Little comic ficlet
I haven't posted anything here in a little while - I'm mostly focused in a WIP that's gone out of control. There is the odd little thing here and there, though. This was written for tea_and_snark's Neil Gaiman Fanfiction Open (Go, go, check it out, join in!). Hope the cross-post is OK. This was for a request by corporal_katz, who specified: Good Omens; Crowley/Aziraphale; Laughter, surprised, moaning; Object: ...A dildo. Hee. My brain screamed "comedy," of course. Pure suggestive silliness.
For Adventurous Adults Only
Pairing: Oh, c'mon, who do you think?
Rating: R, for discussion of divers accessories.
Summary: Aziraphale has mixed feelings about Crowley's latest business experiment.
Notes: Not mine, oh no. Spot the classic movie reference!
For Adventurous Adults Only
and especially for corporal_katz.
Aziraphale was surprised that Crowley seemed so eager to go shopping with him. The last times they’d tried it, it had lead to the angel happily puttering for hours in a bookshop or specialty tea emporium only to find that the demon had got bored and rearranged all the cars in the nearest parking garage or temporarily shut down the computerised credit networks or rigged the dressing-room security cameras in the swankiest boutiques to project their recordings from a hundred screens in the electronics shop next door. It always ended in tears. Mostly not theirs.
The reason soon became all too clear: Aziraphale heard Crowley’s barely suppressed delighted laughter when the angel saw what had replaced that sweet little charity thrift shop around the corner.
EROTIK CITY, the sign proclaimed in flowery neon. GRAND OPENING…S!
Aziraphale cringed when a demonic grasp on his elbow led him through the shining doors like a lamb to the…well, to something only filmed on the Continent, anyway. A busty young woman with green hair tried to ascertain their legal adult status.
“You don’t need to see our identification” Crowley smirked. “We can go about our business.”
“I don’t need to see your identification,” she giggled. “You can go about your business.”
Aziraphale had no idea what that business could possibly entail. Everything was crisp and bright and reassuring and vaguely pink; air conditioning hummed efficiently and self-consciously slinky ambient dance music pulsed unobtrusively, and the inside of the store was absolutely massive. Rows and rows and rows of indescribables in all kinds of colours and sizes and packaging seemed to stretch for infinity - oh, that’s because there were mirrors everywhere. Aziraphale was sure that his face hadn’t been that colour this morning.
He watched out of the corner of his eye as the earnest young well-informed sex-positive clerks skillfully picked out the most embarrassed and nervous-looking customers they could find and began to helpfully hector them about lube consistencies and cock ring sizing and silicone cleaning and breathplay safety.
He hoped if he stuck close to the obviously shameless demon, he wouldn’t find himself on the wrong end of such well-meaning advice. He tried hard to remember a less erotic context he’d seen his counterpart in recently (for Crowley did tend to lend a certain je ne sais quois to his surroundings), and he was having a hard time coming up with anything. Whatever it was, it had probably involved maggots.
This was obviously one of Crowley’s little projects, and the demon was obviously pleased with his work. But something didn’t entirely make sense, and Aziraphale was determined to get to the bottom of what he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“So, Crowley,” he ventured finally. “I have to wonder-of course, it’s very lewd and lascivious and carnal and all that…but it’s really also rather…wholesome, isn’t it? I mean, my side, we’re not all the prudes we’re sometimes thought to be, the accessibility of this might encourage people to open up and be more honest and, well, I don’t see how it does any harm for loving couples to expand their horizons, and…”
“You don’t?” laughed Crowley. “Really? Say, you’ve got the one partner who wants Tantric soul bonding and the one who dreams of whoring himself out to strangers? Say, she’s got this elaborate fantasy of being kidnapped by pirates, and he just wants her to piss on him in the bathtub? Or the one who just loves this kind of stuff” - he gestured around - “and the other one’s all, ‘You want to put that where?’ Oh, please, angel, openness can be so much worse than secrets, nothing sounds as stupid as a cherished sexual fantasy spoken to someone who isn’t into it - and they all think it’s their fault, they’re inadequate somehow because they bought the wrong size of anal beads or something. The kind of shriveled old pervert in the raincoat who haunts places like your neighbours’, they know they’re fucked up and inadequate and they’ve made peace with it years ago. Not much I can do with them. Boringly average people who think they’ve got a ‘wild side,’ now that’s fertile ground.”
