Another Year, Another Open RP Post

[duckshaveears]

Currently offering: Crowley, angel!Crowley, Haleth. Will update this if that changes. If you want one of those three, have at it.

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SHAN'T BOOMERANG

[duckshaveears]

"Well..." Crowley draws out the word, slowly reaching out a hand to take the bottle Aziraphale is offering. "Most likely is that I'm sabotaging crap again and you're here because deep down of course I really want you to be and I'm failing to resist...myself, actually, rather than you. Ugh, psychoanalysts would have a field day with this."

He leans back on his chair, still meditating on Aziraphale. "Or possibly my own imagination has gone rogue on me, which Downstairs would say is only my just desserts. Or I've stopped lucid dreaming and slipped into the ordinary random stuff humans do, in which case this bottle will turn into a squid or a cock or somethibf any minute now. Which psychoanalysts could also have a field day with. What are you doing here?"

YOU NEED SLEEP also Crowley you poor nerd

[confoundthemighty]

Aziraphale knows he could continue to be infuriating with a simple response like I followed you, but the sharp edge of irritation has worn off now. He’s here, he’s got Crowley’s attention. He’s changed the narrative, even if only a little.

“Has it occurred to you that it’s not sabotage? That I might want to be here as much as you want me here?” That I’d like to be here with you, wherever ‘here’ may be, for as long as possible?

nighttime is clearly tag time

[duckshaveears]

Crowley sighs and rubs his forehead with his hands. "You know I have," he says quietly. "I dream about that possibility all the time. Which is how I keep ending up in this sodding mess, with figments that echo everything I want and don't have."

He takes a deep shuddering breath, shrugs. "And then I get myself under control and it goes back to normal for a while until the next time I want too much. Don't think it's not tempting, angel. It's so fucking tempting." He closes his eyes. "And it wouldn't be fair. Not to you or the real one. Not to me either, most likely. It just makes things harder. So if I put any kindness into you when I dreamt you up, leave me alone for a bit, all right?"

He opens his eyes again, and looks at Aziraphale with open, obvious longing as he tries and doesn't really manage to smile. "It won't be long, I never can stay away for long. Bad penny, me."

augh Crowley ;_;

[confoundthemighty]

That longing look stirs something answering in Aziraphale’s soul. Knowing Crowley wants what he wants, just as intensely, and yet believes it to be impossible even in the sanctity of his imagination… he’s flooded with a desire to show his wonderful idiot fiend exactly how wrong he is, even if he’s not yet sure how.

“If I may be so bold,” he points out, some of that fondness warming his voice, “I can’t see how it’s fair to you to rule out the possibility altogether. Or to me, for that matter. We are both retired now, and very much free to do as we please.”

and yup that italicized bit comes out SO bitter

[duckshaveears]

Crowley shrugs. "Wouldn't say I've ruled the possibility out. I keep trying, don't I? Offering a ride, a drink, a trip to Alpha Centauri, to stay at my place if he likes, to slither over and watch him eat cake..."

He sighs, and it sounds exhausted. He looks back at the sunset. It hasn't moved. "But the ball's in his court, always is. He knows where to find me if he ever wants to. He's free to do as be pleases and maybe one day that'll be me, but in the meantime--"

He breaks off with something like a snarl and flings himself off the deck chair, pacing in the sand. "--why am I doing this, I already know all this, why can't I let it go even in my own blessed dreams--"

[confoundthemighty]

“You’re answering your own question.”

He’d hoped, desperately, that the things Crowley’s offered him through the years were more than just friendly temptations. Yes, he’d been terrified of Heaven’s retribution or of Hell punishing Crowley, but… some wants don’t just go away, no matter how ill-advised they are at the time.

“I know where to find you. Here I am.” Aziraphale feels his spirit lift with determination, something that registers on his dream-self as a squaring of the shoulders, a resoluteness about the eyes. “I may not be terribly familiar with sporting metaphors, but I believe the ball isn’t meant to stay in my court indefinitely, and can be returned at any time.”

[duckshaveears]

"Oh, angel."

A few quick steps and suddenly Crowley's grabbed Aziraphale in an embrace, hard and close, his face buried in his shoulder. "I wish it were that easy," he says, his voice low and fond and regretful. His arms tighten. "I really do. Wish I could just...let myself pretend that, for a while. But it always bites me in the arse in the end when I do, and not in any sort of fun way."

