faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

Want to tag someone? Tag someone. Put the character you want in the subject line.
Leave a starter, or leave a prompt and I'll start.
Brilliant ideas and clueless flailing all welcome.
AUs and cross-canon, drama and comedy and shipping.
Just throw stuff at me. It's all good.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

duckshaveears

Crowley knows better than to dismiss nightmares as silly. Hell learned early on that physical punishments, while effective, were nothing compared to the torments the human mind can devise. Real torture lay in combining the two. Another life now, thank someone for that...but Crowley knows better than to underestimate the imagination. Any imagination. Nothing bites like fear.

He closes his eyes, hearing the lie in the quiet words, but doesn't call Aziraphale on it. "What do you need?" he asks instead, as he always has, but more directly than he used to have to. "Tell me what you need, angel. Anything."

He'll do it, is the thing. Whatever's asked for, whatever's needed, anything Aziraphale wants. Drive through fire, prevent the end of the world, come back from the dead. Anything. It's there in his words, the tightening of his arms and hands.

From:

salutosinedelectat

For all the things that can be uncertain, and there are many, Crowley has never disappointed. Ever. And the angel hasn't always noticed, and has certainly taken it for granted more than once, but it's also always been the only assumption that, time and time again, always proven to be true. Sometimes even when he didn't think it probable, or legitimately impossible.

Crowley cuts right through the easy lie, and they both know, more than ever, that that is what that is. A reflex to try and make himself believe that things are fine. But he's always been terrible at lying, and even more terrible at hiding his emotions, for as much as he tried.

He brings his arms around Crowley now, hands first flat against his back, then gripping faintly at the back of his pajamas. Takes his time before any answer, just keeping himself in the demons arms, keeping himself in something real, hearing the demon breathe, feeling the warmth of his embrace. Privileges he didn't think possible just a while back, and now they're more precious than ever.

He could go on some fake nonchalant line about how he's fine, it was just a nightmare, he's okay now. He could go on an overly even speech about how he's okay now, they should go back to sleep, or have a spot of tea. But everything of the sort feels disingenuous, to an almost offensive degree when considering recent events.

"Just this." Are the more honest words that slip out, against the demon, like before.

From:

duckshaveears

Crowley lets out a long breath, and shifts a little. He doesn't let Aziraphale go--never--but he moves on the bed until he can lean back against the headboard, slides a leg behind and around Aziraphale, finangles them both into a position where he can sit comfortable and wrap himself around his angel, pull Aziraphale to lie against his chest. His legs cradle him from either side, his arms are wrapped firmly around. One hand keeps gently carding through cloudsoft curls.

"'m here," he says again, resting his cheek against Aziraphale's head. "We can stay here forever, if you want. Long as you need. Just like this."

From:

salutosinedelectat

Just like this...

Aziraphale lies on Crowley's chest, vaguely remembering something about Crowley not letting go. Jokes that weren't jokes at all, of course, and he was more than prepared to take them as such, but it's quite daunting to be hit with such a pure necessity for it.

He shifts only a bit, quiet, a moment before he pulls in a long breath and exhales, hoping it'll make his body relax at least somewhat. Brings a hand up to rest on one of Crowley's arms again, letting his head be tucked under the demon's chin.

"...just like this." He breathes out in a mumble, closing his eyes again, only temporarily. Doesn't quite have a fondness for the dark, right this moment.

"I'm..." Words fail at first, trailing off into a vaguely lost quiet, before he tries again. "I didn't mean to wake you. It..."

Back to the quiet, because what even needs to be said?

From:

duckshaveears

Holding Aziraphale like this frees Crowley's hands somewhat. With the angel's head against his chest, under his chin, with long spindly legs wrapped around him, he's held even if Crowley uses his hands. Which he does, one to tangle in Aziraphale's hair, the other to draw long strokes down his back. Slow, soothing touches meant to lull them both into relaxation.

