Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

[questionablewit]

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[sohoangel]

All right, that answers that. Aziraphale would have been fine with either. He's fond of his back room in the bookshop, a cozy place to hide away from the rest of London, either with a book and a cup of cocoa or Crowley and a bottle or more of wine. But there is something alluring about Crowley's flat, as well. Perhaps it's because it reminds him of Crowley. The room with all the plants is especially nice.

He gently leads Crowley in the direction of his bookshop, arm in arm as if it's the most natural thing in the world. As if they do this all the time, and his heart beats a little faster at the idea that they can now, if they like, whenever they like.

"The sushi is very good," he agrees, before the rest of Crowley's words catch up to him. He looks at the demon, eyes lighting up at the prospect. "You want to go back? Really? I mean, yes, of course I do." He gives Crowley's arm a squeeze. "I'll have to think of some more songs..." No more songs about unrequited love, for a start.

[duckshaveears]

"I'm going to regret suggesting that, aren't I." Crowley mutters, but there's no real frustration in it, and he's half-smiling as he looks down at Aziraphale. "But I'm never singing fucking ABBA, fair warning. Not even for you."

He'll listen, though. He'll sit there and listen to Aziraphale sing ABBA to his angelic's heart delight, which is a blessed sight more than he'd do for anyone else.

He leans down and kisses Aziraphale's forehead, mostly to see if he can get away with it. This whole evening feels like getting away with something.

[sohoangel]

Aziraphale scoffs, but it's only for show. "So long as you don't expect me to sing... ah..." It's hard to name a musical group in Crowley's preferred genre when he barely knows any of the names. "...Velvet Underground!"

He smiles triumphantly, pleased to have come up with a 'bebop' group on the fly... and then Crowley kisses him. On the forehead, but it stuns him to silence, anyway. He looks up at Crowley with big eyes before dropping his gaze and smiling shyly, nudging his shoulder into Crowley's. "Thought you wanted to wait until we were somewhere more private."

Not that he's complaining. That kiss to his forehead caused more of a stir within him than all those Gavotte kisses ever did.

[duckshaveears]

Someday Crowley will tell Aziraphale what a 'velvet underground' actually is. He expects it will be entertaining.

He flushes a little at Aziraphale's reaction to the kiss, which is...more than he expected. He didn't think the angel's eyes could get that wide. "You've been kissing my head already," he mutters, trying not to sound embarrassed. "Thought it didn't count." Though it is more private, oddly. More people around, they're on a public street, but fewer paying attention to them. Still not...the idea place for kissing, really. Lot of traffic, lot of glarey shop lighting...

It's a bit tempting all the same.

[sohoangel]

There will be some sputtering, but only a little. He's spent the last two centuries living in Soho, after all.

"Yes, but..." But that was him kissing Crowley. It was a matter of reassurance, a kiss to break the spell of uncertainty between them. This was Crowley kissing him as they walk along a public street, a sweet albeit oddly matched couple to anyone happening to glance their way. "It counted. Just in a different way."

It is nice to know that Aziraphale had it within him to take the initiative. His gaze unconsciously drops to Crowley's lips as he realizes that he could take the initiative here, too. Oh, but no, this isn't a proper place for a first kiss on the lips, either... no, not proper at all...

If he walks just a shade quicker, it's only because they're approaching a crosswalk and he doesn't want to miss the light. "I didn't mind it, though. In case you were wondering."

[duckshaveears]

Two centuries in Soho, plus six thousand years around humans in general. It's a little difficult to miss their preoccupation with their own genitals. Crowley has always thought the term 'privates' to be incredibly misleading.

Aziraphale walks a bit quicker, and so does Crowley, and then Aziraphale looks at his mouth and says he didn't mind and fuck. "Here--" Crowley abruptly takes a left, turning them off course in the direction of Soho Square. It's closer. There are park benches, and trees, and still too many people but fuck it.

What he wants is to just shove Aziraphale up against a tree and kiss him until they're both senseless and breathless and willing to let the rest of the world go to Hell in a handbasket. What he does is find a relatively quiet corner (only relatively quiet, it's still Soho), wave his hand a little to divert attention away from them for a minute--and then stop. Just stop, looking at Aziraphale, gaze darting between eyes and mouth. "Aziraphale--" He stops, swallows, runs his thumb lightly over the angel's mouth. "May I?" May he, can they, is this actually happening?

