Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

[questionablewit]

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[duckshaveears]

He's trying to hold back, to not go too fast, he's trying. But Aziraphale is so hot and tight around him, and those words are so warm and so desperately wanted. Always wanted, and always a little desperate. He can't help that. They had to wait so long, to get to this point.

Crowley shudders and sucks in a deep breath, turns his head and kisses Aziraphale's thigh, digs his fingers in harder on the leg resting on his shoulder. Another kiss, harder, with teeth. Not enough to leave a bruise. Not yet.

Still thrusting, he adds a roll of his hips at the end, looking for the sweet spot, the sunburst point. The place that will make his angel moan for him.

[salutosinedelectat]

Whatever warmth he can give him, he's there. Whatever reminders, reassurances, the love and care he never could, he'll give it to him. Crowley's always given him everything he could ever want, and the things he needed when he didn't know he did. They had to wait so long to get here. They're never leaving.

With a stuttered groan and a gasp, the angel arches under him, almost lifting his hand his hand off of the bed, were it not pinned down. His leg squeezes around the demon, some eager attempt to pull him closer.

[duckshaveears]

There's a tide to this. The rhythms of the body have their own currents, and while they might be eldritch beings of supernatural power there are some instincts it's hard to ignore. He could, probably. He could try harder than he does. (He does try, he does.)

But it's so good, it's so good, all that heat and tension and tightening, and Aziraphale arching and groaning to the air, openly. Crowley tries to focus on breathing, on balancing, whatever it takes to prolong this as much as possible. But it overpowers him sooner than he wants. He has enough presence of mind to keep the angle Aziraphale needs once he's found it, so he finds that sweet spot with every stroke, but he's panting for breath, snapping his hips in hard, a continuous litany of angel on his tongue.

Another groan, and this time the kiss he sucks into Aziraphale's leg will bruise, florid and painful and real. "Can't--" he huffs against Aziraphale's thigh. "Angel, angel, I can't--need to--"

[salutosinedelectat]

Whatever mark Crowley leaves on his body is cherished. Whatever way he holds it, touches it, moves with it, it never leaves the angel feeling anything but safe and wanted and loved. It's not just the pleasure of such acts, but, more importantly so, who they're shared with. No one else could ever make the angel feel like this. No one could love him as intensely and as perfectly as Crowley does.

Aziraphale's breath catches, moans and sounds escaping him freely, as he grips his demon tight, as he arches and moves along with him, pushes himself closer, body asking, begging for more, right there. More, for longer. More, and closer, faster, and there, right there, please.

"Crowley--" He feels that sting in the tender skin of his thigh, Crowley's breath hot against it. "I'm--oh-" Stuttered through, as his gentle but strong hand pulls on the fiery red hair with a mind of its own.

[duckshaveears]

It's not enough, it's so blessed close but not enough, it won't be enough unless Aziraphale is there too. Nothing has ever been enough unless Aziraphale was there, not in six thousand years.

Crowley reaches between them somehow, takes Aziraphale's cock in his hand again, strokes hard and fast. He's bottoming out on every thrust now, their hips slapping together, friction a miracle in its own right. "Come for me." Not encouragement this time but demand. "Come for me, now, now, do it angel, now, come--"

[salutosinedelectat]

It doesn't take him much more than that. Senses overwhelmed with white hot pleasure, his body curled under the demon, arching and twitching and moving, hot, so hot, freely given and clinging and pulling. The sting of Crowley's lips and teeth on the tender flesh of his thigh, his hand gripped tight and pinned against the bed, Crowley's body pushing against his, into him, with knowing thrusts and desperate fervor. It's so much, so much, and he's greedy about it for a moment, but the demon knows all the right things to do and say.

His back arches off of the bed, limbs gripping at the demon like a vice however he can reach, body tensing around Crowley's cock hot and tight, groaning out through his orgasm, spilling through his hand. And he glows, again, brighter this time, against the harmless darkness around them, a beacon, but only of their own, pinned between the demon and their bed. Nowhere else he rather be.

[duckshaveears]

Crowley only barely hangs on long enough. Aziraphale squeezes around him, and there's hot liquid striping his hand and oh Heaven yes, Aziraphale squeezing his hand and pulling his hair and his legs, those strong thighs gripping him, and all of it together pulls pleasure out of him until his head is thrown back in a silent shout and he slams in hard, again, spilling deep inside his lover, his angel, his everything. He hears the beating of mighty wings, countless numbers of them, and maybe he imagines it or maybe it's happening Somewhere Else.

Then he collapses on Aziraphale, drenched with sweat and utterly spent. Their hands are still locked together.

[salutosinedelectat]

He could swear he feels scales brush up against him, soft and tender, squeezing around him in a loving embrace. It feels safe. It feels loving.

The climax of their pleasure and their bodies gives way to panting breaths in the dark, forgetting all the needlessness of these physical states, dwelling comfortably within them. Aziraphale lets go of the demon's hair, hand falling back against the bed as he catches his breath, though the other stays locked together with Crowley's.

