faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

It's a reclaiming, in part. These bodies belong to them. They were taken away for a little while, sort of, but no longer. Theirs to take care of and enjoy and share with each other.

Aziraphale turns his head to kiss Crowley's hair, and Crowley cranes in, steals a kiss on the mouth. Awkward position in ways but doable. Sharing mouths, breath, with Aziraphale resting encircled in his arms...

Crowley would be pretty content to keep it at that, but another part of his anatomy is starting to pay attention to things, filling and twitching against the small of Aziraphale's back. Crowley accordingly let's his hands wander a little further afield, over covered thighs and back up. Drifting around the waistline. Reaching in and down to cup him for a moment with one hand. Not too quickly, none of it, just...teasing. Appreciating.

A sense of themselves and the freedom from those that would dictate what and who they are and should be has been a topic in their lives for a rather long time, in one way or another, whether by discarding the concepts entirely or being too stuck to them. To have their bodies taken away for a while, almost forever, almost being seperated in more intrinsic ways than that - reclaiming is a good word. Rebellion, in a way. Celebration, maybe. Definitely much needed comfort.

He feels Crowley against his back, feels his hands travel over his thighs, touches that create a want for more. Efforts tend to be left to be decided to the moments they are relevant, but he has, as Crowley will feel, quite made his decision with barely a whisper of a thought. There's a light twitch of his shoulders back against Crowley's chest at the touch, and he leans his head, turning more to meet the kiss properly.

A hand goes over Crowley's wrist, an encouraging hold to tell him to keep going.

He'd meant to suggest a little and then move on, still taking it slow. But Aziraphale traps his hand in place, traps his mouth, and Crowley can take a hint.

Slowly he prizes his angel's lips open with his tongue, takes time to explore his mouth, tasting and breathing him in. At the same time his hand takes a more firm grip between Aziraphale's thighs, fingers settling into a firm hold and slowly stroking. Slow, all of it. No rushing.

They will rush later, he suspects. At some point there will be a desperate scramble, the kind of "I thought I lost you" grappling you get in romance novels and action films. And maybe they need that. But they need this too.

Whatever Aziraphale needs, Crowley will give it to him, however he can. Forever. That's been truth for almost as long as they've known each other. This is just another way of saying it, showing it.

Aziraphale knows that about Crowley - even when he doesn't know what he himself needs, he knows Crowley will be there to provide it none the less. From the words he doesn't know he needs, to the smallest whims. He hasn't always been the best at showing his appreciation for the fact...but he's been getting better, ever since the shackles of Heaven were finally broken.

There's a faint muffled sound from the back of his throat, welcoming all that the demon gives him. Slow is good, he likes slow. Slow is good specially now, giving them the time to appreciate every touch, every breath, every taste of each other, in the comfortable silence of the room.

He gently digs the fingers of his free hand into Crowley's hair, tilting his head and parting his lips, tongue brushing against the demon's. He wants this, needs this maybe, wants to share. Wants to feel that he's here, that Crowley's here, and they're here together, against all odds. So many odds stacked against them, he wonders if they really ever did anything so wrong that they could deserve such punishments.

--Don't think about it. Don't think about it.

Crowley has six millennia's worth of experience watching Aziraphale be in denial or restrain something he doesn't know how to cope with. Even with his eyes closed and the distraction of a kiss, he can read Aziraphale's tension.

He's not all right. Neither of them are. They will be. They'll get there.

Crowley sighs into the kiss, wraps his free arm more firmly around Aziraphale, splays his flat palm and open fingers over the angel's heart. His other hand moves, teases at the elastic pyjama waistband and slips underneath, resumes its hold and slow, firm strokes with no barriers.

Crowley really wants there to be no barriers between them, not even thin cloth layers.

(Elsewhere scales caress against feathers, and it's comforting).

They aren't alright. He certainly isn't alright, and even pretending that he is or could be would fall even shorter than any of his usual lies. So he doesn't try, not again, and instead opts to dive into the physical, the intimate, the things that are only theirs.

He won't think about it. He will only feel, and he will only love, and he will give into what they have. He will refuse to let go of it.

One less barrier and he pulls in a soft breath, breaking the kiss for a moment and gently pressing his forehead against the demon's. The tension will leave him one way or another, and this way may be a bit more effective than a backrub.

