Happy Holidays, wintercreek!
Title: Begone (or, y'know, however I get rid of you guys)
Gift for: wintercreek
Gift from: villainny
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Aziraphale, Crowley, other slash pairing
Summary: Crowley got back to business. "We're here for the usual, you know. Tempting," he pointed to his own chest, "and thwarting." An insolent thumb was jerked in Aziraphale's direction.
Author's Notes: Merry Christmas! I have no idea if this was the sort of thing you had in mind, but I hope you enjoy.
Begone
(Or, y'know, however I get rid of you guys.)
"Wow," said Crowley. "Red."
"Don't be rude," Aziraphale snapped, with perhaps a little more heat than the comment entirely deserved.
"No, no, I like it." The epaulette thudded faintly as Crowley kicked it consideringly, rather as you might the tyres of a car that a neighbour has just bought for what was really a frankly criminal amount of money in today's climate, and of course you have far more worthy things to spend your money on and really don't envy her at all, honest. The shoulder strap rocked a little then settled back into place, the thick fabric absorbing the sound. "It strikes precisely the right balance between weather-inappropriateness and the suicidal bloody-mindedness of a nation that reckons tradition holds more value than stealth when tailing a criminal. Red. I love humanity."
The demon settled himself comfortably, leaning back against the epaulette with the sort of casual grace that had always annoyed Aziraphale. No doubt if he attempted the same sort of position, the tiny downy wings that had seemed the most appropriate for this assignment would get deplorably tangled, and there was something so very galling about having to ask your opposite number for assistance in a sartorial mishap.
In any case, Aziraphale hadn't quite managed to get his arm unhooked from the stiff upstanding collar, just yet, and the thought of inching his way across the acres of red shoulder in order to settle himself comfortably atop his own epaulette left him feeling rather green.
"Are you insulting the uniform?" Enormous blue eyes were regarding Crowley curiously.
"No, Fraser, I'm not insulting the uniform." This voice, nasal and distinctly annoyed, one had to assume was Kowalski. Aziraphale didn't trust his balance enough to lean out and take a look across Fraser to confirm it. "Is this like that thing where you say 'hi' to a woman and she thinks you're calling her fat? 'Cause I gotta admit, I'm not seeing how 'pizza, buddy?' comes across as an insult."
"You'll have to excuse him," Aziraphale told their assignment - Fraser - apologetically. "He has the manners of a - well."
Aziraphale waved a hand tellingly at Crowley. Crowley had evidently made very little effort for the sake of appearance; his wings were distinctly lopsided and his tail appeared to be held on with safety pins. The sunglasses had fallen by the wayside - not much point to them, when one was being obvious about these things - he had, however, managed to manufacture some tiny, tiny snakeskin shoes.
At least, one assumed those were shoes.
"Not at all," Fraser replied. "I understand entirely."
"Well... good. Just, y'know, I'm not trying to - you want Chinese, we can get Chinese."
"I - " and now Fraser sounded rather baffled - "I hadn't much thought about it."
"I could go for Chinese," Crowley put in helpfully.
Aziraphale was entirely too busy to venture an opinion. Having carefully disentangled his arm from the collar he had been hanging onto so desperately, he now edged his foot out across the expanse of red serge, shuffling forward far enough that, when he allowed himself to sit, he could tuck the thick lanyard across himself like a seatbelt.
"You came here for Chinese?"
"No, Fraser." Slowly. "The pizza place generally serves pizza. You feeling okay?"
"Not exclusively," Crowley spoke over Kowalski, "but I wouldn't say no if you're offering. Tempting, corrupting and general evil-doing can work up a bit of an appetite."
"You ate just before we came, Crowley," Aziraphale put in, leaning forward a little now that he was so comfortably settled. "Gluttony is a sin, you know."
"Well, yeah." Looking up at Fraser, apparently entirely unfazed by their relative sizes, Crowley got back to business. "We're here for the usual, you know. Tempting," he pointed to his own chest, "and thwarting." An insolent thumb was jerked in Aziraphale's direction.
"You are?"
"I - yeah." Kowalski's loud voice was really starting to sound rather worried, now, although he didn't seem quite so fazed as perhaps he ought to be when one considered the non-sequiturs thus far. "Yeah, I'm good. Maybe we should take this back to the Consulate?"
"Perhaps - perhaps that would be wise, yes."
"Excellent," Crowley said, rubbing tiny hands together. "Horizontal surfaces."
"I'm sorry?"
"Didn't say anything, Frase. Get back in the car, I'm taking you home."
"Sorry. I thought - thought I'd heard something. Really, I'm fine." Fraser's huge hand came up to tug at his ear, almost displacing Aziraphale in the process - he clung to the lanyard with his knuckles turning white, the world swaying queasily around him.
