than now, watching his teasing leave Aziraphale writhing and near desperate with want.

Wanting Crowley. His touch, his hand.

"Sure thing, angel," he says, trying to sound nonchalant and failing, his voice breaking partway through the phrase as he leans over and takes another kiss. At the same time he gives Aziraphale what he's asked for. It's different holding someone else's cock, but his fingers know how to grip, how to pull, how to swipe his thumb or index finger over the tip. How to twist. Anything that makes Aziraphale react, he repeats, learning how the angel wants to be touched.

If he weren't in such a state, he'd give an amused smile at the break in Crowley's nonchalance. A wily serpent, but one who loves him. One the angel trusts completely. He kisses back, eyes shutting, giving himself over to the demon's ministrations.

Fortunately for Crowley, Aziraphale is even more vocal about how he likes his cock to be touched than he is about the food he likes to eat. Not so much in words, although there is a "yes, there" and "more, please" thrown in among the gasps and whines of pleasure. It's all nearly indistinguishable at first, every touch new and sensitive, but as Crowley strokes and twists and swipes just right, it becomes clear what keeps him hard but steady, and what jolts him to a new level of passion.

It's not long before that sensation builds, coils like a spring deep within him, like the tensing of his wings before he's about to fly. It's otherwise unfamiliar, but he's read enough of metaphorical trains through tunnels and falling off of cliffs to know what's coming.

(...oh. Is that why humans call it that?)

One hand continues to grasp at the sheets, the other finds its way back into Crowley's hair, tugging a little as if in warning. "Crowley -- oh, oh, Crowley, darling, I -- I think I might be close --"

Crowley has never, in six thousand years on the planet, had a better view. It's fantastic. He's seen Aziraphale, happy, angry, upset, nearly the full gamut of possible emotions, but this is entirely new and better than he'd ever imagined (and oh, he'd imagined, often and in great detail). And the sounds, Satan be merciful. Crowley hasn't touched himself at all yet and at this rate he won't need to, he'll come just from listening to this. He'll never be able to go to dinner with Aziraphale again without thinking about this, and it might even be worth it.

He keeps up a small, steady stream of encouragement as they go. Doesn't even think about it, just babbles what's on his mind. How well the angel's doing, how good he looks, how good he sounds, how much it's turning Crowley on to watch, how perfect he is. He can't tell if Aziraphale's really taking it in, but that doesn't matter.

When Aziraphale tugs at his hair again Crowley groans, bends his head down and kisses him lightly on the mouth, mindful of how breathless he is. "S'okay, if you want to," he says. "We have all night, angel, we have forever, this is just the start. You can come if you want." Fuck, he can't believe he gets to say this, he can't believe he gets to do this. "Do you want to come for me, angel? Right now, all over my hand?"

Crowley's encouragement comes to him more as waves of sound than actual words, the praise clear in the cadence of his lover's voice. Whatever shame or embarrassment he might have had for all his carnal sounds or the way he writhes atop the sheets, it's washed away, negated completely by that love, that tender blessed love.

His eyes, formerly squeezed shut at the onslaught of physical pleasure, open and focus as best they can on Crowley. All night, he said. Forever, he said. It's hard to think of the future when the world seems to be narrowing to one single moment, but it's what he needs to hear to let go. To fall apart in Crowley's arms.

So he does.

He cries out a broken facsimile of Crowley's name, arching into the demon's exquisite touch, letting that coiled spring snap, ecstasy running through him like wildfire. His mouth falls open, face a mask of ecstasy to rival the holy rapture of a saint, even as his cock obscenely paints Crowley's hand and his own flushed skin with come.

But that's not all that happens.

Overwhelmed by his very first orgasm, Aziraphale's wings manifest, and Crowley was right, it is too cramped a space for them. The tip of one wing knocks over a lamp, the other topples a precarious stack of old, dusty books. Maybe it's a loss of control, maybe there is simply too much love, too much pleasure, too much everything to be contained in his human form, but his wings extend fully, arch above them triumphantly as he rides out his climax.

He lies there in the aftermath, wings limp and trailing off the sides of the bed, a blissful smile on his face. His skin glows with sweat and joy, his body relaxed, all its tension drained away. He sluggishly grips Crowley's hair and draws him in for a lazy kiss.

"Take the edge off... that's how you phrased it, isn't it? I think it worked."

If Crowley had been lying a little further up, he'd probably have been thrown from the bed; a swan's wing is strong enough to break a person's arm, and Aziraphale's wings are much larger and stronger than a swan's. Even as it is he's rocked a little, by the displacement of air and the way Aziraphale's body bucks on the bed as everything releases. Everything.

Crowley will be proud of this moment forever, even though he's distracted by the sudden reapparance of wings there aren't really space for. It's something to be smug about, though, having brought his restrained, prissy angel that much pleasure. By the time Aziraphale releases him from that lazy kiss Crowley's lost the whoa shit what the fuck just happened look he had for a few moments and turned completely and utterly smug.

"Angel, if that's you just getting the edge taken off, you completely losing control might literally bring down the house." Crowley takes another kiss, chuckling into it, obviously pleased with himself. "Be worth it, too."

Aziraphale makes a mildly affronted sound while he's kissed a second time, but no amount of smugness can erase the look of indulgent bliss on his face. "I can assure you that I'll have better control next time," he replies, "Now that I know what to expect."