Crowley has the advantage in this. There are lessons you learn when you Fall, and one of them is about isolation. There are illusions you're stripped of, along with God's grace. He's had millennia to get used to things Aziraphale's never had to face or really think about.

But one of his coping mechanisms has always been protecting Aziraphale, and in particular protecting him from those particular fates. In some ways it hurts Crowley more to know (and he knows, however the angel hides it) how lost and untethered and terrified Aziraphale must be feeling, hurts more than knowing how close they came to losing everything. Hurts more than the reminder. If anything Crowley is better off for the whole experience, in some ways. He's faced his worst fear, the one he always thought was inevitable, and he's still here. With Aziraphale, hand on hand, skin on skin.

(Feathers against scales, eyes closed as they rest, but he can still see the angelic glow of his beloved surrounding him, and even though there is no warmth There he feels it anyway)

Crowley doesn't have to think about it. He knows what to do. There will be so much more they need to do to recover from this, but this isn't a bad place to start.

Crowley kisses Aziraphale gently but thoroughly, tongue tracing slow circles around his mouth even as his hand works a deliberate rhythm around Aziraphale's cock, using all the little tricks he knows his angel likes. Twisting just here on the upstroke, swiping his thumb over the head here and there, tightening here and loosening there, taking cues from Aziraphale's breathing. Eventually he releases Aziraphale's mouth and kisses his way back to the angel's ear, breathes hot breath into the lobe. "That'sss it, angel--" he murmurs, soft and encouraging. "You're doing ssso well for me. How'sss it feel?"

Things he's never had to face. Things he never opened his eyes to, no matter how close they'd been. Heaven doesn't work as a family, most of them aren't even friends, they're all the idea of Pristine, Perfect Beings working within goals and strict rules. Aziraphale had broken away from that, in increasingly more significant manners the more time he spent away from Heaven, but he still always felt part of it, part of him, connected intrinsically as the being he is. And then he made other connections, with Crowley, with humans, with Earth. Different types of connections, different things and people grounding him and ready for him to fall back on, but he never truly thought of the empty, of the Nothing, of isolation. Crowley had talked to him about eternity, when trying to persuade him to help stop the Apocalipse, but even that was filled with something, just the wrong things and the wrong people. And Aziraphale had felt loneliness, too, sometimes when their friendship would be strained, or on that day he made the wrong choice. But there was always something. Even on the day Heaven cut him off, that happened because he'd made his choice. Because Crowley was there, and helped him see what he wanted. He made a choice.

To be aware of the Nothing, to step on the rope and look down to see that the safety net you always assumed was there, even if you've never seen it, had no idea of its shape and size and characteristics, assumed it was there because certainly it had to be, it's only natural, only logical - only to find out it isn't...

He's trying not to think about it. He doesn't want to think about it. He rejects thinking about it. Not that any of that will mean anything at all as soon as things get quiet again.

( He glows and he rests. He exists in that place, they do, and he feels himself wrapped up and secure.)

He gives himself into what Crowley gives him. That's not difficult, not in the slightest, feeling himself wrapped up and held and secure here too, skin against skin, warm breaths and sweet tastes, familiar hands and being known. Soft, sweet murmurs that reverberate in his head. He grips Crowley's hair between his fingers, arching back against him when his mouth is free, head back against the demon's shoulder. Hot breath in panting growing heavier. "Ah--good. It feels so-mmph-"

"Shhh. I have you." Crowley bends his head and kisses Aziraphale's neck again, stays there, lets his breath tease at the angel's skin. There's fingers tugging on his hair and he loves that, hisses a little in encouragement at a particularly hard pull. Speeds up the rhythm of his hand just a bit, makes his grip a little more firm. "I've got you, angel. Just let yourself feel good, that'sss it..."

He's hissing again, his tongue a bit more forked and no doubt his eyes more yellow. Doesn't matter. Aziraphale has seen it, loves it all, accepts it. Crowley kisses Aziraphale's neck again, then his cheek.

He's always loved those eyes, no matter how they look. Maybe the 'always' part isn't quite literal, but it doesn't matter, he loves those eyes, and they're his home. That's all he needs that to be.

And the hissing, connected to so many of Crowley's stronger emotions, but the angel's become well acquainted to the more pleasant ones. Times like this, specially, when it's just the two of them, locked together in a close embrace, shared warmth and shared bodies, close, gentle or otherwise, that sound and that voice, it's become something that brings him such comfort. But he could say that about all of Crowley.

