Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

[questionablewit]

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[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--"

[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.

[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."

avid subscriber that crowley isn't the only one with a thing for praise

[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.

I also subscribe to that.

[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.

just look at their lives tbh

[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."

ohhhhh yes

[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."

Re: ohhhhh yes

[salutosinedelectat]

The coy smile on his face and his gentle air might be betrayed by his objective, but not entirely. He brings his free hand back up to curl back and gently touch at Crowley's hair, while the other keeps intertwined with the demon's on his chest. The stuttering doesn't pass him by, in fact he finds it quite endearing. There's a rather lovely feeling in being able to catch the demon by surprise sometimes.

He turns his head to place a gentle kiss on Crowley's cheekbone. "I do." He murmurs sweetly against his cheek, a fair easier answer; he's feeling Crowley's already, which he shifts against again, just a gentle tease.

[duckshaveears]

Crowley draws in another ragged breath, closes his eyes. Aziraphale's mouth is warm on his skin, and the smell of his breath somehow shoots down Crowley's spine, pooling in the small of his back, hot and hungry. He shudders with anticipation. "How d'you want me, then?"

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale gently digs his fingers through the demon's hair, a gentle touch, affectionate, but not without the suggestion of something a bit less gentle if the demon so wishes. They know each other's tastes, the way to handle each other's corporations and the way they move together. And what they need, right now, is the comfort of that familiarity.

So Aziraphale keeps his voice quiet and low, smooth. Gentle fussing through that fiery red hair, body pressed back against him, warm and soft, with only the most faint movements. Their hands kept to his chest. A gentle, slow build up. Things he's learned in the time they've been together.

He presses another kiss on his cheek as he thinks. One on his jaw. One by his ear. "I want you to take me."

[duckshaveears]

"Angel--"

He should be used to it by now. He never is, somehow. They've done this countless times now, and Aziraphale's stated his desires in those exact words countless times, and it still leaves Crowley breathless with astonishment, still sends a thrill through him. His arms tighten before he takes a breath and forces himself to loosen them, and the way he nibbles at Aziraphale's neck is more sharp than he probably intends. He can keep it gentle and slow like this, he can, he has and he will, but fuck, he wants...

Crowley shudders all over, his hands already wandering, and nips at Aziraphale's neck again. "...on your stomach." His voice is lower already, husky. "Lie down for me, angel. While I get you ready."

He already is ready, almost painfully so all at once. But he refuses to rush this part.

[salutosinedelectat]

The tone in Crowley's voice sends shivers down his spine, with the sting on his neck having something to do with it. The offers he gives the demon when the mood strikes for intimacy and passion are delivered easily and well, but sometimes there is a struggle, a pleasant one, to listen more than he speaks. To feel and to turn, to take or to give, hold or be held. But there are no limits in the way they go about these things, they can do all if they so wish. These things, these moments that are theirs and theirs alone. Thrills that won't end.

Aziraphale doesn't rush, either. He never rushes when he's enjoying something, unless that's part of the experience, and even then. He takes a few more seconds to press kisses on Crowley's face, on his temple, before finally pulling away languishly, shifting and lowering himself onto the bed, plush and comfortable, glancing over his shoulder at his demon.

"I love you, my dear." Simple words, a quiet voice, but also given with a point. There are many ways the angel can lack in being self aware, but less so when situations of this nature call for his full attention.

[duckshaveears]

Crowley accepts all those kisses and returns a few, capturing Aziraphale's mouth briefly before the angel turns to settle himself on the bed and Crowley accordingly gets to his knees beside him, leans over to reach for the bottle of lubricant they keep beside the bed. (There are times when it's part of the thrill to magic something up and cackle about some poor sap doing the paperwork for it, a small hello, and fuck you to their previous employers; there are other times when they simply don't care. But there are also times for complete privacy with no specter of being observed, and this is one of them)

Aziraphale's statement arrests him mid-motion, as it so often does. Crowley waited too long to hear it to ever take it for granted or let it pass by without a response. His eyes almost glow in the dark, wide and golden, as they are during moments of passion or intense emotion.

He leans down and takes another kiss, tasting Aziraphale's mouth and moaning like it's something ambrosial. "Angel," he whispers, endearment and wonderment and statement of fact all in one. He slides his mouth to Aziraphale's shoulder, kisses that, drops kisses all along his upper back even as his slicked fingers reach carefully between the Aziraphale's thighs. "I love you." His finger teases at the puckered opening he finds there, circles, presses, withdraws and circles again. "More than I ever thought possible. More than anything else on Earth or outside it." He pushes in just the tip, stretches him gently. Bites a little at his shoulder. "Beyond life, or death, or eternity." Pushes in further, to the first knuckle, then the second. Crowley gasps and shivers as though he's the one being penetrated, his control kept sharply in check. (Somewhere else, scales spark with internal light, and coils shift to encircle.)

