faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

Crowley groans into Aziraphale's mouth at that squeeze of thighs, dear Satan but he loves Aziraphale's thighs. Then there's fingers softly brushing against his feathers and that has almost the same level of effect despite being a completely different type of touch. Turns out intimacy is arousing as Hell.

"Like this," Crowley agrees at once. He reaches up and strokes Aziraphale's face, then his shoulder and down his arm. "Fuck, like this, please. Could use our hands again, or--" He has to stop and swallow before he can say it. Suggesting sodomy to an angel, Christ. His hand drifts back down to Aziraphale's hip, curves around to his back and dips a little lower. Not far, just enough to show a direction. "Could fuck you on my lap. If you want."

Aziraphale leans into the touch, at least when it lingers on his face. As Crowley's hand drifts lower, his wings rustle slightly, still nestled up against Crowley's. That pause has him looking up hopefully, like all the times he's wished for something and is waiting for Crowley to suggest it.

What's different this time is that he immediately says, "Yes!" No coaxing or wheedling necessary. "Oh, I... I think I'd like that very much. Can you reach to prepare me?" The little wiggle he gives is not the least bit innocent. "Or should I...?"

The wiggle and the immediate Yes! make Crowley groan again and bend his head forward to rest against Aziraphale's forehead. "--got it," he manages, sliding his hand further down, slicking his fingers with a thought. There is no way in Heaven, Hell, or Earth that he's going to break this moment to go looking for some other form of lubrication, and he knows they'll need it. "Got you covered, angel."

And then he does, quite literally. He has long arms, he can reach. Might be easier if he went from the front but he can do it this way for a bit. Carefully he feels his way around the entrance, the small ridges of Aziraphale's pucker under his fingertip, giving him time to get used to it. Slow, he has to go slow here. It's not as difficult as going slowly sometimes is, not with his arms around Aziraphale and their wings enclosed around them both. This isn't a bad place to wait, not at all.

Crowley pulls in a long, shuddering breath. "All right so far?"

If they have to change positions, Aziraphale won't complain, but he's delighted that Crowley is giving it a go like this, both of them wrapped up in each other. He leaves a trail of kisses along Crowley's neck as encouragement, shifting his rear slightly so that Crowley can do... well, whatever it is he needs to do. Aziraphale has a vague idea of the mechanics, but more importantly, he trusts Crowley to handle him properly and with care.

He makes a soft, almost questioning sound when Crowley finally makes contact. Having never touched himself there, he's surprised by how it feels. "Oh... that's different... not in a bad way, though." He breathes the last as quick reassurance, not wanting Crowley to stop. "Yes, it's all right."

"...good." The word sounds a little choked. Crowley swallows and tries again. "Right, that's...that's good." He kisses Aziraphale's neck, closes his eyes, focusing his attention on Aziraphale. Only Aziraphale.

He's so very careful about it. Aziraphale has no experience with this and Crowley no experience with doing it to someone other than himself, and he was much more willing to be rough with himself than he is here and now. Slowly he rubs his finger there on the spot, in small circles, then just as slowly he pushes in, breeching it with just the tip of his finger. He stops there, waits, then moves his finger again--not further in, but still in small circles, stretching. So slowly.

That's how he continues, moving in a little at a time, stretching a little at a time, making sure the way is slick and relaxed before he goes further. "If it hurts," he says softly in Aziraphale's ear, "if anything hurts, if it's uncomfortable, tell me." The last thing he wants is to hurt Aziraphale, the absolute last thing. He has to make this good, or he's stopping before they start.

Aziraphale runs his fingers through Crowley's hair in reassurance, as if Crowley was the one being penetrated. "I trust you," he says. He trusts him as much as he loves him, or perhaps when it comes to Crowley, trust and love are two sides of the same coin.

As Crowley slowly breeches him and stretches him open, his breath changes, sounds of pleasure escaping on the exhale. "I will," he promises, turning his head to kiss Crowley's cheek. "It's -- oh -- it's very nice so far." He had no idea the human body was so sensitive there. Already relaxed and content in Crowley's embrace, he stretches open easily, taking more of Crowley's finger without any discomfort or resistance.

