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

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."

From:

confoundthemighty

“Mmm…” He shivers warmly as they shift together, as Crowley’s half-hard cock pushes into the curve of his hip. Every once in a while, in his own dreams, Aziraphale has conjured a scenario very like this one; only in his dreams has he ever allowed himself to say yes as much as he is now. And since this is a dream, even if it’s not actually his own, he lets himself respond the way he only ever has deep in his own heart.

“Why not a world tour? Glyndebourne. Picnics on the banks of the Rhône. Masked balls in Venice at the height of Carnival. Stargazing in the mountains in Chile. Long walks under the sakura trees on Mount Yoshino. Watch the swallows come back to Capistrano.”

He turns his head, kisses the long fingers that brush against his face, and adoration sparks from him with every touch.

“Sneak into the Bastille at night.” Aziraphale’s voice drops to a near-rumble. “Show you how I wanted to thank you for that rescue. Make love under the open sky, anywhere in the world you like. Night or day.”

From:

duckshaveears

"Angel."

The itinerary alone is enough to make him dizzy, just the idea of going all those places and sharing all those experiences with each other. Combining it with soft lips against his fingers is almost enough to make Crowley melt.

And that was before the last bit. The idea of redoing something from their history, remaking it to fulfill a fantasy...that's thrilling.

The idea of loving each other under the open sky, with the stars spread out above them, that's something more than thrilling.

Crowley groans, arousal firing through his veins like lightning. He leans up to kiss Aziraphale, darting his tongue in at once to taste him, hungry. His body rolls against the angel's, his cock suddenly raging hard against the crease where Aziraphale's thigh meets his pelvis. "That," he says breathlessly after a few minutes. "I want that, all of it." More furious kissing, his hands grasping at Aziraphale's skin, his shoulders, his back. His arse, and Crowley slides his body so their cocks are aligned. "I want you," he gasps into that hot mouth. He slides fingers down the crevase of Aziraphale's arse, fingers his rim lightly. "God, I want you, can I have you? Please let me have you, angel, my angel--"

From:

confoundthemighty

The ferocity with which Crowley responds is almost startling. It comes with a wave of desperate love and devotion, something dark and hot, and Aziraphale feels caught up in him, a sunbeam being spread out into dazzling colors by the loving embrace of a prism. He tries to meet every kiss with equal fervor, hands running up and down Crowley’s sides, their mutual passion both fuel and fire to one another.

Again it takes Aziraphale’s imagination a second to catch up to Crowley’s intent, though this time it’s far clearer, since he does have some experience of his own fingers for comparison. He groans, shifts clumsily (though more gracefully than he might in the waking world) to straddle Crowley’s thighs, opening himself up a little further.

“Yes,” he breathes into the demon’s mouth, pleading and promising, half wild with love. Whether he’s actually speaking or whether his thoughts are loud enough to sing themselves into being while they kiss he’ll never know, and anyway this is a dream, so it might be both or neither or something in between. It doesn’t matter. “Yes, Crowley, take me, have me, stay with me, please, please.”

From:

duckshaveears

Yes. It's the sweetest word, in Aziraphale's mouth, and Crowley exults in it, slicking his finger with a thought and slowly pressing in. Aziraphale's channel welcomes the intrusion, hot and tight around his finger, and he knows it will feel even better for them both in a few minutes when there's more of him there.

But then--

Stay with me.

Crowley would give the soul he no longer has to hear that in the waking world. All of this, all the rest of what they've done and said here is all just showing how desperately much. The only thing he actually wants. It hurts, how much he wants it.

He all but sobs into Aziraphale's mouth, his tongue delving in with ferocity, mimicking what his fingers (two now, not slow and exploring but impatient, greedy) are doing below. He should drag this out longer, should take time to appreciate it, but he can't, not after those words. Not when he wants so desperately.

He rolls them over, still kissing Aziraphale as though their lives depend on it, as though this could dissolve at any moment. (It could, it will, he can't keep it, he's not going to think about that yet) His angel's thighs are still spread around his waist, cock hard and trapped against their bellies, it's so good, it's not enough.

Stay with me.

Always, his heart answers. Always, always, always, please, and then he has his cock in his slicked hand and is lined up, pressing in, he should be more careful, he should, but this is a dream (it'll vanish and he has to enjoy it while he can, don't think about that yet) so it'll work, he'll make it work. Aziraphale will be ready and willing and eager for him, and he is, he is, clutching at him and gasping encouragement and Crowley slides in with a slow ease that's almost torturous for how good it is.

From:

confoundthemighty

Always.

He hears it, clear and certain, feels the thought coil around him like the long body of a snake. It’s that thought and the hunger behind it, the longing, that moves Aziraphale’s dream-body where Crowley wants him to go.

Always.

How is all of this for him? Aziraphale has always been soft, weak, anxious. Unremarkable. How can Crowley want him so much? How can it possibly be real, that the depth of what Crowley’s been hiding from him matches what Aziraphale has had to keep concealed for years? And it’s not real, not in the physical sense, but the emotion is so raw and strong it can’t come from his own imagination.

Always.

He’s on his back, spread open, hot slick pressure stealing his breath; he’s had this dream, he knows the motions. But every movement is also Crowley saying please, please I want, and as Aziraphale tightens his thighs around Crowley’s sides and rocks into his thrusts he responds. I want that too, I want you too, I want all the things you want.

Blindly he feathers kisses across Crowley’s face, and some of them are less kisses than they are flashes of memory. Tiny fragments, accumulated over thousands of years, of warmth and companionship and intimacy. A long slow fall in images of his fiend: a laugh, a moment of stillness, a rare kind gesture, a bright ray of enthusiasm.

Stay with me, he repeats, nearly begging, his hands scrabbling at the small of Crowley’s back to push him deeper.