"Beyond everything," Crowley whispers, meaning it and knowing what it means better than most are capable of understanding, and pushes in a second finger as he kisses the back of Aziraphale's neck.

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale closes his eyes when Crowley's hand first moves between his thighs, leaving nothing but the sensation of his touch, of his kisses, and that voice whispering undying eternal, devotion. Not the first time the demon declares his everburning feelings for the angel, words that barely reach the ankles of everything he's done to show it. Every time, it brings a shiver to the angel's spine to know, and let himself know, that there's someone that loves and cares for him so deeply, so passionately. That something he spent the better part of his existence never imagining or even being aware was something he could ever have, a being of Love, for whatever that really entails, finding out he could be more than a mere observer...

Every time, it blinds him to everything else. When it's quiet, when the only thing is their bodies, his voice, warmth, in a void made for their own, when everything else stops existing. Every time, it steals his breath.

This time, he knows. They know. They already did know, but this time they have been forced to prove it. This time, he's seen it happen, they've had it happen, he's seen it and the words ring so much louder. It rocks him to his core. All the things he doesn't want to think about, they'll be louder too, but they don't get to take this away from them.

His breath shakes. He grips the the sheets under him and hunches his shoulders. Bites at his lip, gasps when another finger is pushed into him, tensing slightly around it. "Crowley..." A soft murmur, feeling the warm lips on the back of his neck.

( Somewhere else, wings fold back and let themselves be held, a bundle of bright light inviting that touch.)

[duckshaveears]

It matters to Crowley to say it like this, sometimes. Not just I love you but the ultimately unsuccessful attempt to express how much. It can't be done, and they both know it; the bond between them is profound in a way that goes far beyond words in any language mortal or immortal. But Crowley likes to try sometimes, to be expansive and eloquent. After so much time having to keep the words in it's a relief to say it, even if he can only say a small part of what's meant.

That doesn't matter. Aziraphale knows what he doesn't say.

Actions do speak louder. Not the fact of Crowley's fingers there, so intimately situated, but it shows in how much care he takes, his own body's needs held in check while he sees to Aziraphale's, slowly and carefully opening him up, making sure every step is pleasurable and relaxed instead of rushed. He can wait. He's always been good at waiting. And any discomfort for him is more than repaid by the sound of Aziraphale gasping, the sight of his fingers gripping the bedsheets, the way his body trembles around Crowley's fingers. "That's it, he says, soft and soothing. "That's good, angel, let me take care of you..."

[salutosinedelectat]

He does know all Crowley doesn't say. They've learned to read each other, understand each other, even before they were free to let themselves see all of it. Snippets and glances sometimes spelled danger, so they'd ignore it, fight it, even be blind to it - in the case of the angel -, but they've always related and understood each other better than anyone else in existence. Their way of existing just made it so.

And, nowadays, he knows all of Crowley's unspoken words, the impossibly grand meanings. He can feel them in times past, he can feel them in glances he catches of Crowley's eyes, in the way he kisses him and makes everything else stop. He feels it in his careful touches. He feels it in everything they share. It's more than than the things he does - it's the way he does them, and why.

He lets his forehead rest down on one of his arms, warm breaths hitching as Crowley's deft gentle fingers work him open, patiently and meticulously, sweet in his patience, loving in his words. Aziraphale keeps himself still, but his body aches to hold his demon, to kiss him, to intertwine with him, to tell the world the message it won't hear, that they can never tear them apart.

[duckshaveears]

Perhaps Crowley can read the message in the way Aziraphale's shoulders tense, or perhaps his own wants change. At any rate he kisses Aziraphale's back, then withdraws his fingers. "Turn over, angel," he murmurs. "Let me see you."

Let them see each other, let them both be seen. As soon as Aziraphale is able to watch Crowley grins wickedly and licks at his fingers, forked tongue on display.

[salutosinedelectat]

Taking but a few seconds to breathe, he carefully turns himself around, leaning back on his elbows, just in time to watch the demon being wicked and wily. It makes Aziraphale stare for a lingering moment moment, face already warm, but the coy smile that places itself on his face, more of a smirk, on his face is betrayed by the look in his eyes, warm and loving and knowing, and surely more than inviting.

"Oh, you serpent." Veritably lounging in front of Crowley, waiting. Gently teasing. " Do come here..."

[duckshaveears]

It goes beyond inviting. Crowley crawls forward and sinks into his angel's embrace with the air of someone coming home, which he is. It's the only place he's ever belonged and the only one he needs.

"Angel, angel--" Kisses on the mouth, on Aziraphale's jaw and neck, as their bodies undulate against each other, skin sliding against skin. "My angel, Aziraphale--" His cock is still hot and hard where it's trapped between them but he kisses Aziraphale's face as though he needs nothing else, only this. One hand strokes along Aziraphale's side, the other presses his hand to the mattress, fingers tightly entwined.

