Happy Holidays, tio-trile!
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Prompt: Aziraphale/Crowley. Drawbridge effect, or misattribution of arousal, is the effect in which people mistake the feelings of physical fear, such as the pounding of the heart, shortness of breath, or sweating, as romantic arousal. What if Crowley has always experienced this......backwards? In that from a point on in their relationship, he noticed that his heart pounds (though it doesn't need to) whenever he sees Aziraphale, and he has always passed it off as fear or hatred, because Aziraphale is the enemy, of course. Until it doesn't really make sense anymore. Take it how you want, any rating.
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Rating: General
A/N: Happy Holidays, tio-trile! I hope you'll enjoy my gifts and I wish a great month to you! When I saw your prompts I got really excited, because actually I already had a plot in mind for the drawbridge effect (in another fandom though), but it was a great experience to write this pair.
One can't build a bridge without piers
Crowley abruptly burst in the shop and demanded attention, which Aziraphale eventually gave him, with a half-hearted scold about manners. Though it didn't last long; the angel would never let a good opportunity to close the business earlier slip away. And he had brought cake.
Now they were sitting at the kitchen table, Aziraphale gracefully crossing his legs as the demon complained about some minor issue, tea and the cake served on a Raynaud dinnerware set with napkins embellished by golden stars. The scene was blissful, blessed by the holy dust that flickered in the afternoon sun coming through the windows. Crowley turned his head to the side, revealing a thin white line of cream on his cheek. Aziraphale chuckled, and leaned towards the demon with the intention of cleaning up the mess he had made. The demon went still when his hand touched his skin.
"You surprised me," Crowley coughed. Aziraphale was still close, too close for his comfort and he felt his face flush. One of the few disadvantages that came with an appearance as realistic as a meatbag was that it had human bodily functions. He could turn off his tear ducts, he could wish away his sweat, and he could reverse the direction of where his blood was flowing, but those would require effort. As an adversary of the Devil he didn't need to breathe, but in his current body it was automatic so he had to think about not doing that if he wanted to stop. And now he really wanted it to stop, yelling internally for his heart to calm down and his reddened face to revert as silently and quickly as possible. He didn't know why he'd reacted this way – it was sudden, it was new and it didn't make sense. He decided to deal with it later.
Aziraphale's hand left his face and he licked the cream off of his fingers, then proceeded to mock the demon with a click of his tongue.
"You got buttercream on your cheek, my dear," he added in an arrogant tone, and he didn't add dumbass, but it was clearly implied. Crowley snorted and quickly finished the last bite of his cake, nearly missing his mouth while his forked tongue fluttered in and out. When it was gone, he stared blankly at his empty plate.
He stole a peek at the angel's form, his eyes closed as he was sipping his Earl Grey, his fingers curled around the cup like a perfect globus cluciger, his pinkie extended like a real gentleman, so classy it hurt.
It actually did hurt. Crowley felt his heart start to thump in his ribcage like it wanted to break free, and he had to stand up. He muttered a quick goodbye toward the angel, making up some fake excuse on the spot (he was really good at those), then left as abruptly as he had arrived.
~~~
The next time they met was three days later. Crowley got a call from Aziraphale, inviting him to the Ritz with that sweet aloof way of his. He couldn't suppress the grin that spread across his face.
"Only if you pay," he hissed, but his covert joy was apparent in his voice. He hung up abruptly; they'd have plenty of time to talk and he was already beyond happy. The thought of them seeing each other floated through his mind, and then it started again. Blood rushed to his cheeks, his heart beat faster, and even his palms were sweaty.
It was similar to the feeling he'd had, a very long time ago, when humanity just started civilization and the two had faced each other for the first time outside Eden. It was during a territorial war and they were on opposite sides, as always. Sadly, Crowley's party didn't win. To make it worse, in that century it wasn't conventional to take hostages, and what made it the absolute lowest was that he had to go by the hands of an angel, of all things. His superiors would be definitely upset. Aziraphale stood over him, brandishing his weapon for the finishing strike, and Crowley felt his body react in a very human way. He wanted to say something to cover his fear, to toss a snarky comment at the angel so he would waver, but due to the very real lump in his throat, he could only swallow. His heart raced and tears blurred his vision, but the last thing he saw; the light reflecting on the angel's hair was absolutely beautiful.
He denied that it made a rather negative impact on him. Demons were supposed to be the scary ones, not the ones who got frightened just by seeing a familiar figure. But that didn't stop him from running to the next town when he spotted a curly mass of hair, or jumping over the bridge's edge when he heard an angelic voice.
