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.

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[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.