Happy Holidays, Janicechess!
Dec. 23rd, 2005 12:21 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
vulgarweed.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
go_exchangeTitle: When in Greece
Pairing: Crowley/Aziraphale
Rating: PG-13, at the most.
Recipient:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
janicechess.
Author:fickle_goddess
Prompt: "you who were born with the sun above your shoulders / you turn me on, you turn me on / you have to know (from Greek Song by Rufus Wainwright)."
When In Greece.
What,” the angel began in a tone that Crowley was still sober enough to recognize as disapproving, “Do you think you’re doing?”
“Good question, that angel. Good angel too,” Crowley thought fuzzily to himself, upending another amphora and draining it. Or he would have, if it hadn’t already been empty. Hm. Peering into it for a few minutes, he came to the staggering conclusion that he must have already imbibed the contents, so he threw it away. The shattering sound it made as it hit the floor wasn’t loud enough to cover up Aziraphale’s pointed cough, which made Crowley blink and look up at him with a vaguely guilty look, on the general principle that looking apologetic always seemed to mollify the angel. Angels were like that. They liked people to look like they were repenting of their sins.
Except Crowley was a demon, so didn’t that make him a sin? He pondered that drunkenly, ignoring Aziraphale for the moment. He ought to be a sin. One of the seven deadly ones. They ought to name the eighth sin after him! Crowley. The sin of - the sin of - the sin of -
“The sin of getting drunk and babbling your thoughts out loud when questioned by sober people,” Aziraphale suggested, causing Crowley to nod for a few moments. Wait. He’d been thinking out loud? Oh well. Who cares? Angel thought of sin to name after him. Good angel.
“I’m not a pet.” Pause. “And you’re drunk.”
“Nononono!” Crowley corrected the angel, raising one hand and waggling an index finger at him admonishingly. Wow. It cricked interestingly. Like a snake. With ribs. Barbequed snake ribs. Mmmm. Would that count as cannibalism? Maybe that should be his sin. Continuing to waggle his finger, half-fascinated by the way it wriggled, Crowley explained earnestly, “’m riotousssly drunk.”
There was a short pause, during which Aziraphale stared blankly at Crowley and Crowley beamed back, quite proud of himself for having been able to correct the angel. Said angel sighed, and told Crowley patiently, “…My dear, I don’t think there’s much of a difference.”
“There isss.” Crowley wasn’t quite sure any longer how many fingers he was holding up, but he was sure of the difference between drunk, and riotously drunk. Because it was very important when you were getting drunk to keep track of what you were aiming for. Write it on the back of your hand even, if that was the only way to make sure you’d remember. Waving his hand around a little too enthusiastically to see if there was any writing on it, Crowley said with as much dignity as he could summon up, “’ssss a quesssstion of ssstlye.”
Another blank look, and this time, Aziraphale massaged his temples as he sighed. “Crowley. Why are you getting ‘riotously’ drunk? I didn’t think that anything had happened to justified it.”
As Crowley opened his mouth to answer, Aziraphale added quickly, “And sober up before you reply!”
Shaking his head at that suggestion, Crowley gave Aziraphale a disappointed look. Poor angel was so slow on the uptake! He ought to drink as well. Amazing how this stuff cleared your mind. “Nononono! Sssstyle! How’s it going to look if I don’t stick to my image?”
“What image?”
Good question, again. Aziraphale asked good questions. Crowley had been waiting for that. Drawing himself up as proudly as he could while reclining on a divan, the demon announced, “You…” A quick, panicked look confirmed that yes, Aziraphale was still there and hadn’t disappeared when Crowley had blinked, “Are looking at Marsssss!”
“…Oh dear, you’re more drunk than I realised.” Another sigh. Crowley was getting fed up of those sighs. And, he decided as Aziraphale went on, he didn’t care too much for that patient, paternal tone either. “Mars is the fourth planet from the sun, and the seventh largest. It has two satellites, permanent ice caps at both poles, and an elliptical orbit. It also-”
An increasingly disgruntled Crowley cut him off sourly at that point, “NO! I’m the god!”
At that, Aziraphale took a cautious step backwards, the way one did when expecting someone in their near vicinity to be struck by lightning. A few minutes passed with Crowley still scowling at Aziraphale, and Aziraphale waiting for divine wrath to strike Crowley any moment.
