faemused | Another Year, Another Open RP Post

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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From:

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.

From:

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."

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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?"

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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."

From:

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.

Edited Date: 2023-08-13 02:55 am (UTC)

From:

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."

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

confoundthemighty

At some point in those roiling waves of pleasure, he feels Crowley gasp and jerk, feels a wild joy leap up to meet his own. Together, yes, together, he’s lost in the molten heat of it, and by the time that first wave of starbursts fades he’s being kissed again, slow and thorough. Helpless, Aziraphale kisses back, brimming over with a kind of astonished tenderness.

The love and satisfaction and wonder that flow off him could fuel the birth of planets, could bring strange new plants burning out of the earth. Finally, some part of his soul sighs, finally, and it was so good. It’s so good.

One hand splays softly against Crowley’s cheek, near where fine red and black coils usually make themselves seen in the waking world.

From:

duckshaveears

Crowley sinks into the kiss, lays atop Aziraphale's relaxed body, his head swirling with amazement.

He's never felt anything like that before. Some particularly projective humans have managed to radiate impressive amounts of one sin or another, but never anything with that strength, or so wholly positive. He can still feel it, though it's softer now, like being lapped by an ocean of...something good. He can't identify it but it feels unbelievably good.

He should probably consider all of that.

But first he wants more.

"That was...perfect." He rubs his face against the hand cradling his cheek, utterly unselfconscious. "You're perfect." The words are broken up by languid kisses. His hands stroke at Aziraphale's sides. "Let's do it again."

From:

confoundthemighty

There are fragments of human poetry suddenly sparking to life in Aziraphale’s mind, words that now seem more alive than they ever were on the page, and the joy of it is dizzying. Months of working himself up to the courage of asking if he might dare a single kiss, and now he’s wrapped up in coils of a deeper devotion than he’d thought possible. His heart is too involved in the moment to allow for any sort of guilt, or question of calling things to a halt now.

And how could he be anything but willing, when Crowley accepts his affection so fully, when he’s caught in this steady lapping tide of love?

I’m so tired of pretending I don’t want to give in to you.

“Yes.” He breathes the word into Crowley’s mouth; his palms stroke up and down the long line of the demon’s back. “Please, please don’t stop.”

((ooc: Chekov’s dirty joke!! or, if you prefer, I AM A FREAK AND I AM INTERACTING BABEY))

Edited Date: 2023-08-14 08:50 pm (UTC)

From:

duckshaveears

"Greedy angel." He doesn't have to hold back his fondness, not here, not like this. "Just the way I like you."

He moves down again, this time letting himself explore more than the first time. Then, he had an agenda to get Aziraphale's clothes off him. This is pure indulgence and he's going to enjoy every bit of it. Every inch. "If you had any idea--" Nibbling at the neck, the join where it meets the shoulder. Might as well kiss along the shoulder too. "--how much I love watching you enjoy things. Food, drink, books." A kiss for each word, down his arm, to his hand. "Whatever gets your attention has all your attention, it's obscene and fucking delightful."

He kneels up, rests on his haunches and takes one of the angel's fingers in his mouth, sucking gently. "So I always wonder what it'd be like if you enjoyed me like that." A second finger, and this time he grazes his teeth along it as he slowly removes it again, takes it back in. "Or let me enjoy you like that. Both, whatever." Ring finger, pinky. Thumb. He sucks on them with blatant suggestion, then kisses Aziraphale's palm. "That second one right now, I think. You just lie there and look pretty and let me enjoy you, hmm?"

From:

confoundthemighty

He’s being worshipped, he realizes all at once, as two of his fingers press against Crowley’s tongue. And in this vulnerable space where the deepest truths of their hearts are on display, where each sensation is seared into him by relentless love, the echoing sense of unworthiness Aziraphale carries can’t possibly reach him. This bed may be enormous, but there’s no room in it for doubts.

By the time that last light kiss feathers across his palm he’s drunk with tenderness. Crowley certainly has every iota of his attention now. How could he hold back from this kind of communion?

“Yes,” he whispers, and beneath the words a deeper meaning blooms: I’ll show you everything you want to see, everything you’ve longed for, because you can’t know how much I’ve wanted to enjoy you this way.