"Close but no tamale. We'll order in when we get to mine."
"Really, my dear." Aziraphale couldn't quite prevent his voice from shaking. "You might be a little more careful."
"I'm sorry," Fraser said again, his voice low.
"No problem." Kowalski still sounded concerned.
"I'm rather obliged to forgive you."
There was silence following that, at least from their assignment. The large black car they now occupied - a vehicle which had prompted some entirely inappropriate commentary from Crowley - purred gently around them, and Kowalski was holding forth about something or other which seemed to be related to American sports. Aziraphale almost toppled from his perch in surprise when Crowley abruptly cleared his throat.
"So," he said, and clapped his hands together decisively. "You've been thinking about him."
Fraser's shoulders jerked a little as he choked out a protesting challenge.
"What?"
"I know," Kowalski said, chancing a glance sideways that had Aziraphale instinctively hunching slightly. He really wasn't used to not being entirely corporeal, it must be said. "Can you believe it? A play like that, genius? I don't know what that guy'd been smoking but I was tempted to take him to the station, find out."
Kowalski's pale eyes flicked back to the road, and Fraser hissed almost under his breath, "I haven't - "
"You'll forgive me, my dear, but the truth of the matter is that we wouldn't be here if you hadn't. Moral dilemmas, and such."
As Fraser's shoulders - apparently involuntarily - hunched, Aziraphale was rather pleased to see Crowley flail for balance, grabbing at the epaulette to prevent himself falling over backwards. It was with no little smugness that Aziraphale patted the seatbelt arrangement he'd put together.
"I'm here," Crowley sounded a little disgruntled, now, "to convince you to go down the lust route. Give in." Warming to his subject now, his voice dropped lower, cajoling. Aziraphale folded his arms tightly across his chest to prevent himself from loosening his collar. "I'd be more subtle about it, but frankly this assignment is a waste of my talents. You've spent long enough thinking about giving in that you can practically taste him, can't you?" His voice went still lower, slower, until it hit a cadence that bordered on hypnotic. "The dip between his collarbones, the small of his back, the ssskin of his wrist where his bracelet's turned it metallic against your tongue."
There was an audible crack as Fraser jerked his head to one side, clearly uncomfortable.
"And - " he cleared his throat, turned his head a little towards Aziraphale. "And you're supporting the other side, I take it?"
"Yeah, I know, I know." Kowalski's voice was unconcerned, casual, diametrically opposed to the tension underlying Fraser's question. "I should've been rooting for the Americans, right? What can I say - duets, partners, all that good stuff."
Aziraphale waited until Kowalski had finished before he spoke, his voice gentle.
"I can't say that I disagree with my opposition in any one particular, actually."
"...really?" Crowley asked, astonished, Fraser echoing him faintly.
"Yeah." Kowalski cut across all of them, his voice soft but very intent, eyes fixed on the road. "Yeah, Fraser. I - we got something, y'know?"
"Where Crowley seems to be mistaken is in the assumption that this is merely a matter of lust. I rather think it's gone a bit beyond that, now."
"Yes," Fraser admitted.
Some indefinable tension in Kowalski's shoulders, the irregular beat of his hands against the steering wheel, seemed to loosen.
Crowley let out a short, sharp bark of laughter. "Oh, well played, angel."
"I rather thought so."
"I would have expected - " an enormous hand rose, making as if to adjust his collar, then fell again. "Surely there's some sort of moral objection?"
The entire car lurched, throwing all three of them off-balance.
"What the hell?" Kowalski turned to stare at them, for far longer than was entirely safe; even when he'd turned back to face the road, he kept flickering quick sideways glances. "What the hell, Fraser? If we're talking about what I think we're talking about - " and then, uncertainly - "and Jesus, I hope we're talking about that, then - " another long look, something oddly fragile in pale blue eyes. "I ever give you the impression I'm some kind of homophobe?"
"No!" Startled, and too loud, and unquestionably genuine. "No, of course I'd never - I - " Fraser swallowed, almost hard enough that Aziraphale could feel it. "I just - hadn't thought. Or rather - rather, I'd thought, but I hadn't allowed myself to hope - "
"Hope away, Benton buddy." A smile, small but growing steadily, was spreading itself across Kowalski's face. "'Cause you ain't the only one."
"Oh." It was the quietest Fraser's voice had been yet, and when Aziraphale looked up it was to see him with his eyes closed, his expression almost beatific. "And - " a little louder, now. "And you don't see anything on my shoulders at all, I suppose?"
Kowalski snorted, his hand coming up to squeeze the back of Fraser's neck, knocking both angel and demon from their perches.
"You're a freak," he said, a world of affection in his voice.
"Understood."