Nothing. Hm. Apparently non-interference was the order of the day, seeing as any lightning bolts would merely end up attributed to their ‘Zeus’ fellow anyway. Speaking of which…
Crowley cackled as realisation dawned on Aziraphale’s face, then stopped once he realised how psychotic it sounded. And un-god-like. Gods of war definitely didn’t cackle. Nodding sagely to himself, Crowley gave Aziraphale - both Aziraphales - the most sympathetic look he could muster up. Then took a swig from another amphora.
“Crowley.” The angel (s?) sounded dazed, Crowley noticed with a small measure of triumph..“How did you convince the humans that you’re one of their heathen gods?”
Oh yeah. Angel definitely had the hang of answering questions. With an approving, if rather glazed look, Crowley started to explain. “Tavern ssstyle thing, you ssseee, and fightsss and they looked at my eyesss and I sssset it on fi-fie-fo…fire!” Yes. That nicely summed everything up.
And the angel was looking blank again. Hm. He shouldn’t do that. It made Crowley want to write on him with his tongue, lick words into his skin and hiss possession into Aziraphale’s mind and-
Hey. Only one angel now! That was good. Two angels would have been unfair. Two angels against one newly-appointed God of war (and agriculture, though Crowley wasn’t telling Aziraphale that for anything). But it was back down to one. So that was fine.
Generously, Crowley offered, “You can be Apollo. Blond. Blue eyesss. Very pretty.” Yes. Aziraphale, Apollo. That would fit well. He staggered to his feet, and then threw an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders expansively. “We can be gods together!”
Aziraphale considered it a tribute to his effectiveness as an agent on Earth (which, of course, owed more than a little to the Arrangement) that they weren’t instantly both blasted with lightning.
Trying to disentangle Crowley’s arm tactfully, casting nervous glances at the ceiling every so often, Aziraphale insisted, “Ah, no, that’s really not necessary. You can be Mars, if you like, but I’d really rather- ARCK!”
The squeak he made was rather loud, but considering that he’d just had a highly inebriated demon fall on him, Aziraphale was more concerned with getting Crowley to move than censoring his own sounds of surprise. Pushing firmly seemed to have no effect on Crowley, who merely blinked down at Aziraphale as if not quite sure what had happened, but not about to complain.
Snake-slitted eyes watched Aziraphale with the look that the angel had come to recognize meant that Crowley was trying to piece two thoughts together in the muddle of his alcohol-affected mind, and the demon eventually poked Aziraphale in the chest with his index finger and pronounced carefully. “When in Rome… Do like the Romans. When in Greek…”
The feel of a hand sliding up his thigh made Aziraphale decide that he didn’t want to find out how that sentence ended. To prevent that, he quickly interjected, “Get drunk, get mistaken for a god and annoy angels.” At the same time, he managed to roll out from under Crowley, and stood up, dusting himself off and giving the demon a distinctly annoyed look. If Crowley wanted to prance around impersonating a god, fine. Let him. Aziraphale wasn’t going to stop him if it meant that he had to be taught how to blend in with Greek culture. He might have tried to throw in a parting shot before leaving, but something about the demon’s woeful look made him feel just guilty enough to not reprimand Crowley.
Instead, he turned on his heel and left, unaware of the human that had been watching them all the while.
~*~
After the Almost Apocalypse:
“Well…” Aziraphale cleared his throat with embarrassment, and looked away, a blush staining his cheeks. “I, ah, don’t remember us being quite so…” He paused, and dropped his voice a few notches to speak in a shamed whisper, “Nude.”
“Put it down to artistic licence.” Crowley shrugged, giving the statues of the two of them an appreciative look. They’d heard of a new exhibit and he’d decided that surely a museum would be a good place to take Aziraphale on a date. Of course, he hadn’t realized that the new exhibit in question was a statue that had been very clearly based off the two of them, with the minor detail of them both being nude.
Taking a closer look at it, he added casually, “It’s inaccurate anyway.”
“My dear!” Aziraphale’s face was practically flaming red by now, the angel hoping they wouldn’t be recognized as the models for the statues. “It’s highly inappropriate, that’s what it is. All these people-” A hopeless gesture, trying to convey the small group of people milling around the other side of the statue. “Staring at us.”
“Mhm.” After a few seconds of thought, Crowley seemed to reach a conclusion, slipping his arm around Aziraphale’s waist as he did so. “How would you like that as a Christmas present?”
“…Crowley!”
