applesaucedream | And the Boats Drift On [Open to All]

And the Boats Drift On [Open to All]

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The water is calm, and the night sky is filled with stars. The only light is natural: a patchy, bioluminescent glow coming from the water below, and the bright swath of the Milky Way above. It's not much, but it's more than enough to see by.

The dreamers will find themselves sitting in their own little rowboats, each stocked with two oars, a length of rope, some cushions, and a little picnic basket full of snacks. There is no visible shoreline, but it won't take the dreamers long to realize theirs are not the only boats in this shallow sea. Anything stirring in the water, be it fish or paddle, causes phosphorescent plankton to glow a bright blue, so there isn't really anywhere to hide.

Feel free to paddle around and visit the other dreamers, perhaps tying your boats together and sharing your snacks in an impromptu picnic. Or you could go for a swim - the bioluminescence makes it difficult to see the bottom, but it's not too terribly deep, so the risk of drowning is all but nonexistent. ~~This setting, unlike the last one, isn't actively out to kill you.~~ Or you could simply lie back and look at the stars.

[ooc: Same drill as always, folks. All are welcome, regardless of whether or not your character is in the game. Characters may remember or forget dream shenanigans at the player's discretion.]

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'Coursssse not,' Crowley agrees easily. He may or may not be allowing his sibilants to deliberately draw themselves out. 'Inexplicable dream, good wine; only natural for you to be a bit ssscatterbrained.'

He's still lounging in the prow, unconcernedly drinking his wine, but his tail is slowly snaking its way out of the water, the tip drawing itself around behind Aziraphale's shoulders, and the rest of it following, long enough to loop twice around Aziraphale's body. He's not constricting, hardly even touching the angel, in fact, but the potential is tangible, played up for the sake of irritating provocation.

And then, in belated answer to Aziraphale's question, 'Nah, I'm good.'

In fact, he is still rather curious about the nature of the dream, but, though he's always been more philosophically inclined than his counterpart, he's also also a wretched opportunist.

"Ye-es," says Aziraphale slowly, eyes widening imperceptibly as he follows the coiling motion of the tail through his peripheral vision. He finds that he's sitting a little more stiffly in anticipation of something, some inevitable manner of mischief that is sure to follow. He fidgets a little, thoroughly provoked.

Any enquiries about Crowley's intentions would be much too obvious now; Crowley needs no further goading and Aziraphale isn't keen to give it at this point, nor does he particularly feel like playing hard to get. He comes up short, instead looking mutely at his companion with an expression that says some variation on I suppose you're quite pleased with yourself.

'You could've told me, you know, if this was some kind of thing of yours,' Crowley remarks as he slowly, soooo slowly draws his tail tighter around Aziraphale, now definitely touching.

Given the sex-and-sex drive-less-ness of angels, it's a matter of some debate whether either of them can technically be said to have things at all, but, well. Over the course of 6,000 years, they've both gone native in a variety of ways. Crowley can't actually remember which one of them it was who first suggested making the Effort for this sort of thing.

'Not that I object.' He grins evilly. 'It's always the stuffy, priggish ones, isn't it? All that repression.'

"As if I had any reason to know something like that," says Aziraphale indignantly, now very much blushing, breath catching quite embarrassingly as Crowley drags himself tighter around him. It clearly is, though, and Aziraphale's flustered beyond compare to realize it, not to mention that he's apparently gone ahead and made the Effort already. Not for the first time, he thinks desperately maybe it's the dream? Something in the air? Bugger it, it's nostalgia for all he knows, been so long since Crowley was a snake and all. Been so long (you know, relatively) since they've seen each other, for that matter. Hasn't it? Confusing, inconvenient thoughts. He brushes them away.

"I don't appreciate your insinuation," he huffs, but his concentration breaks all too easily. "Hhn," he says, squirming just a little, and with an affectedly shy suggestiveness, "Don't stop?"

Crowley laughs, genuinely amused by Aziraphale's playing the shy ingenue. As if he weren't 6,000 years old and a man (well, man-shaped entity) of the world. But, per the angel's request, not that he'd been planning to do otherwise, he does not stop. He tightens the looped coils around Aziraphale, not so much as to hurt, just enough that it'll feel like a firm embrace. He enjoys the slightly itchy slide of Azirphale's tweed jacket under his still-wet scales, his tangibly heavier breathing, and, hoping to make the angel perhaps squeak, insinuates the remaining length of his tail between his legs.

'Could do worse than inssssinuate,' he points out, the hiss now not entirely intentional. He hadn't bothered to manifest genitals in this form, but that doesn't mean he can't feel arousal. 'What is it, nossstalgia? The two of us way back at the beginning, me as the ssserpent and you with your flaming sword, all heavenly righteousssnesss and too many dimensions to look at. Or later than that? All those myths about nagas in India, you know? That was me. Or a lot of 'em were, anyway. While you were busy getting ssssmitey in the Fertile Crescent.'

