faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

[The next few texts are much quicker--someone's switched from paws to fingers, it seems.]

And that would be such a shame, since we both love it when I use my mouth on you.

I'll summon up a hairball tomorrow. Tonight is blocked off for a well-earned bath.

You hadn't, but I like the way your mind works. And of course this means you'll be very thoroughly groomed too.

I like watching you use your mouth, period. If it's on me that's an additional bonus.

I should hope you like how my mind works, you've been dealing with it for six millennia. But I don't need grooming. Unless you think I've fallen behind your exacting standards, vain creature?

Edited 2020-01-13 18:44 (UTC)

[There's a pause of about three minutes before a fluffy white cat--covered in blue, green, and pink marker--leaps into an open window in Crowley's suite of rooms, then shakes itself and turns into Aziraphale, still covered in marker. The two of them, in their human forms, have their own living spaces on the Dowlings' property, and they both tend to come and go with the easy intimacy of best friends.]

You realize now you've brought it up I'll have to groom you, [he says, loudly enough to be heard in a nearby room.]

No, you don't.

[The answer comes from the bathroom, and in another moment Crowley appears to lean in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He's wearing a tight black t-shirt and almost as tight grey jeans, and his shoulder-length hair is pulled back in a ponytail. He looks definitely amused but manages not to laugh.]

The plan was to scrub you all over and get rid of all that marker, not to turn the bathroom into a spa.

[The sound of running water and the smell of oranges from puts the lie to that statement somewhat.]

Then I'm changing the plan.

[A grin blossoms on his face as he makes his way across the room, bringing himself within arm's reach of Crowley.]

Don't tell me you're not the least bit tempted by the thought of having your hair washed, very, very thoroughly.

[Crowley laughs and pokes a finger on Aziraphale's chest, right above a large slash of bright blue.]

Don't try to tempt me, demon, I'm wise to your wily ways. And I refuse to let my plans to spoil you rotten get pre-empted by you taking over and spoiling me rotten.

[Aziraphale mock-pouts for a moment before reaching out to curl his hands around the angel's narrow hips, pulling him closer.]

You know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men, my dear. And you know how well I've handled the mouse problem at the Dowlings' place...

[Mostly by scaring the living daylights out of the mice so that they decided not to venture closer to the house than the areas of the garden where they wouldn't bother Crowley.]

[Crowley leans back, pretending to resist. He doesn't resist very hard, as evidenced by the ease with which Aziraphale pulls him forward.]

What exactly is a mouse's best-laid plan? Aside from not getting eaten or chased off by pretty demons with long fluffy tails.

[He wraps his arms around Aziraphale's neck, leans in and kisses under his ear near a green splodge, pulls back and makes a face.]

Yuck. Not sure what that flavor was, but I'm definitely not licking you until we clean that stuff off.

[Though his eyes drift shut at that soft brush of tongue against his skin, the marker provides a distinct hindrance to any further delights. With an exaggerated sigh he leans back himself.]

All right, then, I consent to be washed. But let the record show that I resisted with all my demonic might. [It's been a joke between them for centuries.] And I think the best-laid plans of mice might be along the lines of a jewel heist, but for all the things in the pantry people don't want mice getting into.

So, the whole pantry. And now the image of mice with little ropes and laser beams is going to stick with me whether I want it to or not.

[Crowley reaches down and loosens the hands on his waist, but keeps hold of them, uses his grip to pull Aziraphale back towards the bathroom.]

Come here, you. We'd better get in or the water will overflow. Can't have that.

[He chuckles, low and happy and almost purring, as he lets the angel tug him into the bathroom.]

I've told you before, there's nothing wrong with making a bathtub bigger on the inside. Now, am I to stand patiently and wait to be undressed?

[As he usually is when he's at home these days, he's dressed in white--a buttondown shirt underneath what the Americans on the premises call a sweater vest, with a brilliant red tie. For some reason he can never get the shoes to come with him when he switches back from his cat's form, so he's barefoot already.]

Depends.

[Crowley's grin is bright and happy, unshadowed, his focus for once wholly on Aziraphale. He should be taking more care about Armageddon, he knows. Everything seems to be going well but there's not much time left, and so much that could go wrong.