And the rest, as they say, was history.
~Fin.~
Happy holidays,janicechess, from your Secret Writer!
Pairing: Crowley/Aziraphale
Rating: PG-13, at the most.
Recipient:
janicechess.Author:
fickle_goddessPrompt: "you who were born with the sun above your shoulders / you turn me on, you turn me on / you have to know (from Greek Song by Rufus Wainwright)."
What,” the angel began in a tone that Crowley was still sober enough to recognize as disapproving, “Do you think you’re doing?”
“Good question, that angel. Good angel too,” Crowley thought fuzzily to himself, upending another amphora and draining it. Or he would have, if it hadn’t already been empty. Hm. Peering into it for a few minutes, he came to the staggering conclusion that he must have already imbibed the contents, so he threw it away. The shattering sound it made as it hit the floor wasn’t loud enough to cover up Aziraphale’s pointed cough, which made Crowley blink and look up at him with a vaguely guilty look, on the general principle that looking apologetic always seemed to mollify the angel. Angels were like that. They liked people to look like they were repenting of their sins.
Except Crowley was a demon, so didn’t that make him a sin? He pondered that drunkenly, ignoring Aziraphale for the moment. He ought to be a sin. One of the seven deadly ones. They ought to name the eighth sin after him! Crowley. The sin of - the sin of - the sin of -
“The sin of getting drunk and babbling your thoughts out loud when questioned by sober people,” Aziraphale suggested, causing Crowley to nod for a few moments. Wait. He’d been thinking out loud? Oh well. Who cares? Angel thought of sin to name after him. Good angel.
“I’m not a pet.” Pause. “And you’re drunk.”
“Nononono!” Crowley corrected the angel, raising one hand and waggling an index finger at him admonishingly. Wow. It cricked interestingly. Like a snake. With ribs. Barbequed snake ribs. Mmmm. Would that count as cannibalism? Maybe that should be his sin. Continuing to waggle his finger, half-fascinated by the way it wriggled, Crowley explained earnestly, “’m riotousssly drunk.”
There was a short pause, during which Aziraphale stared blankly at Crowley and Crowley beamed back, quite proud of himself for having been able to correct the angel. Said angel sighed, and told Crowley patiently, “…My dear, I don’t think there’s much of a difference.”
“There isss.” Crowley wasn’t quite sure any longer how many fingers he was holding up, but he was sure of the difference between drunk, and riotously drunk. Because it was very important when you were getting drunk to keep track of what you were aiming for. Write it on the back of your hand even, if that was the only way to make sure you’d remember. Waving his hand around a little too enthusiastically to see if there was any writing on it, Crowley said with as much dignity as he could summon up, “’ssss a quesssstion of ssstlye.”
Another blank look, and this time, Aziraphale massaged his temples as he sighed. “Crowley. Why are you getting ‘riotously’ drunk? I didn’t think that anything had happened to justified it.”
As Crowley opened his mouth to answer, Aziraphale added quickly, “And sober up before you reply!”
Shaking his head at that suggestion, Crowley gave Aziraphale a disappointed look. Poor angel was so slow on the uptake! He ought to drink as well. Amazing how this stuff cleared your mind. “Nononono! Sssstyle! How’s it going to look if I don’t stick to my image?”
“What image?”
Good question, again. Aziraphale asked good questions. Crowley had been waiting for that. Drawing himself up as proudly as he could while reclining on a divan, the demon announced, “You…” A quick, panicked look confirmed that yes, Aziraphale was still there and hadn’t disappeared when Crowley had blinked, “Are looking at Marsssss!”
“…Oh dear, you’re more drunk than I realised.” Another sigh. Crowley was getting fed up of those sighs. And, he decided as Aziraphale went on, he didn’t care too much for that patient, paternal tone either. “Mars is the fourth planet from the sun, and the seventh largest. It has two satellites, permanent ice caps at both poles, and an elliptical orbit. It also-”
An increasingly disgruntled Crowley cut him off sourly at that point, “NO! I’m the god!”
At that, Aziraphale took a cautious step backwards, the way one did when expecting someone in their near vicinity to be struck by lightning. A few minutes passed with Crowley still scowling at Aziraphale, and Aziraphale waiting for divine wrath to strike Crowley any moment.
