faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

I'm fine, he feels the urge to say, even after what Crowley just said. I'm fine and some sort of charming, nonsense British-sounding expression just for emphasis. Something that should come to him naturally, just willing himself into sounding alright. Failing miserably, of course, but he still would.

But not right now. Not over this. Not even after the near end of the world. This is personal, this is confusing, this is upsetting, and he can't even bring himself to try and pretend. And Crowley, Crowley is once again trying to comfort him, asking him to be honest, letting himself be vulnerable and asking the angel the same, and he...

There's a rather shaky breath pulled in and exhaled out against the demon's chest, one he allows himself, not that he has that much choice on the matter. He tries to steady himself, at least somewhat.

He pulls his head back enough that at least he can speak. "Yes." His voice sounds funny, and he swallows down the lump in his throat. "Yes, we...we will be."

Crowley buries his face in Aziraphale's hair, breathes in the scent of it. Like rain mostly. Rain, and cotton, and that papery Aziraphale smell.

"We will be," he says again, quietly. "So it's okay if...if you aren't, just now. If you need to break." He holds on so hard. "I've got you."

That part about not letting go for a week? Well, he's certainly feeling it now, as they're locked in a desperate embrace as if one of them was at risk of simply floating off and never returning.

Considering where they found themselves, and how they still don't know how they got there in the first place, perhaps that idea feels a little too real for comfort.

He closes his eyes tight, as if that will keep them from stinging. They can get through this. They did get through it. They're back, and they have each other, and that's all they ever need. Could need. Will ever need.

His hands grip the back of Crowley's pajamas. The words come out like he's afraid he might not have another chance to say them - and he could now say he knows that feeling quite personally.

"I love you, so, so very much, my dear."

Crowley closes his eyes. "I know, angel. Aziraphale." He can feel the terror in that grip on his clothes, tries to soothe it a little with stroking hands and gentle kisses. "I love you. More than anything in the world. More than the world, even." His palm slides down Aziraphale's spine, stops at the small of the back, pulls him in closer. "I love you."

In this world that they've lived in, loved, they made their home. Their own side, their own story, their own world to shape, together.

He shifts along with the pull and holds Crowley tight, a pause to just feel the moment, take in the warmth and the scent of the demon, familiar, home, trying his best to gather himself enough to pull himself out of this feeling.

He does eventually raise his head, a hand pulled back so that his fingers may gingerly touch the side of Crowley's jaw. He looks at him, into those bright yellow eyes, and even his upset expression can't cover the honesty of his words.

"I'd do it all again. In a heartbeat."

"So would I."

Crowley's golden eyes dart over Aziraphale's face, quiet and serious. He reaches up and brushes his fingers lightly down Aziraphale's cheek, echoing the angel's own gesture. "I'd Fall ten thousand times over if you were waiting at the end of it. More."

Slowly he bends his head down, presses their mouths together softly.

Have they ever found this kind of comfort before they had each other? Different paths in life as they might have had, interconnecting at a large portion of its points, but there never really was anything that matched this kind of feeling, not even among them before they were free to be with each other in such a manner. At least not for the angel. People will say that angels are beings of Love, but the actual experience of one is much different, much less if it's Aziraphale.

He closes his eyes as their lips touch, letting his hand stroke down from Crowley's jaw to his neck, where it rests. There's so much he could probably say if he really tried, a lot he could never truly express, but the way they're connected makes it all the more obvious and less necessary to put into words. He's scared. He's thankful. He's angry as much as he is sad, and the conflicting emotions about so many different things make it all so difficult. But he has Crowley, and he has him here. He rather much focus on him, and on the bed and the home and the life that they share.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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?"

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.

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.

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."

"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."

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.

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.

It's hard trying to keep away the thoughts about how they almost lost this. How they almost lost any chance to ever be together again, to be in their home, with each other, in each other's arms, together, holding, touching, gentle warm lips against his skin.

Don't think about that. Don't think about it, but, oh, he can't. There will be a time, maybe, where that feeling of dread will be entirely replaced by relief and thankfulness over the outcome. Certainly, they'll look back and appreciate the fact that they came out of it together. But the wound is still fresh, still sore, but they can find ways to relieve the pain.

He notices Crowley's slowness. He appreciates every touch of Crowley's lips on his shoulder, yearning for one after the other, hands still on the demon's arms but well out of the way as he works at the buttons on Aziraphale's pajamas. And the way he checks, it just warms the angel's heart even more, with how gentle and careful his adored, adoring demon can be.

"Yes." He mutters simply, just as quietly. They'll go at whatever speed they like, for they are more powerful than time and chance.

Crowley sighs a little in acknowledgement at that yes. Yes, yes, yes, this...deliberately he undoes every button, then strokes up Aziraphale's chest, palms his way back down, long caresses that leave no part that's uncovered untouched. After another kiss to Aziraphale's neck he leans back, putting just enough distance between them that he can pull the open nightshirt off completely, reaches with one hand to tug his own over his head with less care.

Then he returns to the embrace and they're skin to skin, warmth to warmth. No feathers or scales here, just their bodies, assumed but still wonderfully part of them. Crowley sighs again and resumes his stroking, hands sliding over shoulders and arms and chest, again and again.

As Crowley's hands travel over every exposed area of his upper body, Aziraphale keeps his eyes closed, letting himself feel, letting himself want, in this gentle sharing of corporations they claim as their own. They get to feel in different ways, and none shall be taken away from them. They will love, and they will feel, and they will be, just as they are and as they can be.

He leans back, a comfortable weight against Crowley's chest, bringing a hand up and back to touch at his hair, turning his head to brush his lips against it, seeking to press a loving kiss, welcoming all the warmth he can give him.

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

hhhhhhhhhhhh

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