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:

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.

From:

duckshaveears

Crowley is more than willing to take the cue. He's already impatient again. That's the problem at times like these; he wants to be slow and really drag it out, make Aziraphale squirm and gasp with anticipation. But he also wants to see him undone, hear his name called out at the height of pleasure. Feel that gorgeous body writhe underneath him. He wants it all at once.

No reason not to take what he wants now, especially not with those needy, urgent little noises spurring him on.

He moves up to the crown of Aziraphale's dick, swirls his tongue around it, while taking the shaft in his fist and starting to pump it into his mouth.

From:

confoundthemighty

Aziraphale jerks and swears, possibly in a language that’s been dead for centuries. The demon’s response to him is obscenely, intensely precise, almost a demand. His hands spasm uselessly in Crowley’s hair.

He manages a single gasp, then immediately feels it shudder away as he comes again. Sound and sensation blend: a long, astonished cry, the shivering brilliance of his orgasm, a fresh surge of gratitude that this is happening at all. It’s every bit as powerful as the few times he’s indulged by himself while awake, only this time he can actually (almost, almost) feel that serpentine tongue sweeping over the slit of his cock.

(And it’s him, it’s really him, even here where everything and nothing is real, it’s Crowley. This is what he wants, how he feels. No divine revelation has ever made Aziraphale feel the way this dream does now.)

From:

duckshaveears

Crowley chuckles at the unexpected burst of Sahidic. It's something Aziraphale would do, swear in a long-forgotren language. It's a good detail.

He's enjoying this so much. The angel's cock is just the right size for his mouth, his hand. He bucks into Crowley's ministrations and comes as prettily as Crowley could wish, and there it is again, that, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud but shining down emotions instead of warmth and light. Crowley's not a fan of gratitude on principle but he is a fan of pride, he'll take gratitude as proof he did his job well. Especially here.

He laps at Aziraphale's spent cock with his tongue, cleaning him up. Further evidence that this is a dream: come is distinctly more pleasant. Tastes about the same (maybe with some extra notes of vanilla, or cinnamon in his case) but doesn't get as slimy and tacky, or cold. "You beautiful thing." He licks up all the leftover spend from before, from both of them. Noses at the nest of curly pale hair surrounding his cock. "Tempted to do that again, just to watch you."

From:

confoundthemighty

Affection rolls off of Crowley, a curving spiral of satisfaction and happiness that wraps Aziraphale up in an unparalleled sense of safety. He sighs, hands stroking idly through Crowley’s hair; his whole being feels like one immense dreamy smile.

“You can,” he murmurs, gently rubbing a lock of red hair between his fingers. The outside world has ceased to be a concern for now—he’s not leaving this bed, this perfect dreamscape, until absolutely necessary. One hand strays to Crowley’s cheek, fingertips tracing the line of his cheekbone, solid enough to be real. “Unless you’re tempted by something else.”

(Not so deep down, he hopes Crowley might be. He’d like nothing more than to keep giving in.)

From:

duckshaveears

"Always," Crowley murmurs, already mouthing his way around Aziraphale's body. Kissing that soft belly, biting lightly at his hip, nuzzling at his thigh. Every gorgeous part leading to another. "Greedy, me. Want all of you, all at once."

With a sudden grin he scoots further down the bed. "Think you'd enjoy having your toes sucked?"

From:

confoundthemighty

He actually giggles at that, though more out of giddy surprise than anything else. “Do you know, I’ve no idea,” he says, lolling his head a bit to look down at Crowley. He’s so clearly enjoying this, enjoying the pleasure of knowing he can dare what he likes and be met with an enthusiastic yes, and it’s a happiness that looks so beautiful on him Aziraphale can’t help but be seized with a momentary wave of affection.

“Suppose we’ll both find out.” The words nearly radiate I love you beneath their intended meaning.

From:

duckshaveears

Crowley grins. "Suppose we will," he agrees, bending back down.

He teases first, of course. Gentle kisses around the ankle ("These drove me crazy back in the days of sandals, should be a sin to cover them up--"), down the line of the foot. And then he takes Aziraphale's largest row into his mouth, watching how he reacts.

From:

confoundthemighty

As this is very much outside of Aziraphale’s frame of reference, his imagination struggles to provide something at first. It’s a bit like watching a program compile, in a way. The sensation that eventually emerges is… actually quite lovely. Pleasant. Warm, slick. Definitely ticklish, in a slightly breathless way. Not quite as erotic as some of the other things he’s imagined (or indeed as most of the things they’ve already done here), but the adoration in the gesture and the careful snaking of that serpentine tongue are very nice. Aziraphale sighs appreciation, a shivering edge of laughter in the sound.

He’s read about this sort of thing, of course; he’s been curious for a long time, and humans do love telling stories about sex. Somehow it had never occurred to him that an especially specific sort of desire could be directed at him.

I like trying things with you, he finds himself thinking—possibly the first time he’s ever let himself have the thought in terms that clear—and it’s a brief bright ray of delight he can’t keep entirely to himself. It suffuses the dream like sunlight for a moment, shimmering in Crowley’s red hair, playing along the muscles of his throat and shoulders.