[sohoangel]

Aziraphale makes a soft sound of surprise as they veer off-course, but otherwise doesn't protest, letting Crowley lead them towards Soho Square. Why the change? It's a nice enough park, even at night, a small oasis of greenery in an urban landscape, but Crowley had seemed eager to go to the bookshop before. Had he changed his mind about the kiss?

Oh... oh, no, he hadn't. He intends to do it here. Aziraphale's lashes flutter at the feeling of Crowley's thumb brushing over his lips, his breath catching in his throat. This isn't the back of his bookshop or a discreet gentleman's club or a hidden rendezvous spot. Even with the diversion of attention, they're out in the open, exposed to God and humanity and everything in between.

He can't think of a better place.

"Yes." He brings his face, his whole body closer, until the space between them is negligible. "Yes, please."

[duckshaveears]

It does fit, Crowley thinks distantly. Mostly his motivation is impatience, but it does fit. Under the night sky, in the light of stars he helped make once, long ago before things began. In the open air, in defiance of anyone who might be watching or judging. In London, where they've both rotated around each other for the past two hundred years. Longer. They've always been moving towards this.

The last second before their mouths meet seems to take an eternity, and for every bit of it Crowley is convinced something will interrupt, go wrong, change, explode, something. The shock of his mouth meeting Aziraphale's is more that is succeeds at all than from the feel of it.

The first kiss is little more than a touch and a breath, and then a pause.

Then he all but flings his arms around the angel, his mouth opening against Aziraphale's with an incoherent, needy noise as he pulls him as close as their corporeal forms will allow.

[sohoangel]

That is a benefit of being patient, perhaps, of already waiting so long for this to happen, that Aziraphale is ready when their lips meet, that soft touch in the span of a single breath, like the kiss at the end of a gavotte. Thank you for this dance, this orbit we've been spinning in. For leading and for following, always together.

He has but a moment to savor that sweet and simple kiss before Crowley is all but crashing into him, and oh, here are the fireworks, the sparks, the metaphors that poets pile on but can't quite capture the indescribable feeling that shivers through him as he wraps his arms about Crowley in turn, that needy sound echoed with one of his own.

He keeps his mouth soft and open, bravely exploring this new sensual pleasure. It is so blessedly good. He never wants to stop, he wants to stay like this forever, fingers gripping the back of Crowley's jacket, their bodies pressed together so that nothing can come between them.

Eventually, though, it does end, only so Aziraphale can whisper into the space between their lips, "My dear, you are the most wonderful thing I've ever had the pleasure of putting my lips to."

[duckshaveears]

Crowley wants to laugh. He also wants to sob, to split into a thousand pieces and scatter himself across the sky, to drive around the city as fast as he can, and to stay completely, utterly still.

He leans forward, resting his head against Aziraphale's, smelling his breath, the angel's taste still lingering in his mouth. There's still a pull towards Aziraphale's lips as strong as any suction from a black hole, and Crowley resists just for the moment because this time he knows the resistance is temporary and therefore sweet with anticipation of more. "Better than crepes?" he teases, still breathless. His hands are splayed on Aziraphale's black, one between the shoulderblades and the other at the base of the spine, and there's no space between them at all.

[sohoangel]

Aziraphale hold him close, the grip on his jacket easing so he can smooth the fabric beneath his fingers. He feels like a flock of doves that has finally come home to roost, a cacophony of wings and feathers swirling and settling inside of him, crowding up together into a downy ball of warmth.

He laughs softly into that little space between them, his breath warm and sweet with a lingering note of sake. "Better than crepes," he murmurs. "Better than brioche." He presses a kiss to the corner of Crowley's mouth. "Better than my first taste of honey, my first sip of wine, my first bite of fruit." His voice trembles, not from uncertainty, but the sheer joy of sharing this with Crowley. "Better than anything."

[duckshaveears]

Better than anything certainly sums up Crowley's opinion of these proceedings, and the best way he can show it is with another kiss, just as enthusiastic but slower. He nips at Aziraphale's mouth, teasing it open again, slipping his tongue in to explore. His hands slide up Aziraphale's back, then down again, coming to rest on his hips.

And then another kiss, and another, until he's dizzy with them, much more intoxicated than he was by the sake, and somewhere in the middle he manages to say, very quietly, "Love you too. Hadn't said yet."

[sohoangel]

As Crowley takes advantage of Aziraphale's open mouth, the angel realizes helplessly that he was wrong before. This kiss is better than anything, and the one after that, and the one after that... he loses count, swept up in the slick tenderness of Crowley's lips and tongue, the hands that chase the shivers that run rampant up and down his back.

