Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2
Nov. 11th, 2018 03:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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faemused
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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.
Auuughh Crowley and I have both melted now.
Date: 2020-05-20 03:19 pm (UTC)But Aziraphale breathes sweetness into his mouth, the crisp taste of apples, sharp enough with memory to pierce through any doubt. The affectionate assurance afterwards couldn't be any more convincing than the kiss itself.
Crowley gasps in a sob of a breath and grabs Aziraphale's face in his hands, pulling their mouths together again. Tears sting behind his eyelids but he doesn't care. All that matters is this, that they're together again, neither of them lost or alone or judged. Never judgement, not between them. "'ziraphale." It's a helpless whisper between suddenly desperate kisses, not with desire but with a need that goes far, far deeper. "Missed you so much, I love you, I--" Another shuddering breath and another kiss, and he's shaking all over again, his fingers clutching at whatever of Aziraphale he can grasp, utterly heedless of how he must be splashing water on the demon's clothes and Fernand's floor. "Aziraphale."
Your demon adores you, C! <3
Date: 2020-05-20 09:03 pm (UTC)I’m sorry. I’m here. You’re not alone.
(And if Aziraphale is shaking himself, if the relief and sorrow and joy of the moment are so hard to hold that they make his human body shiver, if his own eyes smart with a heat he can’t yet let spill over—it’s a quiet room, and no one is here to watch.)
When Fernand returns from a fruitless several-hour-long search for the gentleman in the silver spectacles and the madman (who seemed to have vanished on the way back to the shop), he finds them, impossibly, in his spare room. The madman, barely recognizable now that he’s clean and dressed in a soft black shirt and trousers, lies asleep on his side on the little cot Fernand keeps in the room; the gentleman in the spectacles sits on the edge of the bed, with the air of a watchful cat.
Fernand mutely accepts the little leather purse that slides from the gentleman’s well-manicured hand into his own and goes back downstairs. He’s sharp enough to know he’s being paid not to ask questions, and kind enough to know that his own curiosity doesn’t mean as much as letting an unfortunate beggar have a little peace and quiet.
(That night, in cantinas throughout the city, proprietors and bartenders will reach into their pockets or coats or into their cashboxes and discover gold coins that weren’t there before. A rumor roils through Seville over the next week, as people notice the conspicuous absence of a certain madman. Long, long after Torquemada and his Inquisitors are all dust, there will still be souls who pass on a folk song about the night the Angel of Seville paid his bar tab.)
It's mutual! Thanks for putting tired angel to bed and I LOVE the bar tab folk song
Date: 2020-05-21 02:25 pm (UTC)It's a nice pillow, though. Cushiony. Soft. Smells nice. Everything smells nice at the moment, clean linen and soap, paper, and...
Crowley breathes out slowly. "Aziraphale." He feels the weight on the end of the bed now, recognizes the whiff of cologne and oil and wood smoke. The name is as much a croak as a word, but it still sounds like a prayer. To Crowley's mind it is one.
I’ll be honest, I’ve invented quite a few folk song ideas for this verse. ;D
Date: 2020-05-21 06:55 pm (UTC)“Shh. I’m here, angel.” The words are pitched at a whisper, to avoid the hangover pounding them into the insides of Crowley’s skull. “What do you need?”
Toss lyrics my way and I'll BS a melody for them! ;)
Date: 2020-05-21 08:41 pm (UTC)But the only way out is through. He rolls onto his back, sighs as gentle fingers stroke along his face, light and soft as feathers. "Water?"
OH LORD NOW I MIGHT. <3
Date: 2020-05-21 09:20 pm (UTC)The water in the cup is cool but not cold. There’s a faint taste of something else in it—lime and mint leaf, and just the slightest touch of honey.
“There...” His fingers curl gently into Crowley’s hair. “There you go. Drink up. Plenty more where that came from.”
He’s had Fernand fetch some simple food as well—bread, cheese, fruit—but for now they’ll take things one step at a time.
BRING IT ON <3
Date: 2020-05-22 12:03 am (UTC)Belatedly he realizes the rest of him isn't in great shape either, drained and bruised, to say nothing of the only sort of healed scars on his back. He's an angel, his body isn't exactly like a true human's, but there are still limits to what a corporation can withstand and he's hit a number of them. Nothing that can't be fixed with some time and a few miraculous efforts. He just...wasn't motivated, before.
Crowley looks up at Aziraphale, sitting so nearby and watching him so closely, and smiles with a sweetness no one else ever sees. "You're really here. I didn't dream it." His hand is trembling a little as he reaches up to caress Aziraphale's face, but only with exhaustion, not fear or any other riotous emotion. "You lovely fiend. However did you find me?"
God if we end up writing actual songs for this fic. I never thought I had it in me.