With a little effort, he brings his wings back into the astral plane. The lamp and books can wait until later, he has more pressing matters to attend to, namely the very naked and aroused demon sharing his bed. He helps himself to another kiss, then rolls onto his side, encouraging Crowley onto his back before letting go of his hair and running a hand down his chest.

"Now I know what it feels like for you, too." He smiles and keeps trailing his hand lower until it settles at the base of Crowley's cock. "You're positively aching, my dear. What would you like me to do about that?"

Crowley, more than a little distracted by wings and internal gloating and Aziraphale's smile, makes a muffled mph of surprise as he's pushed onto his back, followed by an ngk as Aziraphale palms his way down his chest. And then that palm is resting on his cock, and

"Oh, fuck..." Crowley breathes, suddenly agonizingly turned on. He licks his lips, and his hips lift into Aziraphale's hand, desperate for touch. "I don't...you..."

He groans, reaches up and places his hand atop the Aziraphale's, folds their fingers around himself. "...touch me. Please, angel, touch me."

"Of course, my love. Of course." He draws his hand up and down, his initial strokes loose and exploratory as he gets a feel for Crowley's erection. Having never even felt his own, he's intrigued by the contrast between the hardness of its girth and the velvety softness of the skin. Carefully, he tightens his grip and strokes more confidently, thumb swiping over the head just as Crowley had done for him, watching the demon closely for feedback.

"Is it good?" he murmurs, wanting so desperately to please. "You deserve only good things, darling. Tell me what you want and it's yours."

Crowley's head falls back as Aziraphale explores, his breathing ragged and quick, Adam's apple bobbing in his neck. It takes all of his remaining self-control (what little there is of it now) not to just fuck up into the angel's grip, to give him time to get used to the feel of it all. Crowley doesn't want to cheat him of the experience, and he doesn't want this to be over too fast either.

But then Aziraphale whispers that encouragement and offer, and a desperate groan rips itself from Crowley's throat just before he leans up and crushes his mouth against Aziraphale's. "You." One of his hands goes to Aziraphale's face, keeping him pulled close. "You, God, I want you, I want you madly, always have, always. Want to be yours, want you to be mine. Angel, fuck, please, tell me I'm yours, tell me, please--"

Edited 2019-12-26 23:37 (UTC)

Oh, that's not the answer he expected, nor the crushing kiss that precedes it. His touch falters, but only because he's moving, tucking one arm underneath Crowley's neck and shoulders while he drapes a plush thigh over his legs. He presses butterfly kisses to Crowley's eyelids and cheeks as he resumes stroking him once he's secure, over six thousand years of longing cradled against his body.

"You're mine," he breathes between kisses. "My beautiful serpent, my beloved treasure. Forever and always, just as I am yours. I love you, every part of you, your corporation and your soul. Everything I could ever want from this universe is here in my arms."

Crowley mewls a protest as the rhythm fails, but it's more than worth it when Aziraphale wraps himself around him, when he can wrap an arm around the angel in turn, twined together like ivy on a tree trunk or a snake on a branch. He gasps as Aziraphale's hand resumes its works, and again at those words, those words, and then he just keeps gasping because there's not enough air in the room. No space for it with the mounting pressure in the way, the oncoming rush of bliss.

His free hand covers Aziraphale's on his cock, part to show how he likes it, how firm and fast, but also just to be touching him even more. You're mine rings in his ears, as loud as his own rushing blood and ragged breath. Every soft kiss to his face thrills him, pushes him closer to the edge.

When Crowley comes it's with another deep, wrecked groan, his head tilted back and body arched as he paints his abdomen in white stripes, trembling all over and then collapsing limp and drenched in sweat. For several minutes after he just breathes, still trembling, mind blanked out from pleasure.

When he eventually opens his eyes again to look up at Aziraphale, they're wholly gold. "Angel," he whispers, as though awed.

Aziraphale is grateful for the addition of Crowley's hand, both so he can learn how Crowley likes to be stroked, but more importantly, so he can focus on the glorious way Crowley gasps at his words, his touch, his kisses. The demon's pleasure is his own, knowing that he's causing this, that he is bringing Crowley closer and closer to peak bliss.

"I'm so lucky," he murmurs into his ear, breath hot as he watches Crowley come undone. "The most beautiful sight in all of creation, just for me."

He strokes Crowley through his climax, marveling at the way the demon trembles and groans. It's more erotic than any piece of human literature he's ever read, an image that he'll keep close to his heart, one he already knows he'll never tire of recreating. He holds Crowley close while he recovers, nuzzling and kissing his damp skin in the near silence. The mess of sweat and sticky spend does not bother him as much as he thought it might. It's evidence of their love-making, and he's reluctant to miracle it away.

"Your angel," he answers, beaming down at Crowley, his blue eyes shining. He leans in and kisses the demon tenderly. "I'm guessing that was enjoyable for you?"

Crowley laughs, and for once there's no edge to it at all, nothing of sarcasm or cynicism. He reaches a hand back to Aziraphale's face, pulls it down for another kiss, easy and joyous. "It was a good deal more than enjoyable, and you blessed well know it."

Another kiss, and he nuzzles Aziraphale's face with his nose and lips. "Best thing that's ever happened to me, ever."

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