(It wasn't as though they'd really been needed, in any case.)
Gift for: wintercreek
Gift from: villainny
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Aziraphale, Crowley, other slash pairing
Summary: Crowley got back to business. "We're here for the usual, you know. Tempting," he pointed to his own chest, "and thwarting." An insolent thumb was jerked in Aziraphale's direction.
Author's Notes: Merry Christmas! I have no idea if this was the sort of thing you had in mind, but I hope you enjoy.
Begone
(Or, y'know, however I get rid of you guys.)
"Wow," said Crowley. "Red."
"Don't be rude," Aziraphale snapped, with perhaps a little more heat than the comment entirely deserved.
"No, no, I like it." The epaulette thudded faintly as Crowley kicked it consideringly, rather as you might the tyres of a car that a neighbour has just bought for what was really a frankly criminal amount of money in today's climate, and of course you have far more worthy things to spend your money on and really don't envy her at all, honest. The shoulder strap rocked a little then settled back into place, the thick fabric absorbing the sound. "It strikes precisely the right balance between weather-inappropriateness and the suicidal bloody-mindedness of a nation that reckons tradition holds more value than stealth when tailing a criminal. Red. I love humanity."
The demon settled himself comfortably, leaning back against the epaulette with the sort of casual grace that had always annoyed Aziraphale. No doubt if he attempted the same sort of position, the tiny downy wings that had seemed the most appropriate for this assignment would get deplorably tangled, and there was something so very galling about having to ask your opposite number for assistance in a sartorial mishap.
In any case, Aziraphale hadn't quite managed to get his arm unhooked from the stiff upstanding collar, just yet, and the thought of inching his way across the acres of red shoulder in order to settle himself comfortably atop his own epaulette left him feeling rather green.
"Are you insulting the uniform?" Enormous blue eyes were regarding Crowley curiously.
"No, Fraser, I'm not insulting the uniform." This voice, nasal and distinctly annoyed, one had to assume was Kowalski. Aziraphale didn't trust his balance enough to lean out and take a look across Fraser to confirm it. "Is this like that thing where you say 'hi' to a woman and she thinks you're calling her fat? 'Cause I gotta admit, I'm not seeing how 'pizza, buddy?' comes across as an insult."
"You'll have to excuse him," Aziraphale told their assignment - Fraser - apologetically. "He has the manners of a - well."
Aziraphale waved a hand tellingly at Crowley. Crowley had evidently made very little effort for the sake of appearance; his wings were distinctly lopsided and his tail appeared to be held on with safety pins. The sunglasses had fallen by the wayside - not much point to them, when one was being obvious about these things - he had, however, managed to manufacture some tiny, tiny snakeskin shoes.
At least, one assumed those were shoes.
"Not at all," Fraser replied. "I understand entirely."
"Well... good. Just, y'know, I'm not trying to - you want Chinese, we can get Chinese."
"I - " and now Fraser sounded rather baffled - "I hadn't much thought about it."
"I could go for Chinese," Crowley put in helpfully.
Aziraphale was entirely too busy to venture an opinion. Having carefully disentangled his arm from the collar he had been hanging onto so desperately, he now edged his foot out across the expanse of red serge, shuffling forward far enough that, when he allowed himself to sit, he could tuck the thick lanyard across himself like a seatbelt.
"You came here for Chinese?"
"No, Fraser." Slowly. "The pizza place generally serves pizza. You feeling okay?"
"Not exclusively," Crowley spoke over Kowalski, "but I wouldn't say no if you're offering. Tempting, corrupting and general evil-doing can work up a bit of an appetite."
"You ate just before we came, Crowley," Aziraphale put in, leaning forward a little now that he was so comfortably settled. "Gluttony is a sin, you know."
"Well, yeah." Looking up at Fraser, apparently entirely unfazed by their relative sizes, Crowley got back to business. "We're here for the usual, you know. Tempting," he pointed to his own chest, "and thwarting." An insolent thumb was jerked in Aziraphale's direction.
"You are?"
"I - yeah." Kowalski's loud voice was really starting to sound rather worried, now, although he didn't seem quite so fazed as perhaps he ought to be when one considered the non-sequiturs thus far. "Yeah, I'm good. Maybe we should take this back to the Consulate?"
"Perhaps - perhaps that would be wise, yes."
"Excellent," Crowley said, rubbing tiny hands together. "Horizontal surfaces."
"I'm sorry?"
"Didn't say anything, Frase. Get back in the car, I'm taking you home."
"Sorry. I thought - thought I'd heard something. Really, I'm fine." Fraser's huge hand came up to tug at his ear, almost displacing Aziraphale in the process - he clung to the lanyard with his knuckles turning white, the world swaying queasily around him.