Behind his dark glasses, his eyes go hazy for a moment or two, distracted by thoughts of Aziraphale's smitiness. Possibly from a demon it showed a distinct lack of self-preservation, but he'd always found Aziraphale ridiculously attractive like that. Snapping out of it a moment later, he forcefully returns the focus to Aziraphale, pressing his tail up against the crotch of his hideous tartan trousers.

Edited 2014-06-02 05:31 (UTC)

Aziraphale does squeak, more of a whine, really, shuddering against the intoxicating tightness and the gentle pressure between his legs. He shifts and squirms all the more, rubbing back against the coils, both dreadfully embarrassed by how much this does for him and desperate not to stop.

"O-oh," he comments, slightly breathless. "I- I don't know. Could be any of those. I don't particularly care what it is," he admits, eyes open, staring Crowley down, "so long as it continues."

It's not lost on him, the hesitation, the timing of it. Aziraphale's known Crowley too long to miss something as well placed as that. But there's not much he can do about it now, and when Crowley presses harder against him he lets out another shrill sound, surprised and indecently aroused.

"Come- come here, won't you," he says between gasps. Can't very well reach for him, so he squirms more instead, pressing his thighs together to keep the tail where it is. "Please?"

That whine is nice. Takes Crowley back to the days when Aziraphale had actually required convincing for this sort of thing. Soooo much easier this way, he thinks. That admission is also nice, and Crowley gives a little involuntary writhe that presses him further up against Aziraphale, strangely unfocussed arousal crackling under his skin.

'Tart,' he accuses, and makes to close the distance between them before Aziraphale even starts to respond.

He realises the error in this as soon as he moves. Locomotion when one has the lower half of a snake and the torso of a man is a dream in water, easy enough on land (if a hell of a strain on the lower back muscles), and next to impossible in a very small rowboat. The boat rocks violently, sending bottles clinking, and Crowley throws out his arms to brace on the sides of the boat, his tail tightening in reflex.

'Um,' he says.

And then, somewhat guiltily, he loosens the coils around Aziraphale, aware that that might have hurt a bit; a snake's muscles are powerful.

'That might,' he says once the boat's rocking has ceased, 'be easier said than done, here.'

Aziraphale can barely even think "I BEG your pardon" before chaos is transiently struck and Crowley squeezes him much, much harder than he'd expected.

"Oh-" He winces, gasping a bit as Crowley loosens again. "So I see."

He takes a moment to recover himself. It did hurt, a bit, but at the same time there was something to it that he rather liked. All that overpowering intensity and raw force. He does tend to go in for that kind of thing. Being an angel and all. He'll have to arrange for that again, but maybe from a better position.

"Here, let me go a minute," he says, attempting to wriggle free. "I'll come to you."

However successfully he might have been playing the cool seducer, Crowley's pretty sure that's gone and scuppered it. He clears his throat. 'Heh, sorry about that.'

Still, he recognises the look on Aziraphale's face as a promising one indeed, and he gives him another (tiny, so tiny) squeeze before throwing one thick coil over his head and letting the rest of his tail draw itself around Aziraphale until he's free to move again. Crowley's tail is left to run the length of the little boat, its full length somewhere around nine feet, the tip of it draped over the prow and twitching faintly with anticipation.

He scoots the upper half of himself back against the stern of the little boat, more or less approximating a sitting position, and waves a hand to banish the picnic basket. All for Aziraphale's ease, of course.

'What'd you have in mind?'

"Don't know," says Aziraphale helpfully. He edges forward, slow and careful, until he can straddle Crowley's waist, where skin becomes scales. He perches there like a ridiculous, fluffy-headed bird, shrugs and says, "Improvising."

He places his hands innocuously (so far) along Crowley's sides, leans down and kisses him, quick and chaste. It had taken him a rather long time to pick up the knack for kissing, and though he still hasn't quite got the hang of it, he's come to enjoy it quite a bit. He smiles down at the demon and rolls his hips ever so slightly. There's nothing in particular to rub against but that's hardly the point.

Edited 2014-06-03 07:04 (UTC)

The boat yaws as Aziraphale inches his careful way into Crowley's lap-- but only a little, and Crowley's attention stays on the angel, expression hovering somewhere between amusement and arousal and curiosity. For an entity of divine grace, Aziraphale moves with absolutely no grace at all.

The quick little peck of a kiss is equally graceless, and Crowley grins a liquid grin up at him. 'Oh, go on,' he goads, drawing his tail up behind Aziraphale, the thick trunk of it braced behind him like the back of a chair while the rest loops around to brush over Aziraphale's stomach. 'You can do better than that, I know this for a fact.'

