faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

That mouth will be the death of him. Crowley's known it for years and now he's sure. One way or another it was always going to be his doom. It'll be this way, with plush lips sampling his skin, his abdomen, tasting him and lingering appreciatively, tongue dipping briefly into his navel, and then Aziraphale licks the slit of his cock, sucks him briefly, takes him in and all Crowley can do is keen and dig his hands into the sheets.

He tries not to claw holes in the fabric. He'll wreck the bed at this rate. He doesn't care. Fingers ask silent questions, request feedback, but all Crowley's words are gone, swallowed somewhere. There's just heat and wet suction and he's a God-blessed mess of desperate needy ecstacy and it's amazing and it's going to kill him and he does. not. care. Anything, so long as Aziraphale doesn't stop. Anything.

Somewhere along the line the high-pitched whimpers become words, a nonstop litany of praise, yesGodangelyespleasesogoodhardermoreplease. It'll have to be enough. He can't be more coherent than that. He's not even aware he's using words, all his being is reduced to more, please, yes, yes, yes...

It's not the explicit hand-holding feedback like earlier, but it's more than enough for Aziraphale to go on, and he listens eagerly. More? He can give more. No one warned him about a gag reflex, so it isn't much trouble to take all of Crowley down his throat -- slowly, of course, building up to it as a human might, more for Crowley's pleasure than his own comfort. Harder...? He's not sure what to do about that. He can suck harder, which he does whenever he pulls back.

Is this good? He thinks so, based on the sounds that Crowley's making. He hazards a glance up, and oh yes, Crowley is definitely enjoying himself. It fills him with a deep sense of contentment. A human might call that pride, but an angel is never prideful. And isn't it an angel's role to serve? Never mind that the feeling of Crowley's cock brushing his soft palate, the weight of it against his tongue, isn't satisfying in its own right.

Rhythm established, he grips both of Crowley's hips with his hands, holding him steady against the mattress, thumbs tenderly brushing the jut of his hipbones. I'm here, he tries to communicate via touch. I'll give you whatever you need.

The greatest act of self-control Crowley's ever done is taking Aziraphale's head in his hands and pulling him back up, and he groans as he does it, missing the heat of that mouth as soon as it's gone. "Not--not yet," he manages by way of explanation, seizing Aziraphale's lips and kissing him deeply, tasting himself in the angel's mouth. "S'good, fuck, it's perfect, but not yet, I want--"

He rolls them over again, then it's his turn to move down, kissing and biting and sucking on his way. "Want to taste you," he says between bruising open-mouthed kisses on Aziraphale's chest, before latching on to one of his nipples. "All of you, I want...fuck, angel, want you so much...!"

Aziraphale makes a small, questioning sound as he's pulled up and away from pleasuring Crowley, but any concerns are silenced with that kiss. He would have brought Crowley to climax, would have swallowed his spend -- in fact, he was looking forward to it -- but if this is what his demon wants, who is he to argue?

He's rolled over, helpless under the onslaught of Crowley's mouth. His arousal, formerly a steady, pleasant background noise, flares to the forefront of his mind now that he's the focus of such ardent kissing. Crowley latches onto a nipple and he cries out, hips twitching.

"You have me," he gasps, a hand reaching into Crowley's hair and gripping tight, the other pressing itself against the space between the demon's shoulder blades. "My darling, you have me. Whatever you want from me, it's yours."

Another time Crowley will let Aziraphale finish him, over and over if the angel wants. There will be other times, he'll make sure of it. But for this one, he wants something else more.

Besides, he's only had a taste of Aziraphale's skin, the barest beginning. There's so much to explore, and he's ravenous for all of it. "Want everything," he says, the words muffled. His mouth is busy, moving from one nipple to the other, still sucking and biting and kissing, seeing what affects Aziraphale the most. What actions result in what noises. One of his hands rests on Aziraphale's hip, pressing it to the mattress, his thumb idly caressing the skin there. "'m a demon. 'm greedy. It's the definition."

Aziraphale tugs on his hair and Crowley moans, his hand tightening on Aziraphale's hip. "Want to stay here for weeks, fucking you, being fucked by you. Wreck the bed. Wreck the whole room." He slides his hand down Aziraphale's thigh, moves lower, kissing Aziraphale's belly. "Make you come so many times you destroy all your furniture with your wings and half-pull my hair out with the force of your grip." Lower. He nudges against Aziraphale's cock with his nose, lips at it. "All that, angel. More."

And then he's returning the favor, opening his mouth and taking Aziraphale's cock in. Slow at first, so slowly, but deep. Gag reflexes are optional and he's got no use for his.