Aziraphale backed away a little, looking at last as disapproving as some think he should have been all along. “You realise I have to try to thwart you now.”
“Oh, thwart me, stud. Thwart me harder!” Crowley whispered, smirking.
Aziraphale backed away just a touch more, straight into a row of anatomically implausible dildos in an array of disturbing colours. “Go on,” Crowley sniggered. “Inspect the merchandise.”
And Aziraphale did. Well, he did know quality, in most things, and did feel he ought to do his best to ensure its propagation in the world.
There wasn’t any here. The lube would congeal or cause rashes; batteries would die at crucial moments. Handcuff keys would practically lose themselves; straps would break when you didn’t want them to and hold fast when you did. Lace itched; leather chafed; cheap PVC generated sweat and started to stink as soon as you looked at it. Everything was overpriced and cheaply made, tinny and wobbly and sharply-seamed and occasionally all but guaranteed to insure the most humiliating kind of emergency hospital visit.
Carefully he picked up a cheap plastic vibrating dildo in a bubble-pack, and it made a horrific tinned moaning noise. Aziraphale squeaked and dropped it. A healthy-looking youth with a nose ring and a rainbow T-shirt popped out of nowhere and explained, “That’s actually designed for solitary activities. Some find that the sound of a partner’s pleasure is intrinsic to their sexual response even when they’re alone.” The vibrator moaned again, with terrible sound quality, and Aziraphale winced.
Crowley was doubled over with laughter in the next aisle. The clerk frowned. “I think your friend has some issues to resolve.” Crowley wagged his tongue at him. The clerk disappeared again.
Aziraphale took a deep breath and resolved to make the best of a bad situation, shopping cheerily as if he were picking out shirts for the office, pinching and poking textures, checking size tags.
An hour later, when he climbed into the passenger seat of the Bentley, Aziraphale tried to gauge his effectiveness by Crowley’s mood. It was hard to pinpoint. The demon seemed neither elated nor angry. Perhaps a bit bewildered. Definitely rather pensive.
“It’s the strangest thing,” Crowley mused. “They must have a new buyer for the chain who doesn’t know the ropes yet. There were actually some quite nice things in there, a few items that really do look like real fun.”
Aziraphale jumped when he heard the crinkle of paper and plastic, and saw the demon shoving into the back seat two large shopping bags, in screaming genital pink, that Aziraphale was sure he had not been carrying from the shop. His eyes widened.
“Couldn’t let that stand, of course,” said Crowley, with a promising leer.
~fin~
For Adventurous Adults Only
Pairing: Oh, c'mon, who do you think?
Rating: R, for discussion of divers accessories.
Summary: Aziraphale has mixed feelings about Crowley's latest business experiment.
Notes: Not mine, oh no. Spot the classic movie reference!
For Adventurous Adults Only
and especially for corporal_katz.
Aziraphale was surprised that Crowley seemed so eager to go shopping with him. The last times they’d tried it, it had lead to the angel happily puttering for hours in a bookshop or specialty tea emporium only to find that the demon had got bored and rearranged all the cars in the nearest parking garage or temporarily shut down the computerised credit networks or rigged the dressing-room security cameras in the swankiest boutiques to project their recordings from a hundred screens in the electronics shop next door. It always ended in tears. Mostly not theirs.
The reason soon became all too clear: Aziraphale heard Crowley’s barely suppressed delighted laughter when the angel saw what had replaced that sweet little charity thrift shop around the corner.
EROTIK CITY, the sign proclaimed in flowery neon. GRAND OPENING…S!
Aziraphale cringed when a demonic grasp on his elbow led him through the shining doors like a lamb to the…well, to something only filmed on the Continent, anyway. A busty young woman with green hair tried to ascertain their legal adult status.
“You don’t need to see our identification” Crowley smirked. “We can go about our business.”
“I don’t need to see your identification,” she giggled. “You can go about your business.”
Aziraphale had no idea what that business could possibly entail. Everything was crisp and bright and reassuring and vaguely pink; air conditioning hummed efficiently and self-consciously slinky ambient dance music pulsed unobtrusively, and the inside of the store was absolutely massive. Rows and rows and rows of indescribables in all kinds of colours and sizes and packaging seemed to stretch for infinity - oh, that’s because there were mirrors everywhere. Aziraphale was sure that his face hadn’t been that colour this morning.