Curling a hand around the back of Aziraphale's neck, he pulls him down into a proper kiss, lewd and deep without any preamble. For his part, Crowley's always rather liked kissing; it's when you get into sex proper that things have the potential to get a little weird, but kissing, kissing is a snap. They've never snogged in a boat before, but Crowley knows the best angle to keep noses from knocking. He exhales a satisfied little hum into Aziraphale's mouth, drawing his tongue out and sucking hard on it for a moment in frankly blatant suggestion.

Though neither of them needs to break for breath, Crowley pulls away after a moment anyway, forked tongue flickering in appreciation. 'That'ssss more like it.'

"It was only a warmup," protests Aziraphale, then, "Oh-!" as Crowley draws him in. His skin heats appropriately; he digs his fingers harder against the lean muscle of Crowley's waist. It is quite a good snog, Aziraphale has to admit, though he can barely keep up. He shudders as Crowley sucks on his tongue, unable to repress a full throated moan, twisting against the press of Crowley's snake half.

When Crowley breaks away, Aziraphale reaches up to adjust his glasses. "Well," he says. "Yes, that was better, wasn't it." He tugs lightly at his collar.

'Mmm,' agrees Crowley, and though technically it was Aziraphale who'd started this particular engagement, Crowley's become quite distracted. Aziraphale with all his squirming and moaning makes it ridiculously easy. A moment later, the collar Aziraphale had been tugging at is no longer there, his jacket and shirt (and the vest he's wearing underneath like the worst kind of middle-aged man) miracled away by a glance.

Crowley's a demon. He's fond of instant gratification. Also of annoying Aziraphale, whom he knows, just as he actually purchases his clothes rather than simply willing them out of raw fundament, also prefers to take them off the old fashioned way.

His own glasses are also long since vanished, which means he can duck in to kiss his way up Aziraphale's now handily-bare neck. 'And thisss?' he hisses, right in Aziraphale's ear, forked tongue flicking out to punctuate the point.

"Oh, really, dear," sighs Aziraphale when Crowley disappears his clothes, decidedly unprepared for sudden nudity. Appearance is almost nothing to them, and he's certainly never been one to fuss over his own looks (not like SOME people), but the whole vanishing clothes act works quite a bit better on the demon. Aziraphale likes to undress himself not just out of care for the clothes and an appreciation of orderliness, but because the natural reveal works for him. His paunchiness is best unveiled gradually, not with this perfunctorily abruptness. He touches a hand to his belly - (wasn't it rounder before?) - raising an eyebrow at the demon.

"You're incorrigible," he says.

It's nice to see Crowley's eyes, though, glittering brightly in the dark. Nicer still when Crowley leans in close, mouthing at his neck. Aziraphale tilts his head back with a sigh that comes out a bit wanton, shivering at the hiss, the tongue flicking into his ear.

"Incorrigible," he repeats breathily, and tilts his head back down to kiss him again, properly this time, not continuous but on and off, pressing in, drawing back, and in again, nipping each time at Crowley's lower lip.

"Could you-" he murmurs in between the press of their mouths. He slips his hands down to the portion of Crowley's tail that is currently looped around his waist. He doesn't complete the request, not quite knowing how to phrase it, just an inarticulate desire for more. He trusts that Crowley will understand like he always seems to do.

'It's in the job description,' mumbles Crowley against his neck, and then, 'Mmph!' when Aziraphale ducks down to kiss him.

Because he's a bloody tease, he draws it out, little teasing licks and provoking nips without ever diving into the thing properly. Crowley breaks off his attempt to chase after him when Aziraphale's hands steal down to clutch at his tail. It feels good; it's not a particularly sensitive or erogenous spot; that would be beyond impractical, but makes him groan the way thumbs dug into knotted shoulders might do. He curls it a little tighter around Aziraphale in response, smooth cool scales against his skin.

'Eh?'

Crowley often understands Aziraphale, but certainly not all the time, and this snake thing of his is new and unexpected enough that he, in fact, does not know what he means.

'Gonna have to give me more to work with than that,' he says, more than a little breathlessly.

"Ah-" His breath hitches when Crowley pulls tighter, and he blushes brightly, not that anyone can see it in this light, but he does it all the same.

"That," he says, feeling rather awkward. "That, what you just did. Like it was before." Words are refusing to present themselves in an orderly fashion. This is difficult, all this negotiating nonsense. They haven't had to bother about this in quite some time. Aziraphale had forgotten how tedious and embarrassing the whole ordeal could be.

He shifts his hands delicately down along the curve of tail, trying to provoke. "Harder," he says in a very small voice.

Thread continued here: http://anguiform.dreamwidth.org/377.html

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And the Boats Drift On [Open to All]

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uh so yeah NSFW

p much nsfw from this point on

nsfw and also WEIRD deal with it /shades descend

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