He holds on for a while longer, gripping Crowley's hair tighter between his fingers, pulling at it harder when his muscles tense, breathing heavy, close to the demon's ear. His other hand, having let go of his partner's arm, grips tightly at the covers.

"Crowley-" A strained call, slipping through his lips as natural as it could ever be. An encouragement, a request. Appreciation, if he could manage it. It often suffices.

Crowley mewls a little at that hard grip on his hair; he loves it when Aziraphale does that, and loves it even more if it's unconscious, if it happens because Aziraphale is too wrapped up in pleasure to control his grip. He's hard himself, his own cock trapped between his abdomen and Aziraphale's back. Sometimes he lifts his hips to run it against Aziraphale's spine, just a bit, just for the pressure.

Later. They can tend to that later. In the meantime this is good, this is so good. It's something Crowley likes at the best of times, getting to have Aziraphale leaning back so Crowley can wrap himself around the angel like an oddly shaped blanket, circle him in an embrace with arms and legs, get his hands and mouth on him. Give him nothing to do but enjoy it.

Here, here, this is where you belong. With me, in my arms, in my hand. "That'sss it, angel," he says again, voice low and enticing. "You're getting clossse, I know... that'ss good..." Crowley turns his head and kisses him again, and it's interrupted by gasping. "Don't hold back, love. I want to feel you, hear you--Aziraphale--"

If anything is the last thing he has to hear, he would want it to be Crowley's voice, whispering, murmuring in his hear. But he would listen to it again and again, being gentle, being encouraging, enticing and honey-sweet.

And he does belong there. If there's anywhere he's ever belonged, or at least felt so much at home, it's wrapped in Crowley's arms, whether in the throws of passion, or simply resting and chatting away in warm familiarity, or on those nights where the wrong words have left wounds that need to be nursed carefully and they learn to not repeat the same mistakes. Any way that they can learn on each other, it gives him a comfort he didn't even know existed, not that long ago. And he craves it more than ever, after it was almost taken away from them.

Words fail when pressure builds. Gasps and heavy breaths, Crowley's murmurs and hissing further making him shudder, pushing back against him and holding on, holding, holding, even against what he's told, strained groans escaping escaping him until he can't hold any longer. With a gasping moan, he tenses and arches his head back, the pleasure of his orgasm shooting through him in a warm encompassing wave. He glows, he does, faintly, here, for a moment, as sometimes happens, some part of him that breaks through when he does let go, some part no one else but the demon has ever bore witness.

Crowley supports him through it, like he always has; it's still a wonder to him sometimes that he can be open about things now, that they can do this. Not the sex, but the intimacy. That's the part that was always risky and forbidden--certainly to Crowley, possibly to Aziraphale also.

But it's theirs now. Everything is theirs. To have and to hold and to share and to keep.

When Aziraphale's head falls back Crowley's shoulder is there for it to rest on as the demon holds him during his climax, slowing his strokes to help push him through it until the angel finally is limp and relaxed in his embrace and he can let go. Crowley turns his face to kiss Aziraphale's cheek. "There you go..." he murmurs. "That was good, love, that was perfect, you're perfect..." Another kiss, and a brush of his beaky nose against soft skin. "You're so good, my angel."

That was the hardest part, the intimacy. For all the good it brings, it also allows for a lot of mistakes with grander consequences. Aziraphale had had enough trouble with it all before they ever found themselves free to be together, and he still makes mistakes, but they have time to work through it all, and to learn from every experience.

Everything they have is theirs. And no one's taking that away.

His body relaxes, and he slowly works on catching his breath, the one he doesn't need, and the gentle kisses and gentler words pull a faint, slightly hazy smile out of him. He leans his head against the nuzzling demon's, one of his hands coming up to touch the one resting on his chest.

He hums quietly and vaguely. "Far too kind, my dear." he murmurs sweetly against him, drinking in every word. Crowley's temptations don't hold a candle to words like these.

The fact that they make mistakes and then work through them is still a wonder to Crowley. He's not used to mistakes being fixable, or going unpunished. In a relationship the stakes are simultaneously lower and higher than they've ever been.

But because it's a relationship they work together to fix the mistakes, instead of being at odds. The most profound change of all, after millennia of balancing and cancelling each other out.

