Encampment Under the Sea [Open to All]

[applesaucemod]

Since the dreamers of Manhattan had such a lovely time at the last vaguely-nautical-themed party, the Rift has decided to step things up a notch. Tonight, the dreamers will find themselves in what appears to be a city very much like the one they inhabit in the waking world, full of towering skyscrapers, neon signs, and heavy traffic. But there is one rather crucial difference: this city is located deep underwater, and the aforementioned traffic is mostly whales and fish, with the occasional submersible thrown into the mix.

The walls and windows are heavily reinforced to withstand the pressure of the water outside, and the people who dwell in these buildings seem to be doing rather well for themselves, for the most part. Buildings are connected by enclosed walkways, so barring any horrible accidents, the dreamers should have no problem getting around without getting too wet.

Much like the city they inhabit in the waking world, some areas are more obviously affluent than others, and the dreamers are as likely to stumble upon an upscale club as an underwater pub. But while the chances of a full structural breakdown are slim, there are definitely some areas that are on the leaky side, and a general sense of claustrophobia pervades the city wherever you might find yourself.

Explore. Or, if you're feeling particularly ambitious, attempt to escape. Either way, take care - it's hard to say what might be lurking in the darkness just beyond the city lights.



[ooc: Y'all know the drill. All characters are welcome, whether they are in the game or not. Characters can remember or forget the events of the dreaming at the player's discretion. And the party never stops - backtag into infinity!]

Comments

[bibliophale]

Aziraphale's not ready to fully lower his guard, though he lowers it slightly, peering at Desire with mingled confusion and suspicion. Should he be offended? Probably.

"I'm an angel," he says, as though that is all the answer required vis a vis 'carnality'. Dangerous game, all that open denial.

He leans back from the finger aimed at his head, as though it might be an irritating fly. He manages not to swat at their hand. "What do you want, then?" he asks, fully aware of what an odd question this is to be asking Want itself.

[endless_epithumia]

Desire can tell he's a little offended, but they shrug it off. "Angels can fall, of course," they offer, "The nephilim for one, although I suppose that depends on who you talk to and the vagaries of dimensions...the point is, earthly temptation. It can happen to anyone, and you seem a bit...worldly, don't you?"

They give him a bit of space, and drop the smile, since that seems to be making the angel nervous. "As for what I want, well, everything, obviously, but since you are worldly, for an angel, I wondered if I might press you for some...information." Certainly other things they could press him for, but, alas.

"This dream, it's rather unusual, isn't it? Not like the dream realms I know to catch minds of your nature and what, keep them in little nightmares? Is someone playing some cruel game with you?"

Because if they are, they are going to wish they hadn't overstepped their bounds. Cruel games are wholly Desire's purview, thank you very much.

[bibliophale]

It rather seems someone is, though Aziraphale doesn't think that's what they're getting at just yet. He frowns a little at 'worldly', though he can't exactly deny that, can he? Desire clearly knows their fair share about angelic entities, can read him a little too well. He bites pensively at his lower lip before answering.

"Well, it's, er, it's called the Rift," he says. "Dimensional... space-time thing, yanks people out of their respective universes and drops 'em here. Well not here, but... the waking world. And then it creates these dreams. We haven't got any say in it. Though not every night, graciously."

Starting to babble now. He shuts down again, his lips pursed tightly. Succinct, not entirely specific but Desire seems the type to catch up quick enough. Aziraphale glances at them a little uncertainly, wondering if he could just slip away. He feels like if he stays in their presence too long he'll get infected or something. Start wanting things more than he's supposed to. Or more than he's used to wanting, at any rate.

"I can't say I enjoy them very much," he says, "though I don't think I'm alone in feeling that way, to be honest."

TW: mild dub-con and mindgames

[endless_epithumia]

There's a lot to take in, from what the angel says, and isn't saying, and his supremely nervous demeanor. Desire takes a moment to process it, smiling slowly as they pace in front of the window.

"How very odd," they reply after a while. They attempt to keep their pleasure tamped down. "A vortex across realms, not just the Dreaming, oh that's very odd indeed."

And if this isn't strictly their brother's domain, then well, Desire has no qualms about making themself more comfortable. They grin, not a little maliciously, and stretch out their influence. The music in the room shifts, quietly at first, into something more rhythmic and anachronistic, one of their favorites for obvious reasons. The dream figments can dance to their hearts' content.