Nothing. Hm. Apparently non-interference was the order of the day, seeing as any lightning bolts would merely end up attributed to their ‘Zeus’ fellow anyway. Speaking of which…
Crowley cackled as realisation dawned on Aziraphale’s face, then stopped once he realised how psychotic it sounded. And un-god-like. Gods of war definitely didn’t cackle. Nodding sagely to himself, Crowley gave Aziraphale - both Aziraphales - the most sympathetic look he could muster up. Then took a swig from another amphora.
“Crowley.” The angel (s?) sounded dazed, Crowley noticed with a small measure of triumph..“How did you convince the humans that you’re one of their heathen gods?”
Oh yeah. Angel definitely had the hang of answering questions. With an approving, if rather glazed look, Crowley started to explain. “Tavern ssstyle thing, you ssseee, and fightsss and they looked at my eyesss and I sssset it on fi-fie-fo…fire!” Yes. That nicely summed everything up.
And the angel was looking blank again. Hm. He shouldn’t do that. It made Crowley want to write on him with his tongue, lick words into his skin and hiss possession into Aziraphale’s mind and-
Hey. Only one angel now! That was good. Two angels would have been unfair. Two angels against one newly-appointed God of war (and agriculture, though Crowley wasn’t telling Aziraphale that for anything). But it was back down to one. So that was fine.
Generously, Crowley offered, “You can be Apollo. Blond. Blue eyesss. Very pretty.” Yes. Aziraphale, Apollo. That would fit well. He staggered to his feet, and then threw an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders expansively. “We can be gods together!”
Aziraphale considered it a tribute to his effectiveness as an agent on Earth (which, of course, owed more than a little to the Arrangement) that they weren’t instantly both blasted with lightning.
Trying to disentangle Crowley’s arm tactfully, casting nervous glances at the ceiling every so often, Aziraphale insisted, “Ah, no, that’s really not necessary. You can be Mars, if you like, but I’d really rather- ARCK!”
The squeak he made was rather loud, but considering that he’d just had a highly inebriated demon fall on him, Aziraphale was more concerned with getting Crowley to move than censoring his own sounds of surprise. Pushing firmly seemed to have no effect on Crowley, who merely blinked down at Aziraphale as if not quite sure what had happened, but not about to complain.
Snake-slitted eyes watched Aziraphale with the look that the angel had come to recognize meant that Crowley was trying to piece two thoughts together in the muddle of his alcohol-affected mind, and the demon eventually poked Aziraphale in the chest with his index finger and pronounced carefully. “When in Rome… Do like the Romans. When in Greek…”
The feel of a hand sliding up his thigh made Aziraphale decide that he didn’t want to find out how that sentence ended. To prevent that, he quickly interjected, “Get drunk, get mistaken for a god and annoy angels.” At the same time, he managed to roll out from under Crowley, and stood up, dusting himself off and giving the demon a distinctly annoyed look. If Crowley wanted to prance around impersonating a god, fine. Let him. Aziraphale wasn’t going to stop him if it meant that he had to be taught how to blend in with Greek culture. He might have tried to throw in a parting shot before leaving, but something about the demon’s woeful look made him feel just guilty enough to not reprimand Crowley.
Instead, he turned on his heel and left, unaware of the human that had been watching them all the while.
~*~
After the Almost Apocalypse:
“Well…” Aziraphale cleared his throat with embarrassment, and looked away, a blush staining his cheeks. “I, ah, don’t remember us being quite so…” He paused, and dropped his voice a few notches to speak in a shamed whisper, “Nude.”
“Put it down to artistic licence.” Crowley shrugged, giving the statues of the two of them an appreciative look. They’d heard of a new exhibit and he’d decided that surely a museum would be a good place to take Aziraphale on a date. Of course, he hadn’t realized that the new exhibit in question was a statue that had been very clearly based off the two of them, with the minor detail of them both being nude.
Taking a closer look at it, he added casually, “It’s inaccurate anyway.”
“My dear!” Aziraphale’s face was practically flaming red by now, the angel hoping they wouldn’t be recognized as the models for the statues. “It’s highly inappropriate, that’s what it is. All these people-” A hopeless gesture, trying to convey the small group of people milling around the other side of the statue. “Staring at us.”
“Mhm.” After a few seconds of thought, Crowley seemed to reach a conclusion, slipping his arm around Aziraphale’s waist as he did so. “How would you like that as a Christmas present?”
“…Crowley!”
And the rest, as they say, was history.
Happy holidays,
janicechess, from your Secret Writer!
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