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

“That was me, yes.”

It’s all right, angel. You didn’t do anything wrong.

Well. That hadn’t been strictly true, had it? Suddenly all Hamlet’s rambling about wanting his too too solid flesh to melt makes an all new sort of sense, to Aziraphale.

He ventures a guilty glance up at Crowley. Now that their minds aren’t touching anymore, it’s far more difficult for him to communicate the things he’s feeling—they won’t just put themselves into words or make themselves felt. But at the heart of the emotional swirl there’s a simple truth he’s trying to drag to the surface: I thought you might dream about me the way I dream about you. Or at least I hoped you might. I hoped so hard I took a risk, and now I think it’s backfired.

From:

duckshaveears

"And on the beach." That'd why he couldn't send the figment away: it wasn't a figment. And while Crowley has almost complete control over his dreams, banishing an angel, even in his head, would definitely be beyond his power level.

Has it occurred to you that I might want to be here as much as you want me here?

The noise he makes is a raw mix of frustration and confusion. "Why didn't you just say? Instead of all the, the hinting around trying to get me to guess--how could I possibly have known it was really you?"

From:

confoundthemighty

“I thought you’d know right away you weren’t controlling me!” Aziraphale counters, earnestly. “One of the figments told me none of them could get near you, so I thought you’d clock it was me very quickly.”

I’ve learned not to attempt to tempt him overmuch. It hurts him so.

“So I am sorry about that part,” he adds, even if it sounds a bit pathetic. He knows he has a great deal of apologizing to do, so he might as well start there.

From:

duckshaveears

"About--"

Crowley covers his face with hands for a minute, trying to stay calm. "So you think," he says finally, "that just because the, the dream-you wasn't doing what I told it I wanted, and was instead doing all the things that I actually wanted but try not to think about too much...that would make it obvious it was actually you? inside my own dreams, where I had no idea you even could show up, much less that you would?"

From:

confoundthemighty

For just half an instant Aziraphale almost wants to defend himself: if their places had been reversed, that’s exactly what he would have assumed. Hell, it’s happened to him before, left him gasping awake with burning lips and tears on his face. Only once, but the hope was there, and it burned so bright he hadn’t dared to sleep for another two hundred years.

If they were arguing about anything else, he would give in to that flash of indignation. But this isn’t an argument. Or it shouldn’t be.

“In hindsight I admit it was a silly assumption.” He fiddles with his pinky ring, fights a flash of memory of his double doing the very same thing. Hopefully he hasn’t consigned the poor figment to a lifetime of revenge fantasies.

From:

duckshaveears

Crowley let's out a bark of a laugh. "In hindsight," he repeats. His face is still hidden behind one hand. "Christ, angel, even Heaven and Hell don't get that invasive. Six thousand years we spent hiding what we said and did from them but at least our thoughts were ours. You wouldn't even let me visit you at the bookshop! And how would you feel if I'd--"

He stops abruptly, not finishing the question, though the end of it is fairly obvious

From:

confoundthemighty

“I don’t know.”

It’s the truth. They’ve exchanged bodies, albeit briefly; they’ve had to do a lot of other unorthodox and strangely intimate things, in the course of their friendship. Aziraphale genuinely isn’t sure how he’d feel if their positions were reversed, and there’s also a stab of guilt for that. It feels as if he’s somehow doing the actual friendship part of whatever this relationship is wrong by not having the same answer to this question as Crowley does.

His heart sinks. He’d very much like to make himself small enough to fit on the head of a pin and then dive to the bottom of the tea in his mug.

From:

duckshaveears

That actually helps, weirdly. At least Aziraphale isn't claiming he would've been fine with it, isn't pretending this was...business as usual.

Crowley stops hiding his face and goes back to drinking his tea. Suddenly his throat's gone dry. Because with the entire dream-invasion bit...not sorted, exactly, but at least understood...now he has to think about to rest of it. All the things they did, all the things he said, all those terribly vulnerable intimate hopes and desires that he's never breathed a word about. How many of them did he reveal?

To many for take-backs or pretense, that's for sure. But...

Aziraphale lying under him, eyes shining, then closed as he gasps out "please, please, please" while Crowley touches him, so open and earnest in his need and his...

...his...

"You tried to kiss me," he says, so quietly. "In the bookshop, before I left. Didn't you? I thought..." He takes in a shuddering breath.

From:

confoundthemighty

It’s strange to hear the words aloud. To hear even part of what they’ve wanted to do with one another for centuries, have in some sense done in that dream, named for what it is and was.

He’s said no so many other times when he didn’t really want to, when he could tell himself it was to protect Crowley (to protect them both) from Heaven’s wrath. He could lie to God Herself about this or nearly anything else, but not to Crowley. Not now.

“Yes. I did.”

His own voice is quiet too, a confession without much real penitence behind it.

From:

duckshaveears

"And...all the rest of it?"

He doesn't even know what he asking. Did it happen, did he imagine it?

Stay with me.

(Was that part real too?)