Crowley's breath catches noticeably as Aziraphale strokes his hair, and his finger's movement falters for a second. Fuck, that felt much, much too good...

It catches again when Aziraphale says he trusts him, and the arm still wrapped around the angel's chest tightens for a moment. He'll need to...unpack that one later, maybe, a lot of things happening he'll need to unpack, and now..."Fuck," he breathes, biting lightly at Aziraphale's neck as his finger strokes in up to the second knuckle. "You're opening up so well for me, angel...think you can take another yet?"

Aziraphale keeps that hand in Crowley's hair, toying with the red strands, hopefully not too much to distract Crowley from his task. He simply can't sit there and not repay his lover's affections.

"Oh, yes," he answers, whining softly at the feeling of Crowley's mouth on his neck. He shivers at the praise, then relaxes even further, shifting his hips in an effort to take more of Crowley in. "Please, I'm ready for more."

Crowley leans in to the hand on his hair like a cat being stroked. He might even purr if he weren't distracted.

But he has a task, and is attending to it diligently. He kisses Aziraphale's neck again, then sucks on the same spot as he carefully adds another digit. Not as deep, the same slow thrusting as before, and then as the angel opens up he scissors his fingers to stretch them further. By this point he's left what will be a very pretty bruise on his lover's neck, and kisses the spot again lightly.

There's no pain, not even discomfort, as Crowley opens him up, but it still takes some getting used to, a few seconds to accommodate that second finger. He suspects that if tried to do this himself, on his own, it wouldn't be as enjoyable. Maybe if he was preparing himself for Crowley...? Although if given a choice, he knows he'd prefer Crowley's clever fingers inside of him.

He gasps softly at the love bite, reflexively gripping Crowley's hair. His eyes shut and he rests more of his weight against the solid planes of Crowley's chest, succumbing to the sensations. "Such clever fingers," he murmurs, unable to keep from voicing his thoughts aloud. "You feel so good inside of me, Crowley..."

Crowley groans, and it sounds more broken than it did. He's hard already, pressed up against Aziraphale and wet at the tip, and Aziraphale keeps saying these things...deliberately Crowley curls his fingers, looking for a place with slightly different texture, and strokes gently when he finds it. Watches with eyes wide and lips parted to see how the angel will react to that.

No one's ever explained to Aziraphale the finer points of male anatomy, so he's completely unprepared for the pure unadulterated shock of pleasure that comes from Crowley's fingers stroking gently on his prostate. He cries out, his wings rustling and ruffling like a startled bird. It's a good thing Crowley has his wings wrapped solidly around them both or that bedside lamp would be toast.

"What -- oh, dear Lord --" he gasps, voice high and thready. It's a bit like Crowley sucking on the tip of his cock, except all of that intense pleasure is inside him. "Please, whatever you're doing, k-keep doing it..."

Crowley grins against Aziraphale's skin, loving the sounds Aziraphale makes. "Thought you'd like that," he murmurs, kissing Aziraphale's shoulder again. He keeps his wings firmly cocooned, a steady cage around Aziraphale's, not trapping but offering support. His fingers stroke the prostate again, a third time, then press down a little harder. "Still good, angel?"

It's a great comfort and relief to have Crowley support him. His bones feel like jelly and Crowley has only worked two fingers in. As his prostate is so exquisitely stroked yet again, he moans and clings even more tightly to Crowley's lean frame. His cock is untouched and yet somehow throbbing as if it were, and he squirms in a vain attempt to get himself under control.

"Yes, still good. In fact, I think you'd best get on with preparing me. I'm very close."

The combination of those words going to his head--both heads-- and the way Aziraphale is clinging to him, not to mention the sheer blissful intimacy of it all, means Crowley's not all that far off either for all that he hasn't done anything but rub himself against Aziraphale.

