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.

Comments

still not gonna be that high, I'm short. ;)

[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."

something something rocket chair

[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?”

Re: something something rocket chair

[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.

[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.”

[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..."

[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.”

[duckshaveears]

Azirpahale's never said that to him. Never. 'It's good to see you' is as close as he ever got, and even that was a rarity.

Crowley makes another muffled noise that could be pain or delight or just emotion; he's going to have to work on those, but not right now, because now he's busy kissing Aziraphale like their lives depend on it. His hands wander urgently, skittering down Aziraphale's back and cupping his arse, pulling him in, needing to be closer.

[confoundthemighty]

He could never have dreamed up the strangled sound Crowley makes into his mouth, or the urgency with which Crowley pulls him close. There’s a strength in the demon’s spare frame and his hands (gorgeous hands, sometimes Aziraphale could swear the great masters of Renaissance sculpture studied them) he couldn’t have guessed at either.

Though they stagger a bit in a way they wouldn’t have done in the dream, Aziraphale doesn’t care. He relishes knowing what it’s like to have Crowley’s tongue in his mouth and fingers gripping his arse and both of them shuffling awkwardly because their combined weight keeps teetering back and forth.

It’s all real this time. The things they say are shaped by breath into actual sound. The things they do exist outside their own minds.

And now his body is involved, and if he thought he was hungry for Crowley in a dream, he’s starved in the real world.

Aziraphale moans, a low helpless sound, tries to squirm as close as he can even though they’re already embracing tightly. They shift and Aziraphale grinds into Crowley’s thigh and gasps—oh fuck, it’s so much more, suddenly his clothes feel like a cage.

[duckshaveears]

Crowley's head is spinning like he's drunk three or four bottles of red wine. The positively indecent moan Aziraphale makes doesn't help. The way he blatantly grinds an erection against Crowley's leg certainly doesn't help. They were eager in the dreamscape, both of them, but it wasn't like this. That's more an emotional, figurative place. This sheer visceral physicality is something else again.

Crowley pulls Aziraphale in as close as he can, rolls his hips against him in return. Why did he put on these blessedly tight jeans, for someone's sake? He really should take them off before he embarasses himself. Again.

He slides open-mouth kisses along Aziraphale's jaw and neck, towards his ear. "Bed?" he manages. Or floor. Or wall. This breakfast bar, even. He'll take whatever he can get.

[confoundthemighty]

“Please.” Already he’s pulling at the hem of Crowley’s shirt, while trying to shrug out of his own coat at the same time. It’s not the most successful endeavor, especially since he doesn’t really want to stop kissing Crowley.

But there’s a bed to get back to, and more delights than kissing to enjoy there.

With a noise that’s almost a growl of need, he pulls away a little, both hands trailing down to grab both of Crowley’s and tug him along. It’s not far from the kitchen to the bedroom by any means, but he feels every searing second they’re not holding one another. Then they’re back on the threshold of Crowley’s bedroom, and he can’t help it, he has to sway in close again and take a hungry kiss.

[duckshaveears]

Crowley tries to help Aziraphale out of his coat and waistcoat, and probably gets in the way more than he actually assists, though Aziraphale doesn't seem to mind. He doesn't protest, but granted that's probably because Crowley's tongue is in his mouth. Or because Aziraphale's tongue is in Crowley's mouth. Or both. Aziraphale growls his impatience.

It still doesn't seem possible.

But they're stumbling together, his hands gripped by Aziraphale who's pulling him back towards the bedroom they just woke up in...half an hour ago? It can't be that small an amount of time.

Aziraphale pushes him against the doorway for a kiss and Crowley seizes it and him as soon as they're offered. He untucks Aziraphale's shirt, considers unbuttoning it and doesn't bother, just slips his hands under the splay on the bare back underneath.

[confoundthemighty]

Glorious as it was to feel Crowley’s love for him as a pure emotion, it’s magnificent to feel it physically. Hot hands on his back, the whole of Crowley’s lean frame pressed against his own, the firm shape of a hard cock against his hip, all of it happening too quickly and completely to shut out anything. It’s possible that’s why it doesn’t occur to him that he could simply miracle their clothes gone.

