faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

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.]

That already was the plan!

[Crowley adores Aziraphale's curves, all of them, has never touched them with anything less than worship. They're soft and safe and welcoming, always welcoming, and he loves them. He might not love the scars except in that they're part of Aziraphale, but he's never shied away from them either. His lips know the feel of every line of scar tissue, he's done his best to overwrite whatever memories they hold with an imprint of himself, with loving hands and loving tongue. Always love, always.]

Except the other way around. More me getting you into the bath and rubbing your shoulders, and your everything else, and teasing you until you can't stand it anymore and take me up against the wall. Or on the floor. Or both. The point is, no stealing my plan, I had it first.

[Aziraphale's laugh is dark and warm, and once his trousers are open he lets them drop to the floor and steps out of them, arms wrapping around Crowley. Somehow the angel's slighter frame makes Aziraphale feel as if all his own solid mass is made for strength, for protection.]

We could flip a coin for it. That's worked out well for us in the past.

Oh no, you're not catching me out with that. You cheat.

[Crowley is grinning wide though, he can't be anything but delighted whenever he hears Aziraphale laugh like that. And of course he wraps his arms around Aziraphale in turn, nuzzles at his cheek, kisses the demon's neck softly.]

Bathtub first. Getting you clean next. Both of us being wonderfully filthy after that.

I do not cheat, [he says--unconvincingly, because, well, demon--but his eyes drift shut in contentment for a moment as they hold one another. Comfort floods his body as he inhales deeply, filling his lungs with the scents of Crowley's skin and the steam billowing through the room, and he lets himself soak in it for another moment before pulling back, brushing a kiss against one of those perfect cheekbones. He shoots the angel a wry look before he steps into the tub--ah, and the water is the perfect temperature, extremely warm.]

All right. Bathtub accomplished.

[Crowley snorts. It's an expressive snort, one puff of air to state of course you don't cheat, and I'm Empress Elizabeth of Austria.]

You're still standing, you--oh, move over.

[Crowley steps into the bathtub behind Aziraphale, sits down and spreads his knees apart, gesturing vaguely between them.]

Get down here. And try to resist all the lewd places your mind just went, even if it's only for ten minutes.

Edited 2020-01-18 02:29 (UTC)

[He shoots Crowley a look that manages to be both fond and leering at the same time; still, he makes no further protest as he kneels in the tub and turns so he can settle between the angel's legs with his back against that narrow chest. A long sigh of contentment escapes him as the warm water envelops him, as he eases back into Crowley's embrace, and his eyes flutter shut. His shoulders relax, his hands loosen, and if a human throat could purr his would be doing it right now.]

Mmm... I think I can manage ten minutes.

Maybe fifteen.

[The bathtub is bigger on the inside, of course, and graciously makes space to accommodate the pair of them. Crowley wraps his arms around Aziraphale from behind and makes a small, blissful noise as they relax against each other. He nuzzles softly at the curls of Aziraphale's hair, the space behind his ear.]

Maybe longer. This is perfect. Got you right where I want you for a while.

[It's barely a matter of seconds before he's melting happily into Crowley's arms--the angel rubs his nose gently against the soft thin skin behind one of Aziraphale's ears, and it has roughly the same effect on him that Crowley's excellent cat-petting skills have on his feline form. Which is probably cheating, and he would bring it up, but he's extremely comfortable as he is just now.]

What, at your mercy? [The tease is soft and drawling, almost drowsy, and there's no heat in it at all.] S'a nice place to be.

Should hope so. 'm an angel, after all.

[A small kiss there, behind the ear, and then they just sit there for a while, soaking in the hot water and each other's presence. It still delights Crowley how easy it is now, how natural. It took a long time to get to this point, and it was worth every minute. The moments like this are worth everything.

After some interminate number of minutes he sighs and moves a little, unwraps his arms and palms Aziraphale's chest, his arms.]

Should get you clean, though. Soap you up.

[Another kiss behind the ear suggests that there may be some ulterior motives involved. Aziraphale might be the more experienced lecher bur Crowley took to it like a duck to...to...to whatever it is ducks take to.]

[Aziraphale lets out a soft rumbling noise, arching slightly under those gorgeous long hands, languid and warm and perfectly contented.]

Mrr--you're intending to work me up into a lather, aren't you. [A warm, broad smile blooms across his face.] Do your worst. Or your best, I suppose.

[The mrr earns a chuckle and another kiss. Crowley loves making Aziraphale purr, whatever form he's in.]

Can't get you clean if you're not properly soaped up.

[His hands wander, one of them drifting suggestively downwards on Aziraphale's belly, low enough to tease.]

...or improperly soaped up. That'd do.

[First he needs soap, though, so Crowley reaches behind him and snags the bottle so conveniently left there earlier. Unfortunately he needs both hands to get it open, to rub the gel between his hands and work up the foam.]

Lean forward for me?

[His breath hisses in quietly at that teasing touch; he nearly groans when Crowley takes both hands off him altogether to reach for the soap. But he does as he's asked, with only a brief glance over his shoulder, presenting the scarred and marker-splotched expanse of his back.]

He didn't attempt to draw anything on me, did he? Write his name anywhere?

Hard to say. There's a bit here that might be a backwards Z.

[He runs a soapy finger over the letter, then scrubs at it more firmly, watching with interest as the soap suds turn pale blue.]

A few random lines and arcs...this bit actually says "hedgehog" in ancient Oggham, but that's probably coincidence.

[He rubs at all the marks, which fortunately come off easily, then leans forward again so he can reach the ones on Aziraphale's chest and eventually legs, kissing the demon's neck again in passing.]

The one on your thigh there looks like a bit like a rabbit.

[He chuckles at the hedgehog bit--Warlock may be the Antichrist, but Aziraphale knows he doesn't have much aptitude for ancient signs and symbols. At least not yet. And when Crowley points it out he does glance down at the mark on his thigh.]

It does, a little. Or those could be demonic horns instead of floppy ears. Hard to tell.

[For a moment he's quiet, considering.]

Didn't really think I'd ever do this again, you know. The whole child-rearing bit, I mean.

[Crowley's hands pause for the faintest second, out of surprise. It's very, very rare for Aziraphale to bring up his previous stint at child-rearing.]

I know.

[He does stop then, just wraps his arms and legs around his demon, enfolding him.]

And you didn't even have to put up with things like markers the first time. Though I don't doubt he found other mischief to do. Had a right knack for it.

[Crowley loved you then as he loves you now, Aziraphale, but there's no denying Lancelot was one endless headache for him.]

[Aziraphale relaxes back into the hug, letting himself be wrapped and comforted. They haven't talked much about Lancelot--for a long time Camelot on the whole has been a bit of a sore subject. But now the sharpest of the pain those memories carried has been softened by time, and Aziraphale finds he can think about the good times more easily.]

He really did. Wiled me into letting him keep a fox kit he found in the woods when he was six, did I ever tell you?

[Which was how he learned it's possible to both be extremely proud of someone and deeply annoyed with them at the same time.]

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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