"Doesn't seem like you enjoy much of anything," Desire says, a little more sway in their step as they round on Aziraphale, eyes glinting. "At least not without burying yourself in shame about it. What kind of way is that to live?"

In spite (or because) of how closely the angel guards himself, he's startlingly easy to read, and it's the work of a moment for Desire to choose a form that Aziraphale would find more pleasing. They lay a hand on his sweatervest-clad chest and back him up against the cool glass of the window, feeling themself grow taller and lankier as they do. Not much change in the eyes though, that's nice.

"Come off it, angel," says Desire in a way that will sound, to Aziraphale, attractive and familiar. "Even you must get tired of being such a ponce all the time." They lean in and kiss him soundly, holding him in place with a hand on his jaw.

[bibliophale]

Of course, the very moment he lets even a tiny bit of his guard down, everything goes absolutely pear-shaped. The atmospheric and musical shift take him by surprise enough that he's not prepared for Desire coiling in on him, suddenly so, so predatory.

"Oh," he babbles, stepping back, clumsily allowing himself to be back angled toward the window. "I. Er. Well."

The hand on his chest is a surprise, and he draws a sharp little breath as Desire pushes him back into the window, and oh dear goodness what is happening.

Suddenly it's Crowley speaking to him, Crowley's eyes and lips and teeth, oh no, oh no, he feels a bubble of proprietary panic rise up in his chest, mixed up with indignation at having had his private thoughts apparently invaded (not that that should come as any great surprise), and confused attraction to the familiar shape pressing in on him, oh dear oh dear.

When they kiss him his eyes go wide for a moment before fluttering shut reflexively. He doesn't quite kiss back, but he doesn't push them away either. The voice and the words are so distressingly familiar; they even smell like Crowley, taste like him, it's - well, it's overwhelming. Protests die in his throat and his breath catches there too. His palms press flat against the glass as he stands rigid and useless, caught neatly under the thumb of this alarming powerful entity. This is exactly what he was afraid of.

[endless_epithumia]

Desire smiles into the kiss; Aziraphale is pinned, between the comparatively slight pressure of their form against his and the immense force of water outside the glass. The angel isn't going anywhere.

They mouth at him, exploratory; the adopted form does the job, gets them an in, and keeps Aziraphale from resisting as much as he might. They rub against him, angle in and drag their teeth over his neck to get a better feel for him.

And oh, there's fire underneath the angel's bumbling exterior and all that fear of his own wants, and now that Desire's got a taste of that heat they want to reach in, warm their hands on it.

[bibliophale]

"Hhha-" Aziraphale whimpers softly in a confusing mingle of reactions - there's some indignation but not quite so much that he'll put up a fight, and some alarm but not quite fear, and some excitement he can't quite mark and is trying very hard not to think about. The gentle drag of teeth on his neck and the familiar pressure of Crowley's hips against his is making that rather difficult. This has never happened to him before - that is, someone other than Crowley expressing this kind of... interest.

Or is it interest? Can the force of want express desire of its own, or can it only feed off of what is already there? Is this meant to comfort him, perhaps? The granting of a wish, giving him something familiar to cling to in the midst of this unsettling dream?

He's only getting more muddled trying to make sense of it.

"I, erm, I don't-" He raises his hands, sluggish and heavy, but doesn't quite want to touch the apparition for fear of fogging the disguise, as though Desire is wearing Crowley's body like a cloudy haze rather than an actual solid form.

"Look, what is this about?" he asks, trying to sound stern and diplomatic and failing completely, breathless as he is. "Why are you... ah-" He sucks air through his teeth as they press in against him, warm and too familiar. "Why are you doing this?" he raps out, quick and sharp. Seriously asking. Does not understand.

[endless_epithumia]

Of course it's interest, you dip. Ugh, but he's gone all boring and questioning and it's all so tedious.

Desire pulls back a little and rolls their eyes. "Because you're attractive, obviously." Though clearly a little slow on the uptake, but Desire supposes they can't blame the angel for the confusion. "I want things, you're interesting, I was getting acquainted."

The fact that this is happening while wearing a borrowed shape and without any real input from the other party in question is a trifle, in Desire's view.

"Now can we dispense with the whys and wherefores and get back to it?" They grin and reach around and gently (but blatantly) rest their hands on his tartan-clad ass.