(But there’s something about the weight coming away, something about them getting rid of these layers the way humans do. Something about the way fabric slides and gives and reveals an inch at a time. Crowley didn’t create a hopeless hedonist when he first tempted Aziraphale with food, but he certainly encouraged one.)

One of his own hands slides to Crowley’s waist, pushing the hem of the demon’s shirt up in turn and the second Aziraphale’s palm skims along Crowley’s bare side for the first time he gasps into their kiss. Clumsily he tries to use what leverage he has to pull Crowley into him, hopefully getting them somewhere a step or two further bedwards, but mostly just wanting him as close as they can get.

I'll regret phonetagging in the morning because there are always typos but OH WELL

[duckshaveears]

Crowley moans at the feeling of Aziraphale teasing along his waist. It's too brief a touch and he wants more. Aziraphale tugs him forward but all that accomplishes is them half-turning so Aziraphale's back is against the wall.

It's not the bed, but Crowley is quick to quote literally press his advantage, using his own body to hold Aziraphale's in place. It's amazing, his leg between the angel's thighs and a hard length pressing against him, their chests crushed together. Crowley breaks the kiss in order to dip his head and ravish Aziraphale's neck with small nibbling bites interspersed with kisses, lingering at the edge of his jaw. "Angel," he murmurs, then laughs a little. "Aziraphale. Fuck, is this real?" He nuzzles at the skin, nips at at it. Soothes any pain away with kisses. Repeats."Are you real?"

<3 who cares about typos TAGS IS TAGS

[confoundthemighty]

The little nips of almost-pain have his nerves wide awake and crackling with dazzling awareness. And that astonished whisper against his throat, the wonder in Crowley’s voice…

(He remembers hot tears on his neck, a spike of hurt and loneliness that cut into the bliss of afterglow. He remembers a dream he woke from a thousand years ago, a dream of Crowley leaning towards him for a kiss, and how there were tears spilling from his eyes the second he opened them to empty darkness.)

His fingernails dig gently into Crowley’s bare skin—both hands now, resting on his sides just above his hips, the pressure just enough to register in a way that makes him aware that his body is awake, not enough to hurt.

“I’m real.” With the angle they’ve found themselves at, he can breathe the words right into Crowley’s ear, where he can’t possibly miss them. “And I’ll be real at the running of the bulls, and Glyndebourne, and in France and Venice, and Chile, and Japan, and anywhere else in the world you want to go. Anywhere at all.”

But they're tags with TYPOS waaaaaahhh!!! And don't worry C will get used to all this. ;)

[duckshaveears]

Crowley hardly knows what he's feeling. There's wonder, yes, amazement, growing delight...but he can't help but doubt as well. Can't help but fear this too will prove an illusion of some sort. Even when Aziraphale promises the truth of it. Promises a future they've never had, one where they're together. Not by chance or luck or covert arrangement of circumstances but openly. On purpose.

It's hard not to be confused when someone tells you that yes, in fact, your dreams have come true, however much you want to believe them.

So much easier to concentrate on the purely physical, which fortunately is more than overwhelming enough to drown out all the tangled emotions. There's a sharpness of nails on his skin now, pointed enough to make him gasp, Aziraphale's scent filling his head. "The bed would do for a start," Crowley manages, forcing himself to step back, pulling Aziraphale along with him.

He will get excellent aftercare for sure!

[confoundthemighty]

Crowley pulls and Aziraphale follows, love tugging him forward with the same certainty as gravity. This time they do manage to make it all the way there—Aziraphale first, finally shrugging out of his jacket and waistcoat as he twists to sit on the mattress. Which ends up being a somewhat graceless movement, more of a collapse than actually sitting, so that he half sprawls onto the bed.

With a huff of embarrassed laughter he looks up at Crowley, reaches for him with insistent hands.

good. give him all the love please, he needs it

[duckshaveears]

Crowley, surprisingly, resists, pulling back to get a good look.

In his dream they fell into the bed, started by removing clothes the slow way and then cheating for the rest, but all while up close and personal. He didn't get to see this: Aziraphale, eager and laughing and already half undone, his shirt untucked. Crowley's never seen Aziraphale with an untucked shirt, never imagined him messy and graceless.

It is, to put it mildly, fucking erotic.