He doesn't even nod, just seizes Aziraphale in another kiss. Less slow now, less deliberate, he's been trying to be patient but the smell of sex and the warmth around his fingers has been driving him mad all along. He slides another finger in, stretches, even as his tongue plunders Aziraphale's mouth, this time without mercy. It's all so good, is the thing, he'd thought he'd imagined how good this would be but nothing he ever dreamt of came close to the reality. He makes a low whimpering noise into Aziraphale's mouth and clutches at his hip with his free hand, encouraging Aziraphale to move against his fingers. "Want you," he manages breathlessly somewhere between increasingly messy kisses. "Fuck, angel, so much--"

Aziraphale returns the kiss greedily, bucking back against Crowley's fingers once he's added the third one. Now that he understands the mechanics, he finds himself desperately impatient for Crowley's cock to be inside him. Not that the demon's fingers aren't blissfully attentive, but he wants to be closer, as close as their bodies can fit.

There's another great shiver of his wings when Crowley says that he wants him.

"Then take me, I'm ready." He feels ready, comfortably snug around three fingers. Surely that's enough, and a generous addition of lubrication to Crowley's cock will likely take care of the rest. He slides his lips up to Crowley's ear and whispers hotly, "Get inside me, Crowley. I want you."

The groan that rips from Crowley's throat is raw with need. He'd meant to take longer at this, be absolutely certain, but he's only a demon and no one, now one could resist that demand in that voice from this angel. No one. Least of all him.

He withdraws his fingers, gets them oiled up again, and takes himself in hand. Another groan as he slicks himself up. The temptation to just keep going is there, fuck both their cocks in his hand, Satan, it'd be so easy, they'd come so quickly...

Get inside me.

Crowley's breathing is already wrecked with impatience as Aziraphale lifts himself up on his knees, as Crowley helps him get positioned, gets his cock in place. Rubs the reddened head of it against the the pucker he's been stretching and exploring.

Fuck, this is probably going to kill him. What a way to go. Discorporating from pure overwhelming lust and adoration...Crowley breathes in deep, tries to focus, tries to think of something horribly unsexy so he doesn't finish before they've even started. Crayfish. Gabriel's teeth. Hastur in a bikini.

As dizzy as he is with arousal, he can't help but smirk at the sound Crowley makes in response to his demand. He'll have to file that information away for later. Right now, he's feeling unpleasantly empty once Crowley removes his fingers, so he's quick to rise up on his knees and let himself get positioned. It takes the edge off a bit, trying to find the best angle, although his arousal flares back to life the moment that he feels Crowley's cock pressing against his slick ring of muscle.

Oh, goodness, this is it. It shouldn't feel so momentous -- they've switched souls in these bodies, this really shouldn't compare -- and yet he finds himself trembling with anticipation, anyway.

He looks up at Crowley and sees how much this is affecting him, too. It fills him with a sudden swell of intense affection and he presses a kiss to that beautiful, inviting mouth.

"I love you," he whispers into it, and then he lowers himself onto Crowley's cock.

There's an initial resistance, but Crowley prepared him well and the head slides in a moment later. He presses down, slowly taking more of Crowley inside him. There's no pain, no irritation, only a feeling of fullness that grows and grows the lower he sits, until he bottoms out and rests flush in Crowley's lap once more. His eyes flutter shut and his mouth forms the loveliest little smile. "Oh, my dear... you feel so good..."

Tentatively, he rocks back and forth, just a touch, getting used to the sensation.

Crowley keeps still, lets Aziraphale choose the pace and control this part, even if the effort leaves him trembling from the sheer intensity of it. His fingers flex against Aziraphale's hips as he tries not to just...just grab him and pull, or hold him in place while he thrusts up, or anything. Just, being still, but the need to move escapes in shaking and twitching fingers and rivulets of sweat running down his neck and back.

But worth every bit of self-restraint, because Aziraphale's face is a wonder of concentration and amazement, and he feels so good around Crowley's cock, dear Sa--Go--Somebody. Aziraphale is hot and welcoming and surrounding him, and Crowley wants to tilt his head to kiss that sweet smile.

But then Aziraphale moves, and Crowley makes another embarassing keening noise as he rests his head against Aziraphale's shoulder. "Angel--" he whimpers, moving only a little, trying to match what Aziraphale is doing. "Fuck, angel, you--you're--"

Aziraphale slides an arm around Crowley's shoulders, the other reaching down to cover Crowley's hand on his hip. He lets those twin points of contact be his anchor as he continues to rock himself in Crowley's lap. It feels like he is being touched everywhere, by the cock inside of him and the wings surrounding him. All he can feel is Crowley.