In that context, it made sense. They were enemies, they hated, or at least condemned each other. It had been logical to be keenly aware of the other, to dread when they met, because it customarily led to a painful outcome. He'd lost count of how many times he'd sent the angel flying back to Heaven, but it was always such an icky sight, those fierce bright eyes becoming dull and lifeless. He knew exactly how many times he'd had to crawl back to Hell when the angel had decided that beating a demon to death didn't count as a Sin.
At that time Crowley would rather evade an encounter with Aziraphale, and he was sure it was the same for the angel. His whole body would run cold at the sight of him, and he would be always on edge, preparing to fight or hide. Usually the former, because the pounding of his heartbeat would have given him away anyway.
But now, in this moment, having these similar emotions was strange. It's not fear, that's for sure, he decided. But what was it, then?
He didn't have more time to think about it if he wanted to arrive fashionably late. It would only do harm if he seemed too eager, but he didn't want to irritate the angel either. He met Aziraphale at the corner and they walked into the restaurant together. The place was packed, but it's not like that that had ever bothered them before. They took a seat at the back, table for two, a bottle of Krug rosé and two main dishes as usual. Crowley picked fitfully at the slice of duck meat on his plate after the second bite, being more captivated by the angel's eyes as he rambled about some antique book and how he had gotten his well-manicured hands on it.
After they finished dining, they strolled over to BFI Southbank so they could watch some underappreciated Polish movie. In the middle of the heroine's premier performance in the town's theatre Aziraphale just went ahead and rested his head on the demon's shoulder. He whispered that his neck hurt and he was more comfortable that way. Crowley wasn't even able to form a coherent sentence, let alone a complaint. Not that he would have. The scent of the angel's hair hit his senses, a sweet flowery odor with fiery undernotes. He fought the urge to grab Aziraphale's hand and intertwine their fingers. He couldn't pay attention to the rest of the movie but the scene where the protagonist confessed and finally kissed the heroine caught his attention, mostly because the screen went bright, casting a beautiful highlight right in the middle of Aziraphale's plump bottom lip. At that moment, a sickening realization sunk in his stomach.
He was uncharacteristically quiet after they left the building, and the angel even mentioned it while they were walking down the street.
"I'm... I was just thinking," Crowley answered, then stopped. "Hey, angel!" Aziraphale, who had kept on walking, turned around to face him. "What do you, uh, what do you think about falling in love? And I mean our kind, having romantic feelings for, uh, others?"
Aziraphale looked at him in surprise, then his expression turned to a serious one.
"Well, I haven't heard of something like that since, er..., you know." He looked past Crowley and his eyes were flooded with the memories of thousands of years. Then he shrugged with a confused smile. "Why do you worry? You are a demon – you can't fall in love."
Crowley almost lost his composure, but recovered quickly and let out a hearty-enough-to-be-real laugh.
"That's fair," Crowley nodded, although that was the opposite of what he wanted to say. He caught up with the angel, entwined their arms and proceeded to the bookshop. He hung out for a while, drank a little more wine and received a pithy look of disapproval when he teased the angel, but they parted on good terms. He didn't bother with a long goodbye; they'd see each other again in a few days. He exited the shop with a sneaky grin, then sauntered back to his Bentley. He drove around aimlessly for a bit before deciding to visit his favorite cafe.
It was closed. He stood there devastated and looked up at the sky, wondering why it wasn't raining. In movies, rain would always start falling at this precise moment, but going against all reason, London's afternoon's sky was baby blue dotted with fluffy white clouds. As the minutes passed, his melancholy was tinted with anger, then resignation, then something surprisingly similar to joy.
What the fuck, right?
A demon, in love with an angel. Who the H- uh, who on Earth would have thought it? How absurd.
And the serpent himself is right in the middle of it, who else...
Next - Bonus Gift!
Prompt: Aziraphale/Crowley. Drawbridge effect, or misattribution of arousal, is the effect in which people mistake the feelings of physical fear, such as the pounding of the heart, shortness of breath, or sweating, as romantic arousal. What if Crowley has always experienced this......backwards? In that from a point on in their relationship, he noticed that his heart pounds (though it doesn't need to) whenever he sees Aziraphale, and he has always passed it off as fear or hatred, because Aziraphale is the enemy, of course. Until it doesn't really make sense anymore. Take it how you want, any rating.
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Rating: General
A/N: Happy Holidays, tio-trile! I hope you'll enjoy my gifts and I wish a great month to you! When I saw your prompts I got really excited, because actually I already had a plot in mind for the drawbridge effect (in another fandom though), but it was a great experience to write this pair.
One can't build a bridge without piers
Crowley abruptly burst in the shop and demanded attention, which Aziraphale eventually gave him, with a half-hearted scold about manners. Though it didn't last long; the angel would never let a good opportunity to close the business earlier slip away. And he had brought cake.
