Fanfiction - Concerning Slash
This is for onlyanapple in penance for never being normal enough in chat to win the bet...
Concerning Slash
Crowley drummed his fingers on the desk while he thought. It wasn't a necessary aide to thinking, nor was it a natural habit acquired by time. It was more that the gesture itself gave off the desired impression of deep thought. The subject to his thoughts was one particular plump angel, who was being quite the thorn in his side. Nothing Crowley did seemed to faze him any more.
Yesterday, he revealed that he had taped over all of Aziraphale's collection of Antique Roadshow with a television spoof about dog grooming; and all his response had been, was a vague displeasure and an offer of a cup of cocoa.
It wasn't right.1
Any self-respecting demon should be getting shrieks and groans of despair and frustration; or, at the very least, a stern frown. But to get nothing at all? Something had to be done. The trouble was what? In the six millennia of knowing Aziraphale, he had tried everything from the downright immature basics2, right to the highly sophisticated.3 There was just nothing left to try... well, not unless he moved into the more cruel torments and he just wasn't in the mood right then - not that he liked the angel or anything, it was simply too much effort when it wasn't a soul that could be corrupted.
No, this was a matter of pride. So he sat, drumming his fingers diligently, and plotting. The first thing would be to find something Aziraphale found uncomfortable that hadn't already been explored. The state of libraries today? Modern fashion? Techno music? Wallace and Gromit?4
None of those would do. It had to be something big. Something spectacular. Something... Suddenly, Crowley's hand stopped mid-drum and he smiled a smug and sinuous smile, a low hiss of satisfaction coming from his lips. How had he never thought of it before? It's not like he hadn't heard the rumours about them5, and he had no doubts in his mind the reaction it would cause.
Mind full of happy daydreams of blushing, stammering and all round discomfort; Crowley fired up his laptop and found a few of the more choice stories involving him, an angel and a tub of whipped cream. Not reading them himself lest he need to bleach his eyesockets, he printed them off and, not wanting to have to wait the 2-3 years for the Royal Mail delivery, he went straight round to post them under Aziraphale's door before going home for a well-deserved night's rest.
Usually not liking to be up before noon, Crowley made an exception the following morning in honour of what he fondly imagined would be his crowning achievement in Angel Annoyance. Perhaps he might even get a swear word finally, the possibilities were endless. Cheerful enough to even hum along to Handel's 'We Are the Champions' on the way over, he let himself in and came up behind the breakfasting angel.
"Read anything good recently?"
Aziraphale turned at the sound of the soft pleased hiss in his ear, smiling welcomingly and sipping his tea.
"Why yes, as a matter of fact. I read a charming biography of th--"
"No, angel." Crowley cut him off impatiently. "The stories I sent you, did you read them?"
"Yes."
"Yes? That's it?!" He was shell-shocked, unable to believe Aziraphale had read stories about the pair of them in a less than child-friendly situation with nothing more to say.
Aziraphale thought for a moment, nose scrunching slightly as he tried to find the correct words to convey what he thought, as it was clear Crowley wanted a more in depth analysis of them.
"Well... it all seemed a little unsanitary, if you ask me."
-----
1. Usually things not being right was a good thing for a demon, who's very job was to make things wrong. But this was a special brand of not right, that was even not right for those who dealt in such a thing.
2. Like whoopee cushions.
3. Like whoopee cushions with witticisms of Oscar Wilde printed on them.
4. Aziraphale had an irrational dislike of the plasticine pair. No man should be that excited by a block of cheese - especially not Wensleydale.
5. Usually when Googling himself. It was impossible not to stumble across them. It was one of the reasons why he wanted to stop.
Concerning Slash
Crowley drummed his fingers on the desk while he thought. It wasn't a necessary aide to thinking, nor was it a natural habit acquired by time. It was more that the gesture itself gave off the desired impression of deep thought. The subject to his thoughts was one particular plump angel, who was being quite the thorn in his side. Nothing Crowley did seemed to faze him any more.
Yesterday, he revealed that he had taped over all of Aziraphale's collection of Antique Roadshow with a television spoof about dog grooming; and all his response had been, was a vague displeasure and an offer of a cup of cocoa.
It wasn't right.1
Any self-respecting demon should be getting shrieks and groans of despair and frustration; or, at the very least, a stern frown. But to get nothing at all? Something had to be done. The trouble was what? In the six millennia of knowing Aziraphale, he had tried everything from the downright immature basics2, right to the highly sophisticated.3 There was just nothing left to try... well, not unless he moved into the more cruel torments and he just wasn't in the mood right then - not that he liked the angel or anything, it was simply too much effort when it wasn't a soul that could be corrupted.
No, this was a matter of pride. So he sat, drumming his fingers diligently, and plotting. The first thing would be to find something Aziraphale found uncomfortable that hadn't already been explored. The state of libraries today? Modern fashion? Techno music? Wallace and Gromit?4
None of those would do. It had to be something big. Something spectacular. Something... Suddenly, Crowley's hand stopped mid-drum and he smiled a smug and sinuous smile, a low hiss of satisfaction coming from his lips. How had he never thought of it before? It's not like he hadn't heard the rumours about them5, and he had no doubts in his mind the reaction it would cause.
Mind full of happy daydreams of blushing, stammering and all round discomfort; Crowley fired up his laptop and found a few of the more choice stories involving him, an angel and a tub of whipped cream. Not reading them himself lest he need to bleach his eyesockets, he printed them off and, not wanting to have to wait the 2-3 years for the Royal Mail delivery, he went straight round to post them under Aziraphale's door before going home for a well-deserved night's rest.
Usually not liking to be up before noon, Crowley made an exception the following morning in honour of what he fondly imagined would be his crowning achievement in Angel Annoyance. Perhaps he might even get a swear word finally, the possibilities were endless. Cheerful enough to even hum along to Handel's 'We Are the Champions' on the way over, he let himself in and came up behind the breakfasting angel.
"Read anything good recently?"
Aziraphale turned at the sound of the soft pleased hiss in his ear, smiling welcomingly and sipping his tea.
"Why yes, as a matter of fact. I read a charming biography of th--"
"No, angel." Crowley cut him off impatiently. "The stories I sent you, did you read them?"
"Yes."
"Yes? That's it?!" He was shell-shocked, unable to believe Aziraphale had read stories about the pair of them in a less than child-friendly situation with nothing more to say.
Aziraphale thought for a moment, nose scrunching slightly as he tried to find the correct words to convey what he thought, as it was clear Crowley wanted a more in depth analysis of them.
"Well... it all seemed a little unsanitary, if you ask me."
-----
1. Usually things not being right was a good thing for a demon, who's very job was to make things wrong. But this was a special brand of not right, that was even not right for those who dealt in such a thing.
2. Like whoopee cushions.
3. Like whoopee cushions with witticisms of Oscar Wilde printed on them.
4. Aziraphale had an irrational dislike of the plasticine pair. No man should be that excited by a block of cheese - especially not Wensleydale.
5. Usually when Googling himself. It was impossible not to stumble across them. It was one of the reasons why he wanted to stop.