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 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.

From:

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."

From:

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."

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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).

From:

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.

From:

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?"

From:

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-"

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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--"

From:

salutosinedelectat

If anything is the last thing he has to hear, he would want it to be Crowley's voice, whispering, murmuring in his hear. But he would listen to it again and again, being gentle, being encouraging, enticing and honey-sweet.

And he does belong there. If there's anywhere he's ever belonged, or at least felt so much at home, it's wrapped in Crowley's arms, whether in the throws of passion, or simply resting and chatting away in warm familiarity, or on those nights where the wrong words have left wounds that need to be nursed carefully and they learn to not repeat the same mistakes. Any way that they can learn on each other, it gives him a comfort he didn't even know existed, not that long ago. And he craves it more than ever, after it was almost taken away from them.

Words fail when pressure builds. Gasps and heavy breaths, Crowley's murmurs and hissing further making him shudder, pushing back against him and holding on, holding, holding, even against what he's told, strained groans escaping escaping him until he can't hold any longer. With a gasping moan, he tenses and arches his head back, the pleasure of his orgasm shooting through him in a warm encompassing wave. He glows, he does, faintly, here, for a moment, as sometimes happens, some part of him that breaks through when he does let go, some part no one else but the demon has ever bore witness.

From:

duckshaveears

Crowley supports him through it, like he always has; it's still a wonder to him sometimes that he can be open about things now, that they can do this. Not the sex, but the intimacy. That's the part that was always risky and forbidden--certainly to Crowley, possibly to Aziraphale also.

But it's theirs now. Everything is theirs. To have and to hold and to share and to keep.

When Aziraphale's head falls back Crowley's shoulder is there for it to rest on as the demon holds him during his climax, slowing his strokes to help push him through it until the angel finally is limp and relaxed in his embrace and he can let go. Crowley turns his face to kiss Aziraphale's cheek. "There you go..." he murmurs. "That was good, love, that was perfect, you're perfect..." Another kiss, and a brush of his beaky nose against soft skin. "You're so good, my angel."

From:

salutosinedelectat

That was the hardest part, the intimacy. For all the good it brings, it also allows for a lot of mistakes with grander consequences. Aziraphale had had enough trouble with it all before they ever found themselves free to be together, and he still makes mistakes, but they have time to work through it all, and to learn from every experience.

Everything they have is theirs. And no one's taking that away.

His body relaxes, and he slowly works on catching his breath, the one he doesn't need, and the gentle kisses and gentler words pull a faint, slightly hazy smile out of him. He leans his head against the nuzzling demon's, one of his hands coming up to touch the one resting on his chest.

He hums quietly and vaguely. "Far too kind, my dear." he murmurs sweetly against him, drinking in every word. Crowley's temptations don't hold a candle to words like these.

From:

duckshaveears

The fact that they make mistakes and then work through them is still a wonder to Crowley. He's not used to mistakes being fixable, or going unpunished. In a relationship the stakes are simultaneously lower and higher than they've ever been.

But because it's a relationship they work together to fix the mistakes, instead of being at odds. The most profound change of all, after millennia of balancing and cancelling each other out.

Crowley catches at Aziraphale's hand, presses it to his chest, covers it. "Am not," he murmurs, nibbling languidly at Aziraphale's skin. A double denial these days, as the angel well knows. He's not kind because he's a demon and demons aren't kind, by definition. And he's not too kind because it's impossible to be too kind to Aziraphale, who deserves all that's eat and brightest in the world. It's a fond argument by now, both halves of it. As soothing and familiar as a caress.

From:

salutosinedelectat

It's work. Work far more difficult but far more valuable than anything they've ever done. They're still learning, you can't just forget six millenia and more of a way of living in a single night. But they'll keep going, and they'll keep trying, and they'll keep on loving each other through it.

He smiles, gently squeezes Crowley's fingers against his chest, breathes out a calm sigh through his nose. And he stays like that for a beat, just riding on the calmness and glow, and feeling the warmth of his demon wrapped around him.

Opening his eyes just barely, with a glance, he shifts slightly, gently pressing back against the demon. He feels him, there, stiff against his back, patient as he is. "Mh, dear...I believe I should repay the favor."

From:

duckshaveears

It's work, but it's the most satisfying and rewarding work they've ever done, both in the short term and the long term. Crowley lowers his head and just breathes for a moment, being in the moment. It's a good moment, with Aziraphale warm and content and next to him.

Then he pushes back and Crowley's breath hitches. It's not that he'd forgotten how aroused he was, exactly, he was just...concentrating on other things. But that small pointed movement definitely recaptures his attention. "I--ngk--" he manages, briefly tongue-tied. "If you want, then...yeah, yes. 'Course." He kisses Aziraphale's neck. "Angel."