Date: 2020-05-22 02:24 am (UTC)“I came in for a haircut and some gossip, and heard a story about an angel,” he says, turning his head to kiss Crowley’s fingers. “Several stories, in fact. So I decided to see for myself, and there you were.”
His feline eyes are soft, their gaze caressing as he takes in the familiar contours of Crowley’s face. As weary as Crowley looks, there’s some shadow that’s cleared away, a weight easing.
Give it a try! Could be fun!
Date: 2020-05-22 04:20 pm (UTC)"Lucky you were in the area, then." For the first time in a long time Crowley does feel lucky, even blessed. He touches Aziraphale's lips and face, then lowers his hand back to rest on his own chest.
We’re all going to emerge from lockdown unstoppable creative titans of weirdness
Date: 2020-05-22 05:43 pm (UTC)One of Aziraphale’s hands moves to cover Crowley’s, his thumb stroking along the backs of the angel’s knuckles. I’m here. I’ll be here.
“I’ve been thinking,” he murmurs, almost idly. “About where we could spend the next three months. Have you been to Italy lately?”
GOOD. Best outcome. I vote for that future timeline.
Date: 2020-05-22 06:26 pm (UTC)Not thinking about that. He tangles his fingers with Aziraphale, enjoying the easy intimacy of it. "'d like to go back there. See how it's doing." He trusts Aziraphale has an idea of what's going on in Italy and that it's nothing like as sickening as what's here. He smiles a little again, looking at their joined hands. "Rent a house. Florence, maybe. Or Milan. Somewhere with trees." There's beautiful countryside in Spain, of course, but he hasn't seen it for a while and now he's suddenly longing for green things. Living things, beautiful things, not made of blood and dust and ash. "Think we could find a place?"
Btw up to you whether they rent a place or find one. ;D
Date: 2020-05-22 09:11 pm (UTC)“Mmm... Florence, I think. There are some exquisite gardens in the city, and the countryside is gorgeous.” For several hundred years it’s also been steadily producing brilliant writers and artists; human curiosity and creativity flourish there. “A little villa out on a hillside, I think. Someplace with gardens.”
There may even be an abandoned place they can make their own, the way he had with his Lake nearly a thousand years ago. The thought of watching Crowley coax a garden into life does something strange and tender to his heart, something so sweet it’s perilously close to painful.
No opinion tbh. Crowley doesn't care either. A have an opinion?
Date: 2020-05-23 02:00 am (UTC)Crowley lifts Aziraphale's hand to his mouth and kisses his fingers, then tugs at them harder. "Lie next to me?"
i think he’d probably like to rehab an abandoned one. Inspire fairy tales.
Date: 2020-05-23 02:41 am (UTC)“They’ve got a lovely stringed instrument here called a vihuela,”(1) he murmurs. “Could bring one of those too. Just for variety’s sake.”
Truthfully, if the angel wants an entire orchestra, Aziraphale will find some way to make it happen. Even if there’s still a tiny smoldering ember, somewhere deep in his patched-together heart, that wants to blast Heaven with the force of his rage on Crowley’s behalf... it’ll keep. There are things he can do here, to deprive the Lord of the suffering She seems to love so much.
(1) On the family tree of stringed instruments, a vihuela is somewhere between a guitar and a lute. With one of the main differences being that the lute holds less beer than the vihuela, which in turn holds far less beer than the average acoustic guitar.
Sounds good. It'll give Crowley something to focus on..and they can do it together.
Date: 2020-05-23 05:19 pm (UTC)"All of them," he murmurs. His headache is feeling better already, which might be Aziraphale's influence or might be Crowley's own divine nature healing his corporation a bit now that he's not too discombobulated to attend to it, or most likely is just the water. He should have more of that. In a minute. "One of every instrument in the world. We'll need a pretty large villa for that but it'd be worth it."
They've ended up face to face, so he can feel Aziraphale's breath every few seconds, and it's wonderful. They don't need to breathe but it definitely has its pleasures, like so many human things. Crowley strokes his fingers down the demon's spine. "When shall we go? And how?"
Exactly! A shared project. <3
Date: 2020-05-23 11:44 pm (UTC)“Sundown tomorrow,” he purrs, relishing the gentle press of Crowley’s hand on his back. “When the sun’s gone down, we’ll hire a carriage. Ride through the night till we get to Florence.”
(Granted, there will likely be a touch of demonic magic involved so the journey doesn’t take them days on end. It’ll attract less attention and take less energy out of Crowley than if he were to suggest the two of them fly.)
“And then we’ll find a house, and a harp, and a bed with a soft coverlet. First order of business.”
That will be fun.