"Then you'll have it." His words come out breathless, caught between whimpers as Crowley explores his chest, hand tightening in that silky hair. Every touch is wanted and cherished; high-pitched moans escape him when Crowley focuses on his nipples, his fingertips digging into the muscles of Crowley's back with each sucking kiss, as if afraid he might stop at any moment. "All of it, everything, oh, Crowley...!"

At the first gentle mouthing of his cock, Aziraphale nearly sobs, overcome with pleasure. It doesn't matter that he's intimately familiar with his arousal, this is an entirely new experience. It takes all his self-control not to thrust into that mouth slowly descending upon him, to yank any harder on Crowley's hair, both hands in it now. "You --" he pants. "Oh, oh my love --"

No wonder Crowley had so much trouble with his words earlier.

Crowley makes an urgent, pleased noise at that oh, my love-- and takes him in a little deeper, pulls back a little faster, makes his mouth a little more wet so that the slide is easier. Every time he's nearly withdrawn he swipes around Aziraphale's tip with his tongue, or sucks, or both.

He takes one hand and wraps it around the base, squeezes a little to hold things back, releases Aziraphale from his mouth with a small wet pop. "Don't hold back," he says, voice more harsh than usual. He's been trying to stop Aziraphale from being so contained and self-restrained for almost as long as they've known each other, and the taste of Aziraphale's self-control waning is as intoxicating as the salt-taste on his cock. "Don't hold back, angel. Fuck my mouth if you want. Pull my hair. All of it, if you want it then do it, do it for me, let me have it."

And with that he's back, the hot press of mouth and tongue suddenly there again, taking Aziraphale in deep and moving faster. He pumps with his fist at the same time. Give it to me, give it to me, all of you, all of it.

Aziraphale's thighs tremble every time Crowley puts his clever tongue to use. He lifts his head up a little to watch and groans, almost regretting laying eyes on the sight as it is simply too much; he drops his head back onto the pillows and shuts his eyes, fingers twisting in Crowley's hair.

He's not shy about the praise he moans, although his eloquence is limited to "you're so good, my darling" and variances of such, too addled for much else. When Crowley pulls off, he whines loudly, and then blushes in embarrassment at his poor etiquette. That blush only grows with Crowley's request. He looks down at Crowley, wide-eyed, as if ready to deny, but --

Oh, the look in those yellow eyes. The want. The love and trust to make such an offer. The angel's cock twitches in clear interest. Yes, Aziraphale wants this, too.

When Crowley's mouth is on him again, Aziraphale grips tight with both hands and thrusts upward in time with the stroking, giving in to the sensation and fulfilling some deep need within both of them to love one another with abandon.

Crowley closes his eyes, writing everything about this into his memory: Aziraphale's trembling body, the painful grip on his hair, the breathless needy compliments. The complete lack of any inhibitions. No fetters, not on either of them, not of any sort, and Crowley groans his pleasure at the thought, and the wild shameless way Aziraphale takes him at his word and fucks his mouth.

His hands go to Aziraphale's hips, not to hold him down but just to hold on, to grip. His mouth is loose and wet, and he alternates between swiping with his tongue at the end of each withdrawl or sucking hard. He groans again, and every noise he makes says yes, I love this, I love you, don't stop.

Good Lord, Crowley's mouth. How does the demon know exactly what to do to make Aziraphale moan with every thrust and succumb to wave after wave of hot pleasure. Is it instinct? Or has he fantasized about this for so long that he's bound to get it right?

It doesn't matter. It feels so blessedly good, Crowley groaning with want, his hands holding onto Aziraphale's hips, so open and giving. The angel doesn't hold back, but he doesn't give more than Crowley can take, he makes sure of that.

The litany of praise starts up again, a sweet contrast to the demanding pace of his hips. But all too soon, he feels his climax building, and his words dissolve into a near frantic whine. And then, suddenly:

"Crowley! Crowley, wait --" He pulls tight on Crowley's hair, pulls him off his cock and up towards his lips for a desperate kiss. "Please, I want --" He fumbles with Crowley's hips, trying to align them like earlier, their arousals caught between them. "Can we -- that is, can we climax together?"

Crowley's groan turns to frustration as he's pulled up, but he goes without a struggle, kisses just as desperately. It takes a moment for the words to penetrate his lust-addled brain, but his arousal spikes again once they do.

"Yeah--" He swallows, breathing hard. He slides off of Aziraphale, lays next to him, pulls the angel to face him. Then he wraps his long fingers around both their cocks together. "Like this?" He hisses a little, because fuck, it does feel good, their cocks pressed together, hard and hot. "Your hand too, angel, both of us--"

Aziraphale whines softly when Crowley slides off of him, but quickly he catches on, letting himself be rolled to the side and gasping when Crowley wraps his hand around both their erections. So clever, such a sharp, brilliant way to come together. "Yes, yes," he says hoarsely, wrapping his hand around Crowley's. "Just like this."