[bibliophale]

"Wh-!" He lets out a startled little squeak as they palm him, and finally manages to seize them by the arms, gripping tightly, not yet pushing. Chilling, how much they feel like Crowley beneath his hands, down to the specific contours of his skinny arms. "But I - this isn't - look, stop wearing Crowley's body, at least, it's, it's unseemly."

He wriggles uncomfortably, trying to evade their questing hands. "This is not how I go about getting acquainted with anyone," he says, healthily annoyed.

[endless_epithumia]

The 'at least' catches Desire's attention, indicating a way in (there's always a way in), it's just a matter of finding the right balance of how hard to push. Because, as an angel, Aziraphale is a being that must needs be compelled. They stop groping him for the moment and settle for holding him about the waist.

They smirk. "Unseemly, yes I suppose it is, but I've always been drawn to that sort of thing." As they speak, their form wavers and shifts, back to how Desire prefers to be seen. There, much more comfortable.

"I go about things a little differently," says Desire with a nod of the head. The differences in their natures dictate it. "I like to know what drives a person, what makes them tick, and it's so easy to observe that when you get someone's passions...enflamed."

"Someone like you, for example, someone created to be a projection of divine will, and to obey that will, well. Doesn't it follow that you must just be full of love? Dilige et quod vis fac, that one fellow said.¹ Let's see what you're like if you loosen up." They grin, predatory, and kiss him again.

"Love under will," Desire murmurs, tangling a hand in his hair and tracing their fingertips over his ear.

¹ This is probably not the kind of love Augustine was talking about, but it does make a nice foundation for kinky Victorian occult religions.

[bibliophale]

He's relieved that it's no longer Crowley's stolen image pressing against him, but this is no less distressing, really. Their chosen form is small but no less overbearing, holding him quite firmly against the window, not just with bodily force but with words, the utter impropriety and aptness, quoting St. Augustine like that, posing these challenges, nearly commanding him on the grounds of twisted logic. He receives the kiss without reciprocating, too baffled to resist.

"That's," he murmurs, breath hitching, "I - that isn't at all-"

He can't quite string more than a few words together. This creature is having a most unusual effect on him, and he has no idea how to deal with it. The only person who has ever treated him this way has been Crowley, and that was - that has context and a long history of unspoken understanding. This is something quite different.

"I do not think," he says as diplomatically as he can, "that I can give you what you want."

[endless_epithumia]

The angel is confounded, and blustering, and it's almost adorable the way he keeps trying to protest. They shift their hand to the back of his neck, scritching him briefly before holding him still. His skin is so hot under their hand.

"Oh, I'm fairly certain you can," says Desire, still smiling, not put off by his efforts in the least. "It's just that you're a little unwilling. But that's a hurdle we can overcome."

They press against him, firm, with more strength and weight than their form implies, so he feels just a little more uncomfortable, squeezed between Desire and the wall.

stepping up the dub-con just a bit here

[bibliophale]

"Wait," he says weakly, just before Desire pushes him hard against the glass. His body tenses up sharply, hands going to grip again at Desire's arms, though again he doesn't struggle properly, not yet, not so much for patience this time but for fear that he won't be able to hold his own. They're more formidable than he'd guessed, and he'd already been wary. And he's powerless here. Just his bloody luck.

A startled, pitched gasp escapes him when Desire shifts a knee between his thighs and presses up, rubbing against him. The startlement isn't so much in response to the infringement of personal space (a boundary that has already been crossed and left behind in dust), but to the way his body is reacting. He hadn't noticed in his confusion and general lack of concern about bodily functions, but with their leg pressed up against him it's impossible not to notice, he's hard. And his skin is flushed and hot, and he's breathing faster - what is this?! He always has to make the effort in dreams, it's never - never automatic, that's human.

Is this due to his loss of power? Is he, in this dream, just human?

The realization makes him panic. Another push forces a breath out of him; he wriggles, caught between wanting escape and the more animal want of friction.

"What have you done to me?" he asks desperately - maybe it wasn't the Rift, maybe it's them somehow. "How did you-" The demand dies in his throat and instead comes out a strangled whine. This is so completely unnatural, not just the wanting, but wanting anyone who isn't Crowley. It wasn't something he thought he could do, and the revelation terrifies him.