He sighs, nuzzling his nose against Aziraphale's neck. "...bless it. You smell so good, do you know that?" He kisses the skin there lightly. "So hard to resist, my angel. No wonder I never give up on you."

[confoundthemighty]

Even though it’s not really a physical sensation, Aziraphale feels the embrace, a rush of desperate warmth and longing that loops around him in thick coils and won’t let go. Helplessly fond, he lets some of his own emotion spill over as his arms wrap around Crowley’s narrow frame to pull him in even tighter, a wave of pure affection.

Yearning brushes against his soul as Crowley kisses his neck. It sparks a feeling in Aziraphale he’s never actually experienced before: a kind of astonished, hungry wonder, a half-disbelieving delight. Not arousal, not passion, but the thunderstruck understanding that what’s between them is mutual. That he is loved every bit as intensely as he loves.

He lifts his head, whispers in Crowley’s ear, a little of that brilliance spilling over in his words.

“I’m ready to stop resisting if you are.”

[duckshaveears]

Physical things are muted here, including the scent Crowley just mentioned. But his memory is good and his imagination is better, and this place is his. He can make a surprising amount of detail when he wants.

Even so, this is impressive even to him. There are notes in his angel's scent he'd almost forgotten, and he's so warm. So soft and sturdy in Crowley's arms, exactly as he should be.

As if things weren't difficult enough, a wave of...something washes over them, warm and pleasant. Crowley groans helplessly at the feel of it. "Fuck, that's good..." he murmurs. He kisses Aziraphale's neck again, strokes fingers lightly down his back. "You're making this so difficult, angel." There's another wave, this one with even more heat, and Crowley groans again.

[confoundthemighty]

The revelation keeps breaking, like the tide coming in, like a distant cloud of energy and matter churning out stars. Aziraphale can’t hold it back, not here where he’s more thought than substance, and—and why would he, after all he’s seen, after months of solitude? His hands move gently over Crowley’s back, tracing an impression of sharpness, an anxious heat.

“I meant it,” he whispers, and letting the truth go at last is a dizzyingly heavy weight dropped from his soul. “I ought to have done this a long time ago. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

[duckshaveears]

There's another minute of them both just holding each other, Crowley nuzzling at Aziraphale's neck and ear, stopping to just breathe, then continuing as though he can't help himself. Which is more or less the case. That blanketing wave of warmth is still around them, like being in a sunbeam but one that sinks under the skin, gets in every pore, every blood vessel, right down to the metaphysical bits that exist only for an uncertain value of existence. All through him, everywhere.

And all of it is laced with Aziraphale, smells like him, feels like him.

"...ahhhh, sod it," Crowley says finally, snapping his fingers. He doesn't have to do it that way here, but it's habit and works just as well. "If I'm going to do this, let's do it properly."

The beach landscape around them melts; the gold of the air becomes gold in truth, gilt trimming on cream walls, embellishments on pillars in a large, circular room with only one piece of furniture in it. The bed is frankly ridiculous, four-postered and easily capable of holding eight people, the linens cream and gold with lace dripping everywhere, all of it resting on a carpet deep and plush enough to make a comfortable bed in its own right. Not that Aziraphale has much time to examine it all before Crowley is on him.

Whatever hesitation there was is clearly gone. Crowley kisses Aziraphale with unrestrained passion, deep and messy and fervent, pushing him down on the bed without pausing to break the kiss even for a breath.

[confoundthemighty]

Even without the physical sensation Aziraphale feels distinctly swept off his feet. Some part of him responds instinctively; on his dream-self that manifests in him driving his hands into Crowley’s hair and kissing him back hungrily, but in terms of his emotions, the sunlit clarity of them only grows.

I love you too. I love you back. I want what you want and I’m so relieved, so happy, so astonished, because for some reason you chose me. You could have had anyone and you chose me. And we can finally stop hiding from one another and get down to spending eternity together, the only thing I’ve ever thought eternity would actually be good for.

Despite having kept all of this secret for decades—for centuries, if he’s honest—the brilliance of it only keeps strengthening. He knows he should probably restrain himself in some way, he doesn’t want his divine nature to hurt Crowley even by accident, but right now the kiss takes precedence over everything.

[duckshaveears]

Crowley stretches his body atop Aziraphale's, somehow managing to get them both in the bed (it's possible the bed expands in accordance with his expectations). Another half a thought and their shoes are gone; everything else he leaves in place, the better to unwrap them himself.