And then Crowley says that he loves him, and the doves in his heart are all a-flutter, a wild beating of wings against his chest. He feels like he might discorporate, and leans into Crowley that much more, chasing each kiss as if it might be the last.

When they take another break, he's flushed and disheveled, like he's just gotten out of Crowley's Bentley after another harrowing speed race through downtown. Excepting he's smiling, practically glowing. Scratch that, he may actually be glowing a little. "I know you do. It's wonderful to hear. And to say. I love you, darling."

[duckshaveears]

"Always did." The words just spill out of him now, centuries upon centuries of their being held back now suddenly ended, and he couldn't stop if he tried, which he doesn't. "Always. Since the blessed garden, even, that first day on the wall when you thanked me and asked for my name and sheltered me with one of your wings. That long, angel."

And then another kiss, another, maybe they'll tell his side of the story better than these words do. None of it seems to be enough.

[sohoangel]

"Crowley..." The words stun him, leave him breathless even before Crowley starts kissing him again. He feels that maddening beat of wings again, except it's his own wings, itching to free themselves from the astral plane and wrap around Crowley, to give him that love and shelter he had craved ever since Eden.

He slides his arms from around Crowley's shoulders so he can cup his face with both hands and delicately stroke the sharp angles of his cheeks. "I'd give that to you now," he says in the gap between one kiss and another. "If we weren't standing in the middle of Soho Square."

[duckshaveears]

They've tried to go easy on miracles lately, keeping to small things, the sort that won't draw attention from people they would really rather keep ignoring them. But there are limits.

Crowley doesn't stop kissing Aziraphale, because he can't, wouldn't if he could but he can't, not after so much time spent trying to get to this point and never managing it. But one of the hands pressed up against the angel's back let's go, shakes itself out, snaps fingers, and then they're just outside the bookshop. Can't appear inside directly, there are wards and protections up to prevent that sort of thing, but outside he can do.

It drains him, and he sags a little in Aziraphale's embrace, but it's worth it. And if some humans notice two people suddenly appearing and disappearing...fuck it, it's London. All sorts of weird shit happens in London, everyone knows that, especially Soho.

He's still kissing Aziraphale. He'll never stop unless he has to, or is asked.

[sohoangel]

Aziraphale braces himself instinctively when Crowley teleports them, so it's no bother to keep Crowley upright. He recognizes the wards and protections of his shop, as they're his own handiwork, and door opens easily to his silent request for it to open.

It's still a struggle to get inside, what with him not wanting to stop kissing, either, and the inherent clumsiness of two people trying to get through a doorway together, one forwards and one backwards, but they manage, and as soon as they're through, the door slams shut. Aziraphale leaves the lights off, his only desire to get to the clear open space in the middle of his shop.

Once there, he manifests his wings. Magnificent and pristine, stretching out to their full span before wrapping themselves around Crowley, a cocoon of gleaming white feathers. Distracted as he is by Crowley's mouth, he overcompensates for the demon's slacked weight and loses his balance, tipping forward with a muffled note of alarm. Whoops!

At least his wings will cushion their fall.

[duckshaveears]

Crowley's had dreams like this, where he's kissing Aziraphale, where Aziraphale is kissing him back, where they're surrounded by wings and in their own world, and even dreams where they stumble and Aziraphale just falls on top of him so he has an armful of soft, warm, much beloved angel stretched along the length of his body. And this is all those things at once. It's a wonder Crowley doesn't discorporate on the spot. It's also a good thing neither of them really needs to breathe.

A very good thing, because it means that after the initial break of surprise and impact, he can just pick up right where he was: kissing Aziraphale. But Christ, it's better like this, in private, and lying down where he can just twine his leg around like this, and wrap his arm around Aziraphale's waist like this to pull him even closer, and then reach up with his other hand and caress those wings, the soft arc of them above his head..."Fuck, angel--" he manages, somewhere in the midst of all this, utterly overwhelmed and not wanting to change anything about it. Not a thing. "Have you any idea, any idea at all--" He can't finish the sentence. Aziraphale's mouth is in the way. Good.

[sohoangel]

Only in Aziraphale's deepest, heavily inebriated thoughts has he ever dared to imagine something like this, and for a second or two he can't even properly enjoy himself, too busy de-tangling his wings and fretting over Crowley, hands cradling the back of his head in case the demon bonked himself, but it appears that Crowley is all right. More than all right, with a leg twined around his, the arm around his waist holding him even closer than his own soft body weight does naturally. So with a soft sigh, he sinks into Crowley's kiss, letting himself relax.

