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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SUCH DORKS also damn I wish I could draw. should he have a goatee or is that just too much?

[duckshaveears]

The dragon melts back into a human (demonic) form, with some...embellishments.

Calling them 'robes' hardly seems appropriate. Oh, they go down to his ankles and wrists, certainly. But his arms are nearly bare, as is his torso, the cloth strategically attached with golden armcuffs and thin chains in a manner that passes by 'suggestive' and lands closer to 'indecent.' His pelvis is blatantly outlined, the 'skirt' flowing in strips revealing his legs underneath, dragonskin boots underneath, or are those just his feet? The fabric is black as pitch, but where the firelight catches it is an outline of scales in a red as dark as the heart's blood. His hair flows past his waist in a long crimson fall, decorated with dark beads and more gold chains and two black feathers. His serpent-double remains wrapped around his neck as a living decoration; Crowley lifts a hand and strokes its head, smiling cruelly.

Aziraphale wanted an evil sorcerer. Crowley is more than willing to oblige, and he's sure his shadow-self will be only too happy to join in the fun.

"Is that any way to talk to your husband-to-be, my sweet?" His voice drips with a mixture of honey and mockery, rich and cruel. "And on our wedding night, no less!"

Goatee makes me think of Fright Night and thus I APPROVE

[confoundthemighty]

At the first sight of him, Aziraphale pauses a moment, as if briefly stunned by the power of (what he believes is) his own imagination. It makes him an even prettier picture: the extravagantly desirable damsel momentarily waylaid by his own surprise at how much he enjoys the engineer of his distress. But for a fantasy he’s kept so deeply buried, even that spark of unexpectedly strong desire feels in keeping with the entire situation.

As soon as Crowley’s words register, he’s snapped right back into his own role, tossing his snowy curls with all the haughty authority of a fairy tale princess.

“Our wedding night?” he echoes, indignant, belatedly remembering to clutch at his somewhat shredded robes for modesty. (This does very little in the way of actually keeping him covered, but arguably, actually being covered isn’t really the point here.) The snake lets out its own hissing cackle, lifting its head to leer at Aziraphale with brilliant gold eyes. “You presume too much, foul fiend!”

All that then! And omg that icon!!!

[duckshaveears]

Crowley channels the memory of a thousand villains from a thousand films and strokes his goatee, though he foregoes cackling in favour of smirking. "Oh, I hardly think so. Here we are, all cosy and alone in a sumptuous honeymoon suite, after all..." He walks slowly, circling his prey like a tiger. Aziraphale does look very enticing, it must be said. All artfully disheveled, silver curls tumbling all over his shoulders, skin glowing rosy in the firelight. [footnote: And candlelight, and torchlight, and the point is its all fire. Though remarkably smokeless fire. None of Crowley's plans involve coughing on smoke and ash, thank you very much, though he's not above a dramatic flare of sparks should it prove apropos.] "No one to rescue you, no way out...you may as well resign yourself to your fate, pretty angel. There's no escape this time. You may even enjoy yourself. I assure you I can be very generous when I'm pleased."

His gaze rakes over Aziraphale with open covetousness, lingering on every scrap of skin (which takes a while, given the amount on display).

He’s such a cutie. Also here he’s channeling Lansbury in Court Jester

[confoundthemighty]

Aziraphale makes a haughty little sound, and accidentally-on-purpose lets a fold of shimmering silk slip off one shoulder. He’s not exactly hiding how he’s tracking Crowley’s gaze—or how he follows the back-and-forth weave of the demon’s hips as he struts. There’s a flush on his cheeks and throat that takes on a near-golden hue in the ruddy flickering light.

“So you’ve said time and time again. And every time my answer has been the same. No matter what sort of wonders you may conjure with your dark magic, no matter how handsome you may make yourself seem with your terrible powers, I shall never be yours, in name or in deed!” It sounds like a well-rehearsed speech—performed with great gusto, but rehearsed nonetheless. “Perhaps,” he continues, with the air of someone who won’t follow through but knows the effectiveness of the threat, “I shall throw myself from the window to flee your advances.”

The sly glance from beneath his eyelashes says, and I expect you to show me exactly why we both know I’m not going anywhere.

no such thing as too much melodrama or horniness here

[duckshaveears]

Ohh, Aziraphale is having fun with this. And what a picture he makes, all blushing with arousal pretending to be humiliation, scraps of cloth falling tantalizingly and hiding nothing. "And dash that beautiful body of yours on the rocks?" Crowley moves swift as a snake, kneeling next to Aziraphale and lifting that proud, haughty chin with one finger. "Such a tragic, wasteful end for one so fair..."

He leans in close, not touching but near enough that his breath can kiss his cheek and ear, stir his hair. "Without ever having felt your body awaken to passion..."

am I rewatching bits of Legend and Magic Sword? MAYBEEEEE

[confoundthemighty]

At once the touch of hot breath and the stroke of a fingertip raise goosebumps on Aziraphale’s bared skin. His eyelids flutter slightly—for all that he’s happily throwing himself into the act of playing coy, the promise of where this fantasy leads is already threatening to unravel his already-flimsy facade of resistance.

For just a moment he leans into the slight touch; then he arches a bit, not quite holding himself away from Crowley.

“You know as well as I do that there is no room in my duty for passion.” This comes with a wave of true emotion he can’t quite suppress: he’s spent millennia yearning, knowing what he wanted was probably frowned on in the very mildest case scenario and punishable by erasure from existence in the worst. But the want has always been there, growing and growing, waiting for permission to be unleashed. Or teased out of hiding. “The Law of the Land [footnote: Yes, the capital letters are audible.] forbids it.”

Excellent choices both!!! ohhhh Mia Sara, one of my earliest girl crushes...!!

[duckshaveears]

Crowley has always said temptation is easy, because all you're doing is convincing the victim to do something they wanted to do anyway. He could still wish they'd all been this easy. The way Aziraphale leans towards him is delicious.

"Oh, but there is," he purrs. He moves incrimentally closer, breathing into Aziraphale's earlobe. He knows from experience how a breath there, when you're already taut with desire, can send need shooting down the spine right down to the toes. "All you have to do is wed me, and then it becomes your duty."

He tilts his head down so his breath will caress Aziraphale's neck and stir his hair. "And then you could have everything you want. Your honour intact, your duties fulfilled, and your nightsss..." He lets the last word dissolve into a hiss. "I promise your nights would contain all the passion you could possibly want. I would give you everything, Aziraphale. Everything. If you will only grant me this one, simple request."

You have excellent taste! :D and HEE he’s so right about temptatiob

[confoundthemighty]

This time his eyes do fall shut, and he sways, powerfully drawn by the sound of his own name in Crowley’s soft hiss. The thin fabric stretched across his lap strains as his cock reacts to the caress of hot breath against his exposed throat.

“Everything?” he repeats, the word a heated whisper. “You speak of passion and of honour, and no doubt you’ll offer riches and power to go along with it, but…”

He lifts his gaze, then, immediately seeking the molten gold of Crowley’s eyes. In the firelight, Aziraphale’s own eyes look a sort of stormy sea-grey, their soft blue not washed out but transformed.

“Would you love me, once I am yours, or would you only conquer me?”

Not that he especially minds the conquering part. It’s arguably the point of this whole exercise, or at the very least one of the main attractions. But Aziraphale is something of an incurable romantic, particularly in what could actually be called his wildest dreams.

I have Opinions about Crowley and temptations.;) And yesss Mia Sara, Joanne Whalley, Carrie Fisher<3

[duckshaveears]

"Is that what you think this is about? Conquest? How little you understand, for all your intelligence."

Crowley leans in, intent and unblinking. This isn't the hold him down and struggle oh-no-you-big-bad-villain scene he was intending and debateably was asked for, but even so... "I have done all this only for love of you," he says, voice as dark and rich as Turkish coffee. I have made myself powerful in order to obtain you, sought riches that I might adorn you with them, turned to darkness solely that I might approach your light."

Does that last line make any sense? Never mind, it sounded good. He reaches for one of Aziraphale's hands and places it against his bare chest. Which is, of course, glistening in the firelight. "This heart beats only and ever for you, my angel. Do you think it is your kingdom I want? No. Only you." He leans in closer, still holding Aziraphale's gaze, until they can feel each other's breath on their lips. "There is nothing I would not do, if I could only call you mine."

okay so I would understand if you want to scrap this thread but here’s the take

[confoundthemighty]

A wave of emotion, heavy and thick as a summer heat wave, rolls off of Aziraphale. In a flash the white-hot core of the fantasy is exposed: he wants all his barriers, not just his excuses and ditherings but the real fears that have haunted him, to be swept aside by the force of Crowley’s love for him. He’s a being who has, by accident and on purpose, developed a capacity to love on par with what humans believe of angels—and in his most secret dreams, he aches to be overwhelmed by a strength of feeling that can match his own. And specifically by the one being he’s learned to love most over the millennia.

His eyelashes flutter. His posture softens. When he speaks it’s a sigh into Crowley’s mouth, the ghost of a kiss.

“Is this sorcery, or is this true passion at last?” Aziraphale breathes the words almost to himself, as if he’s voicing the inner monologue of a protagonist (which, considering they’re in his dreams, is entirely thematically appropriate). The tips of his fingers stir over Crowley’s heart, carrying echoes of that heat-wave arousal.

excuse you they will pry this thread out of my cold dead hands

[duckshaveears]

Crowley moves infinitesimally closer. Their breath mingles, but they still aren't touching. Not yet. It has to be Aziraphale who gives in, who makes the first move, or else it doesn't count. The trick is in convincing Aziraphale to make the choice, not in Crowley taking the choice from him. That's always been true.

"Kiss me, and you will know," he whispers, the Serpent of Eden offering an apple.

I WAS WORRIED, THANK YOU

[confoundthemighty]

A pause—not a hesitation, more like the breath before a dive into some deep pool—and then Aziraphale sways through the slight distance between them, lips brushing Crowley’s.

Where Eve tasted the apple in innocent curiosity, Aziraphale accepts this temptation out of yearning. He’s always wanted it, even before he knew he did, always been so starved that he can’t stop to think about the depths of his hunger. But it’s always been there, vast as the ocean of Crowley’s own need: a parched sea-bed gasping for a filling tide.

There’s a sort of immaterial tremor in his kiss that suggests the sharp crack of thunder in a heavy sky. Angels aren’t supposed to want anything for themselves, but here in his own mind the sheer depth of his desire pulses and crackles, a storm cloud shivering on the brink of downpour.

pffft have you met me this is my jam as much as yours

[duckshaveears]

The kiss is light, at first, the nearest brush of lip on lip. But it's enough for permission. Enough that Crowley can take control of it, cup Aziraphale's face in his free hand and slide a tongue into Aziraphale's willing mouth.

And oh, for all the fun of this scene they're playing, their mouths know each other. Crowley tries to draw it out, keep it slow and lingering, but there's hunger in his throat and belly that can't be denied, and Aziraphale can match it.

And while this was Aziraphale's fantasy, there's part of Crowley that craves it as well, he's finding. Being the seductive demon who can't be resisted, after so many centuries of being refused...feeling Aziraphale yield to him so sweetly, his desire almost a tangible presence in the room with them...something in Crowley howls, wanting more.

He leans in, deepening the kiss further, pressing Aziraphale's hand against a heart that beats wildly.

HEY SO GUESS WHAT I FOUND IN MY NOTES

[confoundthemighty]

A long shiver runs through Aziraphale as he melts into the kiss. Through the blurry heat of the dream his own pulse beats a fevered counterpoint against Crowley’s; he honest-to-somebody properly swoons.

No angel should feel desire, but I do. I desire you, and further than that I want you to desire me in return. I want you to be so overwhelmed with how much you want me that we have no choice but to give in.

He’s greedier with his kisses than he’s dared to be yet in life. His free hand clutches at Crowley’s back, an insistent phantom pressure, and his fingers held against Crowley’s heart tighten and tremble. With a great deal more sense memory to draw on, these dream-kisses are vivid and perfect—they’re every remembered moment of the best ones between them in life so far, but with the added enhancement of the secret more-than-physical want he’s allowing himself to feel.

In life I have had to make an art of denying myself the experiences I crave the most. I have grown expert at gracefully justifying why I can’t simply act as I please and telling myself it builds character, and I’m sick of it. Here where no one can see us, I want to drink so deeply of my desires that I nearly choke.

HEY GUESS WHAT I RESPONDED TO AT 1AM

[duckshaveears]

It's the greed that makes Crowley's head spin. Aziraphale is an eager hedonist at heart, but millennia of denial aren't easily cast aside. Except now, here, they are, and his angel apparently feels more free than ever to be unrestrained. The open, unrepentant hunger is greater than anything Crowley’s ever experienced from him in the waking world, and he craves it.

"Yes." The word is hissed into their mouths, approval and permission and a demand all in one. Crowley only barely manages to remember the scene they're playing, and takes a quick breath to gather his thoughts. Very quick, snatched between kisses. "You've been ssssso hungry, haven't you, angel? So alone." He tears himself away from Aziraphale's mouth and nips at his jawline instead, then his neck. The pale skin there is already flushed. "You'll never be alone again, never empty, never unsatisfied." He sucks a bruise into the skin, Crowley was here, and revels in Aziraphale's gasps and clutching fingers. "Never left wanting. I'll fill all your days and nights, Aziraphale, I swear it."

It's straight out of a romance novel and Crowley should be writhing with embarrassment over it, but for once he doesn't care in the least. Not with Aziraphale gasping in his arms, lustful and responsive, so responsive to every bite and kiss and caress. If a bit of playacting and cheesy dialogue gets him this response, Crowley will chew scenery better than Burbage ever dreamed of doing. "Haven't you wanted this?" he whispered in Aziraphale's ear before flicking his tongue agajnst the sensitive skin there. "To not deny yourself anymore, to give in?" Another flick, and he knows how heated breath just here can shoot down the spine and make toes curl. "To drown in pleasure such as you've never known before..."