Now they were sitting at the kitchen table, Aziraphale gracefully crossing his legs as the demon complained about some minor issue, tea and the cake served on a Raynaud dinnerware set with napkins embellished by golden stars. The scene was blissful, blessed by the holy dust that flickered in the afternoon sun coming through the windows. Crowley turned his head to the side, revealing a thin white line of cream on his cheek. Aziraphale chuckled, and leaned towards the demon with the intention of cleaning up the mess he had made. The demon went still when his hand touched his skin.
"You surprised me," Crowley coughed. Aziraphale was still close, too close for his comfort and he felt his face flush. One of the few disadvantages that came with an appearance as realistic as a meatbag was that it had human bodily functions. He could turn off his tear ducts, he could wish away his sweat, and he could reverse the direction of where his blood was flowing, but those would require effort. As an adversary of the Devil he didn't need to breathe, but in his current body it was automatic so he had to think about not doing that if he wanted to stop. And now he really wanted it to stop, yelling internally for his heart to calm down and his reddened face to revert as silently and quickly as possible. He didn't know why he'd reacted this way – it was sudden, it was new and it didn't make sense. He decided to deal with it later.
Aziraphale's hand left his face and he licked the cream off of his fingers, then proceeded to mock the demon with a click of his tongue.
"You got buttercream on your cheek, my dear," he added in an arrogant tone, and he didn't add dumbass, but it was clearly implied. Crowley snorted and quickly finished the last bite of his cake, nearly missing his mouth while his forked tongue fluttered in and out. When it was gone, he stared blankly at his empty plate.
He stole a peek at the angel's form, his eyes closed as he was sipping his Earl Grey, his fingers curled around the cup like a perfect globus cluciger, his pinkie extended like a real gentleman, so classy it hurt.
It actually did hurt. Crowley felt his heart start to thump in his ribcage like it wanted to break free, and he had to stand up. He muttered a quick goodbye toward the angel, making up some fake excuse on the spot (he was really good at those), then left as abruptly as he had arrived.
The next time they met was three days later. Crowley got a call from Aziraphale, inviting him to the Ritz with that sweet aloof way of his. He couldn't suppress the grin that spread across his face.
"Only if you pay," he hissed, but his covert joy was apparent in his voice. He hung up abruptly; they'd have plenty of time to talk and he was already beyond happy. The thought of them seeing each other floated through his mind, and then it started again. Blood rushed to his cheeks, his heart beat faster, and even his palms were sweaty.
It was similar to the feeling he'd had, a very long time ago, when humanity just started civilization and the two had faced each other for the first time outside Eden. It was during a territorial war and they were on opposite sides, as always. Sadly, Crowley's party didn't win. To make it worse, in that century it wasn't conventional to take hostages, and what made it the absolute lowest was that he had to go by the hands of an angel, of all things. His superiors would be definitely upset. Aziraphale stood over him, brandishing his weapon for the finishing strike, and Crowley felt his body react in a very human way. He wanted to say something to cover his fear, to toss a snarky comment at the angel so he would waver, but due to the very real lump in his throat, he could only swallow. His heart raced and tears blurred his vision, but the last thing he saw; the light reflecting on the angel's hair was absolutely beautiful.
He denied that it made a rather negative impact on him. Demons were supposed to be the scary ones, not the ones who got frightened just by seeing a familiar figure. But that didn't stop him from running to the next town when he spotted a curly mass of hair, or jumping over the bridge's edge when he heard an angelic voice.
In that context, it made sense. They were enemies, they hated, or at least condemned each other. It had been logical to be keenly aware of the other, to dread when they met, because it customarily led to a painful outcome. He'd lost count of how many times he'd sent the angel flying back to Heaven, but it was always such an icky sight, those fierce bright eyes becoming dull and lifeless. He knew exactly how many times he'd had to crawl back to Hell when the angel had decided that beating a demon to death didn't count as a Sin.
At that time Crowley would rather evade an encounter with Aziraphale, and he was sure it was the same for the angel. His whole body would run cold at the sight of him, and he would be always on edge, preparing to fight or hide. Usually the former, because the pounding of his heartbeat would have given him away anyway.
But now, in this moment, having these similar emotions was strange. It's not fear, that's for sure, he decided. But what was it, then?
He didn't have more time to think about it if he wanted to arrive fashionably late. It would only do harm if he seemed too eager, but he didn't want to irritate the angel either. He met Aziraphale at the corner and they walked into the restaurant together. The place was packed, but it's not like that that had ever bothered them before. They took a seat at the back, table for two, a bottle of Krug rosé and two main dishes as usual. Crowley picked fitfully at the slice of duck meat on his plate after the second bite, being more captivated by the angel's eyes as he rambled about some antique book and how he had gotten his well-manicured hands on it.