Crowley catches at Aziraphale's hand, presses it to his chest, covers it. "Am not," he murmurs, nibbling languidly at Aziraphale's skin. A double denial these days, as the angel well knows. He's not kind because he's a demon and demons aren't kind, by definition. And he's not too kind because it's impossible to be too kind to Aziraphale, who deserves all that's eat and brightest in the world. It's a fond argument by now, both halves of it. As soothing and familiar as a caress.

It's work. Work far more difficult but far more valuable than anything they've ever done. They're still learning, you can't just forget six millenia and more of a way of living in a single night. But they'll keep going, and they'll keep trying, and they'll keep on loving each other through it.

He smiles, gently squeezes Crowley's fingers against his chest, breathes out a calm sigh through his nose. And he stays like that for a beat, just riding on the calmness and glow, and feeling the warmth of his demon wrapped around him.

Opening his eyes just barely, with a glance, he shifts slightly, gently pressing back against the demon. He feels him, there, stiff against his back, patient as he is. "Mh, dear...I believe I should repay the favor."

It's work, but it's the most satisfying and rewarding work they've ever done, both in the short term and the long term. Crowley lowers his head and just breathes for a moment, being in the moment. It's a good moment, with Aziraphale warm and content and next to him.

Then he pushes back and Crowley's breath hitches. It's not that he'd forgotten how aroused he was, exactly, he was just...concentrating on other things. But that small pointed movement definitely recaptures his attention. "I--ngk--" he manages, briefly tongue-tied. "If you want, then...yeah, yes. 'Course." He kisses Aziraphale's neck. "Angel."

The coy smile on his face and his gentle air might be betrayed by his objective, but not entirely. He brings his free hand back up to curl back and gently touch at Crowley's hair, while the other keeps intertwined with the demon's on his chest. The stuttering doesn't pass him by, in fact he finds it quite endearing. There's a rather lovely feeling in being able to catch the demon by surprise sometimes.

He turns his head to place a gentle kiss on Crowley's cheekbone. "I do." He murmurs sweetly against his cheek, a fair easier answer; he's feeling Crowley's already, which he shifts against again, just a gentle tease.

Crowley draws in another ragged breath, closes his eyes. Aziraphale's mouth is warm on his skin, and the smell of his breath somehow shoots down Crowley's spine, pooling in the small of his back, hot and hungry. He shudders with anticipation. "How d'you want me, then?"

Aziraphale gently digs his fingers through the demon's hair, a gentle touch, affectionate, but not without the suggestion of something a bit less gentle if the demon so wishes. They know each other's tastes, the way to handle each other's corporations and the way they move together. And what they need, right now, is the comfort of that familiarity.

So Aziraphale keeps his voice quiet and low, smooth. Gentle fussing through that fiery red hair, body pressed back against him, warm and soft, with only the most faint movements. Their hands kept to his chest. A gentle, slow build up. Things he's learned in the time they've been together.

He presses another kiss on his cheek as he thinks. One on his jaw. One by his ear. "I want you to take me."

"Angel--"

He should be used to it by now. He never is, somehow. They've done this countless times now, and Aziraphale's stated his desires in those exact words countless times, and it still leaves Crowley breathless with astonishment, still sends a thrill through him. His arms tighten before he takes a breath and forces himself to loosen them, and the way he nibbles at Aziraphale's neck is more sharp than he probably intends. He can keep it gentle and slow like this, he can, he has and he will, but fuck, he wants...

Crowley shudders all over, his hands already wandering, and nips at Aziraphale's neck again. "...on your stomach." His voice is lower already, husky. "Lie down for me, angel. While I get you ready."

He already is ready, almost painfully so all at once. But he refuses to rush this part.

The tone in Crowley's voice sends shivers down his spine, with the sting on his neck having something to do with it. The offers he gives the demon when the mood strikes for intimacy and passion are delivered easily and well, but sometimes there is a struggle, a pleasant one, to listen more than he speaks. To feel and to turn, to take or to give, hold or be held. But there are no limits in the way they go about these things, they can do all if they so wish. These things, these moments that are theirs and theirs alone. Thrills that won't end.

Aziraphale doesn't rush, either. He never rushes when he's enjoying something, unless that's part of the experience, and even then. He takes a few more seconds to press kisses on Crowley's face, on his temple, before finally pulling away languishly, shifting and lowering himself onto the bed, plush and comfortable, glancing over his shoulder at his demon.