For a moment, that's all they do, they rest and they breathe, and feel warm against one another. Aziraphale's hand returns to Crowley's hair, this time to dig gently through it. "Well..." He sighs out, blissfully. "It seems I've been thwarted by your temptations once more."

[duckshaveears]

Crowley makes a low, pleased rumble in his throat as Aziraphale strokes his hair again. His face is turned towards Aziraphale's neck, and he kisses it almost absently. "Whereas I definitely feel smote by your angelic grace. Smited. Smitten. All those."

They're still joined at the hip, and little as he wants to move it can't be comfortable for Aziraphale. Reluctant fly he gets up and withdraws, then lays back down on Aziraphale, this time blatantly using him as a pillow. Crowley rests his cheek on the angel's chest, listened to his heartbeat. Fantastic, amazing things, these corporations, capable of so many wonders...

Crowley makes that quiet purring noise again, feeling quiet and heavy and content. "Nghh...we may have to wait a while before doing that crepes plan. Don't think I'll be able to walk for a while after that."

[salutosinedelectat]

Funny things too, these bodies. There isn't always a heartbeat. There isn't always a breath. But there certainly are many times when they are so ingrained in these corporations, that everything functions as it apparently should. There's beauty in such things, small and sometimes curious as they might be.

Aziraphale shivers gently as his demon pulls away, then settling comfortable and relaxed, welcoming him back with that hand in his hair, and his faint angelic glow.

"I suppose they can wait." Said in a gentle, teasing tone, fingers scratching gently against the demon's scalp. His chest rises and lowers with every breath, now even and relaxed. "This'll have to do for a while... Can't have you go about in that state." With a clear soft smile to his words.

[duckshaveears]

That's the thing: they don't have to breathe. They don't have to sweat, have racing heartbeats, have sex, eat food, sleep, any of it. But they enjoy it. They choose it. Sure, things like feeling your skin go prickly and cool aren't as intense as climaxing in your lover's arms, to pick an example entirely at random. But it's part of the overall tapestry of experience, and they both appreciate it. And they're fantastically grounding, these small things. Good for keeping you in the moment.

This is a particularly good moment, and Crowley would like to be kept in it.

"Which state?" Crowley lifts head enough that Aziraphale can watch him smirk. "Stark naked and looking exceptionally well fucked? It'd give the village something to talk about."

[salutosinedelectat]

It's always been about choices. About the ones made actively and attentively, and even the ones made subconsciously. The experience of being alive, and its possibilities are endless. These smaller ones are easier, but no less important, specially in times when they have been almost taken away.

The angel smiles, still gently scratching. "That would be improper." He replies with such a posh tone. "No, you're much better off here."

[duckshaveears]

Crowley tilts his head into the scritching fingers, encouraging them to wander. His hair is damp with sweat, spiky at random intervals, and he resembles the proverbial cat in cream in the way he preens and smirks. "Satan forbid I be improper," he says with mock solemnity, grinning down at his lover. "Can't have that. But if you're going to insist on my being decent before taking me to breakfast, you're several millennia plus time uncounted too late."

He bends down and kisses Aziraphale, slow and sated. "Mmm..." he murmurs into the other's mouth. "You're right that I'm better off here, though."

[salutosinedelectat]

There's something to thoroughly enjoy when seeing the demon smile wickedly. Maybe not so much when you're at the other end of whatever motivated it - Aziraphale has been there many times, but never in a way where he ever suffered for it -, but such delight is contagious at times.

Aziraphale welcomes his kiss, hands landing on Crowley's back and moving up to curl over his shoulders. He returns the gentle hum, eyes closed. "Of course I am."

[duckshaveears]

Crowley makes another approving mmm noise as Aziraphale's hands curl over his shoulders, holding him in place. Good. He doesn't want to move. This is exactly where he wants to stay.

Several minutes of slow, savoured, unhurried kisses follow before Crowley sighs again and rests his head on Aziraphale's shoulder. "Dunno why I thought fairy lights were a good idea," he says drowsily. "You glow more than they do. Probably responsible for whoever came up with the things."

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale lets his fingers lock over the demon's back, comfortably blanketed by his lover's body. Such closeness was always welcomed, comparatively short has it has been since they first actually began to indulge in such a thing, but, in this instant, it just feels right.

He opens his eyes to peek down at the demon. "I don't believe so. I've never met anyone who went on to make such a thing. That I know of." He looks up at their darkened ceiling again, thumb brushing over the back of Crowley's shoulders. "Besides, no one's ever...seen me like this."

[duckshaveears]

"Good." Crowley's arms are draped over Aziraphale's shoulders, wrapped around his head, and he buries his fingers in his angel's hair. "They don't deserve it. None of them."

Once, he would've added or at least thought, and neither do I, not out of any lack of self-worth but because it was simple fact. Even a few days ago he might have thought it, if only in the deepest darkest part of his heart.

Not anymore. They're past the point where that's at all relevant. This is where he belongs, where they both belong, entwined and inseparable. What either of them deserves doesn't enter into it. Not anymore. Never again.