"Close but no tamale. We'll order in when we get to mine."
"Really, my dear." Aziraphale couldn't quite prevent his voice from shaking. "You might be a little more careful."
"I'm sorry," Fraser said again, his voice low.
"No problem." Kowalski still sounded concerned.
"I'm rather obliged to forgive you."
There was silence following that, at least from their assignment. The large black car they now occupied - a vehicle which had prompted some entirely inappropriate commentary from Crowley - purred gently around them, and Kowalski was holding forth about something or other which seemed to be related to American sports. Aziraphale almost toppled from his perch in surprise when Crowley abruptly cleared his throat.
"So," he said, and clapped his hands together decisively. "You've been thinking about him."
Fraser's shoulders jerked a little as he choked out a protesting challenge.
"What?"
"I know," Kowalski said, chancing a glance sideways that had Aziraphale instinctively hunching slightly. He really wasn't used to not being entirely corporeal, it must be said. "Can you believe it? A play like that, genius? I don't know what that guy'd been smoking but I was tempted to take him to the station, find out."
Kowalski's pale eyes flicked back to the road, and Fraser hissed almost under his breath, "I haven't - "
"You'll forgive me, my dear, but the truth of the matter is that we wouldn't be here if you hadn't. Moral dilemmas, and such."
As Fraser's shoulders - apparently involuntarily - hunched, Aziraphale was rather pleased to see Crowley flail for balance, grabbing at the epaulette to prevent himself falling over backwards. It was with no little smugness that Aziraphale patted the seatbelt arrangement he'd put together.
"I'm here," Crowley sounded a little disgruntled, now, "to convince you to go down the lust route. Give in." Warming to his subject now, his voice dropped lower, cajoling. Aziraphale folded his arms tightly across his chest to prevent himself from loosening his collar. "I'd be more subtle about it, but frankly this assignment is a waste of my talents. You've spent long enough thinking about giving in that you can practically taste him, can't you?" His voice went still lower, slower, until it hit a cadence that bordered on hypnotic. "The dip between his collarbones, the small of his back, the ssskin of his wrist where his bracelet's turned it metallic against your tongue."
There was an audible crack as Fraser jerked his head to one side, clearly uncomfortable.
"And - " he cleared his throat, turned his head a little towards Aziraphale. "And you're supporting the other side, I take it?"
"Yeah, I know, I know." Kowalski's voice was unconcerned, casual, diametrically opposed to the tension underlying Fraser's question. "I should've been rooting for the Americans, right? What can I say - duets, partners, all that good stuff."
Aziraphale waited until Kowalski had finished before he spoke, his voice gentle.
"I can't say that I disagree with my opposition in any one particular, actually."
"...really?" Crowley asked, astonished, Fraser echoing him faintly.
"Yeah." Kowalski cut across all of them, his voice soft but very intent, eyes fixed on the road. "Yeah, Fraser. I - we got something, y'know?"
"Where Crowley seems to be mistaken is in the assumption that this is merely a matter of lust. I rather think it's gone a bit beyond that, now."
"Yes," Fraser admitted.
Some indefinable tension in Kowalski's shoulders, the irregular beat of his hands against the steering wheel, seemed to loosen.
Crowley let out a short, sharp bark of laughter. "Oh, well played, angel."
"I rather thought so."
"I would have expected - " an enormous hand rose, making as if to adjust his collar, then fell again. "Surely there's some sort of moral objection?"
The entire car lurched, throwing all three of them off-balance.
"What the hell?" Kowalski turned to stare at them, for far longer than was entirely safe; even when he'd turned back to face the road, he kept flickering quick sideways glances. "What the hell, Fraser? If we're talking about what I think we're talking about - " and then, uncertainly - "and Jesus, I hope we're talking about that, then - " another long look, something oddly fragile in pale blue eyes. "I ever give you the impression I'm some kind of homophobe?"
"No!" Startled, and too loud, and unquestionably genuine. "No, of course I'd never - I - " Fraser swallowed, almost hard enough that Aziraphale could feel it. "I just - hadn't thought. Or rather - rather, I'd thought, but I hadn't allowed myself to hope - "
"Hope away, Benton buddy." A smile, small but growing steadily, was spreading itself across Kowalski's face. "'Cause you ain't the only one."
"Oh." It was the quietest Fraser's voice had been yet, and when Aziraphale looked up it was to see him with his eyes closed, his expression almost beatific. "And - " a little louder, now. "And you don't see anything on my shoulders at all, I suppose?"
Kowalski snorted, his hand coming up to squeeze the back of Fraser's neck, knocking both angel and demon from their perches.
"You're a freak," he said, a world of affection in his voice.
"Understood."
(It wasn't as though they'd really been needed, in any case.)