"Angel." He says it like a prayer against Aziraphale's mouth. "Angel, angel...tell me I can. Tell me you want this."

He's already starting to move downwards, his kisses moving from mouth to neck (which he bites, a nip expertly judged to land right between pleasure and pain). His hands are already busy with Aziraphale's buttons. "Tell me you want me."

[confoundthemighty]

The bite feels just short of real—a sweet little pinch, a splash of heat against his throat—and then those ragged, pleading words register, and it’s like an updraft under the wings of his soul, lifting him.

Distantly he knows he should probably put more effort into waking Crowley, but… but it’s almost real, and the devotion that pours off of his demon is intoxicating.

“Yes.” He’s held it back for so long that it bursts awkwardly from him at first, not so much the peal of a bell as a thunderclap a bit too close. “Yes. I want you.”

There’s a glimpse of that want, something as hot as the heart of a star that stretches towards the unknowable, in the way Aziraphale’s hands grasp Crowley’s back and card through his hair.

[duckshaveears]

It's intoxicating. It always is but it feels even more dizzying this time, maybe because it's been so long since he let himself indulge like this. Later there may be guilt or frustration or doubt but now, now his head is spinning from how perfect it is and he's barely begun.

"Again, say it again." Because he can demandthat here, he can be this here. He's undone Aziraphale's collar and waistcoat and is working on the necktie, kissing and nipping everywhere as he goes. Mouth, face, neck, jaw, ears. Sometimes gently, sometimes hungrily. It's as though he can actual feel Aziraphale wanting him, and it's better than anything he's imagined before, but he still wants to hear it said.

[confoundthemighty]

“I want you.” It comes out hotter, stronger, a spark catching. Crowley is pulling off his layers in more than one sense, exposing truth where his dream self bares skin. “I need you. I did before I knew I did.”

He’s in free fall, now, caught between the familiar indulgence of occasional dreams and the breathtaking newness of knowing the feelings are real, and at last he lets himself start to ruck the back of Crowley’s shirt up and off. Aziraphale can’t help himself—he’s desperate for this, for every iota of love and desire he can feel.

[duckshaveears]

Crowley's eyes roll up in his head, and he wonders if he could come from this alone, the impossible combination of hearing his angel say he needs him and the roar of heat that floods him as it's said. He probably could. And it would do no harm, wouldn't stop them, he can just keep going for as long as he want. And God, how he wants...! He could spin galaxies with the strength of it.

Aziraphale shows some of his own initiative in exactly the way Crowley would wish, pulling at Crowley's shirt, which Crowley is more than willing to duck out of and lose.

He immediately goes back to Aziraphale's bowtie, finally discarding it and moving back to the button down shirt, kissing every inch of bare skin he reveals as he moves down. Aziraphale's hands are on his back, his head. "The things I want to do to you..." Another kiss at the navel, and he moves back up, finding one of the angel's nipples and tonguing it. "You've no idea, angel, the things I'd do. Keep you in this bed with me for months and it wouldn't be enough." He worries it in his teeth, then kisses it gentle and moves to the other one. "Tie you to the bedposts with your own bowties and make love to you til you howl. And you'd love it, wouldn't you?"

[confoundthemighty]

“Yes—!” Starved, smitten, he lets the word go in a raw sob. He’s all but forgotten he’s not in his body, raking fingernails up Crowley’s ribs and chest and shoulder blades the way he’s longed to do for years. “Yes, please, yes.”

There’s no shame in him, no fear whatsoever. They’re safe and they’re together the way they’ve both always longed for and nothing, nothing else in the world could possibly matter but this. Heat flares, a fierce spike of tenderness, an ache to be held close; Aziraphale arches, pinned between Crowley and the mattress, and groans at the sweet pressure of the restraint. He squirms to try and part his thighs, to fit them more closely together.

[duckshaveears]

Crowley chuckles, the sound muffled against Aziraphale's chest, as the angel squirms and tries to spread his legs. "So eager for me." He lifts himself up, resettles between those thick, powerful thighs, grips them in his hands and squeezes. "So beautiful for me, angel."