(Scales caress wings, and a long sinuous body winds itself around an angelic form, the heart hidden by layers of feathers)

Crowley lifts his head for another kiss, strokes Aziraphale's face with his thumb. "I like you, like this," he murmurs into the mouth that opens against his. "I love you, like this."

[salutosinedelectat]

Well beyond deserving. Well beyond wondering. Well beyond the erroneous notions of good and evil and unforgivable and deserving, and into whatever they make happen. Heaven and Hell have no hold on them anymore. And now, it looks like, no even Death. The concept, not the creature, with whom he never did quite have an issue with. But he supposes he must have been involved, somehow. Or his superiors.

(Almost all eyes lay closed and dormant, while a couple glow bright and ethereal and watch the shining scales reflect the bright light. They cannot begin to tell where the light, or the scales, or the wings of one end and the other begin. Feathers fluff up, comfortable and relaxed.]

Aziraphale breathes calmly against those lips, feels the gentle caress of those fingers in his hair. "Like this?"

[duckshaveears]

"Here." Soft and solid, warm and real, accessible to all senses. Touch, sight, taste, sound, smell, and those others they don't have names for in this language, the ones that expand beyond this world, these bodies, this time. "With me."

(He moves, he's always moving, he never stops, but now the twisting of scales is calm and slow instead of restless. Even for countless eyes it's impossible to tell how many coils he has. It doesn't matter, the numbers are meaningless)

He tilts his head to kiss Aziraphale's cheek, soft and deliberate, then repeats the gesture on his neck. "I love you like everything."

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale tilts his head back slightly, against the bed and against those fingers buried so gently in his hair. These senses, what a thing. What a gift, with corporations like these. All of these sensations, and all the ways they can be awakened, all they can bring. Fascinating to no end.

( They are together in their infinity. In worlds unreachable by any but those already in it. No end, no beginning, and yet here they both tangle. There's a warmness to those scales, in a place where heat can't live. His eyes can't find the serpent's right now, but he doesn't mind, and simply waits. His company is infinite too.)

"Everything?" He mutters quietly, palms resting down on Crowley's back again.

[duckshaveears]

"Everything." A brush of lips along Aziraphale's neck, then a soft press. Another, open-mouthed, with just a flicker of tongue as Crowley tastes the salt-sweat skin there. "Like this. Like you are in the library reading. Or in the kitchen making cocoa, or eating pasta. Watching the sunset. Saying some ridiculous thing no one's said for centuries."

He reaches a bit to kiss Aziraphale's ear, sucks on the lobe a bit. "Like you are when we're out for a walk, or when you're all tight-lipped in the car because you hate how I drive. Or when you stain your clothes and ask me to fix it, and the way you smile when I do." He nuzzles the skin behind Aziraphale's ear with his nose. "All of it. Everything."

[salutosinedelectat]

He gently moves along with the demon, fingers curled over the back of his shoulders again, drinking in those words as no one else would say them. As no one ever could. He holds the demon, not in demanding grip, but beckoning. Welcoming.

"Oh..." The breathes out, eyes always closed. "I love you. I adore you." Pointed with a gentle pull against himself. "You're more than I could ever wish for."

[duckshaveears]

"You're all I ever wished for." The words come out lower, rough with honesty. Freedom from Hell, and Aziraphale. And maybe a good single malt whisky. If he'd had three wishes at any point in his long life, it'd be those. If he could pick anywhere to be out of all the places they've been, the times they've lived, it'd be here.

"All the goodness Heaven should have, just enough bastardry for Hell to appreciate...angel, angel, Aziraphale..." He scrapes his teeth along Aziraphale's neck, longing painful in his chest. Amazing how you can still yearn for what you already have, because it isn't enough, none of these words are enough.

(It doesn't matter, not as it once did. There are places beyond words, now, where it's felt, where it's known, even more than here)

It transmutes back into desire, even this soon after last time. Crowley's hands wander with more purpose, stroking along Aziraphale's hips and thighs. "Always loved you. All the way back to Eden. Always."

[salutosinedelectat]

There's such comfort in actually expecting these displays of love and care from someone. A specific someone, the only one who ever managed to get him to believe it. He can't tell if he ever longed for it before, he certainly didn't demand it, but it's there, right within reach, just for him. It's no longer about being deserving, it never was, but there's a pure joy to it all the same.

(And now he can just call upon it, reach into Somewhere Else to feel it, and to show it, in ways never possible anywhere else.)

There's a curl to the corner of his lips, calm and serene. He feels those hands,pulls a knee up gently to meet one. "You're my world, dearest. My hearth, my everything."

Have some mixed metaphors.

[duckshaveears]

He doesn't even pretend to not want sweet words. He got over that ages ago, after they moved here, but even if he hadn't he'd crave them now. Sweet words and promises to hold up against the empty dark, to build a wall out of, held together with glowing feathers. The void where God's love once was, now filled with Aziraphale.

He shudders a little, runs his hand obediently over Aziraphale's hip and down his thigh. "Show me?"