Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post 2

[questionablewit]

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Comments

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?"

Oh how I love them

[salutosinedelectat]

For as many words as the angel has always seen to be eager to spare, to share with those who might bother to listen (and even those that don't), there is a real feeling of novelty in having someone who craves this part of him. The place where these words come from, somewhere hidden away so far that he didn't even know it existed for most of his consciousness. A part of him he had to learn to delve into, tripping and stumbling all the way. And he wants to give it, now, to show, something so intimate he's still learning how to dive into it.

Aziraphale opens his eyes, looks up at his demon. Regards his beautiful golden eyes, his angular features. That face that hid so much more than a creature that could no longer reach Heaven. He brings his hands to Crowley's cheeks and gently pulls the demon into a tender kiss, comfortable and sweet.

With a gentle push against Crowley's shoulder, he rolls them both over atop the veritable mess of warm covers, still glowing, now above him.

( Wings, many, countless wings, flutter and stretch out, technicolor and glowing. They pull back in to cover and to hold, to keep safe within their light. There's no warmth they can share, but bending the way of things has always been a specialty.)

Aziraphale regards his demon again, and he smiles, thankful and full of love. He cups his cheek. "I'll be happy to."

We may need some direction for this. Or it could just be All The Smut on repeat, can do that.

[duckshaveears]

Crowley goes willingly, lets himself be pushed back, pushed down. Aziraphale's weight is always a welcome one and Crowley's hands make it clear, caressing sides and back and hips, coming to rest on his arse and pulling it in, squeezing. So much wonderful softness for him to bury himself in, in every sense...

(Feather-soft caresses, enfolding him until he's clothed in wings, and he's surrounded but it feels like freedom)

Crowley lifts his head and takes a lingering kiss. Aziraphale's taste is rich in his mouth, dizzying despite its familiarity, because of its familiarity.

I say they go this one more time, settle, then skip to first trip back to london in..who knows

[salutosinedelectat]

The demon's hands feel like they belong on his skin, another feeling he didn't quite think, even consider at all, not that long ago. But when they're together like this, in the quiet like this, together and joined with no interruption or barrier, he feels like that's where they belong. He's never quite managed to put that into words. Maybe he's never had to.

(Feathers shift as if breathing, hold and encase. He's free to go, free to roam, but this light is his if he'll take it.)

Aziraphale follows the kiss, lets himself lean down and lay upon the demon. Both his hands touch Crowley's face now, thumbs brushing over his cheeks.

How do we get to anything like closure tho? They're so in denial atm

[duckshaveears]

There's another dimension to what they're doing now, one that makes Crowley shudder. Aziraphale's hands frame his face (and the gaze of countless eyes caress his form). Aziraphale's weight presses him down (and his feather brush against scales, enfolding, protective and cherishing and cherished). They're in a false calm now, one made of the need to comfort each other, of affirmation. But they're also bound now in ways they weren't before, which defy description in any language, even the oldest.

It changes everything. And even as Crowley is thrilled and awed by it, it's a little frightening. This goes far beyond being seen or known.

He drags his focus back to Earth, to the five human senses. There's more than enough richness to overwhelm those even without adding in the extradimensional elements.

(Enough to overwhelm the sight of the void?)

Crowley shudders again, his arms frightening around Aziraphale as his tongue snakes in deeper, tasting. He slides his leg up, twines it around Aziraphale's, lifts his hips to rub against him.

I think they'll be in denial for a while, but it'll probably come back to haunt them later

[salutosinedelectat]

He's light and warmth and caring and protection, here and Somewhere else. For as much as he's always been meant to be, never before as he found himself so fitting to his purpose. But perhaps even the thought is pointless, remnants of the ideas of Meant To Be, Made To Be. Concepts they've both broken through a long time ago, but the shards lay to remind him and to pull him back into things that no longer hold any value. To worry about filling a part. But he's here now, they're here now, and they're something entirely new and unique, not because they have to be, but because they want to. And the only creature that's ever understood him never demanded him to be anything beyond who he is.

( He still feels weak, and sore, and hurt, fear biting at the edges of his wings. Darkness creeping at the edges of his light, and he's afraid, so afraid, that this might not be real. He's so afraid that this is all but a moment in his own thoughts, a way to save him from a much bleaker reality. But, if that's true, he doesn't know if he's strong enough to test it, for fear of the truth.

So he'll live here, for now. For however long. For how long he can make all of this last.)

His lips part, tongue brushing against the serpentine one, welcoming him in, gently. One of his hands pull away from Crowley's cheek to stroke up the outside of his thigh, and back down with an encouraging squeeze, his hips pressing down and returning the demon's movement.

He still remembers the first times, when Crowley encouraged him through the new, the vulnerability, the things they had yet learned about each other and about being with each other, their bodies, what makes them warm, what makes them shiver. Every little detail, since then, he holds at the back of his mind, for times like this. The way he knows Crowley appreciates the long strokes of his hands over his skin. How he likes when he angel presses his weight down on him like so. The soft touches, cheek, neck, skin, that give the angel the time to appreciate both the sharpest and the softest parts of his corporation, and he knows Crowley will be patient. And he knows just how to reward him so.