He follows Crowley's lead effortlessly, hands moving in sync. It's hard and hot and slick, and even better, he can suck at Crowley's neck, plant sloppy kisses on his jaw, can look his gorgeous demon right in the eyes when they tip over the edge together.

"I love you," he chants in a near whisper, legs tangling with Crowley's, drawing him in. "I'm close, I'm so close, I love you I love you I love you."

Both their cocks are wet with saliva, and it's easy, so blessed easy to slide his hand over them. Crowley juts his hips up, thrusting into did fist, feels Aziraphale's cock pressed against his, and fuck he's closer than he thought he was and every whimper or touch of Aziraphale's mouth just pushed him closer. Pushes both of them closer.

"With me, angel." It's more breath than words. There's sweat pooled in the small of his back, teasing down his forehead, he's so close. "Angel, angel, come with me, come for me--fuck, I'm--angel--"

It's a warning, that last one, because he's trying to hold back until Aziraphale is there too but he can't much longer. His toes curl, press against Aziraphale's leg. "Love you--ah, ah, angel--!" he gasps, and then it's a long drawn-out moan as he's caught by rapture, shuddering as it rushes through him, his hand still moving and stroking them through it.

Despite the demon's breathless entreaties, Aziraphale holds back, just long enough to watch Crowley come first, to feel his body tense and shake and pulse against his own. It's glorious, and before he knows it, he's coming, too, with a hoarse cry and his hand faltering, carried along by those last few strokes until he closes it around Crowley's and slows them both to a graceful stop.

He doesn't need air and yet he's panting anyway, his corporation overwhelmed with pleasure. "Is that..." he huffs out, 'Oh, good Lord, Crowley, is it always so intense? Or is it because it's you? Never mind, I answered my own question."

His hand is painted with his and Crowley's release, which he notices thankfully before running fingers through the demon's sweat-damped bangs. Without thinking much of it, he brings his hand to his mouth and licks it experimentally. He would have tasted it earlier if Crowley hadn't interrupted him, and he's curious. In the aftermath of their shared orgasm, he finds it oddly appealing.

Crowley just lies there breathing for a moment, his mind whited out with pleasure and his body limp and aching pleasantly. When he opens his eyes, it's just in time to see Aziraphale tasting them. His eyes go wide. "You--fuck, that shouldn't be as hot as it is," he breathes.

He raises a shaky hand to stoke Aziraphale's face, but notices his own hand sticky with both their spend first, and laughs. Impishly he echoes Aziraphale's gesture, eyeing the angel as his forked tongue darts out to lick his skin and taste them both.

Aziraphale pauses mid-lick, like he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but the way that Crowley reacts reassures him. He smiles demurely and continues until his hand is clean. No, he doesn't mind the taste at all.

Watching Crowley do the same thing stirs him up inside, despite how delightfully wrung out his he is. His hand now clean, he pushes back sweat-darkened red bangs off of the demon's forehead, kissing the skin he reveals. "No, it shouldn't," he agrees softly. "And yet here we are."

The expression on Aziraphale's face makes Crowley smirk a little, as he suddenly understands the appeal of this. It's tempting to continue, but he's in a rather nice state of lassitude at the moment, and indulging in a bit of well-earned sloth for a while has more appeal.

He closes his eyes and sighs happily as Aziraphale kisses his forehead, then waves a hand to clear up the rest of the mess between them, leaving him free to scoot in closer. As close as he can get, arm flung over Aziraphale's waist and pulling him in. "Love you."

A warm, snuggly Crowley is impossible to resist; he tucks up against the demon, wrapping an arm around him in turn and peppering his face with kisses. "I love you, too," he murmurs, his heart aching. The enormity of it has snuck up on him and he finds himself blinking away tears. Just a few hours earlier, he was conditioning himself to loving Crowley at arm's length for eternity, and now here he was, in his bed, naked, affection pouring out of him. Out of both of them.

He sighs shakily and rests his head against Crowley's and holds the demon all the more securely. "In your arms," he whispers. "Just like the song, She's led me to you, and this is where I'll stay, for as long as you'll have me."

Crowley would snort if he could hear that thought, because he's been warm and snuggly on any number of drunken occasions in the past and Aziraphale has resisted him all too well. But it's water under the bridge now. They have, thank Whoever, gotten to this point, against all expectation and despite all obstacles.

Crowley's not about to complain about how they got here so long as they get to stay. He lifts his head up to those kisses, accepting them like a human would accept blessings, eyes closed. He can feel Aziraphale tremble, and holds him tighter. "Dunno if She led you here," he says, unable to not be honest about it even now. "Don't much care. Even if She did, it was you who chose to walk the path. You chose. Not Her, you." His embrace is suddenly hard and fierce, his next words almost raw. "Thank you."