But it's hard not to treat this time as some sort of fantastic holiday, with him and Aziraphale living almost under the same roof, seeing each other every day. Every night. It's blissful, and he can't help but wallow in it sometimes. Like now.]

Are you in a mood to be somewhat decadent, or outrageously decadent?

[It's funny, that the closer he gets to the end the more aware he is of time as something precious and irretrievable, something he's now as greedy for as any mortal soul. Maybe it's because so much of that time has been spent in ways he's dreamed about for centuries, in the best of company.

And if there's any chance, any chance at all to keep Crowley's smile this way--starlit, joyful, untroubled--he'll thwart anything, no matter how big. He's always been willing to take outrageous risks to preserve that smile; why should this be any different, just because it's the end of the world?

But--here and now, in this moment, the bathroom is warm with steam, the air perfumed, and everything around them is brightened by that incomparable smile.]

You're tempting me towards outrageously decadent, [he purrs.] You've always been very good at that.

I know. 'm better at your job than you are.

[Crowley smirks and lifts one of Aziraphale's hands, turns it and kisses the inside of the wrist, which in addition to being a favorite erogenous zone of his is also not currently decorated by marker. His eyes remain fixed on Aziraphale's the whole time.]

At least, where you're concerned I am. Why don't you help me get all these clothes out of the way, hmm?

[A warm shiver sweeps up his arm and along the back of his neck at that light kiss; over two thousand years Crowley's learned how to turn Aziraphale into putty in his hands in increasingly quick and efficient ways, and this is one of the quickest. Aziraphale laughs softly, reaches back a little further to draw out the band holding Crowley's hair back.]

Cheeky. [He leans close, rubs their noses together briefly, then pulls back so he can reach for the hem of Crowley's shirt.]

[Crowley's smirk fades into a groan accompanied by an eyeroll.]

I meant out of your clothes, you lech. The ones our favourite scourge of the world coloured on, remember?

[But he lets Aziraphale pull his shirt over his head, shimmering out of it to reveal a lean chest lightly dusted with freckles. As soon as it's off, however, he reaches for Aziraphale's buttons.]

It always pays to be specific, my sweet paragon of virtue. [It's playful, a tease and an endearment, and within moments he's reached up to pull off his own tie so Crowley can have better access to his collar buttons. The sweater vest is still a problem, though, so he has to pull back to tug it off over his own head.] I do wish you would let me bite him once in a while, though. Just a little nip to discourage future cat-coloring.

There are rules about not biting the Antichrist, I'm sure. Got to be written somewhere. And if he ever does take over I don't want him thinking of you as that one demon who clawed him as a child.

[It's said flippantly, as though in jest, but there's a bit of truth to it. In a worst worst case scenario Crowley at least wants to make sure Aziraphale might have some measure of protection, such as Warlock being genuinely fond of him.

Best to not let Aziraphale's mind wander along those lines, however, so Crowley is quick to tease him by catching hold of his other wrist, undoing the cufflinks and then kissing it as he did the first, then nipping at the delicate skin with his teeth. He grins.]

Sweet paragon of virtue, my arse. A sweet paragon of virtue wouldn't do the things I'm planning to do with you.

[They're walking a high wire, these days--this is the most dangerous of all their schemes so far, no question, but they've both been so happy to have so much time together. It's tempting to live like mortals, but they have so much to think about, so much to plan for...

And none of it is important, right now, with Crowley's teeth scraping gently at his wrist. His grin matches the angel's, broad and mischievous.]

Mm... I should hope not. And I rather like the way your plan's unfolding.

[The hand Crowley's not holding drifts up to tangle in his loose hair, stroking through it.]

[Crowley's eyelids flutter shut for a moment. He has a serious weakness for his hair being tugged and stroked and played with, as Aziraphale well knows. It's one reason why he keeps it a bit long.]

Ngh...I'd purr, but that's your area of expertise...

[His fingers return to the buttons on Aziraphale's shirt, much more hasty and fumbling than they were a few minutes ago.]