Crowley gaze scrapes over Aziraphale from head to foot and back up. He licks his lips. "Have you any idea," he says, voice low and raspy, "how gorgeous you are?"

need to find a way to actually communicate this headcanon to C.

[confoundthemighty]

Look at you, you’re gorgeous.

The first time Aziraphale ever heard that word, it was exciting—a momentary pleasant shock, even if it did dull back down into a disappointment that had become all too familiar over millennia. Over the years he’s entertained the occasional idle daydream about hearing it again. Not because he misses the angel whose lips it came from—even if that angel lingers somewhere inside Crowley, he’s only a shadow of the person Aziraphale has come to love so desperately—but because he wants to hear it from this version of Crowley and know that he means it, that it’s not simply a compliment to the universe in whose blast radius he happened to be standing.

Hearing it now makes something in his heart clench and then release, so that hot emotion floods his chest. A flush spreads from his face down his throat.

Even if he’s no longer projecting his emotions, even if he can’t make himself felt as directly as he can in a dream, there’s no mistaking the sheer adoration in his smile.

“I could say the same about you,” he says, almost shyly.

I'd like to claim my use of that word was a deliberate callback buuuut...;)

[duckshaveears]

Oh bloody hell, that smile. Crowley has done any number of incredibly inadvisable things over the millennia just in the hopes of seeing a shade of that smile, and now it's turned in all its glory on him. For him. And accompanied by the absolutely fascinating way all that pale skin is turning nicely pink, flushed with pleasure and arousal. Gorgeous doesn't cover it, frankly.

"Well," he says, bending over the bed and crawling onto it, so he's on his hands and knees above Aziraphale. "Don't let me stop you, if you have the urge."

His grin is wide and wicked and pleased as he leans down and takes another kiss. This one is slower, deliberate and anticipatory.

It was gonna come up sometime! :D

[confoundthemighty]

This time it’s different from any of their kisses so far. In the dream, they were either passionate or, for a brief and blissful space, languid; thus far in the waking world they’ve mostly been hungry. Now it’s warm and slow, a different kind of sweetness from the rush of at last, and Crowley pressing him gently back into the mattress feels safe in a way nothing else ever has.

Aziraphale breathes these kisses in deeply, takes long and appreciative tastes of Crowley’s mouth, hands settling at the demon’s sides again. When they break apart for a brief moment, he takes the opportunity to whisper out a few words.

“If you knew how long I’ve had the urge.” Another kiss, because he can’t help himself. “You’ve always been exquisite. Even when you look ridiculous.”[footnote: They’ve both had fashion mishaps, over the years. Aziraphale likes to claim he’s had less. With a straight face, while styling himself nearly a century out of date.]

very true (along with other things, hem hem)

[duckshaveears]

This isn't a sort of kiss Crowley's ever had, or even imagined (which is comforting). There's an underlying solidity to it. Unexpected as these circumstances are, much as part of him is still only half-believing...it's all being done with intention, from both of them. Purposeful steps towards shared pleasure, not an impatient or desperate rush but a certainty. How many things in Crowley's long existance have ever felt certain?

(How inconceivable that this, of all things, should now be something that feels like an inevitability)

He lays his body gently atop Aziraphale's, places his hands on other side of his head as they kiss. "Tell me." One of his legs falls between Aziraphale's, and he undulates slowly, rubbing them together. Urgency is still waiting in the wings and no doubt will take over again soon, but he doesn't mind delaying for a few moments for this. "Tell me how long, when you knew you wanted me. What you wanted."

ba dum, tish! AND HEY GUESS WHAT CROWLEY IT’S REAL THIS TIME

[confoundthemighty]

The slow friction of their bodies—a full, real sensation, not merely the ghost of conjecture and memory—makes being articulate a bit difficult. But it also, strangely, amplifies Crowley’s demand, opens up a burning path through Aziraphale’s memories.

“Rome.” He’d already been head over heels, he’s known that for years now, but— “You tried the oysters, and you laughed about it, and I thought, I could kiss him.” The point doesn’t need hammering home, but Aziraphale does it anyway, stealing a kiss before he continues. “After that it was—little by little over the years, until…”

He can’t help himself; he lifts his fingers to trace over the coils of the snake on Crowley’s cheek.