From:

confoundthemighty

Tell me I can. Tell me you want this.

Can we do this forever?

So many things I want to do with you. Here in this bed and everywhere. Not even just sex.

I love you.

In a dreamscape, his words would flow effortlessly. Here in the real world they stumble over one another on their way out of his drying mouth. But he concentrates hard on not looking away from Crowley as he hauls the truth clumsily into the light.

“I meant what I said. I—I know I’ve… I’ve made a terrible mess of things, and I am sorry. But I’m not sorry we—we did what we did. I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t want to, you know that. You asked. I consented. I don’t regret that.”

From:

duckshaveears

"I don't remember doing much asking," Crowley mumbles. He's not blushing, bless it, it's just hot in here. He'll have a work with the thermostat later. "More like telling."

Which is what he does in dreams, orders, demands to be told all the things he wants to hear. Which is another form of begging, in its way, and honestly he almost wishes the ground would swallow him up.

From:

confoundthemighty

It’s probably an inappropriate sentiment for a conversation like this, but Aziraphale’s heart jolts in hope as he watches a pink flush stain Crowley’s cheeks and ears. God help him, he adores this demon.

“I still agreed to it. And if you couldn’t force me to leave, you certainly couldn’t force me to do anything else. Which you didn’t.”

He’d like to get out of his seat and go to Crowley, to hold him, to kiss him again. But he’s no longer sure he has the right to initiate that sort of contact. He’s the one who needs permission, now.

From:

duckshaveears

Crowley hasn't looked directly at Aziraphale since he entered the room. Mostly he's looking at the countertop, or his mug. They're nice, safe things to look at. Reassuringly physical. Unlikely to explode. He doesn't think things between him and Aziraphale are likely to explode, but the tension is not dissimilar. Like walking on...whatever those breakable things you're supposed to not walk on are. Or are you supposed to walk on them but very carefully?

He's aware that he's babbling, albeit silently.

"Agreeing to it doesn't necessarily mean you wanted it," he says finally, his voice even lower than before. "'Least, not all of it."

Because that was a lot. Fuck, it was so much. Decades of not going too fast and then he just...lobs everything at the angel all at once. Without realising, but still.

From:

confoundthemighty

“But I did.”

He hadn’t known how much of a desert his heart had been until he’d felt that fathomless love pouring over him. Even as he aches for its absence, he feels altered by it: whatever else happens for the rest of his long existence, for a brief while he’s known his love was welcomed and returned, and it was a greater wonder even than watching the birth of a universe. The things that happened in a short slice of time outside of reality will be with him forever; he will forever be richer for them.

Aziraphale pushes his mug away, flattens his hands on the breakfast bar where he’s sitting. The marble is cold; it doesn’t settle him as much as he’d like.

“I did want all of it. None of it was unwelcome, Crowley, not at all.”

From:

duckshaveears

Finally, Crowley looks up.

Aziraphale's face is nakedly earnest. It usually is, he's a terrible liar and it's obvious when he's prevaricating even a little bit. At least, obvious to Crowley. He means what he's saying. At least, he does right now.

Crowley remembers their last phone call before he went to sleep, how he offered to come over and was told they'd just have to wait 'til it was all over, follow the rules.

He also remembers Aziraphale whispering about the places they could go, the things they could do there.

Stay with me.

He swallows.

"Prove it."

From:

confoundthemighty

Those words sink into him like an arrow. He feels their impact, breathes around it, knows they’ve cut open something inside him. He’s not sure what yet, but there’s no going back from it.

He can’t feel what Crowley’s feeling, but he hears the invitation in the challenge, watches something flicker behind serpentine eyes.

Always. Please.

Aziraphale pushes himself away from the breakfast bar, standing now, aware of how his heart’s racing. With purposeful steps he crosses the short distance between them, bringing himself close—within arm’s length. He only has to look up a little to keep eye contact, which he does, right up until they’re standing close enough that he can reach out and trace the demon’s long jawline with the back of one finger.

His gaze flicks down to Crowley’s lips, then back up, checking. But only for a moment, only the barest space between breaths, before Aziraphale leans in and kisses his mouth.

From:

duckshaveears

The words are a challenge, even a dare, but Crowley's painfully aware that they sounded more like a plea. Or maybe that's just to his ears. He honestly has no idea how or if Aziraphale will respond to it.

But Asiraphale doesn't hesitate. He moves at once. Steps forward. Reaches out. Touches Crowley's face in a caress that's simple but still potent enough to make Crowley sway on his feet.

Tilts his head up.

It's a simpler kiss than any of the ones they shared in the dream. Their lips brush gently together, once, twice, and then stay pressed close. He can feel Aziraphale's breath on his skin, smell him, and Crowley realizes dizzily that the experience is far more physical than it was in his dream. Well, it would be. Wouldn't it? Who knows?

Questions for later. For now, Aziraphale is kissing him, and this one is real, this one is the first. They both know, they're both doing it on purpose.

This one is real.