From:

duckshaveears

There's still something niggling in the back of Crowley's mind as he watches Aziraphale's face, sees surprise and laughter blossom there along with the pleasure. There's something about it that's important, beyond the obvious fact of his having wanted to see it for longer than he can easily reckon, beyond his desire to be the cause of it all. Something he should be paying attention to.

But it's so very, very pleasing to hear the small huffs of Aziraphale's delight, the way his breath catches. To see easy, happy affection written all over him.

Crowley does a thorough job on the one toe and moves on to the next, being a bit less thorough in his attentions to the smaller ones. Another nice thing about dreams: clean feet. No stale leather or sweat smells, nothing between the toes. He licks and teases and laughs himself. The act isn't particularly doing anything for him, and Aziraphale is enjoying it but nothing more than enjoying it. But it's playful. That's new, being able to play, and ohhh he loves it. Not something desperate or cathartic, or a sweet fantasy of devotion, but mutual exploration.

It's wonderful.

He completes his toe-sucking journey with the other foot, kisses the sole, watches the toes he's just worshipped curl as his lips touch sensitive skin. "Mm. Fun, but I don't think it's my favourite sort of foreplay, do you?"

He blatantly licks there with forked tongue, knowing full well it'll be ticklish. And knowing that here there's no need to fear Aziraphale being at all put off by his more snakey attributes. Not here.

From:

confoundthemighty

It’s possible something about Crowley’s intent makes the contact more ticklish than it would have been otherwise. But regardless of why it happens, it registers as a playfully provoking tease, as certain as a real touch, and Aziraphale giggles again. He’s almost light-headed with happiness. Crowley’s being so free with him right now, uninhibited in a way he’s never seen in the waking world, and it’s a sight Aziraphale will treasure for as long as his consciousness exists.

“Mm, something tells me you’ve got more up your proverbial sleeve.” Delight flows from him like body heat; his voice holds both contented sigh and astonished laugh. “Or you’re about to be a menace for a while before you let me find out. Fiend.”

This last part he says in a way that absolutely communicates and I would love nothing more than to be menaced, very thoroughly, please and thank you.

From:

duckshaveears

The wave of delight is too much for Crowley, combined with his own astonished enjoyment. He surges up and kisses Aziraphale again, not urgently but joyously. They twine close, breaking off the kiss now and then to laugh or smile at each other.

Crowley rolls them over on the bed so Aziraphale lies atop him, strokes long fingers down his back and up again. "My angel," he murmurs, his face alight. "No wonder I don't do this often. Every time I do I end up wondering why I ever do anything else. Can we just keep doing this forever?" Another kiss, and another. "That's the eternity I want. Just you and I, like this. Maybe we can stop once every few years to get you a meal and me a drink." Another kiss, and then more kisses to his jaw and neck. "Maybe once every few decades. Think I'll be too busy with this for anything more."

From:

confoundthemighty

This easy, playful intimacy is every bit as sweet as the moments of passionate worship; Aziraphale’s so happy he can’t contain it all. It wraps around him and Crowley as surely as wings, and he can feel Crowley’s own happiness twining around him too. They’re utterly caught up in each other, nothing whatsoever held back, and for a little while Aziraphale lets himself be lost in it.

When Crowley speaks he laughs quietly, his own hands stroking up the demon’s narrow sides. “You are a menace.” The little snake that lurks by Crowley’s ear seems strangely vivid, almost as real as one of his own memories; Aziraphale kisses it gently. “But that does sound like a perfectly lovely eternity.”

He means it, too: already he wants six thousand years and more of this, of the smile on Crowley’s face and the joy in his eyes. He’s hungrier for it now than he was before he ever had a taste.

From:

duckshaveears

An odd sort of shock ripples through Crowley at the touch of lips on his tattoo. This is a dream, this isn't really his body and it's not really there, but nonetheless...it's connected to his truest self in a way that can't be explained (not without multiple dimensions and several pages of equations). It reacts to the touch of ethereal lips.

That's...odd. Not unpleasant, far from it, but definitely odd.

(deep in Crowley's hindbrain the awareness of odd things is starting to add up, a few pebbles that have yet to set off an avalanche)

He sets it aside. It doesn't seem all that important, particularly not compared to all this soft, sturdy skin against his, the length of their bodies (even if they're illusory it's a *really good* illusion) measured against each other. Aziraphale radient with happiness in a way he's never, ever been.

Crowley can't stop smiling at him, can't stop kissing him, and he doesn't want to try.

He has one leg hitched up around Aziraphale's, and between them his cock is half-hard, aware that he's had one orgasm to Aziraphale's two. "So many things I want to do with you." He brushes Aziraphale's hair from his forehead, caresses his face. "Here in this bed and everywhere. Not even just sex. What if we went travelling, angel? Not for work, just for the fun of it." He nuzzles their noses together, a thoroughly undemonic gesture but so what. "Go to the Mediterranean, maybe. Or Spain. Somewhere warm. Go see the running of the bulls, drink Rioja in La Rioja." Another kiss. "Get a room with a balcony and do shameless things on it until sunrise."