Help me get these all damned things off, won't you. Every minute we're not naked and in that bathtub is wasted minute.

If you insist.

[The words are nearly a growl, and he closes the distance between them to take a deep, slow kiss from Crowley's mouth; the buttons, being attached to a demon's shirt, slip open more easily than buttons on humans do, if only because they know what will happen to them if they don't get out of the way in a hurry.

(By now the scar on his throat and the long stripes on his back are faint marks, and though they'll never fade entirely he's grown comfortable with Crowley seeing them.)

His fingers curl a little tighter in Crowley's hair; he rolls his shoulders a little to try and shrug the shirt off as more buttons come undone.]

[Crowley does insist, and would say so, except that before he can take a breath to shape the words he's being very expertly kissed, and there's nothing to be done with that but return it as best he can. Fortunately by this point his best is pretty blessed good.

Or good enough for Aziraphale, at least, which is all Crowley cares about.

The buttons miraculously start behaving and undoing themselves, and Crowley can slide the marker-stained shirt off, let it lie abandoned on the floor until he comes to miracle it clean later. For those stains, he'll cheat. For the ones on Aziraphale himself...

Crowley breaks off the kiss with a gasp, raises a reproachful eyebrow.]

Stop using your wiles to distract me, fiend. We have a goal here.

I'm a hedonist. I like to enjoy the journey.

[He's downright playful now, the tension of the day melting out of him--and he punctuates his declaration by sneaking an arm around Crowley's waist and pulling him close again, just briefly. This time, though, he only drops a kiss on the end of Crowley's nose before stepping back a little to tackle Crowley's belt and the fastenings of his jeans.]

But since you're so goal-oriented today, I suppose arguing is fruitless.

I intend to enjoy the journey, but the journey doesn't start until you're in the damned bathtub.

[He tries to sound reproachful. It doesn't really succeed, given that his breath catches halfway through as Aziraphale deftly removes his belt. The buckle looks like a set of wings, which separate as Aziraphale undoes it. Crowley accepts this inevitable bit and wriggles out of his jeans, letting the demon slide the denim over his hips. Such as he has hips. Crowley doesn't really have hips.

Aziraphale does, however, and Crowley's quick to reach for them in turn, sliding his hands appreciatively over the curves briefly before going to the buttons at the waist, which behave much better for him than the cufflinks did.]

After all, I thought you wanted to get rid of the marker smell? Seducing me won't do that.

Won't it? Not even if I wile you into getting so desperately worked up that you drag me right into all those bubbles and have your way with me till I'm too tired to protest?

[He's always maintained a fairly consistent panda bear shape, and has never really minded--it contributes to his image as someone utterly harmless, and it's not as if it ever hampered his ability to seduce anyone. And Crowley has never complained, has only ever touched him like he's somehow worthy of an angel's hands, so why would he change? His only real sources of self-consciousness are his scars, and Crowley touches those with loving care, too.]

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Crowley can be gardener or nanny, but what's Aziraphale?

C as gardener, A as gardener's cat and nanny? (Never around at the same time...)

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and sure, sounds good, though then is Aziraphale female-presenting generally or no?

I think with the Dowlings he is and he takes it off when he's not working.

Makes no difference to Crowley, obviously. Who still loves James Bond films.

Might be a factor in why A gets James Bond's car... ;)

If you like but the Bentley is still going to be a thing. Crowley/Bentley otp

Oh absolutely. Drag races out in the country!

Oh lord he will *love* that.

The 60s and 70s will probably be really, really fun for these two.

Ohhhh yes. "It's free love!" "It's hedonism!" "Great, we both win. Let's do Woodstock."

And A would LOVE rock. His piano is Crowley's only competition. ;)

Honestly Crowley is good with that. Ever seen the film Impromptu?

I don't think so! Good piano movie?

It's about Chopin, so yes. ;) Also has Emma Thompson in her funniest role ever.

Oooh! On my to-watch list now, ty!

Odd interesting film with stellar cast.

I love those. Similar recommend: A Feast At Midnight. About food and not music, but wonderful.

/adds to list!

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Oh lord he will love that.