"You're magnificent." It comes out as a hushed gasp, as if they are in the middle of a sacred ritual. He kisses the demon's hairline and licks the sweat from his skin. "Glorious." He lifts up an inch and settles back down, then does it again. He's so full, but it's a smooth thrust each time. Oh, yes, that's it. With any luck he'll find that spot that made him see stars earlier, but it's already worth it to hear the sounds Crowley is making. He could climax from that alone.

Crowley wraps one of his arms around Aziraphale's waist, splays his hand against his back, fingers digging in to his spine below his wings. Aziraphale's hand covers his on the angel's hip, and he squeezes their fingers together. They're entangled and joined and surrounding each other in so many places. Aziraphale's lips taste his forehead; Crowley sucks another love-bite into his neck. "Perfect," he gasps afterwards, looking up at Aziraphale with breathless adoration. "Perfect, you're--this is--"

His eyelids flutter shut and he groans as Aziraphale takes him in to the root again. "--love you--" he manages, barely knowing what he's saying, barely knowing anything aside from the overwhelming pulse of pleasure he's drowning in. "Aziraphale. Angel. Love you." It's all around him, so much love, he can feel it, he can feel it, inside and out.

Aziraphale gets lost for a moment in Crowley's eyes. He's never felt so adored, and yet he knows that Crowley has wanted to love him like this for so long. It's as if he's thrown open the shutters of his heart and finally let all that light pour in and set everything aglow.

"You're perfect, too," he pants as he moves, each lift and fall more rhythmic than the last. If he had the power to think past the pure raw pleasure between them, he'd be impressed with how easily he's getting the hang of things. "All of you, inside me and around me, you're --"

A sudden bright spark of pleasure rushes through him and he sobs out loud. Ah, found it. "Right there," he whimpers, clutching tightly to Crowley as he shifts his hips to keep that angle. "Darling, right there, please."

He'll never get used to all these new let names, the darlings and dearests. He doesn't want to get used to them. They send nervous thrills down his spine, even now.

Crowley groans when Aziraphale sobs, because fuck, how it possible he did something to cause that noise? He swivels his hips, finds the right angle, and then he's hitting it on every stroke, trying to get more of that needy wail.

Crowley is in for a treat, then, because once their hips align, Aziraphale loses whatever shred of composure he had left and moans with abandon, a wanton song of praises for his beloved. There are darlings and dearests interspersed with yes and don't stop, and -- on one particularly splendid thrust -- a sharp, uncensored fuck! that leaves his mouth when all other words fail him.

White-hot pleasure pulses underneath his skin, quivers in every feather of his wings. It presses against him from the inside, rises and rises. He rides on the precipice of his climax, but is afraid of letting go of Crowley to touch himself, needing that anchor, that grounding to his live wire. "Crowley -- please --" he sobs. "I'm -- I'm so close --"

If Crowley ever prayed, he'd pray never to forget this. He wants it written on his skin, on the backs of his eyelids, he doesn't want to see or hear or feel anything else again, just this, just Aziraphale. all those needy gasps and endearments and swear words and please and his name, his name, mixed in with all of it. Six thousand years to get to this point and it was worth every blessed second.

"Yes--yes--" Fuck,he won't last either, not with Aziraphale begging him like this, not while he gets to move and bury himself to the hilt inside his angel. His angel, and Crowley groans, wraps a hand around Aziraphale's cock and strokes in time with his thrusts. "Yes, angel, come on, come for me, stay with me, stay with me--"

Later he might be embarassed by that last, because those three words are the ones he'd had to hold back all this time, all these centuries. Not saying I love you was easy in comparison to not asking for what he really wanted. But nothing's held back now, nothing, and Crowley gives and takes pleasure with equal abandon as those words pound in his veins.

Stay with me, stay with me, stay with me.

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thanks for the mental image of Hastur in a bikini. :P

It was too good to keep to myself. ;)

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