At least until Crowley caresses his wings. No one has ever touched his wings before, save himself, and the sensation is so intimate that it sends a great shiver down them, feathers rustling like a rainstorm. "Crowley," he whimpers against his lips. He turns his head and presses a kiss against the soft skin underneath Crowley's jaw. "Oh, my love. I think I rather do."

[duckshaveears]

God, Crowley can feel the way Aziraphale's whole body trembles, all over, and he groans, and if it were possible to discorporate from sheer desire that'd be the end of him. And then Aziraphale calls him my love and it's Crowley's turn to tremble from the intimacy of it, to whimper with longing.

"What do you want?" he manages to ask, tilting his head back as Aziraphale's lips brush along his jaw, and fuck, fuck, this will kill him, he wants it so much. "Just ask, angel, I'll do it, I'll do anything."

[sohoangel]

You, is what he wants to answer, as he listens to Crowley plead beneath him and another shiver runs though his wings. But he knows that's too vague and not what Crowley is really asking and... oh, he doesn't know what to say. He's loved Crowley for ages, but this kind of visceral desire, it's so new to him. It has his mind spinning out in a thousand directions, some of them tinged with uncertainty.

"I..." He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "My wings. Can you...?" It feels selfish to ask, he brought them out to shelter Crowley, not for his own pleasure. But now that he's had a taste of what it feels like, he wants more. "Keep touching them. Please."

[duckshaveears]

He can do that, he can definitely do that. Crowley lets go of the angel's waist and raises his hands and slowly, reverently strokes those wings, starting from the spine and moving outward. His fingers trail carefully along the delicate lines of bone, then further down over the coverts, soft feathers tickling at his fingertips and palms. "Beautiful," he murmurs, only half-aware he's said it. He lets his head rest on the floor so he can see Aziraphale's face while his hands explore. "Fuck, but you're gorgeous like this."

[sohoangel]

Even without Crowley's arm around his waist, he stays pressed close, eyes shutting and soft huffs of breath leaving him while Crowley touches his wings. Each caress is so gentle, so reverent. No one has ever handled him with such care. He can feel Crowley's love wash over him with every pass of his hands, and he shivers from the pure, undiluted pleasure of it.

Gorgeous...? Aziraphale opens his eyes, looks down at Crowley as if he can't believe it. He's been complimented before, there were times in history in which his form was considered attractive, but none of that meant much to him. Not the way Crowley says it, as if he's the most beautiful thing in the universe.

"Is it the wings?" He flexes them against Crowley's hands, urges him to continue. He keeps cradling the back of Crowley's head with one hand while the other tenderly traces his snake tattoo, then nudges on the frame of his sunglasses, a silent request to remove them. If Crowley is going to look upon him, he wants to do the same.

[duckshaveears]

"Satan, no," Crowley says. He nods a bit so Aziraphale's nudge moves his sunglasses off. It's fine, they can come off, he doesn't usually wear them in here anyway, not when it's just the pair of them. But he's not taking them off himself, because that would mean taking his hands off of Aziraphale, and that's not happening. "I mean, yes, it's the wings, but only because they're yours. Because it's you. All soft, and spread on top of me, and fuck do that again--"

He lifts his head up an inch again, seizes another kiss, hungry and wanting. His fingers still dance lightly along bone and feather, careful, but the rest of him, the rest of him tells a different story of wanting. The way his leg tightens around Aziraphale's, the way his body rises under his, the way he tilts his head into that touch next to his ear, the slight whining keen he makes.

[sohoangel]

Aziraphale pushes his sunglasses off entirely, setting them aside so he can go back to tracing the lines of Crowley's face while having an unobstructed view of those mesmerizing eyes. "Beautiful," he whispers, distant and distracted so long as Crowley is petting his wings. "Crowley, you're... you've always been..."

The answer surprises him, makes him want to giggle because it sounds like Crowley is describing a down-filled duvet, but it also twists at him in a tantalizing sort of way, knowing how much Crowley is reveling in his softness. He meets Crowley's kiss and swallows up that sweet keening. One hand holds his head close, the other runs down his side soothingly, settling on his hip and squeezing gently.

"You're so good to me," he whispers against Crowley's lips, wings trembling from each careful touch. "No one could ever love me like you do."