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

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.

OKAY WELL I GUESS IT WORKS

[confoundthemighty]

Even with all the many layers of the material world keeping their thoughts truly separate, there’s no missing that sudden sharp burst of love. It feels like a lightning strike, like gust of gale-force wind, like a window breaking. (Like a spark catching in the void, filling an empty sky with light and color.)

His own eyes sting when Crowley bends to kiss him again.

(It’s real. That depthless devotion, the warmth that wrapped around him, all the love that swept him up and moved in him and washed over every iota of his immaterial being. It’s real, it’s not just the ripple he feels but the shine in Crowley’s eyes and the hunger in his kiss, the swift beat of his heart against Aziraphale’s chest.)

Aziraphale’s palm flattens against Crowley’s back; he sighs into their kiss, a soft longing sound in a gust of warm breath.

IT REALLY DID.

[duckshaveears]

Crowley rolls onto his side, pulling Aziraphale with him. This way they both have hands free, can keep undoing buttons and removing layers, kissing each other all the while.

There's a weight to it all that wasn't there before, something profound, even ceremonial. Every kiss is a vow, every touch of hand to skin a promise. What was a way for them to express their feelings has suddenly taken on new meaning. The urgency and desire are still there, oh yes, but it's more than that.

Crowley undoes the last part of Aziraphale's button-down and slides it off, then helps the angel pull his henley over his head. He pauses there, hand resting on Aziraphale's waist as they exchange slow, passionate kisses.

He really wants C to know he meant it! It was that or the bow ties!

[confoundthemighty]

This is sweet in a vastly different way to the dream. As wonderful as that was, it was also frantic, with an edge of desperation beneath it that very nearly approached grief; that sharpness is gone now, translated into something far warmer. The physical reality of the moment has well and truly sunk in; neither of them can disappear into the mist of dreams. There’s something approaching tenderness in the way they kiss now.

There’s excitement, too, as his skin truly discovers what it feels like to be touched, what it feels like to be chest to chest with Crowley and wrapped in his arms. Aziraphale sighs in astonished delight as his hands explore Crowley’s bare back, down to his waist and up to the nape of his neck.

No book in his collection, no matter how rare or beautiful, has ever inspired the sort of care that directs the movement of his shaking fingers. No manuscript could hope to hold his attention so thoroughly.

bow ties would also have been welcomed, but this is better for this

[duckshaveears]

Crowley's never imagined kissing like this. It's slow and sure, deliberate, eager but gentle. Aziraphale strokes down his back in a way that makes him arch into a bow, then enfolds him in an embrace again, all without breaking the kiss. Crowley in return tangles fingers in his hair, tugging gently, then runs a hand down his shoulder and arm, his flank and hip, pulling his thigh to wrap a leg around his own.

And all the while there are soft, pleased noises of exploration, small gasps, easy sighs.

Lovemaking, Crowley realizes. That's what this is. Not any of the more playful or frantic things he's dreamed about, not sex or fucking. He's being made love to, he's making love to Aziraphale. That's why it's different.

Oh.

He holds Aziraphale hard and close for a minute, breaking the kiss in order to bury his face in his angel's neck.

put a pin in bow ties for later, though.

[confoundthemighty]

Crowley breaks off the kiss, pushes his face into Aziraphale’s neck, and he can’t help but be reminded once again of the scalding loneliness of tears on his skin. While he’d been reveling in the knowledge that he was loved, Crowley had been certain that what they’d just done could never truly be real—a certainty that had only been shattered a few minutes ago. This is new for both of them, but newer for Crowley, if only by the space of a dream.

Gently he strokes fingers through his demon’s hair, silently reassuring. He can take this at whatever pace Crowley needs. Even without feeling them directly, Aziraphale can tell the deep tides of want and hurt are still there; he may not be able to banish them, but he can be an anchor to cling to, a sanctuary.

The hand still on Crowley’s back gentles too; his arms tighten just a little around the thin body twined with his own. Though he brushes a kiss across the slope of Crowley’s bare shoulder, it’s more soothing than anything else. Not an invitation, but a comfort, given freely and intentionally.

Aziraphale holds him. Just holds him.

Stay with me; I promise I’ll stay with you.

hell to the yes. Though maybe it should be Aziraphale tying up Crowley instead. (maybe = definitely)

[duckshaveears]

It's not pain this time, nothing grieving or anguished. He just...needs a moment. Turns out that getting what you've always wanted can be a bit overwhelming.

It's not a terribly long moment, all told. Not when his nose is right up against Aziraphale's neck, where the scent of him is strong and intoxicating (and real, real, real) and his skin is warm, begging to be nuzzled and licked and worshipped. It's all irresistible and for once Crowley isn't even trying to fight it. He surrenders whole-heartedly, tongue flicking out to taste the skin before his mouth presses to it, first in a kiss and then a series of light nibbles, tasting and teasing.