He leans up on one hand, and his gaze rakes over Aziraphale with open, lustful admiration. "So beautiful," he repeats, before more or less falling back into Aziraphale's arms and kissing him. It's slower this time, deep and intense. He takes his time, lets their tongues tease and taste, coyly pulls a breath away only to come right back. Aziraphale's body is so soft and solid underneath him, so real. They're both hard, and Crowley languidly rubs himself against the angel's cock, silently invites him to do the same.

[confoundthemighty]

The movement is agonizingly deliberate, grinding Aziraphale’s thoughts into fragments. He moans into the kiss, a deep and hungry sound, fingers digging into Crowley’s back.

His hips rock slowly, trying to match the demon’s pace, following the steady waves of pressure. A comfortably heavy feeling washes over him; later he’ll reflect that it’s actually quite remarkable one can in fact be fucked into a mattress without one’s corporeal form getting involved at all. Now, though, now there’s just Crowley and his tongue in Aziraphale’s mouth, and the slow hot friction building where their cocks rut together.

[duckshaveears]

Crowley gasps as nails bite at his shoulders. "Oh fuck, that's good." The pain is slight but visceral, the way salt enhances dark chocolate. He can't remember ever feeling that in his dreams before, but he loves it. "You can keep doing that. Scratch me, tug my hair, whatever."

He leans up again suddenly and grins, wicked. "Make a mess of me." One of his hands snakes (how else?) between them, covers that hard length that's been rubbing against him so nicely. "While I do my damnedest to make a mess of you."

[confoundthemighty]

Aziraphale whines, a sound with neither dignity nor artifice, bucking up into Crowley’s hand as eagerly as he’s ever done in his own dreams. His head drops back against whatever soft surface Crowley’s conjured up, his whole body curving into the press of those long clever fingers.

“Please.” Dizzy, fretful, he scrabbles at Crowley’s shoulders. “Please, like that…” At this point he’s thinking and feeling the things he gasps very loudly as much as he’s actually saying them. Like that. Keep doing that. Don’t stop. Don’t let go. Show me more. Give me more. Please.

[duckshaveears]

Oh Heaven that's a sound Crowley wants to hear more of. He's never heard Aziraphale whine like that, never, and there's a thought somewhere behind that realization he really should pay attention to but right now he's distracted because that sound went straight to his cock. In the waking world he's sure he's humping his mattress now. No time or need to think about that, though, not with a dream of his angel here thrusting into his palm and saying please.

He can make it even better.

A thought dissolves the rest of their clothing, leaves them both nude and tangled on the bed, Aziraphale's fingers now scratching as his bare shoulder, leaves his hand wrapped around Aziraphale's cock. Lets him grasp and grip and properly tug at him instead of just providing pressure.

He sets up a firm, merciless pace, not too fast but definitely something that will get the job done. "Like that," he echoes, staring at Aziraphale's face. "Let me see you come undone, angel. Let me hear you."

[confoundthemighty]

Before he can react to the sudden dismissal of his clothes, Crowley’s hand is wrapped around his cock, and it’s so vividly real he can’t do anything but react. It’s shockingly like one of the few nights he ever let himself dream while he was awake, desperate and shivering in the light of a single candle, the bullet clamped between his teeth nearly bitten in half in his efforts to stay quiet.

Here, though, there’s no darkness except the heated shadows Crowley brings with his kiss and the heat of his body. There’s no safe silence to brace himself against. There’s just Crowley, and the perfect heat of mutual desire, and a fantasy so well-rehearsed it can pass for reality. He can’t even think about what his actual body must be doing, not while this is so real to him.

Aziraphale moans his name, a broken plea that rings out with far more of him than just his voice, and lets the first wave of bliss break.

he wanked with the bullet in his teeth?? GOSH Aziraphale!

[duckshaveears]

It's like nothing Crowley's ever experienced.

It's not just that Aziraphale comes while saying Crowley's name with Crowley's hand on his cock, though Satan knows that image will stay with Crowley for the rest of eternity. It's what follows.

It's rapture. First a ripple, then a surge. Crowley intended to watch Aziraphale have his pleasure and then give it to him again, and again, as many times as he could stand it before losing patience and taking his own. But the flood of release is so great it sweeps him along in its wake, and even as he watches Aziraphale shake and paint his belly white Crowley is coming too, helpless and gasping, striping where he's still pulling Aziraphale through his orgasm.

It recedes more quickly for him, and he breathes hard for a minute, watches as Aziraphale gradually stills.

Lowers himself down, kisses the last of the ecstacy out of Aziraphale's mouth.