“You saved my books,” he whispers. Their hips roll, and he shivers, toes curling. Here beneath the shelter of Crowley’s body, cushioned by his kisses and by sheets full of his warmth and scent, it’s difficult to be afraid. “Before that night… for the longest time I just thought I wanted you, but that night…”

This close, everything is blurry, but he can see how intently those beautiful gold eyes are fixed on him. How much he needs to hear these words outside his own imagination.

“I’m in love with you.”

When had he started falling? Before the beginning he’d certainly been knocked off-balance. But then there had been the Wall, that smile that had only grown more beautiful in spite of everything, and then later a courtyard full of cackling goats, a fire that destroyed a house but not a family, a first meal. By the time he’d watched Crowley eat his first oyster he was already done for.

you have NO idea how many times I read that tag or how much I swooned

[duckshaveears]

Crowley is kissing the sentence off of Aziraphale's lips as soon as it's spoken. It's not one he ever asked to hear in his dreams, not those exact words. He didn't know how badly he wanted to hear them, that specific framing.

He rolls his hips against Aziraphale's, feels both their cocks thickening at the pressure. They did this before, in the dream. Almost exactly this. It feels even better here.

(It's real, this time.)

Crowley gasps a little and breaks off, rests his forehead against Aziraphale's as he keeps moving his hips, his fingers tangled in Aziraphale's hair and Aziraphale's hands wandering over him.

Prove it, he'd demanded. Tell me, he'd said just moments ago, and in his dreams. Arranging for the things he wanted to hear to be said, and getting it, reveling in the sweetness of it even while knowing it was empty and meaningless because he was only really speaking to himself, whispering his own wishes and pretending it wasn't an elaborate game of make-believe.

Not this time.

Crowley leans up on an elbow, looks down. He feels horribly vulnerable, because this time he's asking. Asking, not telling, and here there's risk, Aziraphale could say no, or could tease, could all sorts of things Crowley wouldn't imagine. That's what's frightening but it's also what makes it precious and thrilling.

"Show me?"

Prove it. Tell me. Show me. Stay with me.

aw thanks. this took me a while, hope it’s okay?

[confoundthemighty]

For a moment Aziraphale considers meeting that request with a gentle tease—asking him to be more specific, perhaps, or listing off things he could do to demonstrate his love. But there’s something in those serpentine eyes that he’s only ever seen a handful of times over the centuries. Something that’s poised on the edge of trust and fear.

(Impossible not to remember the splashes of bitterness, the sea-deep loneliness, that haunted an otherwise beautiful dream.)

Aziraphale’s fingers stir tenderly against the snake tattoo; his other hand traces up the valley between Crowley’s shoulder blades. He lets his touch linger, appreciating, considering.

Then his gaze drifts past Crowley, towards the bedroom ceiling.

The flat isn’t on the top floor; he can’t simply remove the roof. (Also it’s very cold outside.) But it’s not really much of a stretch at all to make it look as if there’s no roof and no floor above. As if the walls of Crowley’s bedroom simply dissolve into open sky. The lights of London are too bright for the Milky Way to be visible, but a handful of brave stars and planets manage to shine through the haze of human light, as does the waning gibbous moon.

Aziraphale smiles, hopeful. No human can see this miracle, and if anyone is watching from Upstairs, he doesn’t care. Let them see that he loves this demon, that he’s proud to be loved. Let the stars and moon and sky bear witness to the first time they make love.

sagsgsgaaaaaXdbdbdvafavafsgsgsgs

[duckshaveears]

Crowley's eyes close briefly as fingers brush against the mark on his face. It's not as potent a thing as it was in the dream, but it definitely has an effect, they should talk about that later. Not now. Now he just appreciates the caress, the hand stroking along his back.

It takes him a minute to realize something's changed.

Aziraphale's silence and stillness are odd, and Crowley opens his eyes again, to see if there are second thoughts, if he asked too much, if, if...but Aziraphale is almost serene, looking up, so Crowley follows his gaze.

It's hard to see the stars in London. But they're there.

Make love under the open sky, anywhere in the world you like. Night or day.

The love that pulses through Crowley in that moment feels strong enough to break through his chest, shatter walls and short out all the electricity in the city. It almost leaves him reeling.

His eyes are overbright when he turns his face back to Aziraphale, and he's shaking as he bends down for another kiss.