Crowley makes a small muffled noise and raises his hands to Aziraphale's face, cupping his face as he kisses him harder.

From:

confoundthemighty

All at once Crowley’s leaning in hard, trying to pull him closer still (if that were possible), and Aziraphale’s heart soars. He’s got both arms around Crowley before he really knows what he’s doing, stay with me, and it’s so different because now it’s so much more than thought and conjecture and imagination filling in the blanks. There’s a forked tongue pushing at Aziraphale’s lips, and he welcomes it with a moan.

The taste—a real, true, physical taste of him, in these bodies they’ve inhabited for much of their lives—is intoxicating. Even though it’s his own memory supplying it this time, Aziraphale feels in this kiss some echo of the desperate waves of love that rolled over him in the dream.

This isn’t graceful; details aren’t softened by the fuzzy logic of dreams. Everything is immediate, everything has an impact on all his earthly senses.

One of his hands splays against the base of Crowley’s shoulder, the other fists at the small of his back. He holds on tight, tight as he can, and even though their noses bump and their teeth click together more than once, that only reminds him that this is the waking world.

Stay with me always.

From:

duckshaveears

The dream had felt pretty real at the time, but it's immediately apparent that is had nothing on reality. There are so many ridiculous little things Crowley's aware of. The seat poking into the back of his leg, his stupid hair making his neck itch, the taste of tea and a hint of leftover toothpaste. A dozen tiny little distractions they didn't need to put up with there, which he welcomes because they're all things he never would have imagined on his own, not even for verisimilitude.

But in addition to those there's the hot slide of their to guess against each other, the smell of Aziraphale's breath, the warmth of his face under Crowley's hands. All of it so much stronger than it was there. Even without those waves of emotions (something else to ask about) it's overwhelming, in the best way.

Prove it, he'd said. And yeah, this'll do. For a start.

Crowley finally breaks it off, though he doesn't move away. Instead he rests his forehead against Aziraphale's, and there's laughter and even affection in his voice.

"You bastard."

From:

confoundthemighty

Even before Crowley speaks, Aziraphale can feel the demon’s mouth beginning to tilt into a smile. Some tiny knot of tension that had been gathering between his shoulder blades dissolves into nothing, swept away by the giddiness of knowing they’ve really and truly kissed for the first time.

He lets himself smile back, nuzzling at Crowley’s nose with his own. (He’s an angel; they’re allowed to do soft things like nuzzling. Or at least he’s decided he is.)

“Enough of a bastard to be worth taking back to bed?” he asks. One hand wanders up Crowley’s spine a little, feeling over the ridges of bone (or its occult equivalent), and a sudden surge of courage rises.

“Or…” His voice has dropped, and he rushes through the words just to get them out before he changes his mind. “Or on a world tour, eventually?”

From:

duckshaveears

"Oh, we'll go more places than those, you git." He steals another kiss, mostly to make sure he can. And he can, soft and easy. "You snuck into my dreams so sometime I want to get in on yours, find every embarassing thing you've got in there. You owe me, angel, and I'll collect. You've been warned."

Another kiss stolen, and another. Almost as though he's not stealing them at all, but being given them freely.

From:

confoundthemighty

Somehow being fully in his body makes this more exhilarating. Aziraphale hears Crowley’s smile widen, feels the words being kissed onto his lips; his heart leaps and his breath catches in startled delight. He manages something like a laugh, some sound that’s adoring and unabashedly happy, and with every stolen kiss he tries to give as good as he’s getting. He dares a long stroke up Crowley’s back, then down again, just tracing the shape and textures of him. Wiry, flexible. Angular. Perfect.

“Taken under advisement.” He’s distracted for a bit by another kiss. And, somewhat, by wondering whether or not Crowley would be surprised at the things he dreams about. “I don’t sleep terribly often, though, so you may have to wear me out first.”

From:

duckshaveears

There's so much more to notice here, so much more to distract. More to feel. Aziraphale's hand running up and down his spine makes him gasp, and the happy laugh that escapes him almost brings tears to Crowley's eyes. It's a good thing they aren't doing that emotions-as-tangible-sensations thing right now because his are a mess, mostly happy but shot through with disbelief and fear and the memory of pain and doubt. He's trying to focus on the happy part. It helps that Aziraphale keeps kissing him.

"Noted," Crowley manages, shivering again at the implication. "Wearing you out, right. Can do." This new, assertive Aziraphale is going to take some getting used to, clearly. No time like the present. "You mentioned going back to bed? Though seems a little absurd, you coming over to get me up because I've spent too long in bed and now you want to put me back in it..."

From:

confoundthemighty

“You were in it without me before. That’s different.”

After six thousand years of knowing Crowley, he knows when Crowley’s trying to pretend he’s less affected by something than he really is. Aziraphale tightens his arms around his demon (really and truly his now; it’s a wonder all over again), just holding him firmly for a long moment. Just to reassure them both that this is real.

“I missed you,” he says, realizing it’s the first time he’s ever said it aloud. “That’s why I came over.”