"Don't be daft," he murmurs, interrupting Aziraphale as soon as the angel's voice trails off. Another kiss gets pressed into the soft, curly hair. Of course the angel can wake him up. Of course he should, whenever anything is wrong. That one is a given, and was even before these circumstances. Crowley's said as much. How could he let himself sleep if he couldn't trust Aziraphale to wake him if something, anything, was wrong?

After a few minutes of hypnotic caresses, Crowley speaks again, once more in an ordinary tone of voice. "Was thinking of getting some of those, whaddyacallit...fairy lights? The ones they put up at Christmas. Ridiculous name, but pretty things. Could put them up in here, maybe. Decorative."

Decorative, and also a sort of inoffensive, aesthetic nightlight. Neither one of them is comfortable with the dark at the moment.

From:

salutosinedelectat

Aziraphale doesn’t respond to the first comment, the hand in his hair and the one stroking his back helping in making him feel safe and soothed and tethered, and he keeps his eyes closed for a few more silent seconds. He’s still holding onto Crowley’s sleeve, loosely, just trying to will his mind into something a little less frantic. Seems like he’s never quite lost the habit of just trying to deny the unpleasant things that are staring him dead in the face.

But Crowley speaks again and his eyes open, blinking and broken out of his train of thought right then. For half a moment, he doesn’t even understand what the demon is talking about, before what he’s doing becomes clear.

“That sounds...nice.” He eventually responds, tentative in tone. He’ll play along. “Very festive.”

From:

duckshaveears

Crowley snorts a little. "Yeah. Festive." He sighs. His breath stirs the fine hairs on top of Aziraphale's head.

Finally he shifts a little, lifts his head so he can look down at Aziraphale. "Talk to me, angel. I can practically hear your mind whirring."

It's an entreaty more than a command. The days when Aziraphale kept his anxious fears to himself and tied his thoughts up in knots over them are supposed to be done. Crowley's fingers drift down Aziraphale's face, brushing his cheek. "We do this together, right? Like everything else. So talk to me."

From:

salutosinedelectat

Aziraphale looks up at him, the look in his face something almost akin to surprise, but not entirely. Those days should have been done, should have been gone, miles and miles behind them, but such things tend to be part of one's nature, which makes them rather difficult to change.

He's made that promise, though. He's made the promise to at least try. It never did come from anywhere malicious. Just learned behaviors, often necessary, often out of fear, for survival in one way or another.

When he glances away, it's just nerves. He thought he was handling it well. He thought he'd put himself together enough and could just deal with it as time went. He thought...something. It hardly matters now.

He hesitates to answer, not knowing where to start. He does try, tries to find the words, the right thing to say, the honest thing to say. But he can't, right then. He can't, so he takes to wrapping his arms around Crowley again and lean into his chest, holding him tight.

From:

duckshaveears

Crowley's expression might surprise someone who knew him less well. There's no impatience in him. Once there might have been, or frustration at least. He's spent a not insignificant part of his existance waiting for Aziraphale.

But that was before. Even then he was perfectly willing to do more of it, as much as needed, and now? Crowley can wait forever. Even if it means they sit in this bed in silence for a week or more while Aziraphale tries and fails to find the right words.

"There's no rush," he says, in case that wasn't clear. He pauses his stroking to hold his angel just as hard in return. "Take your time. Not goin' anywhere. Just, don't try to block it out or pretend you're fine. I know you're not." He lets out a small, rueful huff of a laugh. "I'm not either. We couldn't be, not after...whatever the fuck that was. But we will be, yeah?"

From:

salutosinedelectat

I'm fine, he feels the urge to say, even after what Crowley just said. I'm fine and some sort of charming, nonsense British-sounding expression just for emphasis. Something that should come to him naturally, just willing himself into sounding alright. Failing miserably, of course, but he still would.

But not right now. Not over this. Not even after the near end of the world. This is personal, this is confusing, this is upsetting, and he can't even bring himself to try and pretend. And Crowley, Crowley is once again trying to comfort him, asking him to be honest, letting himself be vulnerable and asking the angel the same, and he...