"I love you, my dear." Simple words, a quiet voice, but also given with a point. There are many ways the angel can lack in being self aware, but less so when situations of this nature call for his full attention.

Crowley accepts all those kisses and returns a few, capturing Aziraphale's mouth briefly before the angel turns to settle himself on the bed and Crowley accordingly gets to his knees beside him, leans over to reach for the bottle of lubricant they keep beside the bed. (There are times when it's part of the thrill to magic something up and cackle about some poor sap doing the paperwork for it, a small hello, and fuck you to their previous employers; there are other times when they simply don't care. But there are also times for complete privacy with no specter of being observed, and this is one of them)

Aziraphale's statement arrests him mid-motion, as it so often does. Crowley waited too long to hear it to ever take it for granted or let it pass by without a response. His eyes almost glow in the dark, wide and golden, as they are during moments of passion or intense emotion.

He leans down and takes another kiss, tasting Aziraphale's mouth and moaning like it's something ambrosial. "Angel," he whispers, endearment and wonderment and statement of fact all in one. He slides his mouth to Aziraphale's shoulder, kisses that, drops kisses all along his upper back even as his slicked fingers reach carefully between the Aziraphale's thighs. "I love you." His finger teases at the puckered opening he finds there, circles, presses, withdraws and circles again. "More than I ever thought possible. More than anything else on Earth or outside it." He pushes in just the tip, stretches him gently. Bites a little at his shoulder. "Beyond life, or death, or eternity." Pushes in further, to the first knuckle, then the second. Crowley gasps and shivers as though he's the one being penetrated, his control kept sharply in check. (Somewhere else, scales spark with internal light, and coils shift to encircle.)

"Beyond everything," Crowley whispers, meaning it and knowing what it means better than most are capable of understanding, and pushes in a second finger as he kisses the back of Aziraphale's neck.

Aziraphale closes his eyes when Crowley's hand first moves between his thighs, leaving nothing but the sensation of his touch, of his kisses, and that voice whispering undying eternal, devotion. Not the first time the demon declares his everburning feelings for the angel, words that barely reach the ankles of everything he's done to show it. Every time, it brings a shiver to the angel's spine to know, and let himself know, that there's someone that loves and cares for him so deeply, so passionately. That something he spent the better part of his existence never imagining or even being aware was something he could ever have, a being of Love, for whatever that really entails, finding out he could be more than a mere observer...

Every time, it blinds him to everything else. When it's quiet, when the only thing is their bodies, his voice, warmth, in a void made for their own, when everything else stops existing. Every time, it steals his breath.

This time, he knows. They know. They already did know, but this time they have been forced to prove it. This time, he's seen it happen, they've had it happen, he's seen it and the words ring so much louder. It rocks him to his core. All the things he doesn't want to think about, they'll be louder too, but they don't get to take this away from them.

His breath shakes. He grips the the sheets under him and hunches his shoulders. Bites at his lip, gasps when another finger is pushed into him, tensing slightly around it. "Crowley..." A soft murmur, feeling the warm lips on the back of his neck.

( Somewhere else, wings fold back and let themselves be held, a bundle of bright light inviting that touch.)

It matters to Crowley to say it like this, sometimes. Not just I love you but the ultimately unsuccessful attempt to express how much. It can't be done, and they both know it; the bond between them is profound in a way that goes far beyond words in any language mortal or immortal. But Crowley likes to try sometimes, to be expansive and eloquent. After so much time having to keep the words in it's a relief to say it, even if he can only say a small part of what's meant.

That doesn't matter. Aziraphale knows what he doesn't say.

Actions do speak louder. Not the fact of Crowley's fingers there, so intimately situated, but it shows in how much care he takes, his own body's needs held in check while he sees to Aziraphale's, slowly and carefully opening him up, making sure every step is pleasurable and relaxed instead of rushed. He can wait. He's always been good at waiting. And any discomfort for him is more than repaid by the sound of Aziraphale gasping, the sight of his fingers gripping the bedsheets, the way his body trembles around Crowley's fingers. "That's it, he says, soft and soothing. "That's good, angel, let me take care of you..."

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avid subscriber that crowley isn't the only one with a thing for praise

I also subscribe to that.

just look at their lives tbh

ohhhhh yes

Re: ohhhhh yes

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