The angel tucks his face into Crowley's neck and breathes him in for a moment or two, letting the love settle within him and around him. There's a huff of breath, barely a snort, when Crowley feels the need to contradict his statement. Even now, they don't see eye-to-eye on God's plan, but that's fine. Crowley wouldn't be himself otherwise.

And then he's squeezed, clung to so fervently that he'd have the wind knocked out of him if he were mortal. "My dear," he murmurs, brushing his hand down Crowley's spine soothingly. "Don't thank me for doing what I should have done ages ago. But yes, you're right. It doesn't matter how the path started, I chose to walk it with you."

He brushes his lips against the soft skin of Crowley's throat and adds, just a touch impishly. "You were the one who chose that song, however."

Crowley makes a protesting noise "You sang bloody Carousel at me!" He loosens his grip, though not all that much. Just enough so it's a close embrace instead of a vise grip. Though it becomes tighter again for a breath, when Aziraphale's mouth ghosts across his throat. Fuck, that feels better than it has any right to...

"'m never going to not want you" He says it quietly, pulls his head back enough that he can look at Aziraphale's face. "Not ever. So when you say, 'as long as you'll have me there'--yeah, that's...always."

He snorts. "Well, not here here always, don't really want to spend forever in this bed even with you in it, though a week or six would be good...you know what I mean." He takes a breath, tries again. "I've always loved you, Aziraphale. I don't know how not to love you. I'll have you for as long as you'll let me, and I hope it's forever, and even if it isn't I'll still be yours."

Aziraphale chuckles sheepishly into Crowley's neck, face hidden so long as he can get away with it. "I didn't choose it for the last verse," he protests weakly. "Besides, there are more melodramatic choices."

He might have sung a few of those the night before. When the drinking turned from goofy ABBA hits to maudlin torch songs. But it doesn't matter now, Crowley is saying things that he's wanted to hear since... well, 1862, considering that nearly a century of hurt feelings went by until he saw him again. "Of course it's forever," he replies, looking into Crowley's eyes adoringly. "Now that I have you here, I'm never letting you go."

He nuzzles back into Crowley's embrace and adds with a soft laugh, "Not here here, as you said, although this is extremely nice. But we have restaurants to dine at and shows to see. And picnics -- I still owe you a picnic, don't I?"

"Just as well you didn't pick one of those," Crowley mumbles into Aziraphale's hair. "If you'd picked anything more melodramatic I would've probably discorporated on the spot."

It's hard to believe that adoring gaze is fixed on him, that the words I'm never letting you go is meant for his ears. He'd hoped they'd get here, yeah, but hoping is a long way from actually managing it. Seems impossible.

"You do owe me a picnic," he says quietly, stroking Aziraphale's face before leaning in for another kiss. This one is more vulnerable than the others, lingering. It'shard, to say it all out loud, even with Aziraphale openly reciprocating. Like rolling over and exposing a vulnerable underbelly.

One kiss leads to another, a soft sigh of breath and his hands wandering again, his eyes closed. It's easier than words, now that he has permission to say things this way. Every touch whispers adoration, worship, a plea for reciprocation.

"I'll have to remember that for next time," he teases with a smooch to Crowley's cheek. "I have so many more wonderful options."

That kiss, though, that says so much. As exposed and vulnerable as Aziraphale felt when singing from his heart, he realizes now how much harder all of this is for his demon. He returns it with nothing but care, his own hands re-exploring all those lines and curves, wanting to memorize them underneath his fingertips.

"We can have it anywhere you like," he murmurs between kisses. "With all your favorite foods and a bottle from my wine cellar. I can read to you with your head in my lap. Would you like that?"

Edited 2020-01-29 17:15 (UTC)

It is hard, but it's good. It's so blessed good. Literally that, and for once that's a good thing too. He hasn't been loved like this before he Fell. He's never been loved like this. Sonic there's an almost pathetic (to a demon) needy feeling to it all, well. It's not so surprising. He just has to hope Aziraphale won't mind, and that it'll settle in a while.

(He has to trust Aziraphale won't let him fall like She did. Fortunately, he does).

"Yeah...yeah, I'd love that. But better make it somewhere private," he murmurs against Aziraphale's mouth, between soft, unhurried kisses. "'less you want us to be doing this in St. James's Park."

He slides a hand over Aziraphale's buttocks, pulling him in, not from renewed need (yet) but just to reemphasize the state they're in. Any picnic is likely to get heated. At least, if Crowley has anything to say about it, it will.

Edited 2020-01-29 19:17 (UTC)

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The first time Crowley has ever interrupted Aziraphale in the middle of eating. XD

oh GOD that's awful and also true

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