There's a rather shaky breath pulled in and exhaled out against the demon's chest, one he allows himself, not that he has that much choice on the matter. He tries to steady himself, at least somewhat.

He pulls his head back enough that at least he can speak. "Yes." His voice sounds funny, and he swallows down the lump in his throat. "Yes, we...we will be."

From:

duckshaveears

Crowley buries his face in Aziraphale's hair, breathes in the scent of it. Like rain mostly. Rain, and cotton, and that papery Aziraphale smell.

"We will be," he says again, quietly. "So it's okay if...if you aren't, just now. If you need to break." He holds on so hard. "I've got you."

From:

salutosinedelectat

That part about not letting go for a week? Well, he's certainly feeling it now, as they're locked in a desperate embrace as if one of them was at risk of simply floating off and never returning.

Considering where they found themselves, and how they still don't know how they got there in the first place, perhaps that idea feels a little too real for comfort.

He closes his eyes tight, as if that will keep them from stinging. They can get through this. They did get through it. They're back, and they have each other, and that's all they ever need. Could need. Will ever need.

His hands grip the back of Crowley's pajamas. The words come out like he's afraid he might not have another chance to say them - and he could now say he knows that feeling quite personally.

"I love you, so, so very much, my dear."

From:

duckshaveears

Crowley closes his eyes. "I know, angel. Aziraphale." He can feel the terror in that grip on his clothes, tries to soothe it a little with stroking hands and gentle kisses. "I love you. More than anything in the world. More than the world, even." His palm slides down Aziraphale's spine, stops at the small of the back, pulls him in closer. "I love you."

From:

salutosinedelectat

In this world that they've lived in, loved, they made their home. Their own side, their own story, their own world to shape, together.

He shifts along with the pull and holds Crowley tight, a pause to just feel the moment, take in the warmth and the scent of the demon, familiar, home, trying his best to gather himself enough to pull himself out of this feeling.

He does eventually raise his head, a hand pulled back so that his fingers may gingerly touch the side of Crowley's jaw. He looks at him, into those bright yellow eyes, and even his upset expression can't cover the honesty of his words.

"I'd do it all again. In a heartbeat."

From:

duckshaveears

"So would I."

Crowley's golden eyes dart over Aziraphale's face, quiet and serious. He reaches up and brushes his fingers lightly down Aziraphale's cheek, echoing the angel's own gesture. "I'd Fall ten thousand times over if you were waiting at the end of it. More."

Slowly he bends his head down, presses their mouths together softly.

From:

salutosinedelectat

Have they ever found this kind of comfort before they had each other? Different paths in life as they might have had, interconnecting at a large portion of its points, but there never really was anything that matched this kind of feeling, not even among them before they were free to be with each other in such a manner. At least not for the angel. People will say that angels are beings of Love, but the actual experience of one is much different, much less if it's Aziraphale.

He closes his eyes as their lips touch, letting his hand stroke down from Crowley's jaw to his neck, where it rests. There's so much he could probably say if he really tried, a lot he could never truly express, but the way they're connected makes it all the more obvious and less necessary to put into words. He's scared. He's thankful. He's angry as much as he is sad, and the conflicting emotions about so many different things make it all so difficult. But he has Crowley, and he has him here. He rather much focus on him, and on the bed and the home and the life that they share.

From:

duckshaveears

Comfort isn't a thing demons do, or get, so Crowley at least can definitively say: no, no he never experienced comfort like this before Aziraphale, never. It was completely foreign to his experience. Still is, in many ways. There are reasons why he was so quick to believe the worst and despair on the train, and they have to do with tens of thousands of years of conditioning. There's no comfort for a demon, no forgiveness, no salvation, no anything.

No softness, no love--but those he allows himself, now, those he's taught himself to accept. It wasn't easy. But he needed them so badly. Needed Aziraphale that badly.

