Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

[questionablewit]

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[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."

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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?"

[salutosinedelectat]

Heaven did treat him like shit, in more ways than he was ever fully aware. But Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil are just names for sides. On an individual level, Aziraphale would say he did fairly good. You know, being seen as traitors and being possibly wanted and death train notwithstanding.

He lets himself be spoiled, of course, though not all the tension goes away. With the magnitude of recent events, that would be impossible. In a permanent manner, anyway.

Eyes still closed, he smiles again, tilting his head to the side slightly. "You know your temptations don't work on me, demon." Said soft and warm.

[duckshaveears]

Crowley figured out it was all just names for sides long ago, and it didn't take him much longer to realize which side he wanted to be part of. This one, here, with the best angel and the worst demon, or maybe the other way around. It all depended on perspective.

Crowley's perspective is currently that Aziraphale's neck needs a few more kisses, which he tends to accordingly. "You sure about that?" he teases. "I can name any number of occasions when they've been...effective..."

The word turns into an innuendo in its own right, punctuated by a small nibble on Aziraphale's shoulder.

[salutosinedelectat]

It's always perspective. It's always been perspective. And it took Aziraphale a while to fully open his eyes, but here they are. He'll continue to prove there's nowhere else he'd rather be.

Aziraphale hums quietly, nonchalant. Clearly the distraction is having some effect already. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

[duckshaveears]

"Forgotten already? Tsk." Crowley smiles against his angel's skin, running a line of kisses along his shoulder, then back to his neck, over to the other side.

This is good. Oh, he wants this, now that they've rested a little. He wants to inhabit their bodies as fully as possible, reclaim them. Reclaim each other, too, in a less profound and more familliar way than what they've done. Crowley wraps his arms around Aziraphale to embrace him from behind, hands splaying over his chest. "I'll have to remind you."

[salutosinedelectat]

This feels better. This feels like home, it's familiar and intimate in ways that could never be taken away from them. Perhaps impeded, but never erased.

The angel tilts his head in ways as Crowley's kisses travel across his shoulder and neck, and the embrace makes him feel so much warmer. He brings his hands up to comfortably rest on the demon's arms. "Perhaps you do." He mutters softly.

[duckshaveears]

It's not really temptation, not when Crowley already knows exactly how to stroke his angel's skin, where to kiss, where to nip lightly with his teeth. When he already knows every touch is welcome, even adored.

Still, he's slow about it, partly to savor the experience (they get to do this, they're here to do this, they were so close to never being able to do this again, don't think about that), and partly so that Aziraphale has as much space as he needs to stop him. It's been an intense experience and the last thing Crowley wants, for once, is to be overwhelming.

So when he does reach for the buttons on Aziraphale's pyjamas and undo them, it's with a speed better reserved for glaciers. Careful and deliberate, while kissing the join where Aziraphale's neck meets his shoulder. "This all right?" he asks quietly. Aziraphale's breathing says it is, as does the way he shivers in Crowley's arms, but verbal consent is always good. Any demon knows that the deal isn't sealed without a solid, undeniable yes.

[salutosinedelectat]

It's hard trying to keep away the thoughts about how they almost lost this. How they almost lost any chance to ever be together again, to be in their home, with each other, in each other's arms, together, holding, touching, gentle warm lips against his skin.

Don't think about that. Don't think about it, but, oh, he can't. There will be a time, maybe, where that feeling of dread will be entirely replaced by relief and thankfulness over the outcome. Certainly, they'll look back and appreciate the fact that they came out of it together. But the wound is still fresh, still sore, but they can find ways to relieve the pain.

He notices Crowley's slowness. He appreciates every touch of Crowley's lips on his shoulder, yearning for one after the other, hands still on the demon's arms but well out of the way as he works at the buttons on Aziraphale's pajamas. And the way he checks, it just warms the angel's heart even more, with how gentle and careful his adored, adoring demon can be.

"Yes." He mutters simply, just as quietly. They'll go at whatever speed they like, for they are more powerful than time and chance.

[duckshaveears]

Crowley sighs a little in acknowledgement at that yes. Yes, yes, yes, this...deliberately he undoes every button, then strokes up Aziraphale's chest, palms his way back down, long caresses that leave no part that's uncovered untouched. After another kiss to Aziraphale's neck he leans back, putting just enough distance between them that he can pull the open nightshirt off completely, reaches with one hand to tug his own over his head with less care.

Then he returns to the embrace and they're skin to skin, warmth to warmth. No feathers or scales here, just their bodies, assumed but still wonderfully part of them. Crowley sighs again and resumes his stroking, hands sliding over shoulders and arms and chest, again and again.

[salutosinedelectat]

As Crowley's hands travel over every exposed area of his upper body, Aziraphale keeps his eyes closed, letting himself feel, letting himself want, in this gentle sharing of corporations they claim as their own. They get to feel in different ways, and none shall be taken away from them. They will love, and they will feel, and they will be, just as they are and as they can be.

He leans back, a comfortable weight against Crowley's chest, bringing a hand up and back to touch at his hair, turning his head to brush his lips against it, seeking to press a loving kiss, welcoming all the warmth he can give him.

[duckshaveears]

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.

[salutosinedelectat]

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.

[duckshaveears]

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.

[salutosinedelectat]

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.

[duckshaveears]

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).

[salutosinedelectat]

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.

[duckshaveears]

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?"

[salutosinedelectat]

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-"

[duckshaveears]

"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.

[salutosinedelectat]

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.

[duckshaveears]

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--"