He watched out of the corner of his eye as the earnest young well-informed sex-positive clerks skillfully picked out the most embarrassed and nervous-looking customers they could find and began to helpfully hector them about lube consistencies and cock ring sizing and silicone cleaning and breathplay safety.
He hoped if he stuck close to the obviously shameless demon, he wouldn’t find himself on the wrong end of such well-meaning advice. He tried hard to remember a less erotic context he’d seen his counterpart in recently (for Crowley did tend to lend a certain je ne sais quois to his surroundings), and he was having a hard time coming up with anything. Whatever it was, it had probably involved maggots.
This was obviously one of Crowley’s little projects, and the demon was obviously pleased with his work. But something didn’t entirely make sense, and Aziraphale was determined to get to the bottom of what he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“So, Crowley,” he ventured finally. “I have to wonder-of course, it’s very lewd and lascivious and carnal and all that…but it’s really also rather…wholesome, isn’t it? I mean, my side, we’re not all the prudes we’re sometimes thought to be, the accessibility of this might encourage people to open up and be more honest and, well, I don’t see how it does any harm for loving couples to expand their horizons, and…”
“You don’t?” laughed Crowley. “Really? Say, you’ve got the one partner who wants Tantric soul bonding and the one who dreams of whoring himself out to strangers? Say, she’s got this elaborate fantasy of being kidnapped by pirates, and he just wants her to piss on him in the bathtub? Or the one who just loves this kind of stuff” - he gestured around - “and the other one’s all, ‘You want to put that where?’ Oh, please, angel, openness can be so much worse than secrets, nothing sounds as stupid as a cherished sexual fantasy spoken to someone who isn’t into it - and they all think it’s their fault, they’re inadequate somehow because they bought the wrong size of anal beads or something. The kind of shriveled old pervert in the raincoat who haunts places like your neighbours’, they know they’re fucked up and inadequate and they’ve made peace with it years ago. Not much I can do with them. Boringly average people who think they’ve got a ‘wild side,’ now that’s fertile ground.”
Aziraphale backed away a little, looking at last as disapproving as some think he should have been all along. “You realise I have to try to thwart you now.”
“Oh, thwart me, stud. Thwart me harder!” Crowley whispered, smirking.
Aziraphale backed away just a touch more, straight into a row of anatomically implausible dildos in an array of disturbing colours. “Go on,” Crowley sniggered. “Inspect the merchandise.”
And Aziraphale did. Well, he did know quality, in most things, and did feel he ought to do his best to ensure its propagation in the world.
There wasn’t any here. The lube would congeal or cause rashes; batteries would die at crucial moments. Handcuff keys would practically lose themselves; straps would break when you didn’t want them to and hold fast when you did. Lace itched; leather chafed; cheap PVC generated sweat and started to stink as soon as you looked at it. Everything was overpriced and cheaply made, tinny and wobbly and sharply-seamed and occasionally all but guaranteed to insure the most humiliating kind of emergency hospital visit.
Carefully he picked up a cheap plastic vibrating dildo in a bubble-pack, and it made a horrific tinned moaning noise. Aziraphale squeaked and dropped it. A healthy-looking youth with a nose ring and a rainbow T-shirt popped out of nowhere and explained, “That’s actually designed for solitary activities. Some find that the sound of a partner’s pleasure is intrinsic to their sexual response even when they’re alone.” The vibrator moaned again, with terrible sound quality, and Aziraphale winced.
Crowley was doubled over with laughter in the next aisle. The clerk frowned. “I think your friend has some issues to resolve.” Crowley wagged his tongue at him. The clerk disappeared again.
Aziraphale took a deep breath and resolved to make the best of a bad situation, shopping cheerily as if he were picking out shirts for the office, pinching and poking textures, checking size tags.
An hour later, when he climbed into the passenger seat of the Bentley, Aziraphale tried to gauge his effectiveness by Crowley’s mood. It was hard to pinpoint. The demon seemed neither elated nor angry. Perhaps a bit bewildered. Definitely rather pensive.
“It’s the strangest thing,” Crowley mused. “They must have a new buyer for the chain who doesn’t know the ropes yet. There were actually some quite nice things in there, a few items that really do look like real fun.”
Aziraphale jumped when he heard the crinkle of paper and plastic, and saw the demon shoving into the back seat two large shopping bags, in screaming genital pink, that Aziraphale was sure he had not been carrying from the shop. His eyes widened.
“Couldn’t let that stand, of course,” said Crowley, with a promising leer.
~fin~