A lot in common, you and me, Crowley had once said, and not least of those was how damn alone they were, in different ways. But not anymore.

There's another thing countless time in Hell teaches you, and it's to savor the good things while you have them, before they're taken away. So Crowley finds it easier than Aziraphale does to push recent events aside and just be here, now, his angel in his arms and both of them where they should be, where they want to be. Everything else can wait. He's still upset, yeah, and scared. All those things. But they'll keep.

So he kisses Aziraphale long and slow, using this other language they speak to say all the things that words don't convey as well:

I'm here. We're both here. I love you. I love you. I love you.

From:

salutosinedelectat

I love you. He echoes, in that other language, in that other place. I love you, and that will never change. I love you, and I'll do anything to stay by your side.

He'd proven that already. It didn't take much thought then, which is possibly why it's catching up with him now. Something with less severe and lasting consequences would have most certainly been ignored for whatever immediate positive or negative consequences arised in the moment, but not something like this. Something with its own web of meanings and significances that bite away at him in the quiet. If he lets them trick his mind into believe that he is or will be alone, he's not sure he's strong enough to fight it. But he's not alone. Could never be alone, not anymore.

He'd always held out some faith. Still does, in some ways, even for those that may wish them harm. It's a complicated subject, reserved for times when the conversations are long and the mood is near silent, filled with words to never be uttered out loud again. But there's nothing, no one, that he holds more belief for and confidence in than his beloved.

So he would do it again. He would defy them again. He would step away again. Nothing could ever give him anything near what Crowley gave him of the pure love in his heart.

Eventually, he breaks their kiss, gingerly, resting his forehead against the demon's. His eyes are closed, and his thumb brushes against the side of Crowley's jaw. He sniffs, and there is a subtle tear, much like when they couldn't reach through the barrier between them.

We're here., another echo, for the both of them.

From:

duckshaveears

Somewhere else Crowley and Aziraphale are still entwined so tightly that it's impossible for them to be closer; here, Crowley's arms tighten. He can almost hear Aziraphale's thoughts racing, the doubts and sureties chasing each other in restless circles. He's always been able to tell when Aziraphale was doing that. Taken advantage of it on countless occasions too, teasing out temptations and arguments to coax the angel into doing what Crowley wanted. What Aziraphale wants too, in truth; on the few occasions when Aziraphale legitimately did not want to do a thing there'd be no convincing him. Under all those layers of softness the angel is made of adamantine.

Crowley's always been comforted by that. It's been frustrating as Heaven sometimes, sure, but also comforting, to know there are limits to how much he can manipulate Aziraphale.

It's not always about temptation, however. Sometimes it's another way of offering comfort, finding the tangled knots of Aziraphale's emotions and soothing them until they straighten and calm. Crowley's a Hell creature, but he's also a snake. He can do calm. He can be still and wait, entwine and hold. He can be patient.

Their foreheads rest together quietly, and Crowley just listens to the sound of their breathing. In, out, aligned and in tandem, as happens when two people are so close. When he scents salt-water he gently kisses the tear away, not even needing to open his eyes to see where it is. Other soft kisses to Aziraphale's face follow, his cheek, his eyelids.

From:

salutosinedelectat

Ever since that day, even now, he wonders how much different a path he would had walked if Crowley hadn't been there by his side through most of it. Pointless thoughts, he's well aware, as the past cannot be changed - not by most creatures, anyway, safe for a couple of special cases -, but simply as something to be kept in his mind, what-ifs used to keep one well aware of the conditions of their reality.

He wouldn't be here, he doesn't think. Wouldn't have broken free from the heavenly mentality, not fully, even if the questions were there since the beginning. Certainly wouldn't have led as much of an interesting life as he did. Less late night conversations about something or other, less of travelling the world as he saw fit. And he wouldn't have someone to hold, or to hold him, or to share a home with, someone to hold his hand, someone to share the deepest parts of his mind, which he so often ignored when left to his own devices. He wouldn't have the part of his world that he cherishes the most. Wouldn't have someone who knows him better than he knows himself.