[salutosinedelectat]

The angel's embrace will always be there, waiting for him, a selfish refuge he will never have to share. A self sustaining give and take of safety, and warmth, and care.

Aziraphale drinks in the attention, the words again, the feeling of the demon's body pressing him into their bed. He grips Crowley's hand with their intertwined fingers, pulls a thigh up against his side and toward his hand. It feels like a dance and makes him think of music, every time, but the notes sound different this time around.

"Only yours." He murmurs, free hand slipping between Crowley's shoulders to hold, to pull him and meet him in a kiss, before pulling back and settling on the bed over his head, leaving him vulnerable and unguarded, and delightfuly so.

[duckshaveears]

Another invitation, and Crowley smiles. His hand slides from hip down to thigh, around, lifts Aziraphale's leg so it's hooked over Crowley's shoulder. Crowley turns his head and kisses Aziraphale's knee, still meeting his eyes, his own still glinting warm and wicked. A few more kisses up the thigh, slow and suggestive; a bite, sharp rather than hard.

He doesn't need to ask. He knows Aziraphale is ready. More than ready; expectant.

Crowley shifts, keeps Aziraphale's leg on his shoulder; balancing it will help him get a better angle while also distracting him enough that this won't be over as soon as it starts.

He goes slowly, almost agonizingly slowly, penetrating Aziraphale gently and carefully. A little, then back, then further, then back. He could just sink in, knows his angel could take it, and sometimes they prefer it that way. Hard, fast, rough, hungry.

Not this time. This is about more than hunger, much more, and he wants it to last as long as possible. Hours, weeks. Forever. Sweat beads Crowley's forehead and he welcomes it, one hot rivulet sliding down his face as he forces himself to keep absolutely in control of each tiny movement.

Forward. Back. A little further. Back.

[salutosinedelectat]

There will be a time for it to be about hunger. Maybe when they finally feel the dust has settled, and they believe they might have finally defeated what haunts them. Maybe then, when it creeps in at the corners in an otherwise far too normal day, then it will be time for that. But not now. This time it's about feeling. This time it's about seeing and being seen. About telling each other and all of creation that they won't be torn apart, that they won't be taken into the shadows. That they won't let go of each other. That they promise each other they'll be there.

Aziraphale shudders and twitches, grips Crowley's hand in his own. That spot on his thigh sore and sensitive. His eyes stay on the demon's, even as his breath grows a little heavier. He's watching, he's promising, he's asking for so much, without uttering a single word. Crowley could always tell - but can he feel it, now, in the way they're connected? How he's reaching for him, how he's thankful for him, how he's so goddamn terrified he might not be strong a second time?

[duckshaveears]

He can. Of course he can. He feels all the same things, even the fear, though that he's buried under determination to take care of Aziraphale, the same way he's always done. It's a well worn coping mechanism for Crowley. And in the circumstances, it's not a bad one.

So he concentrates on that, only that. Only Aziraphale, and wringing those shudders and twitches from him, those breaths, until he's fully seated in his lover's body, shaking and panting. Crowley looks up and meets Aziraphale's eyes, and the focused expression on his face morphs into a slight smirk. "Ready?"

It's a tease more than a word, a silent request: are you ready, tell me you are, tell me you want this. Tell me you want me. Say it out loud.

[salutosinedelectat]

He'll take everything he can get, and he knows it's never ending. All the attention, all the care, all the overwhelming droves of love his demon can give him. But he won't do so selfishly, no, he will give back everything he has, everything he can offer, his mind, his love, his body, his touch. Everything he has, he will give him, all in return for the same.

The angel pulls in a breath, feeling himself full, that familiar bliss, head tilting back in a pleasant shudder, his eyes only close for a moment, not wanting to break their shared gaze for long. He knows it'll be a little more difficult as they go on, but that's alright.

"Yes." Aziraphale murmurs under his breath, his free hand coming up to rest on the demon's cheek in the gentlest touch, brushing his fingers back into his hair, conjuring up enough words and coherence to even begin to show how he feels. "All I want is you, my love. All of you. If everything else were to burn, I'd be happy with just you, just like this."

His fingers dig into the demon's red hair, where they belong. "Please, Crowley..."

[duckshaveears]

That's considerably more than Crowley had been aiming for, and he groans helplessly and falls onto Aziraphale's mouth again, as though all those words are still there and he can breathe them in directly, swallow them, keep them inside the core of himself to warm him from within.

(It was so cold, on the train. So cold, beyond anything. Part of him still feels it, part of him is still desperate for heat)

Crowley starts to move. The kiss is passionate and unrestrained, but the motion of his hips is slow and deliberate, teasing out the drag and push of his thrusts. Sweat beads his forehead but he doesn't increase the pace, however much his body wants to just fuck in with abandon. Not yet. Not yet. It'll be better if he can wait, for both of them. And he needs this, these minutes of being this close, this connected. So does Aziraphale. He'll make it last as long as he can.