Date: 2020-05-24 12:43 am (UTC)Crowley has made it clear on any number of occasions that Aziraphale is welcome to tempt him. Also that he will very willingly give in. It does help that Aziraphale never tempts him with anything Crowley truly doesn't want or would be conflicted about, granted.
Already have some ideas. And relishing googling Tuscan countryside.
Date: 2020-05-24 05:44 am (UTC)“I’d hardly offer anything less. I do have standards when it comes to temptations.”
One of Aziraphale’s hands wanders to Crowley’s hair again. It feels so strange, this short, tickling between his fingers in an entirely new way. Not unpleasant at all, just different.
“But we can pretend you put up a valiant fight.” He noses a touch closer to brush a kiss against the ridge of Crowley’s eyebrow. “Loads of virtuous resistance. Terribly noble of you.”
Auughhh yes. So beautiful.
Date: 2020-05-24 11:41 pm (UTC)Aziraphale's mouth is right there, and it's so very easy to just take a kiss, soft and sweet. "So, nope. 'm not valiant or virtuous--not by angelic standards, anyway--and I'm certainly not noble. Just a winged idiot in love." He nuzzles against Aziraphale's cheek, chuckling a little. "Albeit now with a haircut and slightly better breath."
He yawns a little at the end of this. More sleep would probably be smart, and more water (and a new head and probably a new liver, but those still aren't on offer). But not just yet. His arm tightens around Aziraphale's waist instead.
no subject
Date: 2020-05-25 05:46 pm (UTC)“I love you too,” he murmurs. The words always feel like an exquisite blasphemy in his mouth: demons aren’t supposed to love, aren’t supposed to be capable, but he’s always been terrible at being a demon in the ways that really count. Loving Crowley feels like getting away with something, in the best possible way.
Another kiss—gentle, slow, as if he’s using it to tell a secret—and then he finally lets a question fall into the warm little space between them.
“How long have you been in Seville?”
I keep changing my mind about the year aaaaiiighh. Maybe 1495ish.
Date: 2020-05-25 11:25 pm (UTC)He'd been able to...not to forget, for a little while, but to push it aside. The world outside of this spare, this safe little room. As though he was able to leave...certain things...at the door.
He hasn't. It's still with him. He feels it. Even barrels of wine could only dull his awareness, even twelve bleeding lashes on his back only amounted to a distraction, and while a hangover and Aziraphale's words and arms do an impressive job of catching his focus he can still feel it, even if he tries to ignore it. Like a glaring light seen from the corner of the eye. Well done thou good and faithful servant...
No, no, no, no, no, no. No. He won't. Just the thought of it makes him ache for the oblivion he could find at the bottom of enough bottles of alcohol, but...
But Aziraphale is here, holding him on this cot in this quiet room, and Crowley can't...can't. Can't do that to him. Won't.
He takes a deep breath, releases it. Does it again. Tries to make muscles now rock-hard with tension relax, even a little. "...don't know," Crowley says finally. It's only barely audible and buried against Aziraphale's shoulder to boot, but a demon's hearing will catch it. "Not sure...what month it is." He laughs without humor. "Not sure what year it is, I don't--"
He shudders all over, buries his face in Aziraphale's chest. "I'll--I will tell you about it. I will. But not yet. Before...before we leave Iberia, I will. But please--"
Please not now. Please let this room stay a sanctuary for a bit longer, please. He's so tired.
If we want historical accuracy to a degree, Leo was away from Florence till 1500
Date: 2020-05-26 04:37 am (UTC)His arms tighten around Crowley, folding him in close. Slowly, avoiding the half-healed lash marks beneath the shirt he’s conjured, Aziraphale strokes a long path up and down the length of the angel’s trembling back. His hands have had a thousand years of stolen moments to learn his lover’s body; now he brings that knowledge to bear as he tempts the taut cords of muscle in Crowley’s back to relax a little.
“Shh...” His touch coaxes tenderly up from the small of Crowley’s back to the bases of his sharp shoulderblades, petting. “Of course, darling.”
I’m sorry, he adds wordlessly as he presses a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head.
Torquemada dies 1498 though. Let's aim earlier, C can stay in Italy a few years after C leaves.
Date: 2020-05-26 11:33 am (UTC)When he wakes again, hours later, there's daylight shining through the small windows, and Aziraphale is gone. Crowley lays there in silence for a while, listening to the noises of Seville outside, the chatter of the barber and his customers downstairs. His head is still aching and his body is still sore and tired, he feels parched and stretched too thin. But his heart is a bit lighter than it was.
He drinks as much water as he can stand and falls asleep again to wait for his demon's return, curled up under blankets that still smell like Aziraphale, and dreams of grass-covered hills and a ivy growing up the wall of a villa.
Ahh gotcha! Yeah 1495ish sounds about right then.