From:

duckshaveears

"Love when you say that to me," Crowley breathes. He kisses at Aziraphale's inner wrist, flicks his tongue along the skin there. With his other hand he reaches for Aziraphale's half-hard cock. He can make it hard for as long as he wants, make his angel come as many times as he wants. Could keep him right on the edge of orgasm indefinitely, or let one bleed into another and another and another in a dream haze of unreality and lust. It's tempting. Maybe in a bit. Right now he doesn't mind being linear, doing the steps he can't do in the real world.

Still easy to get impatient, though to want everything at once. But that's not a problem here. Who would know or care?

(only himself, and he does, both of those, but they're a problem for Later Crowley)

He kisses Aziraphale's wrist while slowly pumping his cock back to full hardness, watching arousal bloom on his angel's skin, in his eyes. "Keep saying yes for me, angel."

From:

confoundthemighty

Even if he were fully in his human corporation Aziraphale knows he’d be ready for more. He’s loved Crowley for literal ages, has burned in secret thinking there couldn’t possibly be anything between them, and now that they’re free and the truth is entirely bared between them, he doesn’t want to let the moment end.

He can’t seem to say anything but ‘yes’, or at least not aloud. His thoughts are singing, wrapping Crowley in warmth and adoration with every firm stroke. I want this. I’ve thought about this. I’ve imagined my hand was yours so many times.

His hips roll; the hand not on Crowley’s face slides into his hair, tugging. You can do that, he’d said earlier, so Aziraphale does, nails sliding gently along his scalp.

From:

duckshaveears

Crowley closes his eyes briefly, appreciating the moment: Aziraphale's skin against his mouth, Aziraphale's hands in his hair, Aziraphale's cock in his hand. A trifecta of desire.

Yes.

"Like that," he says. "Harder if you want." The scrape of nails is delicious. "In fact..."

His gaze is burning when he opens his eyes again. He drops Aziraphale's hand, bends down and settles himself on his belly on the mattress. "Both hands," he orders. "Move my head how you want. Use my mouth, angel."

And then his jaw is stretched, his lips are slowly sliding down Aziraphale's cock, taking him in, swallowing him whole.

From:

confoundthemighty

This fantasy must be painstakingly well-imagined, because Aziraphale understands exactly how much Crowley wants him to feel the heat of his tongue, the wetness, his stuttering breath. And he’s afire for it, arching involuntarily, his shaking hands tightening in Crowley’s hair. When he ventures a glance down the bed, the sight of his cock in the demon’s mouth makes him whimper.

Every noise that escapes him, loud and urgent, is a little bubble of need and pleasure. Long-held-back fantasies of his own haunt him, making the moment even more vibrant. Slowly, firmly, he starts to fuck Crowley’s mouth, guiding his head, his hips canting in time with the movement.

From:

duckshaveears

The fantasy is so old Crowley no longer remembers when he first began toying with it, and it's possibly his favourite to fall back on in dreams. Variations of it, at least. Him on his knees for Aziraphale, worshipping his most intimate places with a forked tongue...delicious blasphemy on so many levels.

And the noises his angel makes...!!

Whimpers, moans, hitches of breath, small cries...he'd like to catalogue them. Turn them into art, display them on a wall to gloat over. Mine. I earned these, I inspired them, they were given to me, made for me. Mine.

He moans himself when Aziraphale finally takes him at his word, starts bobbing his head up and down. Crowley goes willingly, even eagerly, following the pace set for him. The way he hollows his cheek and sucks on the upstroke and flicks his tongue over the head is just a bonus.

From:

confoundthemighty

For a short, glorious span of time all he can do is enjoy the flood of sensations: the soft scrunch of Crowley’s hair in his fingers, the sight of that wet red mouth stretched around him, the ease with which he moves as he’s guided. Aziraphale has entirely lost track of the sounds he’s making, each one a raw expression of need and passion and love, whether in the shape of Crowley’s name or a helpless plea.

Beneath the slick feeling of a forked tongue taking him apart there’s that undeniable sense of want. It strokes up and down his whole body like wandering fingers, slithers across his chest. It licks at him like it wants to burn itself into him, and the feeling is every bit as sweet as the contact.

But as good as slow is, it isn’t enough. Not when Aziraphale’s been so hungry for so long. His hands clench and shift, urging the demon to pick up speed; his head tosses a little, fretful, as if squirming out of its way might somehow free him from the tidal wave that threatens to crash.