Nerves begin to settle, at least on the surface. In any other level, they may never settle down, for as much as he can tell. There are concepts that shake even immortal, ageless creatures to their core, for even they share traces of the humanity that a lot of them disdain. That Aziraphale and Crowley have observed, both admired and criticized, but with interested curiosity. May have absorbed. May have always been there.

Endless wings and feathers cover scales. Hundreds, thousands of eyes, most of them, close, calm. Here, the angel takes a long, deep breath. They're here. They've returned, and he holds no regrets for his choices. He isn't entirely sure of all that he may have sacrificed, but nothing could give him as much as being here, like this, with him, does. He will do it again, if he has to. As many times as it takes.

He shifts, brings a hand into Crowley's hair, thumb brushing over his ear. Opens his eyes just barely, and brings himself back to what's real. The darkness can't take them again. Not yet.

From:

duckshaveears

Crowley sighs a little as fingers run over his hair, caress his ear. He tilts his head, encouraging Aziraphale's hand to keep wandering. His own fingers stop just holding and start rubbing, long strokes of his thumbs on either side of Aziraphale's spine slow and firm and designed to push away tension. "Mmm...sit up properly for me and I'll rub your back, if you like."

From:

salutosinedelectat

The angel gently combs his fingers through Crowley's hair, gentle and methodical, simply because he knows the demon likes it. It brings him peace. It comforts him to be able to do so, to know the things that are real.

The offer makes him smile, faint existencially tired as the expression might be. "I suppose we might not get any more sleep for a while. Unless you want to, of course." He's had enough of it for now. The exhaustion he feels can't really be fought off by sleep, if he's feeling it to begin with.

Leans in, gently pressing his lips under Crowley's eye, before gently pulling away only far enough so he can sit. No polite fussing or anything of the sort, not for the idea of pampering or selfish comfort, just something to pass the time. They could well just sit there and talk, about anything else but the elephant in the room, and he'd be mighty happy with that.

He rubs his back with his hand and takes a long, deep breath, sighing as he exhales.

From:

duckshaveears

Crowley sighs and shifts, with only a twinge of reluctance at losing the lovely, lovely feeling of having his hair stroked. Later. "Nah, 'm good for now," he says, pulling himself up into a sitting position. Before he settles his hands on Aziraphale's shoulders he leans in, lightly kisses the back of the angel's neck. "Just want to be touching you."

And distracting him from invisible elephants, truthfully. So this works as a plan. Slowly he presses his fingers in, the pads of his thumbs immediately going to a place on either side of Aziraphale's spine, where tension often hides. He takes meticulous care in soothing the knots and muscles, there and everywhere, gradually working outwards and then down the back.

From:

salutosinedelectat

Let it be known that Aziraphale continues to be the most spoiled angel in existence. God's love does not compare to the dedication of one demon and his capability to love and care for. And the angel knows it, too, knows there's really not that much that he could ask for that the demon wouldn't give him unless it was truly impossible. He's known that for a very long time.

The gentle kiss makes him smile, and he settles where he sits, eyes closed, hands rested on his lap, fussing only slightly, and not really for long. Not as Crowley works meticulously to work out the tension from the angel's back, of which there is always some at any given moment, just from the way he carries himself, but justifiably a lot more now.

From:

duckshaveears

Aziraphale needs some spoiling, to Crowley's mind. Heaven treated him like shit for millennia and Crowley is only too willing to redress the imblance. Which he does, thoroughly, clever hands kneading and pressing and stroking. A few spots of tension prove more difficult to unwind than usual, and Crowley frowns at them, understandable as they are.

Quietly he leans in and kisses Aziraphale's neck again. "Relax for me, angel," he says quietly. He chuckles a little, adds another kiss and then the slightest nip of teeth. "Or do I need to distract you?"