Date: 2020-05-27 03:14 am (UTC)From the moment he steps out onto the streets of Seville again, Aziraphale moves with purpose in every step. He has a lot to do, to ensure that his thwarting projects here can continue in his absence.
Some of the work is easy, spur-of-the-moment stuff. It takes only a moment for a white cat to dash out in a horse’s path, so that its rider—a notario del secreto, on his way to record testimony against heretics—is thrown from his saddle and breaks his arm. Likewise it’s very simple for errant gusts of wind to snatch papers from couriers’ hands and tumble them into muck or a nearby fire. There are lots of tiny ways to stall the work of any organization with any degree of bureaucracy, and Aziraphale has had thousands of years to practice.
Some of his work that day is more mundane: a breakfast meeting with the owner of a private printing press, a lunch meeting with a forger (1). He makes it clear to his contacts that he’s simply passing through, but will be back to check in on things; he conjures generous payments for their time and trouble.
Then, as the afternoon starts to mellow, he finishes his other errands with a quickened heartbeat and a spring in his step. It’s quick work to hire a carriage to take them to Florence, no questions asked. But he lingers over his last task. He’s already acquainted with the best luthier in Seville; the fellow is glad to see his friend Señor Fell after an absence of several years, and equally glad to show him around the workshop. Aziraphale does end up buying a vihuela—a brand new design, shaped a bit like a pear with a very long neck. The instrument feels satisfying to hold; the sound it makes when he strums a chord is warm and rich.
The sun is just beginning to set when he gets back to Fernand’s.
Crowley’s still asleep. He still looks weary and worn, but not nearly as desperate as he had the day before; the sight only firms Aziraphale’s resolve to coax as much of his joy back to life as he possibly can.
Quiet as a cat, he moves to sit on the edge of the bed, leans over to press his lips to the ridge of Crowley’s cheekbone.
(1) Aziraphale has always been impressed by how certain humans have learned to manipulate paperwork to their advantage. At this particular point in history he’s especially impressed at how easy it is to buy letters declaring trials suspended for lack of evidence.
Can't wait for Crowley to tell his story. It got longer than I intended.
Date: 2020-05-28 12:16 am (UTC)But there's a comforting smell nearby, and a soft touch to his face. They wrap warmth around him.
Crowley rouses with a sigh, turning his face towards that touch, mouth upturned for a kiss even before his eyes are open. "Mi demonio más querido," he murmurs sleepily, reaching up a hand and wrapping it around Aziraphale's neck.
I’m excited to suffer!
From:Not suffering so much, just details. He's been there a while.
From:Excited all the same. ;D also apologies for short tag, shall we assume it’s a 2-day journey?
From:Compulsive research says more like two weeks plus. But I have ideas.
From:I suspect they’re much like my ideas on the matter. ;D
From:Very likely. =) Dunno if they've been stopping at night or changing drivers?
From:At night when it’s overcast, probably changing drivers at the border.
From:Ehhhh /handwave
From:I LIIIIIIIIIIVE
From:YOU DOOOOOOOOOOOO
From:Gabriel might get sucker punched after Armageddoesn’t
From:Watch Crowley and I not object also HELLO I MISSED YOU
From:I HAVE MISSED YOU TOO <3
From:I know I need to get back to Camelot but no brain
From:We’ll get to it! Meanwhile, a holiday and tender smut?
From:Nghhh yes please.
From:He’ll be very thoroughly taken care of. And spoiled more than a bit.
From:GOOD also vice versa.
From:Hee. Winged idiots in love. <3
From:Summary of the show tbh! Also thx for A being careful with fire.
From:He’s been a mom, he gets fire safety. ;)
From:If only more people did! Also, bog of eternal stench? ;)
From:Little bit. ;) On to Italy?
From:On to Italy!
From:Sorry this took a while but HERE WE GO
From:I did leave all the scene-setting to you! But you had clearer ideas about what A wanted =)
From:Hello from cat ownership! Benedict slept on my pillow all night <3
From:Yaaaaaay hello Benedict!! Congrats on gaining a nifty person!
From:<3 <3 My mental & physical health are already improving.
From:YAY. also A whole week late ack what is time accck
From:It’s quarantine! Time is meaningless! Have a taco!
From:Time suddenly has meaning again this week and it's WEIRD mmm tacos though
From:OKAY SO I assume we fast forward a couple weeks after this?
From:Yep that's a plan!
From:Loved this too much to let it go so how about some rainy healing
From:bring on the vavoom!
From:INITIATING VAVOOMING
From:BRING IT ON and I'll edit for Gardening Implements whatever later
From:same, idk how much metal is actually in a vihuela but WHO CARE
From:btw it's not my fault your tags are irresistible and I have to pounce on them like desserts
From:awww shucks. have some wings!
From:What I said last time, and yay wings!!
From: