dumbshow | the critically acclaimed open post

the critically acclaimed open post

assorted shitty people

optional prompts/ideas

☆ caught in the rain meme
☆ little steps meme
☆ affectionate physical contact meme
☆ picture prompt also acceptable but link them so it's tidy
☆ AU ideas: soulmates AU, reincarnation AU, Bad End AU, canon divergent/roleswap AU, dorky college AU, crossover AU, super indulgent high fantasy AU
☆ melodrama is ultimate tier
★ SHIPPING AND FILTHY THINGS:
☆ non-fluffy relationship types I'm down for: codependent, master/servant power imbalance type ships, "we're bad for each other but worse for anyone else," other things I am failing to think of tbh
☆ things I won't rp: noncon (includes "dubcon"), incest, tsundere shit if your tsundere is just verbally abusive, gratuitous torture porn, you'll probably have to ask me about harder kinks and they will vary by character
☆ I don't have a kink list so pitch me an idea if u thirsty
☆ if you would prefer a locked post I can also make that happen

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[Aziraphale almost says something silly, like, there certainly isn't enough room in the Bentley to do anything properly, but what is a car compared to two supernatural entities with centuries of catching up to do? Surely, the Bentley would somehow find the space to accommodate them.

Well, if it hadn't burned to a crisp and exploded. He doesn't even think of that, every part of him absorbed in Crowley, trembling in his lap, the low vibrato of his voice saying all of these very sinful things about his precious car and doing incredible things to Aziraphale's imagination. Moving against him like this is already so much, almost too much, hasty and fast and just a little over-steeped in emotions.

Because Aziraphale's fantasies have all been very, say, soft— maybe one day he could have taken Crowley's hand, and they wouldn't have had to say anything, and perhaps they'd have even kissed, all very slow and gentle...

That was, of course, when Aziraphale had tried to convince himself that he could behave himself around Crowley at all. When he tried very much to tell himself that if he happened to enjoy Crowley's company, if he needed him in any way, it was purely professional, and he never really believed it but he tried anyway. Being so definitively proven wrong is excellent.

He blinks at him when Crowley pulls him back, face flushed and eyes wide. Personally, Aziraphale thinks he's being terribly loud right now, all little gasps and soft sounds—]

I would have thought you'd want me to tell the whole world how I feel about you, by now.

[But sure, he will make little gasping noises in a car, that's alright.]

That's--

[That's unfair is what that is, and he actually glares down at Aziraphale, not so much upset as huffy about that mix-up. No, that isn't what he meant at all, but on the other hand, things are so very perfect right now. He'd take a video if he could, just to be sure he'd remember this: Aziraphale all hot and bothered, delighted and overwhelmed, whining so softly as he stares up almost reverently at Crowley (and who would have thought, who could have dreamed such a thing might happen, certainly not him).]

You're confusing-- ah-- s-sex and love, angel--

[Because honestly: they're two different things. All Crowley wants is to see Aziraphale squirm out of a misguided sense of propriety when it comes to moaning and writhing. But love-- oh, god, please, let him shout it to the stars. Let him demand attention from all the forces in the world, Heaven and Hell both, let them all acknowledge it. An angel and a demon are in love, and there's nothing to be done but accept it, because Crowley won't allow anything short of that.]

Or is this your way of asking for exhibition kink?

Am I?

[Confusing sex and love, he means, but it could be a response to the question, too. Aziraphale is an angel, Aziraphale shouldn't feel sexual desire at all let alone act on it, particularly with a demon of all people to choose— but he does, and he is, and as far as he's concerned, the two are linked enough to be inextricable from each other. Maybe in another life he'd have taken a human lover here and there, like he knows Crowley has, and it's quite alright if Crowley wants to consider them separate items, but.

Well, the way he looks at Crowley, love and adoration down to his core with just a touch of something more light-hearted, teasing— the just-enough-of-a-bastard part of him— even if sex and love are always, always separate, the love is always going to be there. It's there right now, while he looks up at Crowley and politely wonders whether he wants to get fucked into next week in the back of an old car.

So: maybe, because he loves him so much. That could also be the sexual euphoria talking, though, so don't quote him on any of this.]

Well— we'll see about that, shall we?

[It doesn't matter. It really doesn't, not at all. Maybe they'll clarify this later and maybe they won't, but right now, he's focused on the present. On the little gasps that Aziraphale emits each time Crowley rolls his hips down, that delighted little oh he breathes every so often. The way he stares up at Crowley with those wide eyes, overwhelmed in the best way . . .

God, but he loves him. He thinks it faintly, not so much a rational thought as an emotion. Oh I love him, and he leans in, kissing him surprisingly softly, even as he feels his cock twitch, heat pooling in the pit of his stomach.]

Swear it.

[Oh, hello, that's rather serious, isn't it? And maybe it's not about sex, not at all, and instead something about a next time, a guarantee that things will go on past these next few minutes.]

[It's so much, and it's all Aziraphale can do to keep up. The kiss is both a welcome reprieve and just as overwhelming for its timing, to kiss him like that right now makes him ache in the sweetest way. He shuts his eyes and they stay shut for an extra moment when Crowley leans away to speak again, while Aziraphale savors this moment.

Just in case, you see. Just in case they're plucked out of this life together and destroyed come tomorrow morning, which he'd thought about, and now all at once resolves to put a stop to himself, simply and without any fuss. How hard can it be, after helping to stop the end times?

He opens his eyes. Wait—]

Swear— that we ought to make love in your car? [No no, that's very "I like pears" of him, he's keeping up—] Crowley...

I love you, [He starts there, again, because it bears repeating now, over and over and over for all the times he didn't say it before. He's breathless, voice quiet, but it's not as if anyone deserves to hear him but Crowley, anyway.] I always will. I swear to you, I- I will even call you my boyfriend in public, and everything.

[Which sounds silly, all things considered, but it's the sentiment of the thing; he won't back out now.]

[It's like a crack, not so much a shattering as a soft, subtle thing, his expression faltering as he stills his hips and stares down at Aziraphale. It's euphoric and heartbreaking all at once, thrilling for how it comes and awful because it's taken so long, six thousand years, and in all the times he fantasized he never once imagined Aziraphale swearing such a thing.

Sex, yes. Romance, perhaps. But love-- oh, no, never. Fidelity, loyalty, adoration, how could he expect that from his angel? Even if it was unspoken, even if he knew Aziraphale would rather be on Earth than in Heaven-- well, that was only in part for Crowley, if it was at all. He has so many other Earthly pleasures he loves, so no, not for him. It was always Crowley who was desperate for the angel to stay.

But here they are, and Aziraphale's eyes are so impossibly soft as he murmurs that.

He'll have to hear it a thousand more times, casually and frantically, reverently and easily, before he can believe it fully. But for now, he bows his head forward, pressing their foreheads together, something like a sigh leaving him as he moves once more.

It takes so little after that. Just moving like that, hips rolling back pointedly, and he kisses him as he finishes, spilling messily between the two of them. He isn't done with Aziraphale, not by a long shot, but he wants to devour him in a different way now, intimate touches and whispered words he can't bear to hear. Love you, and he breathes it out all but silently, still overwhelmed by enormity of what they're speaking.]

[Frankly, it's terrifying to promise someone eternity. Aziraphale realizes on some level that he's probably already promised this thing - his loyalty, his love, forever - to God, but ah— had he, really? Hadn't that just been assumed? And here, with Crowley—this one is a choice. His choice.

So it's terrifying but it's just fine, and something hangs in the balance in those seconds Crowley looks at him, infinite in their own right, before he moves again. And Aziraphale, like he was put on this earth to stick close to every romantic movie trope in the book, needs only the feel of Crowley around him and those barely-whispered words to come with a shudder, hands squeezing desperately at his hips, his waist— just to hold onto him like this for a little longer.

He's still then, just breathing, until the fussy part of him cuts in with Hmm! Messy, and he tilts his head to nose against Crowley's cheek. Hello, love.]

Ah. [What, hmm, what do people say...] How about that?

[Aziraphale.]

[He snorts, undignified and very real, because just like that, the fragility is broken. Not gone, oh, dear me, no, not at all, but at least they can move on without much fuss. Crowley ducks his head down, nuzzling right back up against him, pleased by the softness of his angel. And ah, right-- a lazy snap, and there goes that mess, because he knows Aziraphale will fuss sooner or later.

He takes his time in climbing off, stretching out those long legs with a low groan. There's something wonderful about the languid way he does it, knowing now that Aziraphale won't leave. He lays out and beckons him close, come here, it's cuddling time. Keep him warm.]

How about that? You're the one who was a virgin until about twenty minutes ago.

[Oh, he's cleaned up, what a lovely demon. Aziraphale hums and settles in next to him, brushing a lock of hair out of his face before looping an arm around his waist. Hello, he was made for cuddle time.]

Oh, well, you know. [.....] It was lovely.

[Look, it's been a very wild and exciting day for a whole host of reasons, give him time to grow into his pillow talk.]

You didn't think, ah... That is to say, it was... the sort of thing you like?

[Did he do okay!!]

[He might be hurt if he didn't know Aziraphale so well. As it stands, he registers that talk for what it is: affectionate, but not particularly experienced. With a little sigh he turns into that touch, burying his face against his neck, pressing up tight against him. Warmth.]

It was good, angel.

[There's nothing but lazy sincerity in his voice. But nothing can be perfect, and he loves Aziraphale but he's also so, so dumb sometimes, so:]

Just wait til I teach you more. Talk about temptation, hmm?

[Ah, is there anything quite so good as being pressed close like this? Not at this precise moment in time, surely, this is It. Aziraphale kisses his temple, or close enough, and wraps his arms more firmly around him. Luckily, angels don't have any tedious problems like limbs falling asleep.]

My dear, you've already tempted me. [There are degrees, technically, he supposes. That isn't the point.] I know I've been... difficult, but I assure you, I am now thoroughly convinced.

[See? All it took was the end times to make him emotionally raw enough to actually, like, get with the times.]

[Difficult is one word for it. There is literally no one, no one, who has pined longer than Crowley has for this stubborn, exasperating angel, and it'll be a long time before he's finished sulking over it.]

Is that right?

[Elaborate, please, because his little heart needs the assurance.]

[Luckily for Crowley, Aziraphale's guilt over repeatedly refusing him is... lingering. Before it was guilt over wanting him at all, doubting whether or not it would be so bad, really, if Heaven would really throw some kind of fit...

Well, they likely still will, but over the other things they did today. So the guilt and anxiety have found a new home: feeling awkward about being such a... just being the way he is.]

I... yes. You were right, about being on our own side. [And yet he still glances skywards, at the dark ceiling, just in case. Hmm.] And I rather think I'd like it to stay that way.

[Heaven will throw a fit, because loving thy enemy isn't meant to involve actually fucking them. Hell will, because tempting an angel is all well and good, but love isn't a part of that, and oh, the Almighty Herself knows he's acted solely out of selfish love these past twenty four hours (or eleven years, or six thousand).

So yes, they'll throw a fit. But they're going to anyway, so they might as well really sell it, huh?]

Which means we ought to figure out what to do with-- with those sides.

[He doesn't pull back, because he doesn't want to, but his voice is at least a little more brisk.]

Does Heaven execute people? Because Hell does. Hell loves that kind of thing. Do you know how many demons I've seen on trial? That's their whole shtick: awful punishments for varying crimes.

Edited 2019-06-11 12:43 (UTC)

[Oh, good, they can get this messy business out of the way at last. It won't be a relief, not until the morning or whenever Heaven and Hell decide to make their moves (which will undoubtedly be at the same time, so very alike as they are, ultimately), but it's progress.

They do work so well together, after all. Aziraphale still finds a moment to run his fingers theough Crowley's hair with a curious little hum.]

You get trials?

[So, yes, things are actually quite grim. He moves right along, looking over his shoulder at where his coat was left earlier and quirking an eyebrow; a scrap of paper drifts out of his pocket and floats over for him to pluck it out of the air.]

I— or perhaps more accurately, our dear friend Agnes— had an idea. Look.

[Read this and come to the immediate obvious conclusion he did, dear.]

[They're hours from potentially dying. The world isn't about to end, but things still look remarkably grim. And yet even so, Crowley finds time to groan softly, because he's comfortable and he's got Aziraphale's fingers in his hair and this is literally all he's ever wanted.

But fine. He rolls over just slightly, squinting up with one yellow eye to read the writing. Agnes couldn't have used a spellchecker, huh, she really just went for it with all those words . . .

It isn't subtle. He can appreciate that, at least. Choose your faces wisely, and there's plenty of metaphoric ways to interpret that, but there's also one very literal one.]

It'll be risky.

[That's not nearly the word for it. Hell finding an angel in their midst would be . . . hm. It doesn't really bear thinking on, actually, and he shifts a little, edging in closer, like maybe sheer body mass might protect Aziraphale from that possibility.]

Heaven won't check. They'll think you did the right thing and turned up for your Divine punishment, no matter what it is. But Hell might just. You ready for that possibility?

Edited 2019-06-11 13:06 (UTC)

[Risky is putting it mildly. Crowley presses close again and Aziraphale welcomes it, holding him too tightly for post-coital cuddling but not nearly tight enough to protect him from what they are definitely, surely about to do.]

Technically, getting into a fight in Hell would be the right thing to do, if I were to be discovered. Viewed through a certain lens, that is.

[Ah, but they'll be in so much trouble if they're caught, simply being discorporated and properly executed would pale in comparison.]

Still, I could pretend to be you for an hour or so. I know you. I'm sure I'll do a very good you.

You'd have to get back for it to be viewed at all.

[But that's not the point here. There's no other option but this, both because it's the only solution he can think of and because-- well. Agnes predicted it, and the old witch was right about everything else, wasn't she?

Still. It leaves him anxious, not that he'd ever call it that.]

Try it, then. Go on. We might as well give it a go now.

What, right now?

[Like it's not urgent. How can he just pull a Crowley impression out of thin air...]

You're just going to have to trust me, my dear. I'll be sure not to smile too much unless it's inappropriate.

Not just that. I mean--

[U G H this is so wildly inconvenient for him, personally. He sits up on his forearms, staring down at Aziraphale. He screws up his face, but he knows what Aziraphale looks like, he's known it for centuries, so it's easy to just--

--be him, change the hair and eyes and shorter legs and shorter face and just shorter in general, actually, but then it's there, all but perfect. He blinks eyes that aren't his, disliking the odd way they feel.]

Oh, yes—

[Yes, he can do that. All it takes is a blink to get a little taller, a little slimmer, darken the hair and do something very strange to his eyes and gaze back at Crowley with his own face.

He frowns.]

Gabriel is going to know it isn't me if you keep making that face, Crowley.

Shall I do an cherubic sort of smile?

[He does, actually, smile, falsely and too largely, something that doesn't suit Aziraphale at all. Also, incidentally, has Crowley teased Aziraphale before by calling him a cherub, yes, he has.]

I'll just-- you know-- bluster. Talk about how I was justified in the Almighty's eyes and so on. It's not as if Gabriel ever looks closely, you know him.

Very good, very good. Throw in something about the greater good, he'll appreciate that.

[Here, "appreciate" means "be very, very pissed off about," and isn't that the point? To really let them have it, or at least to really look at them snidely.

Aziraphale tries out his very best detached disapproval face.] How do I look?

[It's very surreal to see himself like this. It's him and not, like watching a mirror that's just gone distorted.]

Try more attitude. You can't just be passive, you've got to-- you know-- really put the demons in their place. Act better than them.

[Aziraphale raises an eyebrow - act like a smug piece of work? Oh, he's gifted in this area.]

Taunt them a bit, then? Act like I've places to be after my untimely demise?

[He'll tell them he has a date with some crepes, perhaps.]

You could say just about anything and Gabriel will get cross [ahaha] about it.

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