After they finished dining, they strolled over to BFI Southbank so they could watch some underappreciated Polish movie. In the middle of the heroine's premier performance in the town's theatre Aziraphale just went ahead and rested his head on the demon's shoulder. He whispered that his neck hurt and he was more comfortable that way. Crowley wasn't even able to form a coherent sentence, let alone a complaint. Not that he would have. The scent of the angel's hair hit his senses, a sweet flowery odor with fiery undernotes. He fought the urge to grab Aziraphale's hand and intertwine their fingers. He couldn't pay attention to the rest of the movie but the scene where the protagonist confessed and finally kissed the heroine caught his attention, mostly because the screen went bright, casting a beautiful highlight right in the middle of Aziraphale's plump bottom lip. At that moment, a sickening realization sunk in his stomach.
He was uncharacteristically quiet after they left the building, and the angel even mentioned it while they were walking down the street.
"I'm... I was just thinking," Crowley answered, then stopped. "Hey, angel!" Aziraphale, who had kept on walking, turned around to face him. "What do you, uh, what do you think about falling in love? And I mean our kind, having romantic feelings for, uh, others?"
Aziraphale looked at him in surprise, then his expression turned to a serious one.
"Well, I haven't heard of something like that since, er..., you know." He looked past Crowley and his eyes were flooded with the memories of thousands of years. Then he shrugged with a confused smile. "Why do you worry? You are a demon – you can't fall in love."
Crowley almost lost his composure, but recovered quickly and let out a hearty-enough-to-be-real laugh.
"That's fair," Crowley nodded, although that was the opposite of what he wanted to say. He caught up with the angel, entwined their arms and proceeded to the bookshop. He hung out for a while, drank a little more wine and received a pithy look of disapproval when he teased the angel, but they parted on good terms. He didn't bother with a long goodbye; they'd see each other again in a few days. He exited the shop with a sneaky grin, then sauntered back to his Bentley. He drove around aimlessly for a bit before deciding to visit his favorite cafe.
It was closed. He stood there devastated and looked up at the sky, wondering why it wasn't raining. In movies, rain would always start falling at this precise moment, but going against all reason, London's afternoon's sky was baby blue dotted with fluffy white clouds. As the minutes passed, his melancholy was tinted with anger, then resignation, then something surprisingly similar to joy.
What the fuck, right?
A demon, in love with an angel. Who the H- uh, who on Earth would have thought it? How absurd.
And the serpent himself is right in the middle of it, who else...
Next - Bonus Gift!
(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-22 10:30 pm (UTC)Aziraphale, don't be so oblivious he loves youuuuuuuuuu
I really like the bittersweet and melancholic tone (hurts so good(?))...! But can we possibly get a happy sequel later? ;)
Thank you so much! This is cute, and Crowley is so in love <3
-Tio-trile
(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-22 10:54 pm (UTC)"You are a demon – you can't fall in love."
I hate saying it, but these lines are so Aziraphale-y.
I feel so sad for the poor marshmallow :_(
(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-22 11:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-23 01:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-23 11:04 pm (UTC)>> two very good reasons to accept a visitor ;D
Aaaaw, I love how crowley panicks when he blushes XD
"so classy it hurt"
>> hahahaaaaa XD
"it wanted to break free"
>> I want to breeaaaak freeee! God knows I've fallen in looooove!
"He didn't have more time to think about it if he wanted to arrive fashionably late"
>> Hahaha! XD That's such a Crowley thing to do!
Aaaaaw, Zira resting his head on Crowley's shoulder :3
I really hope those two will figure it out and Aziraphale will acknowledge and reciprocate Crowley's feelings <3
(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-28 05:18 pm (UTC)Aziraphale's increasingly tactile fondness combined with his assertion that demons can't love was a particularly painful bit of tension. Dammit Aziraphale. And Crowley's arousal confused with terror makes everything more complicated. Very cool
(no subject)
Date: 2019-01-03 01:45 pm (UTC)"But that didn't stop him from running to the next town when he spotted a curly mass of hair, or jumping over the bridge's edge when he heard an angelic voice." --> "Crowley my boy!!" *Crowley YEETS himself off a bridge.*
"You are a demon – you can't fall in love." BOY MY HEART
"What the fuck, right?" That made me laugh.
Excellent job!!!!
(no subject)
Date: 2019-01-04 02:11 pm (UTC)(and Azi should really stop saying that Crowley can't love/can't understand love. so rude. i'm sure he's in for a surprise now.)
(no subject)
Date: 2019-01-05 10:52 pm (UTC)I WANT TO BREAK FREE~
NOOOOOO AZIRAPHALE
Ahhh this was good but I feel for him so much!!!
(no subject)
Date: 2019-01-06 11:22 pm (UTC)